#i was like... wtf kind of story is this???? and then it clicked lol

[yo9urt]

started playing ball dur's gait 3

[juneberrie]

you always have been

thinking thoughts. *ೃ༄ this is very self indulgent im not sorry <3 btw the formatting is terrible 😭 also this is 1.5k words im so proud of myself its literally the longest fic i've ever written

pairing: jj maybank x fem!reader

fandom: outerbanks

warnings: swearing, mentions of being drunk, reader kind of pushes jj away, insecure!reader, stressed out!reader, mentions of jj's trash dad, fear of abandonment, sort of a smau? science hw (yes thats a warning science hw sucks), love confession, hurt/comfort <3

jj's instagram is a mess. it alternates between pictures of random objects, pictures of himself, and pictures of our friends.

lately, all of his pictures have been pictures of him and the pogues at keggers and on the boat. without me.

the most recent one is a blurry shot of him and kie at the boneyard. his hair is dripping wet and kie is holding up a red solo cup, beer sloshing over the side. the caption reads, "my brst girl 😋 ilysn kier.carrera" its so misspelled its obvious hes drunk, even without looking at the picture.

—————

↳ comments

-> jb.wifirouter ong your so drunk. ↳ heywpope its "youre" not "your" 💀 and you're durnk too ↳ sarahcamer0n lmaooo durnk

-> kier.carrera lol ilyt jj 💀 ↳ kier.carrera wsit wring emoji ❤️

—————

i groan and shut my phone off. kie knows i like jj. she's heard me rant about him since eighth grade. its fine, though. i need to focus on school. i get up and silence my phone, putting it into a drawer at my desk before going back to the papers sprawled on my bed.

science isn't my best subject, but i need this extra credit to bring my grade up. and, no pressure at all, this stupid extra credit is due by monday, at its literally sunday night. at least its pretty easy. all i have to do is write an essay about newton's laws and how they function in the "real" world. i sigh and open my textbook to the page on the first law, inertia.

as im scribbling down the beginnings of the paragraph about f=ma, my pencil breaks. well, how fucking dandy. i get up and head to my desk to grab a sharpener, and i pass the mirror next to my door.

i cringe away, then force myself to look back. the girl staring back at me is... not kie. not sarah. she's wearing a big oversized t-shirt she stole from jj and some shorts. her nail polish is chipped and her hair is practically crying for escape from the worn scrunchie.

i tear my gaze away and grab the sharpener. the clock on my desk reads 11:11 pm. i remember something kie said about making wishes at 11:11, so i think, why not give it a try? i squeeze my eyes shut and hope my wish gets to whatever magical star angel being is listening.

after i finish my essay, its 12:23 am. i grab my phone from the drawer and see a flurry of texts and instagram notifications assaulting my lock screen.

i ignore the texts — six from kie and eight from jj — and click open instagram.

my homepage is filled with pictures of the pogues at the kegger they're at. i can't help the pettiness that surges up inside me and i click on jj's most recent story, a video of him, kie, pope, john b, and sarah screaming the lyrics to bohemian rhapsody around a campfire.

—————

you replied to their story

yourinstagram looks like you're having fun :)

—————

i feel slightly terrible, but whatever. every single kegger they've been to this past week, i haven't been invited.

a text notification comes down onto my screen. it's from kie. the preview reads "im soo sorru"

what the hell? i immediately click on the text and i almost start crying.

—————

kie kie ml ♡

bro so dnt be mad but like i accidentally told jj that u liked him

im sorry

answer me please idont want yu to be mad

i dd;t mean to i swaer

y/n?? are you mad??

y/n pleeaas answre

im soo sorru

bro wtf.

ik im sorry but we were playing truuth or dsre and plpe asked if i had acrush on anybody and i sadi no i didn't but ik you did and the n jj asked who and im sorry :)

:(*** SORRY

whatever. go enjoy your kegger.

—————

what the everloving fuck. i specifically told her not to tell anyone, especially jj, and she goes and tells everyone and their mother. i've gotten a flurry of texts from pope, john b, sarah, and other pogues i suppose are at the kegger, all asking me if it's true i like jj. and, speak of the devil, jj himself has been texting me nonstop for the past thirty minutes.

—————

golden retriever lookin' mf 😋

haha kie jus told me the funnist shut

wait is she for real

wait n/n yuo like me

like fr fr?

brp answer me pls

y/nnnnnn

are you asleepo r somethinh 💀

y/n if you dpn't answer rn rn im going ovet to yiur house

—————

shit. jj can't come over right now. i look like a mess, and now im fucking crying. my gaze drifts back over to the mirror; my eyes are red and puffy and tears are streaming down my face and dripping down onto my (jj's) shirt.

—————

golden retriever lookin' mf 😋

jj please dont come over just stay at the kegger and have fun

nooo y/n im already on my wsy so its fine

—————

shit shit shit.

i throw my phone across the room and scream into my bedsheets. the pogues already didn't like me anymore; they had been going out and having fun without for weeks now, and now kie tells jj i like him? my life is fucking falling apart.

a knock at my window wakes me up from whatever sad haze i was trapped in for the last twenty minutes. jj's peering in and he smiles when he meets my gaze. i shake my head and turn away from him.

no bother letting him in, he'll probably just tell me that he doesn't like me back and to never talk to him again.

another knock, persistent, sounds from the window. i sigh and turn back.

i open the window but leave the screen up, so jj can hear me but he can't get in. "go away, j."

"nooo. wait, why are you cryiinggg?" he asks, the booze slurring his words.

"nothing. no reason. go away, please, jj," i say, my voice cracking.

his face softens and he seems to sober up a bit. "n/n, please tell me what's wrong. i hate seeing you sad," he whispers. fuck. i can't, i can't with the fucking blue eyes and the soft looks and the whispers. i open the rest of the window, and jj climbs in.

i crawl under the covers of my bed and face away from jj. i feel the bed dip next to me and he lays a warm hand on my back. its so casual, so domestic, that i want to laugh.

"sunshine, what's wrong? is this about what kie said?" he asks, gently rubbing my back.

the dam breaks. tears start flowing out of my eyes and i started shaking.

"it is about what kie said. i like you, jj, i really like you. no, i- i love you! i love you so much. i've loved you since i first saw you in mrs. williams' science class in eight grade and you laughed when she said that iron was discovered by the hittites. and i know you'll never love me back because— well— look at me! im not like kie, im not like sarah. i'm just... me! and i've been trying to pretend like you guys going to keggers everyday without me isn't a big deal because, hey, i'm swamped with school, even though its fucking intercession. and i knew if i told you, you'd hate me and you'd never talk to me again," i sob into my pillow.

jj is silent for a few seconds, still rubbing my back.

"i love you too, sunshine. i've loved you for the entirety of the time i've known you. and, you're right. you're not kie or sarah, but you're you. that's what i love about you. you are unapologetically yourself. and i'm sorry for not inviting you to the keggers. i just, i knew you were swamped and i know you don't really like parties 'nd drinking and shit. and i just want you to know that im so proud of you, honey, and— jesus, y/n. you're the only one for me. you always have been. you're the person who's been there whenever luke did something shitty to me, you've helped me with my homework, and gosh, dare i say it, you've helped me be a better person."

he chuckles. i feel him press a kiss to the back of my neck and gently bring me towards him so i'm basically in his lap. he wraps his arms around me and lays his head in the crook of my neck. we stay together in a comfortable silence for a few moments.

i sniffle. "i'm sorry, j."

"you're not the one who should be apologizing, sunshine. i love you, so much. i'm sorry if i made you feel like i'd never talk to you again or like you weren't enough; you are enough. you always have been."

[sakuracoloring]

Cami's Commentary! #9 - Movie Rants + Jumpscare

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「ようこそ！」　。。。

Good morning/afternoon/night to whoever may be reading this! Sorry for not being very active these last few days :( I'm gonna be moving and so I have to pack my bags n say goodbye to my friends, yk? So that's been taking up a lot of my time. Anyways, it's time to hear me ranting >:)

Dirty Dancing: I watched this movie yesterday and WTF????? IT WAS SO GOOD!!!!! Like, it gives so much Sessão da Tarde energy and I love it sm (probably because it airs all the time on Sessão da Tarde lol)! Also, to y'all who aren't familiar with it, Sessão da Tarde (Afternoon Session) is a television program on TV Globo, probably the biggest and most popular TV network in Brazil, in which movies (mainly older movies) are shown from Monday to Friday during the afternoons :) If I had to describe it using 3 movies, I'd definitely say Dirty Dancing, Clueless AND White Chicks. (They really love White Chicks lol) That's the kind of movies they show (at least last time I checked lol)

To Wong Foo, Thanks For Everything! Julie Newmar: After some time that my friend recommended it to me, I finally watched it and it was very fun :D I really loved the story and the characters, and honestly Noxeema was so real (though Idk if she's my favourite. Like, this is the kind of media where I really can't pick a favourite character lol) <3 If you haven't watched it yet, I definitely recommend!!

My Bodyguard: I finished watching it like an hour ago and wow! Definitely better than I expected. Also, something that I found really funny was how similar Clifford was to Luigi (from As Aventuras de Poliana, a brazilian telenovela based on the Pollyanna book series). Like, their blue eyes, the curly hair in THAT shade of brown, their overall body types as well. Even the personality lol, though Clifford was Luigi with less social anxiety. Also (unrelated to my little comparison) Matt Dillon looked so fruity in this movie, especially with that hair lol

Despicable Me 4: I watched it yesterday as a little goodbye hangout with my friends and as I expected, it's one of those movies that probably should've never happened and is just a way of milking the brand. Like, it was pure dogshit, but honestly so dogshit that it became funny at times (also did anyone else notice the BTS symbol on Poppy's phone case?). The only scene I actually liked though was the ending scene with Gru and the weird cockroach-fetish-having villain singing Everybody Wants to Rule The World (Tears for Fears) while previous villains danced along. It was very wholesome :3

Also, tell me they don't look alike:

This is Nicolas Germano btw (brazilian singer) Every scene this cockroach fetish villain was in, my brain just went ''wtf he looks like someone'' but I just couldn't put my finger on it lol

Anyways, jumpscare time 😍😍😍😍:

So, I just opened up tumblr and the first thing that showed up to me was a post with a screenshot of an article talking about Matt Dillon apparently fucking girls in his trailer during the filming of The Outsiders n stuff, and so I went to the comments to not only find the source but to also see what other people had to say. And so I found the OP's comment talking about how they couldn't seem to get the link but they did share the website's name, and so I decided to search it up. No biggie ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I searched it up, but I had gotten the order of the letters wrong so a bunch of websites on pension started showing up, and that made me realise ''something's not right'' and so I searched it up again, correctly. But then it just showed me this private all-girls school in Maryland(???) and so I was like ''huh?'', which made me search up the website name + matt dillon ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ No biggie. But as I click on the first website that appeared, BOOM! Two porn ads. (Idk if that website focused on porn or if these just were ads) For like 5 seconds, I was in shock. ''How tf did I get here???'' is still a question I ask myself, and so I clicked off, very confused. Idk if that's the actual website OP found it on and these are just ads, but my eyes aren't very happy after this experience 😍

Thanks for your attention :3 It means a lot to me

number 9...number 9...👁️👁️ (If u got this reference ily)

See you next time! ☆

-Cami

[generic-whumperz]

7, 11, 18 for the ask game!

7. What are the traits of your ideal whumper?

Oh man, this is a hard one because I think it also depends on the type of Whumpee they’re paired with or the kind of whump happening. Overall, I like a deranged yet methodical Whumper who doesn’t look like someone who would commit the atrocities they have. Someone who is always five steps ahead and the master puppeteer of every situation they’re in. But someone who also kinda chaotic evil and relentless as hell to get what they want.

11. How and when did you discover the whump community? 

I think I first discovered the term “whump” last (2023) May/June? Wow, it’s almost been a year! I saw it tagged under a Hannibal gif post on here. I remember looking at the word and being like “wtf is that?” So I clicked on the tag and just like that my world was immediately flipped upside down! I was drawn in instantly. But I didn’t make this blog until about August of last year.

18. What whump content are you currently craving?

I love and crave cult/religious whump—as a former culty it simply hits different for me. I fucking LOVE apocalypse whump and paranormal/cryptid whump. Basically, the thing I’m writing right now is the biggest niche, self-indulgence of all time lol. I also love space and pirate whump and would love to find more stories with these settings! I am also itching for some more lady whump/lady whumpers! I love a woman who can beat my ass to a pulp!

P.S. To anyone who sees this, feel free to send me recs!

[whatdoyoumeanitsnotcanon]

if the primarchs and Big E where youtubers/influencer/tiktokers what kind of content would they post and who would be the most popular?

I think they'd all be popular in their respective areas.

Big Daddy E would own the media sites so he'd have no need to be an influencer.

Lion has a very, very small internet presence out of choice. Does enjoy Corvus's channel because it's calming and puts him to sleep.

Horus does something. And the content is engaging. Too bad he's shadowbanned so you don't know what it is. After complaining to the VP about it (Malcador), he was locked out of his channel for about a week.

Fulgrim and Sanguinius are beauty gurus (Fulgrim practically forced Sanguinius to do this) but for some odd reason (it's odd to him) his stuff is always age-restricted. WTF?! Fulgrim is always having some kind of bitch fit while doing makeup and is busy ranting to the camera and Sanguinus is just... staring at him. They are popular because their audience is thirsty but there's a small population that likes to fuck with Fulgrim to see him flip his shit in his videos.

Guilliman is the 40k version of David Ramsey except you can see the light go out in his eyes with every caller talking about the financial mistakes they've made. May or may not start nursing a glass of wine with every video. Becomes surprisingly famous as a reaction meme. Is even more dismayed at that. Leman called in once while he was drunk.

Corvus... has an ASMR channel where he narrates horror stories. Konrad's always trolling his videos by reporting them. He has no internet presence regardless because he's banned from everything lmao.

Magnus is popular in the New Age community despite this... not being his intention. Has been featured on Fulgrim and Sanguinius's channel as an unwilling model which helped boost said popularity.

Leman Russ and Angron are gamers who are also popular because folks like to see Angron rage quit and Leman laugh his ass off. Angron is also afraid of horror games so Leman got his ass a couple times.

Vulkan has a nice welding and DIY channel and he's incredibly popular in those circles.

Perty and Dorn were forced to do a podcast together and NO ONE expected it to take off as it did. It was supposed to be an architecture podcast but it turned into a social commentary podcast without the social commentary really and all Perturabo does is bitch and moan about Dorn while Dorn just shuts him down in a deadpan voice. Folks love the chaos and think they play it up for clicks and views but no, they're really like this. lmao.

Lorgar has made his niche in history and breaks down religious texts. He, too, is shadowbanned because he's Lorgar. lol

Jaghatai Khan has amassed a following because he collects bikes and posts about them.

Alpharius and Omegon are professional trolls who... troll their brothers, mainly Guilliman and Fulgrim so they can see him bitch and moan. They're the ones who will photoshop and fuck Fulgrim's pictures up so he can rant yet again. Ferrus Manus shakes his head because everyone BUT Fulgrim knows it's Alpharius and Omegon who are doing it.

Speaking of Ferrus, he doesn't really have an internet presence but he usually oversees the production of Fulgrim and Sanguinius' channel and Perty and Dorn's podcast.

Mortarion secretly runs a burn book account where folks talk shit and be petty, especially about his brothers.

[blazewatergem]

Hey y’all know how I said a day or two ago(haha what’s time?) how I needed to remind myself I have too many WIPs? Because I was trying to be a reasonable human being? And act like I’d be responsible rather than a feral WIP hoarder?

Yeah toss that rightttt out of a five story window. Through mixed waves of nostalgia, excitement, and the fact that I’ve become a far better fanfic writer compared to my FF.net days(shudders) I’m thinking of returning to a fandom. Which, I think might have been my first ever fandom? The first one I ever actively tried to make stuff for.

The stuff wasn’t awesome lmao I can look back and laugh at it but damn old me wtf were you ON—

Point is, I’m thinking of dragging up and redoing some of my old old old stories. Which, makes me really excited. It’d be awesome to give something I really love a new coat of paint, y’know? I also know though that - or I think at least - not a ton of my mutuals are involved in this fandom. Wouldn’t blame you, it’s a long-lived one that’s already been through one reboot(which I admit, I side eye it. Just a bit.)

That being said, I’m gonna talk more about my plans for the stories under here so I don’t spam my mutuals/friends with a fandom they aren’t in. If you wanna check em out, you know where to click, and know I’m grateful for whoever wants to listen to a rabid lil writer like me 💜

Love y’all

SO LEGO NINJAGO RIGHT ->

Holy SHIT I loved that series. I still love that series. Honestly though I loved the first season of it, with the Serpentine tribes, more than the other seasons but even the other seasons were fuckin’ GREAT.

I always wanted to add a little more mystic-ness to the story though. Like, looking through my old stuff, I definitely had great ideas and never pulled them off.

That stops today. I’ve grown as a writer! I know proper grammar now! I know how to make awesome plot lines and cool OCs! I GOT THIS!!

One of the stories was a Ninjago-Maximum Ride crossover, which I think I’m gonna revamp entirely. Toss out the old and put in the new with a addition of witchcraft, worldbuilding, and me finally screaming about how in canon the Serpentine were heavily fucked over time and time again. For real, someone give me permission to go off. I’ll holler like a dog.

Second story was introducing a group of humanized Phoenixes and not much else lmao. Never got as far as the first chapter of Nya joining the group, would need also to be restarted because of the simple fact that it never grew past that point.

The third story which was involving a group of serial killers(made after my journey through Creepypasta woods) and the fourth which had dragons from a different universe(which were the girls from House of Anubis, stolen lol) will both just…be put away for good. I’m not sure I wanna doing these back, both for now or forever. I’m glad for them, but perhaps those sleeping dogs can simply rest.

Also I’m gonna outright bitch now because I was wrong I can’t hold it in I don’t need permission. What the hell. What the hell was that thing they did in the first season. The Serpentine were literally locked up alive underground, no way of escape. Pythor had to cannibalize his own people. He became the last of his kind. Isn’t that genocide? That was a whole tribe except for one dude wiped out that is fucking tragic. He had every right to go nuts I cannot believe that was included in episode FOUR of a CHILDRENS SHOW.

I love this series.

[criptid-specter]

finished Persona 2 Innocent Sin

overall score? 7/10 The story is pretty simple but I think it handles it very well despite kind of falling off near the end, the premise of rumors becoming true and being a double edged sword was pretty fun to watch, my grip with it is that started pretty slow and was hard to get hooked, but after a certain point it picked up and stood solid. Unfortunately I couldn't simply take Hitler being the big bad and climax of the story, I get the whole "this is how stupid rumors can get" but take and important part of endgame can feel very like, I don't know how to express it but more like "are you taking this seriously?". Joker was a missed opportunity, specially when he ended up being the mysterious 5th member of the group, had barely any screentime before disappearing and being remembered suddenly at the last arc. Cast was small and handled pretty well, I ended up loving everyone, they have agency besides orbiting around the MC their own stories outside Tatsuya are pretty cool, despite of wanting more of Ginko outside of her being american looking and her crush on Tatsuya it was handled in a pretty satisfactory way (despite of hating the whole trope of "orbiting around your crush) to the point I was rooting for her. I do feel Eikichi got sidelined but not bad as forgotten Jun lol Maya is totally the highlight, like Mich said in her review, despite of being the adult she clicks easily with everyone and does not fall on the "become the thinking braincell" trope, she can take responsibility as an adult yet she has fun, lets the silly take over her and does not let the adulting get consuming. Yukki was another fun adult to be around, despite of being the thinking one and despite of being an outsider, she still partook on the groups shenanigans and fit perfectly. Like Maya too showed that adults can still dream and fight for them (despite of being, honestly young).

Philemon and Nyarly being the same was something I did not expect but it was a pleasant surprise, and then after an emotional scene suddenly appears and kills Maya.... it felt super wtf, but like yea Nyarly would do that Jun Kurosu, the fandom really gaslit themselves on this guy being PEAK character, felt a fuckton of missed chances, the zodiac cult was too much to chew on but they could've perfectly implement him there, dropping a few clues of his true identity the Leo character being crucial on the whole tragedy yet actually forgotten.

I can't care about someone who had barely any screentime, never drop any hints he liked Tatsuya aside a few missable scenes and you had to look every nook and cranny Gameplay is too convoluted, a little bit of more accessibility could've helped, like highlighting the correct options on demon negotiation and tutorial barely existing and like "here you go, have everything, gl!", I swear if I didn't had a guide I'd have no idea where the fuck I was or do(Aquarius temple aaaaaa)

Its not like the game was hard, but jesus it felt like a drag trying to play it sometimes, specially endgame where it was press autocombat while looking if anyone died, estoma being trash on this game because if I'm taking it, it means I do not want encounters, not taking more time. Attack types too many, fusion spells being trial and error aaaaaaaaaaaaaa

Innocent Sin is an enjoyable game, lots of trial and error like your good old jrpg from early-mid 2000s.

Maya Amano best grill

[creamypudding]

I finished the 2nd edit of the Zakkura omegaverse fic and I... Don't know WTF happened. Well... I do know what happened... I was panting the whole ending, using a very loose idea. It resulted in stuff being written down which I never thought I'd ever write about.

Part of this pantsing process resulted in the last chapter, which was originally 800 words long, blowing out into 10k, which I have split into two chapters now

I need to let this story sit and breathe because... I don't know how I feel about it. I'm proud of myself, but again... Never thought I'd go where it went. I'm thinking of the fandom/my viewership optics. If I have to tag what's in the last chapter I feel like a whole lot of people will just be 'eww, squick' and not click. Like, honestly, I'd be the same, lol!

So... I have two choices before me:

Post the story as is which includes the tags: pregnancy, pregnancy sex, stillbirth

Revert back to the original ending - leaving some new additions in, but glossing over the controversial bits and still ending up at the same place, more or less.

I'm strongly learning towards option 2, with the caveat that I will post the long version of the final chapter as intended to my Tumblr and put a link in the author notes for anyone brave and curious enough to read it.

I won't make a decision on this until I've let this story rest for some time though.

I don't like censoring and hiding my work, but I do want people to read my stories, and if people choose not to click because of content that takes up around 10% of the overall story then that does give me pause for thought.

I just want to share stories about Cloud's holes getting wrecked, dammit!

Look, if anyone has any strong thoughts about this, I do invite you to reply and provide food for thought. Or if anyone is keen to beta read this and provide some kind of constructive criticism then send me a message on discord or Tumblr.

[vitaminwaterreviews]

3776 - Saijiki

Let me tell you the story of how I came across this album.

When I was a kid, my dad had me go to a writing workshop at the library every week. It was there that I learned how much I enjoyed writing. I wrote all sorts of things: stories, scenes, characters, and poetry. I wrote some of my first haiku at that workshop.

In 2020, the world fell apart for a bit, and my life did too. 

In 2021, I was hospitalized for suicidal ideation. In the psych ward, the patients were each given a paper crane. We were also taught how to make them. So, I learned how to fold paper cranes. In keeping with the theme, I figured I’d write some haiku about the psych ward.

A few months after I got out of the psych ward, I spent some time watching anime with a friend of mine. One of the movies that we watched was called The Garden of Words. The characters in the film read tanka. I had never heard of tanka. So I looked into them, and tanka quickly became my favorite form of poetry. In particular, tanka gave me a newfound appreciation for haiku, which I had lost interest in years before.

Another anime movie that we watched during that time was Words Bubble Up Like Soda Pop. This is a movie about haiku. And between these two movies, I suddenly became extremely interested in classical Japanese poetry.

At some point around that time, I became interested in kpop music. This led me to Le Sserafim, which led me to Miyawaki Sakura, which led me to IZ*One, which led me to AKB48.

At some point, Netflix restricted how accounts could be shared. This meant that I could no longer watch Words Bubble Up Like Soda Pop.

Last winter, I totalled my car. Because I couldn’t go anywhere to do anything anymore, I began reviewing albums on a tumblr page.

This weekend, I’m cat sitting at my mother’s house. My mother has access to Netflix. So, I opened Netflix to see what I could watch that I didn’t normally have access to. I ended up watching Words Bubble Up Like Soda Pop, which I hadn’t seen in years.

The main character, Cherry, mentioned something called a “Saijiki.” So, as someone very interested in classical Japanese poetry, I looked up “Saijiki.” This brought me to the Wikipedia page for Saijiki. At the top of the page, it said “For music album, see Saijiki (3776 album)”. So I hovered over the link to the album, and it mentioned that it was by a Japanese idol unit. As someone now interested in idol culture, I clicked the link. I found out that 3776 was inspired by AKB48. And, since I had a reason to listen to and review albums, I listened to and reviewed the album.

8.7

- January

Kpop has nothing on this

Haha okay, here’s the beat

Sorry I didn’t type at all for like the first third of that, too busy listening

This is So good

Me singing ode to joy along with them

9/10, only because I expect I’ll need to leave room to go higher

February

Woah okay, now we’re all loud and stuff

Actually, for some reason I’m reminded of In Love With A Ghost

I think it’s the synths being used

This album treats vocals like they’re a joke haha

8/10

March

This feels like a continuation of February

I wonder if they blend together like that?

I’m listening to them in a playlist so I can’t tell

I love the guitar in this section. It definitely feels more like spring

Also, birds? I think I hear birds

The guitar scratches sound like birds too

9/10

April

Electric guitar

Sakura sakura

The drums, the synth, mmm

9/10

May

I love the flute oh my god

Lol wtf is this bass doing

Oh hey the flute is back

I think this is a different flute

9/10

June

The guitars and the bass are So nice

The vocals … I think I enjoy less

The whistling is so good though

Haha and here’s the electric guitar

7/10, I’m starting to become disillusioned, give me something Good

July

This does actually feel kind of like July to me

And now we’re all Hype

And here’s the electric guitar, except it’s different again

I do like this one a lot actually

9/10

August

(I’m reading comments on the video instead of typing)

Oh no, I’m starting to get worried by the piano, it’s all gonna get Sad now bc summer is Over

9/10

September

Yep, this sure does feel like september

Actually I’m getting more November out of it almost

I guess the drums aren’t very November

Does this feel like back to school though? I can’t tell

8/10

October

This does not totally feel like October to me

I guess I could see how it is though

8/10

November

Lol wait what is this, dance pop?

I should also mention that the vocals in this remind me so much of that one Vi Hart video with the musical line doodle things, I forget what it’s titled

Yeahhh the bass drum though

9/10, the pew pews are so funny

December

December ain't never this hype, no way

Maybe in Japan December is this hype

Well now she’s singing about christmas and there are also jingle bells so I mean

(This got me dancing)

10/10

[angst-is-yumyum]

I’m crying and sobbing wtf

FUCK YOU CloseToSomethingReal on ao3, it’s the second fucking chapter and I’ve been sobbing into my pillow for like 30 minutes wtfff what are these emotionsssss help meee

omfg I just got the worst emotional turmoil I’ve ever been through on ao3 and I have commonly read DDDNE for years

what kind of being ARE you

jfc imma take a breather

it is too early in the night for this shit

——————————————————————————————————

hey bingbong what’s up editing time uh so I forgot to put the fic here so if anyone wants some heavy brodinson angst related to infinity war, try this fic out. click this cool link lol

The creator actually has very good writing styles and story structure, give it a read 👍

[drwcn]

Hello! Quick question: JC-antis will prove their (insane) arguments about him by citing how the "real" JC is described in MXTX's text. I know a lot of the story revolves around the danger of rumor and hearsay, but in my English translation, the story seems to be written in 3rd person omniscient, which unfortunately seems to give their argument some weight. Could you lend me some insight regarding the original Chinese or any cultural elements that might help me defend my Fave? Thanks! <3

i mean Jiang Cheng is very much a little shit face, but is he a bad person? Hmmm no.

as far as i'm concerned, antis can say whatever they want and i just...block ppl LOL

it's hard to give really concrete evidence without digging up the real text and MDZS is....VERY LONG. And i just can't...be...bothered.

But I will say one thing about Chinese as a language. Sometimes I found that translation often made what is just "casual speech" very abrasive and aggressive and rude sounding in English.

Even just the most basic example from the show: when that dude from episode 2 fainted in the Fairy Temple, Sizhui is translated to say: hey what's wrong with you? Or something to that effect. (the only reason i can pull this up as an example is bc i recently started watching it again with a new friend who i've infected. i'm like patient 0 in this untamed epidemic that's going around in my friend circles).

Which honestly, if a person fell down in front of you and your automatic response is what's wrong with you? People would be like wtf, why are you so rude? But in Chinese, it's....not a rude thing to say. In fact that is exactly what Sizhui says: what's wrong with you/what's going on with you?

And this is Sizhui we're talking about. Like the Angelic Boy of the mdzs universe no matter which iteration.

So naturally you can see how that plus a shitty temper would make Jiang Cheng seem like an irredemable asshole.

Not to mention all the misreading into the cultural dynamic, trope dynamic that people seem to be doing left right and center. Completely heedless of the myriad of people telling them bruv, you're reading the book wrong please calm down.

It's like whenever i read a good fanfic and i see the words "Madam Yu abused Wei Wuxian" - I click (x), right away. I'm too old and too tired to deal with this kind of shit in my life.

Also the absolute projection I see in some people's analysis/fic/headcanon. Bruh....

But who am I to tell people how to live their lives? If they get more out of mdzs/cql than is intended by the author or production team, well that's none of my business. I can have selective blindness.

and do i feel show jc is a bit watered down than book jc? hmmm yeah, to an extent. but also i feel that's the thing with books right? when i read it i imagine one thing, but when i see it as a visual in the show, that's both the director's interpretation of the character as well as the actor's interpretation of the character. and i decided that it's canon enough that it's not ooc, and i actually like the show's interpretation so that's what i'm gonna stick with.

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 301: All My Todorokis

Previously on BnHA: We learned that when a bunch of superpowered villains are suddenly set loose with nobody around to stop them, things get fucked pretty quickly. Old Man Samurai and a bunch of other useless people decided to make “I pretend I do not see it” their new mantra, and resigned. Endeavor had a moment of despair on account of being crushed by the guilt of having ruined the lives of himself, his family, and basically everyone else in the entire world. For various reasons the heretical notion of “person who has done bad things feels sorry for doing them” sent fandom spiraling into a meltdown, so that was fun. The chapter ended with the entire Todoroki clan descending upon Enji’s hospital room to have a dramatic chat about Touya and All That General Fuckery.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi is all “here’s the story of how Baby Touya slowly went insane trying to win his father’s love.” It’s a tale full of subverted expectations and heartbreaking inevitability, and also like twenty panels of the cutest fucking kids who ever existed on planet earth, who are so fucking cute that I can’t stop thinking about their cuteness even with all of the horrifying family tragedy unfolding around them. It is absolutely ridiculous how cute they are. Touya is out here pushing his tiny body past its limits because he inherited the same obsession as his dad and neither of them can put it aside even though it’s destroying them, and yet all I can think about is Baby Shouto’s (。･o･｡) face. Anyways what a chapter.

so I have to confess that even though I managed to avoid being caught off-guard by the early leaks, the number of people reblogging my Endeavor posts from earlier this week and using the tag “bnha 301” kind of gave me an inkling that this chapter will include more Tododrama lol. that said, I don’t know anything else about it, so we’re still good spoiler-wise

AHHHHH FLAHSBAKC AHHHH. omg I know I typoed the shit out of that, but I’m just going to leave it lol I think it’s fitting

holy shit holy fuck. so this is Rei and Enji’s first meeting, then??

yepppp, oh shit

so wait, I know this is not even the slightest bit important, but are they meeting at Enji’s home or Rei’s? because I always figured that Enji was the one with the super-Japanese aesthetic, but maybe that was Rei’s side of the family all along

(ETA: from what I found during my very brief google search, omiai meetings are often held at fancy hotels or restaurants, so maybe that’s what this is.)

there’s such a period drama feel to this setting. like it’s so outrageously formal fff how can anyone stand this kind of atmosphere though seriously

OH THANK GOD

I mean they’re still stiff af but at least they’re not rigidly sitting in seiza and staring at each other unblinkingly anymore lol. Enji’s actually got his hands in his pockets now. why is this somehow almost cute

oh damn it’s the flowers

Rei seems so subdued and it’s so hard to get any idea of what she’s actually thinking. I want to see her side of this dammit

but anyway, so at least from Enji’s perspective it seems like even though the marriage was arranged and he picked her because of her quirk, he still loved his wife and wanted to do right by her. the fact that he was watching her and noticed that she liked the flowers, and remembered that detail for all these years -- there’s a reason why Horikoshi’s showing us this. we know what’s going to happen later on; we know how much fear and violence and breaking of trust is coming up ahead, and while it may seem like this scene is serving to soften Enji’s character further -- which to be fair it is -- it also helps drive home the full impact of his abuse. that it’s so terrible not only because of the trauma of the abuse itself, but also because of the way it retroactively destroys all of the good things as well. this could have potentially been such a sweet scene, but it’s inescapably tainted by the knowledge of what’s to come, at least for me. and that’s just brutal

anyways, shit. is the whole chapter going to be like this?? feel free to toss in something I can actually make a joke about sometime, Horikoshi

oop, back to the present

omfg lol

“are you all right” “NO I’M NOT ALL RIGHT WHAT THE FUCK.” “oh, right, because of all the stuff that’s happened with me abusing you and you having a mental breakdown and being hospitalized for ten years and then our son coming back to life and killing thirty people, right, right. I almost forgot.” whoops

omfg you guys I’m loving this new and improved steely-eyed Rei. I’m loving her a lot

and what do you mean “part one” fkjds how long is this going to be. TOO MUCH DRAMA FOR ONE CHAPTER TO HANDLE

oh, hello

yeah I’ll say you did. didn’t seem to bother you much at the time, though

HMMMMMMMMMMMM

Dabi Is A Noumu intensifies even further. anyways though would you fucking look at this boy lounging on this moth-eaten couch doing his best DRAW ME LIKE YOUR FRENCH GIRLS impression wtf

Dabi what if you actually had killed him??? what would you feel?? satisfaction?? regret?? anything at all?? tell me your secrets goddammit

who are you talking to buddy

Fuyumi-chan, Natsu-kun (is it common for brothers to address each other as -kun?? can’t recall seeing that in many other anime, but hey), and “dot dot dot,,,,,, SHOUTO” lol thank you so much for this bountiful heaping of Tododrama Horikoshi we are blessed

AH, WHAT DID I SAY THE OTHER DAY

ULTIMATE MELODRAMATIC THEATER CHILD. “I’M JUST GOING TO LIE ON THIS COUCH SHIRTLESS AND ALONE AND MAKE SPEECHES TO MY FAMILY MEMBERS WHO AREN’T THERE AND SAY THINGS LIKE ‘WATCH ME IN THE PITS OF HELL’ WITH A STRAIGHT FACE BECAUSE NO ONE’S THERE TO JUDGE ME.” WELL JOKE’S ON YOU MISTER CHATTERBOX BECAUSE I AM IN FACT JUDGING THE SHIT OUT OF YOU LOL

(ETA: and on a more serious note, it’s interesting to see that “look at me”/”watch me” theme being used again though, because we see that same sentiment uttered repeatedly by the younger Touya in the flashback. well kid, you definitely got your wish at last. don’t know what else to say.)

OKAY HORIKOSHI HAS DECIDED THAT’S ENOUGH FUN, TIME FOR MORE FLASHBACKS

oh my sweet precious lord

just as cute as we left him. giving us a child this cute when we all know full well what’s going to happen to him is just unspeakably cruel though

HOMG

I’m fucking speechless. you broke me, congratulations. what am I even supposed to do with this

I can’t get over this. moving forward my life will be split into two distinct parts, B.P. (Before the Pout) and A.P. (After the Pout)

and meanwhile there’s ALL THIS BACKGROUND ANGST BUILDING UP, AND I CAN’T EVEN FOCUS ON IT. Touya’s arm and cheek are covered in bandages (I’m guessing this is shortly after that “ouch!” panel we got some chapters back), and Enji is deliberately avoiding training with him because he doesn’t want him to hurt himself further. I can’t fucking get over the irony that all this time everyone thought Touya had died because Enji pushed him too far in his training, and it turns out that it’s the opposite -- the tragedy ultimately happened because he didn’t want to push him. but I’m jumping ahead of myself though I guess

by the way,

remember this?? just wanted to remind you that it exists just in case you forgot

so now someone is talking and basically saying that Touya is the exact opposite of what Enji was hoping for when he decided to start playing with quirk genetics

-- okay hold up

...lol no, never mind. for a second I thought “holy shit he looks kind of familiar WHAT IF IT’S UJIKO OMG” before I remembered that Enji would have recognized him during the hospital capture mission if that was the case. so NEVER MIND, PROCEED

IMAGINE THAT, ENJI DOESN’T QUITE SEEM SATISFIED WITH THIS SUGGESTION OF QUITTING NOW

(ETA: how the fuck did this man go around saving 62 towns in a single day what even is All Might.)

[clicks tongue several times] trouble a’brewin’

MEANWHILE BABY TOUYA HAS UNFORTUNATELY INHERITED HIS DAD’S STUBBORN STREAK

KLDIHWOEIJFL:KSDJ

!!!!!!!!!!!

oh my god. oh my god. what is this chapter. WHAT IS IT

so now Touya is all “YOU JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND MY MANLY DESIRE TO BURN MYSELF ALIVE” well you got her there champ

THEY’RE TOO CUTE. OH MY GOD. HIS FURIOUS LITTLE TEARS. HER CHUBBY LIL FACE. HIS STUBBY LIL FISTS. SOMEONE HELP ME

also are they just home alone lol or what. “hey Touya, you’re what, like six now?? do us a favor and look after your baby sister for a couple hours for us would you? make sure not to set yourself on fire or anything.” WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG!!

now it’s nighttime and Enji and Rei are arguing, presumably about his decision not to train Touya anymore

whew. okay. so, a couple of things here

1. first of all I think this conclusively shows that Enji really was trying to do the best he could for Touya. he stopped training him as soon as he realized it was hurting him, but Touya was still determined so he tried to make it work anyway, and even visited doctors to try and figure out if there was anything they could do. then, once they were absolutely sure that it wasn’t going to work, he tried multiple times to explain to Touya why they had to stop. he didn’t just abandon him out of the blue, which is really important to note. “no matter how much I tried telling him...”

so yeah, that debunks another common fandom accusation. so by the time he finally makes this decision, which we all know is going to turn out horribly, it’s basically because he’s already tried everything else he could think of. which, by the way, still doesn’t mean he handled this right. but at the very least he was taking Touya’s feelings into account and he was trying, and he didn’t just abruptly toss his son aside (at least not yet)

2. buuuut, then there’s this panel right below all that

which is the other side of it. if he’d just quit like the doctor person advised him to, that would have been the end of it. Touya would still have been upset, but he would have eventually gotten over it and the family would have moved on and possibly even been happy. but what happens next happens because Enji can’t let go. he still has this maddening urge to surpass All Might, and so he and Rei keep having more children, and then Shouto is born, and Enji finally has a kid he can start projecting all of his hysterical ambitions onto once again, and everything starts spiraling out of control soon after

though p.s. none of that is Shouto’s fault though!! he’s one of the few good things to come out of this whole mess and I’m very happy that he exists. the tragedy is that his dad fucking lost his mind over his quirk and fucked everything up. but that’s on him, not Touya or Shouto

anyways, SLKFJLSHGLKJL

I CAN’T FUCKING TAKE THIS YOU GUYS??? LOOK AT THAT LIL BUTTON OF A NOSE??? I’M LOSING IT HERE???

AND TOUYA JUST SEEMS DEVASTATED OMG

because children aren’t stupid, after all. he understands that his dad is still looking to surpass All Might. and so he feels like a failure, and feels like his dad is trying to replace him because he wasn’t good enough. and even now, isn’t that what the adult Touya is trying to prove?? that he was good enough after all?? “I’ll show you what happens when you give up on me, dad”?? “I’ll show you what I can do”?? fuck my life fuck everything

AND YOU CAN SEE THE TOLL THAT IT’S ALL TAKING ON REI GETTING WORSE AND WORSE AS WELL OH GOD

really nice touch here with the panel outlines becoming all shimmery from the heat of Endeavor’s flames (and/or becoming more unstable as the family gets closer and closer to their breaking point). but man, Horikoshi I can’t handle this, please show us more cute kids or something I can’t

GKELKWFJLDKSHFLKL

WITTLE BABE. BEEB. BUBS. SMOL. lkj; oh ouch a piece of my heart just detached and latched onto him huh look at that

TODOROKI “I’M SO SMALL AND I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT’S GOING ON AND I DIDN’T ASK TO BE HERE” SHOUTO AHHHHH

crazy how they all just seem to know right off the bat lol. kid doesn’t even have object permanence yet, let alone a quirk. but do they care?? IT’S THE HAIR, RIGHT. WE’RE ALL THINKING IT, I’M JUST GONNA COME OUT AND SAY IT. they knew the minute they looked at him lol

AND MEANWHILE TOUYA IS OFF HAVING UNSUPERVISED TRAINING/CRYING SESSIONS IN THE MOUNTAINS OR WHATEVER, AND, UH OH

are those blue flames yet?? they seem pretty close

(ETA: this is one of the few cases where the manga being in black and white is infuriating lol.)

OH MY GOD AND STILL

so it’s not like he was so disinterested that he didn’t notice what was happening, and he was still trying to stop it and get through to him. trying to reassure him that it wasn’t the end of the world and there were other things he could do with his life, but this one particular thing just wasn’t going to happen

fucking hell. it’s agonizing seeing how close they actually were to fixing it. if he’d only said the right words, or if he’d realized at this point how destructive his obsession could be to his kids, and backed off from putting that same pressure on Shouto. we came so close to possibly having a happy ending

AND ALSO THIS HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH ANYTHING BUT PLEASE LOOK AT HOW TOUYA IS LIKE THREE AND A HALF FEET TALL AND HIS DAD IS LIKE NINE AND A HALF FEET. Touya barely comes past his knees flkjlkg. the Todoroki household must have been so filled with like plastic stepstools to reach the bathroom sink and all the little baby toothbrushes, and baby gates to keep the kiddos out of the important grown-up rooms and stuff. and also days-old half-empty cups of water and stale crackers and hot wheels and my little ponies strewn everywhere

“BUT EVERYONE AT SCHOOL SAYS THEY’RE GONNA BE HEROES” a wild Deku parallel appears?? how bout that

I know this is like a pivotal moment in the Todo Tragedy and all, but fucking look at this lil dumpling

“sup bro, it’s me, the manifestation of your fears of inadequacy and lack of fatherly affections. a GAAA. ba-baAA-baa [gurgling baby sounds]”

OHHHHH IT’S THE SOUND OF MY HEART BREAKING OH NO

HE WANTS TO BE LIKE YOU ENJI. good lord somebody please just get this family some therapy

“DAD YOU IGNITED IT IN ME” flkjslkj nope, nope. not ready for this pain here

baby Shouto, would you like to weigh in on this affair? “DA!! ba-ga-daaa, [pacifier chewing noises]” oh my, you don’t say. so insightful for one so young

OH MY GODDDDDD

IT’S SO DRAMATIC BUT ALL I CAN THINK ABOUT ARE THE SHOUNEN WOOSH LINES SURROUNDING FOUR-MONTH-OLD SHOUTO LOL HE WAS LIKE THIS FROM BIRTH OH MY GOD I AM DYING HELP

SHOUTO YOU’RE RUINING THIS ENTIRE CHAPTER!?!?!

“yo, the fuck kind of family was I fucking born into” oh, son. if you only knew. IF YOU ONLY KNEW!!

(ETA: lmao I got so distracted by the ridiculous cuteness that I glossed over the fact that Baby Touya seems to possibly be aiming at him?? it’s hard to tell because he’s also super out of it from heatstroke and may just be losing control in his attempt to show off his upgrade.)

ANYWAY THAT’S THE END EXCEPT WHAT’S THIS LAST LINE OMG

ffffff. and we’re in for ANOTHER chapter of this next week?? MORE drama?? MORE BABIES?? MORE OF EIGHT-YEAR-OLD TOUYA’S SLOW DESCENT INTO MADNESS. MY HEART CAN’T TAKE IT, BUT ALSO YES PLEASE SIGN ME UP

[sinnersandsaints-linwrites]

OMG I finally read the demo and I just…woah. It’s so well-written and engaging, literally had me wishing that every time I clicked next, it would continue. The characters we were introduced to already feel fleshed out, and I love them all (even Hayes…well okay maybe I don’t love Hayes, but I kinda feel for the guy…even if he is a jerk). It’s left me excited to meet the other characters and delve deeper into the story!

Further thoughts: I loved that we could pick the heart option without it triggering romantic feelings because, while Roan isn’t my first play through, my mc still loves them platonically and it was refreshing to be able to express that (can’t wait to meet them properly). Quinn is an actual sweetheart and I would give my life to protect them (I just wanna give them a hug). Khari was kind of a grumpy bastard, but those tiny little moments where their softer side showed through (both with mc and Morgan) made me v soft. Morgan was one of my favs, they made me feel sad and had me wheezing (when mc told them they named their car buttercup and Morgan just broke a little asjkdfjh). I can already see how great the poly will be. And last, but most certainly not least, our favourite arsonist who clearly does not know hand-shaking etiquette…I’m so curious to learn more about them (and to know why they’re interested by the mc).

I played my mc as kind because I was highly amused by everyone’s wtf reactions to it, but I definitely want to try playing a more chaotic mc as well lol, so I’m off to do that!

Take care of yourself Lin, and congrats on the demo <33 (even if it did bring out the furry in your anons 💀)

ajdhjdjdjd THANK YOUUUU

ohmygod this made me smile so much, I’m so happy you liked the character and interactions and just ajhdjd 🧡

Kind MC just shocks the entire Deadwood and its hilarious to write every time :d

Thank you again, love you!! Take care of yourself too!

[stinkykawas]

devil’s demise.

yandere!bakugo x reader  wattpad link : x archiveofourown link : x this book will contain lots of gory themes and  uncomfortable topics. if you are easily triggered by death, violence, self-harm, kidnapping, rape, and etc, please do not read. ————————————————————— you were sitting at lunch, enjoying the freshly packed lunch that contained [favorite food], [vegetable/snack], and [drink]. letting the cold air breeze through your white uniform shirt, you sighed and thought about your day. how dare this bastard talk to you again? he said he’d give you time to accept and think over his apology, but did he really mean it? what would he do if you accepted and forgave him? these thoughts clouded your mind, your now spilled drink going unnoticed till a few minutes later.  “shit,” you muttered. “i have to go inside to get a paper towel now.” sighing at your idiotic self, you got up, dusting the dirt from the rooftop off of your [pants/skirt], and headed inside with your lunchbox in hand just incase a thief decided to come along. scanning over the lunchroom, the place was packed with kids. people in large crowds or small ones gathered all around the room, filled with the stench of must, heat, and food. you scowled, your nose flaring up from it. ‘i’ll grab what i need and leave quickly,’ you hoped, not wanting to be in there for long. some of the tables you walked by, immediately gave you an idea of what their purpose was. the football team, basketball team, volleyball team, and soccer team sat on one side of the room at multiple tables all together. friends and other people hanging out at other brown, basic tables, you scanned over all of them until your eyes caught the attention of something. well, someone. bakugo sat at a table, his fake expression of annoyance plastered on his features. sat next to him were some males, and the rest were females who were under his “charming” spell, drooling and fighting with each other over the boy as if it was a war and bakugo was the last meal. his eyes met yours for a split second, causing you to speed up and head to the paper towel dispenser. not looking back, you pretended you didn’t see anything. bakugo’s pov [pronoun] might’ve thought bakugo didn’t see [pronoun], but he did. standing up, he scowled, looking at kirishima and sero. “i’ll be back, don’t follow me idiots. same goes for ya’ll,” he pointed at the girls. they squealed in response, the hearts in their eyes unmistakably visible. he rolled his eyes mentally. ‘basic. all of them.’ catching up to you rather quickly, he shoved his hands in his pockets. “hey, dum- [name],” he called, the change in his tone going from tough to soft rather quickly. [name] sighed, the nervous expression was painted on their face clearly even though [pronoun] tried to hide it. the blond ignored the look, because frankly, he didn’t give a flying fuck. he then proceeded to smirk at you, a smirk you knew all too well. “do you want me to treat you to dinner today? we can go while it’s bright out, but i don’t have to walk you home or anything. i could even-” he was going to propose something else, but you raised your hand. “bakugo, i don’t trust you. we’re like water and fire; opposite sides of one thing. i’ll have to decline,” [name] spoke, [pronoun]’s voice coming out in a whisper. “at least let me eat lunch with you tomorrow.” he begged, his red entrancing orbs traveling to the floor beside him. you sighed, paper towels clenched inside your hands, and a half-irritated look on your face. “fine. once. that’s it. and don’t forget anything, ‘cuz i’m not buying you shit.” you hissed, turning around. while you were walking off in hurried stomps, bakugo had a sinister grin on his face, his red eyes lighting up like a bomb. [pronoun]’ll be mine soon. these are the baby steps- the trial and error period. you’ll need me eventually, and love me. me only; me alone. nobody will treat you like i do. kirishima came up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. “c’mon dude, lunch is over.” he said, the blonde boy’s head snapping towards the red-head’s. “eh? yeah. let’s go,” he said, his eyes traveled to sero, who was waving at the both of them to hurry it up. timeskip ; afterschool you walked home, sighing with your bag slung over your shoulder and your phone in your hand. swiping it open after entering the passcode, you went to open discord, seeing notifications and the dms you had gotten from your online friends. you had told them all about bakugo, since the time you were being bullied, you found that people on the internet, or at least some, were kind-hearted and always willing to help. clicking on your main groupchat, you typed in a message. levi saying pp [username] : i’m home bitches catboychrollo : HEYYY xiorra . : hey lol fagmentality : WASSUH [username] : bakugo asked me to lunch, wtf do i do catboychrollo : say yes, and then eat his food xiorra . : say no. fagmentality : say yes and then get the bank and the clout [username] : already said fine EL OH EL!!! :lizarddancing: [username] was removed from the groupchat. closing your phone, you laughed and rolled your eyes. ‘they’ll add me back later,’ you thought, pushing forward to get to your house. it wasn’t rich, but wasn’t poor either. a small 2 story house sat on the empty streets, cars passing by occasionally as you shuffled and pulled out your keys from your jacket pocket. but little did you know, someone was watching you. but who else could that be than the bakugo katsuki? trailing behind you from the bushes, he masked his presence and made little to no noise unless a car drove by. his eyes followed you intensively, as he wanted to make sure you got home safely. scratch that, you needed to get home safely. you needed him to watch over you for these types of things, so you wouldn’t get kidnapped or get hurt. his love couldn’t get hurt. he wouldn’t allow it. plus, his day was already shit. it was fine of him to do this for his own comfort, right? right? he had to go home to see the agonizing faces of his parents. going there was like stepping into an ice chamber; cold, painful, the air tense. he hated it. he hated them. they could never comfort him like you do. which is why he took comfort in you. you’d be the one to help him, for sure. and it all started with lunch tomorrow.

[vixenofthemist]

SoulSilverShipping x Genshin Impact bc I missed drawing them and Genshin is my new fixation lol

Some brain dumping under the cut about like their weapons and constellations!!

[click for better quality]

I really debated over whether legendaries should dictate visions or starter/main pkmn should, and I’ve decided it’s up to the rule of cool lol. It’s a character by character basis xD

Originally Lyra had an Anemo vision and Silver had Pyro given by Lugia and Ho-oh, but I felt like with these two especially having their visions based off their starter Pokemon made the most sense? Since this game era focuses on having that strong relationship with your poke’s and Silver’s whole character arc is him coming to love his pkmn it seemed more right so I switched it last minute to be Pyro!Lyra and Hydro!Silver.

(Like I said above tho this au goes off the rule of cool so I’m thinking Dawn might have Cryo even tho no legendaries or starters would give her that but that’s beside the point rn ajdk)

ANYWAY some basic mechanics stuff for these two that is really basic bc I don’t think too much about game mechanics bc I mainly go off fav characters in Genshin rather then abilities aglhhs

Lyra

First of all: Lyra was made to be Genshin-ified. Like she’s already pretty close to Amber clothes wise so it was just really fun to play around and give her that Genshin feel!! She could absolutely be given more small details like Genshin loves to do but,,, small details are my weakness amdjsj

Weapon: Sword or Catalyst, tho I’m leaning sword bc she gives me Bennett energy play style wise!!

Constellation: Cyndaquill

Play style: I’m thinking, again, Lyra is versatile like Bennett where she can be built for either support or DPS, but her skills lean more DPS the more constellations you unlock to kind of emulate her becoming champion. Jokingly rn her Q is to hit a pokeball esq pyro sphere with her sword like a baseball bat to cause AoE pyro damage, but that may or may not stay LMAO

fun fact: her gloves are based off her Pokegear :>

Silver

Im not gonna lie. Silver was a pain.

and tbh I will probably change his design every time I draw it bc I am just. Not happy with it but also I have no idea what else to do ASJS his outfit is just so plain?? Like, wtf am I supposed to do with baggy pants and a jacket all the same color?? Lmao long story short I had the exact opposite experiencing designing silver then I did with Lyra lmao. Very in character xD

Weapon: Claymore, bc I feel like Silver wants to be a DPS Diluc so bad bc that’s like, the most powerful in his mind so ofc he’s gonna use a claymore to deal the most damage.

Constellation: Totodile

Play style: one things for sure: Silver is not Diluc, and at C0 he isn’t a good DPS at all and would actually be a good support or buff unit but he refuses to be bc that’s "weak" and he doesn’t travel with anyone so those abilities would be useless anyway lol. But as his constellation unlocks he DOES get better at DPS and his Q deals a lot of damage (bc it’s totodile line it’s gonna pack a punch) BUT it’s reliant on him buffing others with his E. I have no idea if that would actually work in game but story wise I like it a lot akdj

Fun fact: Earring :3

[zmediaoutlet]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey—ready to go?" Sabrina says.

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

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

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

*

December 4

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

current mood: agonized current music: motorhead (AGAIN)

Comments:

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

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

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

 December 1

He's driving me INSANE

current mood: annoyed current music: motorhead (again)

Comments:

bloodofreptile: lol you got it bad

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

teenagehamburger: LOL!! Sorry :(  :(

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

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

                     coppertonebuttgirl: oh, sorry hammie, that sucks <3

 November 29

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

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

Comments:

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

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

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

               rearviewmirror: Feels like it.

teenagehamburger: Is You Know Who going to college too?

 November 18

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

current mood: indescribable current music: silence

Comments:

coppertonebuttgirl: feel free to talk to me anytime <3

 November 3

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

current mood: current music:

Comments:

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

     bloodofreptile: lol relax it's not a big deal

           teenagehamburger: I'm just saying!!

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

bloodofreptile: dude you've got to say something

     rearviewmirror: I literally can't.

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

do you even know if he's gay?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence.

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

"Doesn't matter," is the response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sam drags in air. Sounds like it hurts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

Sam leaves.

*

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

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

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

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

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

January 23

Done with class for the week. Feeling restless.

current mood: current music:

Comments:

lawblog69: we should go out!!

bloodofreptile: go get laid

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

bloodofreptile: go get laid

    rearviewmirror: Not really in the cards.

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

He refreshes.

bloodofreptile: go get laid

    rearviewmirror: Not really in the cards.

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

              rearviewmirror: my whole life

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

rearviewmirror: Tell me if it's you.

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

He texts: It's me.

The response, after seconds: Where are you?

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

I don't have class tomorrow.

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

I don't want to move on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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