#should we all explode. i think we should all explode

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Just Giving In

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, truth curses (with a silly twist!), light fluff, angst, smut (fingering, p in v sex, creampie, light sub/dom but like so light), love confessions, no use of y/n

Summary/Warnings: You're under a very annoying truth curse. The kind of truth curse that will kill you if one very specific, Dean-related truth isn't told. But apparently no one's allowed to just die in peace anymore.

Author's Note: It's amazing how I'm able to delude myself into truly believing that I'll actually write something short and only horny. No. We must write 3k of story and 5k of emotional smut. Enjoy!

Title from Never Let Me Go by Florence + the Machine

Word Count: 8.6k

It’s past midnight when you get back to the bunker. 

You were supposed to be back that afternoon, but certain complications arose, and you’re back now. You’ll have a long, sleepless night to come up with an excuse for why exactly you were five hours late, didn’t text Sam and Dean that you were going to be five hours late, where exactly you were in the first place, and why the car looks like that. Scraped and dented and wrecked, like it had been put through a meat grinder and spat out in a hunk of metal that somehow didn’t explode when you drove it. 

You’re glad you didn’t take the Impala. If Dean yelled at you right now, you might start crying on the spot. Thankfully—in what should be a rare stroke of luck, but feels like a dagger right into your stomach—Sam and Dean seem to have given up on trying to wait for you to come home, so you’re free to retreat to your room and cry in private, like any reasonable adult who’s probably going to die within the week would-

“You’re back.” 

A light behind you flicks on as Dean snaps from across the room, and you grimace as everything inverts. Dean did wait up for you, and that’s tiny and electric high that goes right up your spine. You’re also not lucky, but that just feels like a given at this point. 

You will not cry in front of Dean. You have spent the whole night repeating to yourself that, no matter what happens here, you will not cry in front of Dean. He either think nothing of this week, and it will fade into the distance as you figure this out yourself and he never knows, or he’ll look back on it with nothing but simple grief and anger, remember you fondly and furiously instead of as a weak, emotional, manipulative bitch. Remembers you as the person you’ve spent so long proving yourself to be, instead of the feral girl they’d found you as. 

It doesn’t make turning around to face him any easier. He’s sitting in his usual chair, glaring at you with his arms crossed, and there are bags under his eyes that you put there. A tight line to his lips that’s your responsibility, because you’d fucked up and he knows it. He always knows it. 

Because you fuck up a lot.

“Hey, Dean, what’s up-“

“What’s up?” He snaps, and you have to force your body not to flinch. “You’re crawling back here at one in the goddamn morning without ever, I don’t know, thinking to fucking call when you realized you’d be late, and you’re saying what’s up?”

You swallow. “I lost my phone.”

“You, fuck-“ Dean rubs his jaw with a hand, giving you a look of pure disbelief. “You could’ve borrow someone’s, or prayed to Cas, or just, goddamnit-“ he mutters your name, looking at you with an exhaustion that makes your gut flail. “Where the hell even were you?”

“Um,” you glance down at your hands. “Hunt?”

“Hunt.” His voice is flat, and you wince. “That’s all you’re going to say.”

You nod. “Rowena called me. Needed help with something.”

“And you just fucking went with her, without telling anyone-“

“I didn’t just go with her, I brought a gun. I was careful.” you try to stand a little taller, looking back up to Dean, because you need to sell your half-truth of a story and get out of here. Out of where Dean’s just right there, and it’s making your skin crawl and your blood cold and your eyes push out of your skull the longer you lie to him. “And I did tell Cas-“

“Son of a bitch, that’s not enough.” Dean groans, pushing out of the chair to glower down at you. It’s an intimidation tactic you’ve seen him use before, where he makes himself large and furious, almost beast like. Sometimes it makes him look bigger than Sam, and he only pulls it out when he’s furious, and demanding answers. You don’t think he knows that, when he uses it on you, it does not have the intended effect.  

“Dean-“

“Cas didn’t tell us.” Dean hisses your name, stalking across the room and getting far too close for your brain to function properly. “You need to tell us, because we were, I was-“ Dean cuts himself off with a grunt, his whole body rigid as he scans over your face. 

“I’m sorry.” You mumble, and it’s the truth, so it’s like clear, fresh water over your head and down your throat. “I didn’t mean to freak you guys out. I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal.”

“You didn’t-” Dean’s jaw is clenched, and his words seem pushed through his teeth. “Just go to bed,” he mutters your name, and you feel something in your chest snap. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

You nod weakly, and almost run away from him. But not to bed. You’ve already blown this up way too much to just go to bed. 

You go right to Sam’s room and bang on the door, keeping a careful eye over your shoulder for Dean to walk into the hall.

It takes a very long, tense minute, but eventually you hear a groan from the other side of the door, tired words muffled through the wood.

“Dean, she’ll be back, and you’re not helping anything-“ The door swings open to reveal a messy haired, bleary-eyed Sam, and he blinks at you with a frown. “Oh, you’re back. You should go tell Dean-“

“He knows.”

“Cool, that’s good.” Sam scans over you—bouncing slightly on your feet, every movement and breath feeling frantic and borrowed—and frowns. “Are you okay?”

“No.”

“Oh, uh, you need to talk about it-“

You don’t bother to answer, pushing past Sam into his room and dropping on the end of his mattress, watching him blink at you, his frown deepening every second.

“Yeah, you can come in-“

“Can you please close the door?” You whisper, like Dean might somehow hear from wherever he’d gone after your fight. 

Sam nods slowly, and the movement you hear the click of the doorknob, the words start to fall out of you like vomit. 

“I fucked up, Sam. I really, really fucked up, it’s bad, I’m fucking fucked-“

“Woah, slow down.” Sam moves across the room, running a hand through his hair. “Just, start from the top. Where were you-“

“Rowena called me for help. Some sort of coven drama, she said she needed some backup because her magic was weakened.” You take a long, shaky breath, unable to look anywhere but the corner of Sam’s carpet. “I told Cas, just in case it was a trap, and left. I owed her a favor-“

“Wait, since when did you owe Rowena a favor-“

“Mark of Cain.” You mumble. “I told her I’d owe her if she helped Dean. One favor, cashable on anything.”

Sam says your name slowly. “You didn’t need to do that, we would have figured it out. I mean, Dean wouldn’t want you to-“

“I know, I don’t need you to-“ You sigh, squeezing your eyes shut. “Can we focus on one stupid choice at a time, please?”

“Yeah, sorry, keep going. Why are you fucked.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, and decide to skip most of the details. Sam did not need to know about how the case was indeed at trap, or how you’d known it was a trap, but the favor had been a blood oath, so you weren’t able to run or call them. He didn’t need to know how you’d mowed down about five witches with the car—the sickening crunch still rattling around your skull—or how it wasn’t just blood and sweat on your brow, but something from an animal you’d really hoped you’d mistranslated from Latin. 

He just needs to know the reason you hadn’t killed Rowena when you’d escaped and taken out the rest of the coven. 

He just needs to know about the problem.

“It went to shit. Really big shit, Sam. I’m kind of… cursed.”

There’s a long moment of silence, and when you finally gather the confidence to look at Sam, he’s gaping at you, frozen in place.

“What do you mean,” his voice is low, every word slow and deliberate. “Kind of cursed.”

“I mean very cursed.” You mumble. “Really fucking cursed.”

“Shit.” He mutters, shaking his head. “I said you were probably fine, Dean’s gonna kill me-“

“No!” You stand up frantically, your voice almost a squeak. “Don’t tell Dean!”

“Why the hell wouldn’t I tell Dean?!” Sam snaps, looking at you like you’ve gone insane. “If you’re really cursed, we need all hands, and Dean-“

“He can’t know, Sam, please.” You might start crying, every word choked in your throat. “Don’t tell him.”

“I…” Sam trials off, his face dropping into a deep frown that seems to be mostly made of worry as he says your name. “What, exactly, is the curse?”

You sigh, hugging yourself as you speak. “If I don’t resolve my deepest secret, I’ll die.”

Sam blinks. “Like, die die? Death die?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” His eyes widen as the situation fully sinks in, his whole body going slack as he pulls the pieces together. “Fuck.”

You hum a soft agreement. “Fuck.”

“And why can’t I tell Dean? I mean, he’ll want to help-“

“You know why.” You whisper. “Please don’t make me say it.”

“Fuck.” Sam groans. “And you’d rather die than-“

“Yes.” You lower yourself down to the floor, hugging your knees to your chest as you stare ahead at nothing. “I’m sorry, Sam, I just. I can’t. I don’t-“ You taste the sting of metal as you bite through your cheek. “I don’t know what to do. I’m going to d-“ You cut yourself off with a choked sound, and hear the bed shift as Sam drops at your side and pulls you into a gentle hug.

“We’ll figure it out.” He mutters your name, and you make another weak, strangled noise. “I promise. You’re going to be okay.”

Over your first, weak sob, you don’t hear the door open. You only know it opens because Dean clears his throat, and your blood turns white-hot in your body, caught between embarrassment and nerves and a deep, soft and starved piece of your heart that’s trying to climb into your limbs and rip your body away from Sam’s to fly to Dean��s.

“Sammy, she-“ He cuts himself off as he sees you, and you die a little at how he says your name. Like he hates it. “You’re in here.”

You nod, keeping your face angled down, and you hear Dean shift slightly in the doorway. 

“Why are you in Sam’s room.”

There’s no good answer for that, and Sam doesn’t seem to have one either. There’s no plausible lie for why you’re on the floor on Sam’s room, why you’re sniffling, and why he’s hugging you that doesn’t sound insane. Even the truth wouldn’t exactly be an easy sell.

And it hurts. When Dean just sighs and grunts that he doesn’t want to know—that you and Sam can go back to fucking braiding each other’s hair or whatever—and stomps out of the room, it’s like a knife to your gut. But you can’t tell him. Not the truth. Not any of it.

So this will only be the first knife. And you’d worry about what you would be telling him when this was over—how you could possibly explain yourself—if you had any faith you were going to get out of this. 

But you don’t. The week crawls on, and it all only gets so much worse. Vague illness starts to feel like you’re being mauled from inside, and Dean’s anger turns to bullets.

You spend most of your days in the library with Sam, combing through book after book, looking for anything about how you can fix this, and every time Dean walks in, he looks like he wants to punch someone. Like he’s disgusted by your very presence where he can see you, like you’re a spider that’s crawled into his house and he can’t even stand the sight of you. 

“I’m getting dinner.” He snaps on the third night, and when you look up from your book—Sam standing behind you, having hunched over your body to read the passage you’d been pointing to—Dean’s jaw is clenched, his fists curled at his side. “Neither of you got groceries, so I’m ordering. What do you want.”

His voice is flat. It makes your chest feel like it’s being run over by a train.

“I’ll take whatever you get.” You offer him a small smile, because you can’t help yourself, and it just makes him glare more. “But can I please have a milkshake as well?”

Dean narrows his eyes at you. “You don’t know where the hell I’m going.”

“You’re going to the diner, Dean.” You shrug. “You always go to the diner.”

He grunts, something hot flashing over his face that you don’t understand. “Fine. Milkshake.”

He doesn’t bother to ask any follow-up questions. He doesn’t bother to wait for Sam to say what he wants. Dean just marches up to the garage, vanishes for an hour—the diner is ten minutes away, and you start to feel your stomach and heart twist the longer he’s gone—and returns with a slam of the door, throwing a salad at Sam and placing a burger and milkshake in front of you before stomping out of the library.

Dean got your favorite flavor. You hadn’t told him to, but he had.

It tastes like chalk. And you’ve never hated yourself more.

After that, he barely speaks to you. Just low grunts and glowers at you whenever you cross paths, his presence in the bunked suddenly scares. He’d usually sit with you and Sam while you read, cracking unhelpful jokes that make Sam roll his eyes and you giggle, but he’s just gone. Locked in the Dean Cave or the garage, shuffling around the kitchen with a sullen expression, swallowing his dinner whole and refusing to really even look at you.

It hurts more than any anger could. It’s lonely and cancerous the longer it goes on, because you’re still talking to and hanging out with Sam, but he doesn’t count. Your whole heart isn’t orbiting around Sam. The curse is completely indifferent to Sam. The curse doesn’t care when Sam grumbles or frowns at you. It cares when Dean hates you. You think it can feel that this won’t be resolved—because it won’t be, you grow more and more certain with every passing day that this is how you will die—and takes the opportunity to root deeper into your body. Every sneer or glare Dean gives you sits under your nails to claw at your skin. It covers you in sweat in the dead of night, and chokes you when you’re in the shower and the water’s burning your skin.

Sam keeps trying to convince you to just do it, just say the thing to Dean because the worst that can happen is that you’re heartbroken but alive.

“And I really don’t think it would even come to that.” He tells you from across the table at 2am, because you’re running out of time and sleep isn’t something you can even remember how to do anymore. “I mean, it’s Dean-“

“That’s the problem, Samuel.” You hiss. The curse has started to make you mean, and if you make it out alive, you’ll have to buy Sam a million bottles of hair gel to make up for what you’re putting him through. “It’s Dean. He already doesn’t like me-“

Sam frowns. “Why would you think that-“

“Because I’m a responsibility.” You’re spitting, and it tastes like venom. “I’m your kid shadow, I’m Dean’s kid shadow, I’m a burden-“

“You’re not a burden,” Sam says your name slowly. “To either of us. I mean, if what you said about Rowena is true, you saved Dean from the Mark-“

“That doesn’t count. That was just a deal I made-“

“A deal you made for Dean.” Sam’s pushing back. You wish he’d stop. “Most people in our lives wouldn’t have done that for us. And Dean doesn’t think you’re his kid shadow, by the way. I mean, I’ve only ever-“

“Sam.” Your voice is flat. A little broken. “Please don’t. Even if he doesn’t hate me, I- I just can’t-“

“But Dean-“

“Please.” You’re going to cry again. “You won’t convince me.”

Sam sighs, shaking his head. “Well, we need to try something. I’m not just going to let you die.”

You don’t think that’s up to Sam. You don’t think it’s up to anyone anymore. You won’t tell Dean, because you’ve scanned over book after book about spell phrasing, and decided that telling Dean wouldn’t even help. You had to resolve your deepest secret. Rejection that burns your heart to ash, that clouds your lungs and makes you cower and falter won’t be resolving anything, and then you’ll just die in more pain.

You let Sam convince you to try something. More for him than for you. You lock yourself in the bathroom and stare at your hideous reflection in the mirror—your skin a little sunken, your eyes lined with red, your lips raw from being chewed until they bled—and start speaking a whisper, because you can’t stand the sound of your own voice.

“I love Dean Winchester.” You tell yourself, as if you’re not so deeply aware of how your love is tattooed onto your every breath and heartbeat. “I love him. I am going to die, and I love him, and I am very-“ You choke slightly, your eyes stinging as the world blurs. “I am very, very sorry. Not for loving him, but for forcing him to be loved by me. I’m sorry I don’t know how to stop loving him. I’m sorry I’m leaving him. But I am not sorry for loving him. I… I spent a lifetime surrounded by cruel animals who called themselves angels, and he’s the only person I’ve ever- I could believe- I just-“ You drop your head, turning up the faucet to drown out every weak sob and apology. “I love him. And he… he’s too good be obligated to love me. So I think I’ll just…”

You trail off, and crumble onto the tile floor. When you dry your tears and yank yourself back together, Sam’s waiting for you a little down the hall. You shake your head, his shoulders slump, and that’s it. For Sam it’s not—he turns around and marches right back to the library—but for you, it is. You’re done. 

You’ll hole up in your room and die alone. Like how’d you’d been meant to all along, lent only a little bit of extra time by Dean saving you to begin with.

And that time had run out. So you’ll just go die alone.

lay flat on your bed as your vision starts to dance with spots, and spend your time trying to image what a heaven you’re not allowed into will look like. Cas has told you every person gets their own, but you don’t really want that. It sounds like more of your life, and it’s pointless to worry about because you’re headed nowhere but down, but you’d still rather spend eternity with someone.

One person. You’d like to spend eternity with one person. 

The same person who had somehow gotten into your locked room, and is snapping your name as he stands at the foot of your bed. You’d be angrier he’d just barged in if you could remember how to be anything but in pain. You’d snap back if your mouth knew how to be anything but numb. 

“Dean-“

“What the fuck are you doing.” Dean hisses, and you close your eyes, the light suddenly painfully bright. “What the hell is wrong with you.”

“Nothing.” You whisper, and he scoffs. 

“Nice shot, sweetheart. I’m not an idiot.”

“I don’t think you’re an idiot, Dean, I just don’t feel well.”

“That’s fucking bullshit-“

You sigh. “It’s not. I’m sick.” 

There’s a moment of silence, then, “how sick.”

“Fever.” You mumble. “Stomach bug. Maybe the flu. You should probably leave-“

“No,” he grunts, and you hear his steps. He’s coming closer, and your skin might be boiling off your body. “I’m not leaving you-“

“It’s not leaving if I ask you to go.” You mumble, and you can feel the heat of his body off to the side, can hear his breathing—maybe even his heartbeat—and it’s making everything worse-

“I’m not going.”

“Dean, just, please-“

“No, I’m sick of you fucking ignoring me, and I- I don’t even care what’s going on with you and Sam-“

You frown. “Nothing’s going on with me and Sam-“

“I have eyes,” Dean sneers your name, and there’s a tone in his voice that’s almost wounded. “You were hugging in his room, you’re always fucking whispering and hanging out-“

“That’s not-“ You swallow, dragging your eyes open to find him glaring down at you. He looks wounded too. “It’s for a case.”

“What case? A case that I’m not allowed to know about? Because that’s not a case, sweetheart, that’s a secret-“

You almost throw up, just from that word. “It’s- I’m not keep any secrets, Dean, just please go-“

“No!” He’s almost shouting, and the sound is like a cannon into your gut. “I don’t know what the hell is up with you, but you’re suddenly putting yourself in danger, and stuck to my brother, and you’re not talking to me anymore-“

“You’re not talking to me, Dean.” You whisper, his gaze burning you right down to the cavity of your chest. “I’m always in the library-“

“Yeah, I know, with Sam.” Dean scowls, and you’re too tired to think almost anything, but that’s strange. Dean never says Sam like that. Like it’s a horrible word. 

“It’s not a big deal,” you say, watching Dean carefully. “He’s helping me with something-“

“Something I can’t help you with?”

You blink, ready to lie and say no, but your mush of a brain doesn’t appear to be up to that task. “No.”

Dean’s brow furrows slightly. “So I could help you.”

“I-“ You feel a stab in your intestine, and your voice grows hoarse. “Please don’t ask me that.”

“Why-“

“Because I- Just go away, Dean-“

He shakes his head, saying your name in a stern, unwavering voice. “Could I help you-“

“N-“ You swallow a groan as your lungs contract, and this is dangerous. You’re too far gone to lie anymore, and that’s the only chance you have. If Dean keeps poking at you, you’ll tell the truth. You can’t tell the truth. “Please just leave me alone-“

“I’m not leaving you alone.” He snaps, dropping onto the side of your bed to prove his point. “You never left me alone, with the Mark-“

“That’s not-“ You can’t swallow your next sound of pain, or the whine that leaves your throat when Dean’s hand grabs your thigh. “Dean, please go-“

“Do you want me to go.”

“No.” You say it before you can think, and hate that the pain over your muscles lessens when Dean stays, and when his hand starts to rub slow circles. “But you- you have to-“

“I said I’m staying.” He grunts. “And you’re not changing my mind, sweetheart. Tell me what’s wrong with you.”

“I did.” You whisper, closing your eyes again. Looking at his handsome, annoyingly determined face isn’t helping anyone. “I’m sick.”

“Fine. What’s making you sick.”

“Curse.”

Fuck.

Dean’s silent for a long moment, then-

“What the fuck do you mean, curse.”

“Me.” You mumble. “Curse on me.”

“And how did a curse get on you-“

“Rowena.”

“That fucking bitch.” He mutters, and you feel his grip on you tighten slightly. Almost protectively. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me-“

That was probably a rhetorical question. Your sudden truth-telling streak doesn’t seem to care at all. “I was worried you’d hate me.”

“I- what?”

“I was worried-“

“I heard you,” he grunts. “I just, why the hell would you ever think I’d hate you-“

“Because I suck.” You whisper. “And I can’t- I don’t deserve you.”

Dean’s silent again. You wish he’d stop doing that. “You think you don’t deserve me?”

You nod, barely a movement at all, and Dean groans. You’re still not strong enough to look at him.

“Sweetheart, you- I’m not-“ He cuts himself off, his hand resuming his circles, you’re not sure he knows he’s doing it. “I’m going to ask you something, and you need to tell me the truth. Got it?”

You hum. Like you’d even have a choice.

“What will cure the curse.”

“I need to,” you try to fight down the words, but you’re light-headed and faint and Dean’s hand is really warm, so you fail. “I need to resolve my deepest secret.”

“Oh.” He pauses. “What’s your deepest secret?”

You’re going to bite off your tongue. And when Dean says your name again, his voice a little rougher, it drags your eyes open to stare at him. Watching you with a focus you can feel in your bones, that’s prying the truth out of you, and he’s just looking at you and you can’t do this-

“Dean, I-“ You digs your nails into your skin, something flashes in his eyes, and you can’t look away. But you can’t stop yourself either, and if you have to watch Dean’s disgust, that might kill you right here. “Please turn around.”

He frowns. “What?”

“I need you to turn around.” You whisper. “Please.”

He nods slowly, twisting away from you, and it’s like a green light to your stupid, traitorous mouth. The words fall out of you like vomit, and if this is the end, at least it might be fast. 

“I love you. I’ve loved you for years, and I’m sorry, but I can’t stop, and I don’t want to stop, and I love you. Only you. Just you. Can’t remember how to love anyone else, because I love you. I love your jokes and your grumpiness and how protective you are because you make me feel safe, and I love that you’re kind of a dork and a loser but you’re also so hot, I love your voice and your face and your hands, and I and I want you in a, um-“ You squeeze your thighs together, staring at the suddenly rapid rise and fall of Dean’s back. “A way that I shouldn’t talk about-“

“How do you want me.” He grunts, his voice low and a little gruff, and you can feel the heat in your cheeks.

“On me.” You whisper. “In me. I want you on my face and in my hands and fuck, I want your inside of me. But I also want to wake up next to you and hold your hand and fall asleep in your lap, and fuck-“

You cut yourself off with a whine as something sharp hits your right in the heart, and Dean’s silent. He’s not turning around, or leaving, or doing anything but sitting and breathing for so long, for too long-

“You-“ He shakes his head slightly, and you could swear he’s leaning slightly backward. “You want me.”

“Yeah, I- yes.”

“You love me.”

“Yes.” Too late to go back now. “I love you, Dean.”

“Why- why didn’t you tell me?”

He sounds broken. He sounds sad.

You’re so confused. It’s almost enough to distract from the pain racking your whole body.

“I- I didn’t think you’d-“ Not care. Dean couldn’t not care. He cares too much. “I wasn’t sure what-“

“What I’d say?”

“What you’d do.”

“What would you-“ He’s definitely leaning back. He’s closer, too. “What would you want me to do?”

“What would I want?” 

Dean nods.

“I- it doesn’t matter-“

“Yes it-“ He sighs, twisting around to face you. You can’t read the expression on his face. It’s lost and it’s afraid and it’s… hopeful. There’s this small light that’s so deep in his eyes that seems like real, true hope. “Please,” he mutters your name, and you might be melting. “Just, entertain me. What would you want me to do?”

“I’d want to tell me you love me.” You whisper, and if this curse is going to kill you, you hope it does it now, right before you lose all your dignity forever. “Like I love you.”

Dean shakes his head slightly, and your heart might be splitting in half. “But I- I tried to kill you-“

“The demon tried to kill me. That wasn’t really you-“

“Yes, it was-“

“No.” Your voice gains a little strength, and you push up on your elbows. “You saved me, Dean. You rescued me from the angels-“

“Anyone would’ve done that-“

“But they didn’t.” You snap. “You did. And I don’t love anyone, I love you.”

“That’s-“ He groans, his voice growing hoarse. “You- why?”

“What do you mean, why-“

“Why would you love me? I mean, unless this is some sick, fucked up prank-“

“It’s not a prank-“

“Well why?” He shouts your name, and he looks distressed. Like this is shredding him apart. “Why the hell would you love me-“

“Because I like loving you.” You grab his hand, his own panic starting to set into your own body, making this all the worse. “It feels right. And I- I know you don’t love me-“

You’re not sure what’s happening. Dean’s hands are cupping your face, and his mouth is on yours, and he tastes like whiskey and coffee and pecan, and you feel okay. You really feel okay. All the pain and sickness is dissolving from your body, and Dean is kissing you. Kissing you with an unforgiving, demanding desperation, his tongue down your throat and his body lowering down over yours, pinning you to the bed as he groans against your lips.

The sound jumpstarts something in you. Your arms wrap around Dean’s neck right before he can pull away or hesitate, and you throw everything he’s silently offering you back to him. Biting on his lower lip and wrapping your legs around his torso, grinding up into him as he makes a deep, satisfied noise and moves one hand to wrap around you waist, holding you steady against him as he rises up, moving you to stay in his lap.

“You’re, shit.” Dean lets out a low chuckle, pressing a small, gentler kiss to the tip of your nose as you breathe in ragged time. “You’re such a fucking idiot, sweetheart.”

You lean back to frown at him. “No I’m not-“

“Yeah, you are. But I am too.” He sighs, dropping his head to the crook of your neck and speaking against your skin. “Seems like we’re made for each other, huh.”

“Dean, I-“

“Wait, just-“ Dean kisses up the column of your throat, ending right behind your ear, and his voice a low sound that falls right down into your core. “Gimme a second.”

“Dean-“

“Please,” he mutters, and when you pull back he looks nervous. It’s strange, but adorable, and you nod. He needs a second, you’ll give him a million. Anything to keep him here a little longer, to keep the ebb of the sickness going. 

“Okay.” You whisper, and—taking the biggest gamble of your life—lean forward to kiss him again. Just a light, almost innocent press of your lips to his. He tenses, his arms around you tightening, and you’d have panicked if it didn’t seem like he was clinging to you. Like he was afraid you were going to vanish. 

“I- uh,” Dean says your name slowly, and it’s odd. You’ve heard him say it exactly like that a million, but this feels deeper. Like a prayer. “I lo-“ He cuts himself off, his brow drawing tightly together, and you can feel your heart in your throat. Set to either explode or move into Dean as you hold your breath. “You. I- you- it’s- fuck.” He scowls, and you offer him your gentler smile, running a hand over the soft stubble on his jaw, even as you feel your blood start to go cold again.

“Dean, you don’t have to-“

“Yeah. I do, I-“ He catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles and speaking against them as if he’s trying to tell your body more than your mind. “I love you. A lot. So stop being cursed.”

You stare at him, your voice barely a breath. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Did it work?”

It did. The curse seemed to vanish the moment Dean kissed you—like it knew that what he was trying to tell you before he even said it—but now the world is just color and light and Dean. It’s enchanting. He’s enchanting. He’s all genuine and powerful focus on you, and. worry that makes you feel warm, and love you can suddenly see everywhere on him. You don’t know how you missed it before, because it’s in his eyes and coating his lips and in every flex of his body around you. It would knock you down if he wasn’t holding you. 

“Yeah.” You smile at Dean, and his own mouth tugs up slightly. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He shrugs. “Any time. I, uh, sorry about getting pissed about you and Sam.“

“It’s fine, I-“ You paused, frowning at him. “Were you jealous?”

He scowls, his cheeks turning a little red. “Obviously.”

“Of Sam-“

“You were really close with him all the time.” Dean snaps. “And I- you seemed pissed at me, and super stressed, and usually you’d come to me for that stuff, but you were hugging Sam and talking to him instead of me-“

“Because I don’t love Sam. I love you, that’s why I told you-”

“I didn’t fucking know that.” He grumbles. “I- Sam doesn’t know everything about how I feel about you, but he knew enough, and I- I thought you were choosing him- And I- You’re not my girl but you felt like my girl and I didn’t-“

“Your girl?” Your face splits into a wide smile, and some of the tension seems to leave Dean as he nods. 

“Yeah. If you want.”

“Yes.” You squeak, and Dean’s hand starts to run slowly down your thigh. “Yes, please.”

“You sure?” He raises his brows, and it’s really hard to think when he’s so close, and this is suddenly overwhelmingly real. He’s really broad and warm against you, and he’s really touching you, and he said the thing but that doesn’t mean-

“Yeah, but are, are you sure-“

“Baby, I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” He drawls, and you swallow as he leans in closer, his nose bumping yours. “And I’d be very happy to prove that.”

“Prove it?” You whisper, your eyes trapped onto his glimmering, darkened ones. “I, um, that, how-“

“However you’d like,” he says your name with a smirk, and it’s amazing how any all insecurity he had only a minute ago seems to have vanished. “You wanna tell me how’d you want me to prove it? Or do you need some suggestions?”

You might be drooling. “Suggestions, please.”

Dean hums, holding you carefully as he rises on his knees, bends you down onto the mattress, and starts to trace slow, taunting hands over your body.

“We could start slow,” he mutters, playing with the hem of your shorts, broad fingers brushing over your skin. “I could take my time with you, sweetheart. Do the proper thing, take you out to dinner and movie, wait until the third date to give you everything-“

“No!” You yelp. “Not slow-“

Dean’s hand slides under your shorts, his palm resting right over your already sore pussy, and he chuckles at your high gasp. 

“Alright, baby, not slow.” He leans down to pull you into a long, slow kiss, smirking against your lips as you start to grind into his hand. “But we’re going on a date. I’ve had years to plan it, wouldn’t want all my hard work to go to waste.”

You nod a little stupidly, your nails digging into his arm braced near your head. “How- what do you mean years-“

“You’re not the only one who had that at first sight thing.” Dean mutters, shaking his head slightly. “I’ve lost sleep over you, baby girl. We’re going to do this right, no witches involved, but,” he drops his head to kiss right behind your ear, humming as a high moan escapes your lips. “I’ve got a million things I want to do you, and fuck me if I’m going waste time not doing them.”

“Yeah, good, do that-“ You gasp as Dean’s thumb finds your clothed clit, starting to draw firm, fast circles around it. “Shit, Dean-“

“That’s my name.” He growls in your ear, flicking against you and smirking at your high whine. “C’mon, sweetheart gotta get you ready for me-“

“I, I’m ready-“

He chuckles. “No, you’re not. Wanna make you feel good, not break you.”

“What if, fuck-“ You feel a brief, sharp moment of cold air as Dean pulls your shorts and panties down, shoving two fingers into your cunt. He’s watching you so carefully, like he’s studying your every hitched breath and blurred gaze, smirking as he begins to slowly move inside of you, scissoring and crooking and pushing in deeper every time-

“What if what, pretty girl?” He teases, his pace increasing slightly. “Use your words.”

Your back arches off the bed as Dean re-angles his hand, pressing his palm to your clit and starting to rub strong, sharp circles as his fingers reach a blissful, almost painfully good pace, but remain too shallow to hit that sensitive spot deep your cunt and send you over the edge. “What if I want you to break me?” You gasp, your arm wrapping around his neck as he groans, dropping his brow against yours. “Please, Dean-“

“You, fuck-“ He grunts your name, and you feel something prodding at your inner thigh. “Not now, baby, need to be gentle-“

“No you don’t-“

“Yeah, I do.” Dean’s movements still as he rises on his knees over you, and you’re pretty certain the authoritative thing is supposed to be stern and intimidating, but it’s mostly just making you grind on his hand and reach up for him pathetically.

“Dean-“

“Listen to me.” He snaps, grabbing your wrist and pinning it to the mattress, sighing as you moan again, squeezing around his fingers, still in your cunt. “Fuck, you nearly just died-“

“I’m okay now.” You whisper. “I feel great. I feel, fuck Dean, I feel so good-“

He hisses as you spread your legs, writhing on the bed for anything, at this point you’ll take anything Dean offers you-

“Fuck yeah, you do.” He mutters, his fingers starting to pump slowly again, scanning over your body with an almost awestruck expression. “Bet you feel like heaven, baby girl, but we need to go slow. I promise I can wreck you later, but today-“

“Slow.” You sigh, and he nods.

“Slow. But,” Dean’s free hand starts to trail under your shirt, palming at your breasts, rolling your nipples between calloused, strong fingers. “Doesn’t mean we can’t take care of you, sweetheart. I’m going to fuck this tight little pussy, still going to get you fucking cockdrunk. Okay?”

You nod, your eyes slightly glazed over, and Dean bends his fingers deep inside you, right one that spot, letting out a low gasp as you whine.

“Say okay, sweetheart.” He grunts, his hand moving from your breast, over your neck, to your mouth, pressing his thumb on your lower lip until it parts. You moan against him, your eyes fluttering slightly, and you’re already too high, too needy, to do anything but listen.

“Okay.”

“Good girl.” He coos, slowly pushing his thumb between your lips, his nostrils flaring when you start to suck on him with an abandon. “Fuck, so good, I can’t wait to ruin you, baby, you’re never gonna even think about another cock-“

You haven’t thought about another cock in years, and you haven’t even seen it yet. But Dean’s thumb is bumping the back of your throat, so all you can do is moan, give him your best pleading look, and let your head fall back as Dean’s fingers finally move inside of you, pushing and playing on the spot until your orgasm washes over you in bright waves of good. So good. Just, fuck, he’s good-

Dean’s thumb pulls out of your mouth with a pop, and he wipes a little bit of spit off on your upper lip before lowering his mouth to yours, this kiss far too soft and gentle for how you think you might die if he doesn’t fuck you now.

“Look so pretty, cumming on my hand.” Dean moves to the shell of your ear, his growling promise sending a shiver up your spine. “Bet you’ll look prettier fucking squeezing my cock.”

You barely have time to whimper when Dean yanks his fingers out of your cunt, rolls you over so you’re straddling his torso, and raises you up by your hips before pushing you right down onto his dick. You don’t even remember when he took off his pants, or where your shirt went, but those are worries for someone who isn’t being split open on Dean’s cock. Who doesn’t have him drawing small circles on their inner thigh, or isn’t being held up by his hand on their waist.

But you do. You have Dean everywhere, real and warm under your hands as you grip his shoulders, bumping deep against your cervix as he lets you adjust to the size of him, one broad finger reaching down to press—light and taunting—on your clit, and groaning as you squeeze around him.

“Shit,” Dean grunts your name, looking up at you under hooded eyes in a way you don’t think anyone’s ever looked at you before. As if you’re somewhere they’d always expected to be, and they’re still in awe that you’re there. “Gotta be careful, want this to-“

Dean cuts himself off with a hiss as you grind on him experientially, clenching again as he hits that electric spot deep inside you. He grabs you firm by your hips, stilling your every movement as he gives you a stern glower. 

“You need to listen.” His voice is gravely and lower than you’ve ever heard it, and you’d do whatever he told you to, but that doesn’t mean you can’t whine and scratch lightly at his chest. 

“Dean, move-“

“You gonna listen?”

“Yes, just, fuck-“ You gasp as he pulls you up with barely a grunt, slamming your right back down with a roll of your hips. 

“Want you to feel good, baby girl, but you need to be careful,” Dean drags one had down to squeeze your ass, his hand still on your waist drawing light circles around your clit. “Or next time might be more than wrecking.”

Your moan is vulgar and shameless, and you’re more than ready to devote sleep to figuring out what more than wrecking will look like, but right now you just fucking need this. 

“Need more, Dean,” you whisper. “Need it so bad-“

“I know, sweetheart.” He mutters, trailing his hand up your stomach to squeeze your breast, groaning when you squirm around him. “Think you’re ready to ride this cock? Think you can handle, shit-“

You’d stared to move the movement he’d said ride, rolling your body and arching your back, dragging every bit of confidence you have to grind down onto Dean’s cock, your nails sinking into his abdomen.

“Fuck, yeah.” Dean’s voice is a breath under you, and when you scan over him, he lookslike he’sa little wrecked himself.His eyes on yours are hooded and low, his voice dripping with that same dominating confidence, but something more delicate in the way he’s touching you. Not as if he’s afraid to break you, but afraid you’ll shatter him. 

And you did that. You wrecked Dean. And that lights a wildfire in your gut, running through your nerves until they’re sensitive and bare, and into your brain until it’s all just Dean.

You start to move. Slowly at first to test the waters, but—when Dean just groans and ruts up into you—quickly picking up pace until you’re bouncing on Dean’s cock, your thighs squeezing his torso and your clit rubbing on his abdomen, his ever grunt and hiss and bruising grip just making your need grow bigger as you slam him onto that deep spot-

“Shit, I’m- Slow down-“ 

Dean’s hiss is low, and you immediately obey, changing to long, slow movements as Dean hums. 

“There you go baby, such a good girl.” His hand moves from your ass to your lower back, rubbing soothing patterns as he praises you. “You’re so hot baby, fucking ruined on my cock-“

You make a high, breathless sound you don’t recognize, moving your hips in a circle to try and chase more friction, and Dean chuckles.

“You alright up there-“

“Good,” you moan, your eyes fluttering shut to try and focus your all on Dean beneath you. “So good, Dean, feels so good-“

“Need a little more?”

“Yes-“

“More descriptive than that, sweet girl.” He teases, and when this is done, you’re going to kill him. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to-“

“You,” the word falls out without thought, because most of you belongs to Dean. “Just you, only need you-“

“You love me?” Dean’s voice is low, and when you open your eyes to look at him, there’s a small chink in his armor. You don’t know if you pried it open, or if you’ve just never noticed, but you can see right into him, and he still doesn’t really believe that you love him.

And that’s the only thing you’ve ever really know. You loving Dean has been the only truly certain thing in your life, because Dean’s a given and loving him feels like breathing.

So you smile at him, reaching forward to cup his face, and tell him with everything you have, hoping he can hear how the words are in time with your heart.

“I love you,” you whisper. “And I’m yours.”

He blinks at you, shaking his head slightly even as his dick twitches inside you. “You don’t need to be, it’s- you know, dirty talk-“

“I know.” You shrug. “I’m still yours.”

Dean’s nostrils flare, and you know you’re not getting control back from him for the rest of the night.

You’re fine with that. Dean starts to rock you back and forth around him, letting you just fall into and around him, and your lost to any world that isn’t Dean. Isn’t his hand splayed on your lower back or his fingers digging into the skin of your hips and ass. Anything that isn’t his cock hitting part of you that you didn’t know existed and filling you up so much you’re not sure how you’re ever going to manage being empty again.

You don’t think you will have to manage. Dean’s holding you like he’s trying to brand himself on your body, like he needs you feel him for the rest of your life. And you will. You’ll feel the bliss Dean’s drawing from your body that’s better than any heaven you could have imagined, rising slowing below the surface, ready to burst at any moment.

You’ll hear him too. Hear every deep noise of his own pleasure, hear the slapping of his skin on yours, hear his low praise echo around your head and ribs for the rest of your life.

“You’re mine, baby girl.” He growls, the sound rumbling in his chest and rolling right into your pussy, making you throw your head back with a breathy whimper. “Fuck, you’re so hot riding me, feel so good around me, tight and warm-“

Dean cuts himself off with a hiss as you reach behind your body, your hand finding his balls to squeeze lightly. 

“Goddamnit, sweetheart-“ He groans, jerking slightly inside of you. “Fuck, keep doing that, so fucking needy for me, fucking soaking this cock-“

You grind around him, and his pace starts to lose rhythm. Even after he swats your hand away you know he’s lost his own self-control, and fuck he looks hot without it. Starting to rut up into you in uncontrolled movements, pulling you to pieces with a lustful, ardorous gaze and brutal pace and strong hands, moving back to your clit and rolling it between his fingers-

Your mouth falls open in a silent, needy cry of pleasure as your orgasm bursts over you. It’s not sudden, but you couldn’t never anticipated the power of it—like someone had doused you in gasoline that smells like whiskey and fruit, lit a match, and turned to into a star—or how it rides on and on, never seeming to crest or crash as Dean slams home inside of you, warmth coating your pussy and running down your thighs as he moans your name. 

Dean helps you float down to earth, leaving careful, deliberate touches on your skin and humming as his knees rising up to support you. You watch his gaze rakes down your body, lingering on where he can see himself spill out of your pussy, and moves to slowly drag through the mess, gathering some on two fingers before rising them up to your mouth. You open without hesitation and his throat bobs, his cock twitching inside you as you lick his release off his hand, your eyes never leaving his wide, reverent one.

“Son of a bitch.” He mutters. “How the hell did I get so lucky?”

You let out a soft laugh. “You stole my line.”

“Nah.” He shrugs, tracing a hand over your cheek. “You could have anyone you want, baby, but you’re here, with an asshole like me-“

“You’re not an asshole.”

“Yeah, I am.” He shrugs, like you can’t see how his own words pierce him through that chink. “Shit, I just accused you of sleeping with Sam-“

“And I’ve been lying to you for years.” You lean down, resting your chin on his chest, giving him your widest smile. “Neither of us are saints, Dean. And I happen to be the right kind of fucked up to let possessiveness hot.” You pause, giving him your best stern glare. “To a degree. I will slap you the next time you accuse me of fucking Sam.” 

Dean laughs, his around wrapped—gentle and relaxed—around you. “Yes, ma’am.”

You hum, resting your head to the side, and you might be here for a hundred years. Time blurs and slows until it’s just Dean’s heartbeat near your ear, his thumb tracing a pattern on your arm, and his face buried in your hair. The end of the world might have already come to pass when his hand moves to your chin and he angles your gaze to his, and you wouldn’t really care. You’re still where you need to be.

“Would you,” he lets out a slow breath, all his cocky arrogance gone, his eyes on yours nervous. The hope is back, but it’s wrapped in soft fear. “I’m not good at- shit-“

He’s going to hurt himself, and you take pity on him. You lean does to press a sweet kiss to his mouth, letting your tongue trail over his lips, and rising back up with a small smile.

“Can we go on a date, Dean?” 

He chuckles, nodding. “Yeah. Whatever you want, baby girl.”

Your smile strains at your cheeks, because you only want Dean. 

And you’ll have to write Rowena a thank you note, because you finally have him.

End Note: Me make a story with no prior lore challenge: impossible

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

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@arcticwisteria @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007

[celebritybodyswaps]

The Great Friends Shift: Haven Lough & Gibson Avenue

Part 2

Haven’s Pov

I hate being in Gibsons body. Now i know why he was so envious of me and my height. I hate being short.

Well at least Gibsons body isn’t ugly. But i wish i wasn’t this short. Well i guess i have to go hang out with Gibson i mean Haven and Brandon now.

Gibson’s Pov

Wow ive really been enjoying Havens body. Its everything ive ever dreamed of. I mean im not short and im hot. I mean look at thesr abs.

Dont you just want to touch them. Well i better get ready since im going out with Haven i mean Gibson and Brandon.

Brandon’s Pov

Today’s going to be a great day!! I get to hangout with both my friends Haven and Gibson. We decided to meet ip outside a mall and we were going to go shopping and then have a sleepover at Haven’s house.

The only thing ever since we started hanging out Haven and Gibson have been acting weird like I was talking to haven but then he said I’m nit haven I’m Gibson then i asked him about it and he shrugged it off as an accident. Same with Gibson he wouldn’t respond until i said Haven. I decided to talk to Haven and ask him about it.

Haven why are you guys acting weird? Did something happen that i dont know about?

No Brandon nothing is wrong.

Well when I say your name Haven you dont respond but when i say Gibson you respond. Why?

I dont know really i just feel really tired i think thats it.

Okay i suppose.

I didnt really belive Hayven but i felt tired so i decided to go sleep since Givson was already asleep but he did seem mad all day for some reason but i thought he was just having a bad day so i decided not to question it. Well i guess it’s time to sleep.

Brandon fell asleep that night but little did he know things were about to change a lot.

When i woke up i felt very tired but i decided to go use the bathroom but when i walked in i saw Gibson staring back at me. Thats when i screamed!! I realized Gibson wasn’t staring at me i was looking in a mirror i was Haven.

Thats when i saw my body walk in and then Gibson. They started at each other and then looked at me.

Thats when i realized we had swapped bodies.

Guys why am i in Haven body i asked.

Its complicated haven responded Gibson.

Look we me an Gibson swapped bodies last night but we didn’t want to tell you but now im in your body. Sorry Brandon.

Wait so im in havens body. Whos in my body?

I am im gibson.

And so that means that haven is in your body gibson. Right?

Yes Haven is in my body.

What will we do now i asked.

There is nothing we can do Gibson i mean haven said. We just have to live our lives hoping we swap back.

Well i don’t mind your body Haven i actually like being a but taller now and a little bit thinner. I mean look at this fine body am i right. I said with a smirk.

Yeah i guess so replied Haven in Gibsons body. I mean i guess i like my body but it will be a bug change now being way shorter. Said Gibson sadly and angrily.

Well personally Brandon i like your body. It’s not too short or too tall it’s just right. And you have an athletic and attractive body. So i think i will do just right.

Well im off to basketball practice.

As soon as brandon left he thought about always wearing his sports clothes that he get from uni. He cant wait to be a popular person at school and most of all he cant wait to stain all of brandons clothes with white stuff iykyk;)

Well after Gibson left in Brandons body the other two guys decided to use the bathroom and shower but little did they all know they would be exploding with white stuff at the same time if ykyk

The End

If you have any requests for which freinds should be next please send a dm or an inbox

[mingumis]

love song | bsk

my playlist is full of love songs that you filled it with

pairing: boo seungkwan x gn!reader genres/themes: sad, angst, mentions of break up a/n: how are we doing after the bss cb??!! here's something short i cranked out bc love song is making me so emo... wc: 634

There’s a subtlety to your grief after you say goodbye to Seungkwan. 

Sometimes, it feels like you’re okay, and that the absence of him in your life is something you’re growing used to, day by day. At other times, you find yourself standing in the middle of your living room, teeth and fists clenched, fighting away the deep pit of dread and hopelessness in your stomach. 

You stretch your lips taut in an effort to smile at your friends, insist that you’re completely fine, that the breakup had been a long time coming, that both of you had all but expected it and had mutually agreed to end things. 

When you trudge back home to your cold, empty apartment with a heaving heart and an exhausted drag to your steps, there are several text messages from your friends, checking up on you, asking again if you, truly, are doing okay. Your face grows slack, cheeks twinging, and only then do you realize that your face has been pulled into that fake smile all day and then all the way back home. 

How do you expect your friends to believe you when you can’t even believe yourself?

You breathe an airless sigh, fingers flying over your phone screen as you rapidly type out reassuring responses. I’m fine! Just been a rough week. Over and over and over, until the words run together and look unintelligible. 

You drop your phone with another heavy exhalation and fix your gaze onto anything but your friends' concerned texts. There’s a bowl of fruit molding over on the kitchen counter that you should really throw out. It’s the hallabong that Seungkwan had brought back from a quick trip to Jeju for business. A mere nine hours on the island he called home, and instead of spending every minute with family or friends, he had meticulously picked out the best tangerines he could find, packed them up in a styrofoam box, and brought them onto the plane as a carry-on. For you. Because that was the type of person Boo Seungkwan was. 

You had peeled the thin skin of one, and the juices had exploded onto your palms, punctured clumsily by your fingernails that didn’t know how to gauge the proper strength of artfully peeling a tangerine. 

Seungkwan had tutted and fussed over you, taking another hallabong in his own delicate fingers, deftly splitting it in half. This is how the Jejuans eat their oranges, he’d flourished with a giggle, as he popped a wedge into your mouth. 

The tangerine had burst beneath your teeth, but it tasted like nothing but bitter ashes. At that moment, you had realized that you couldn’t do this. Couldn’t continue acting as a shackle, holding Seungkwan back in his larger-than-life career, nor his dreams to become even more than what he was now. 

You were simply lacking in everything that he needed from a partner. 

Without thinking, your tongue had moved faster than your heart could seize up as you ended things, then and there. The look of anguish and doubt and fear in his eyes, you would never be able to forget. 

You did this to yourself, you force the reminder into your head, turning bitterly away from the bowl of fruit and vowing to throw it out tomorrow. 

It’s only in the shower, when you’re lightheaded from the steam, barely acknowledging the random playlist you’ve thrown on desperately to fill the silence, that you realize all of your emotions for what they are. Grief for the loss of Seungkwan’s presence in your life, for the loss of his love. 

Because when you actually start listening, the left side of your chest sinks, as if caved in. Song after song in your playlist is a romantic ballad that he added, devoting it to you. 

[i want nothing but seungkwan to be happy so maybe i'll write a part 2 or something...]

[klunkcat]

Hi hello I just found your writing and I LOVE IT. May I please request number 48 with the pbj duo?

‘Don’t touch me!’

(@psychologicalwarclaire - There was a more simple route I could have gone with this, I saw it and then took a hard left turn instead. Also thank you so much!!)

TW: vague medical setting, mention of needles, kidnapping

It takes two days for their brothers to find them. Normally, in these situations (or at least in the Jupiter Jim films they’d spent so long obsessing over), he would say that it felt like so much longer. 

It doesn’t, it feels like two days. Two days is a lot of time when you stretch it all out. 

Nothing had really happened that was unrecoverable— there'd been a lot of threats. Promises of some unbeknownst evil if they ceased to cooperate at first, and then later, more unsettlingly, the insistence that they were subjects. Not to be spoken to.

He thinks that's the part that might stay: being referred to by a species type, being reduced to a clip board and data sets. All of Mikey's little brother splendor being reduced to a column beside his.

Raph had burst down the door with dad hot on his heels to spin kick everyone in the room right into all of Leo’s conveniently placed portals before anyone had even really delved into the gruesome threats. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to matter to Don’s brain much.

Two days was plenty of time to think.

They’d strung him and Mikey up on flat tables, shone an over bright light directly at them, and asked a lot of questions mostly. Talked a lot of big talk. Pulled out medical equipment and taken blood samples here and there. A slice or two. Not worth mentioning in the grand scheme of things, they'd all had worse more recently.

There was something... writhing in the back pocket of his mind though. The moment where Bishop had bent over Mikey, back to him so Donnie couldn't see, and whispered just to him.

Don didn't know what was said to counter argue it. To point out flaws in science or loopholes, or insinuate anything about the lack of foresight. He didn't hear it. When he leaned back, Mikey looked scared.

"Enough blood samples," Bishop had said to the glass wall beside them, that barest hint of a smirk he carried every moment. "We have our findings. Perhaps, bone would be best as a next step. Speed up the research."

He hadn’t been able to stop any part of it, was the thing. Hadn’t gotten a single second of a break from the noise and the lights, and the press of metal against his wrists. And the constant threat that they could grab or stab or worse. And Mikey had been scared. 

Nothing even happened, he reminds himself. His brain flashes back to Mikey trying to duck into his shell, the cattle prod the man had waved around almost playfully. 

He hadn’t been able to move his arms the whole time, pinned up by his ears like a butterfly under a pane of glass. April unclicks the button with a loud shout of ‘got it!’ and he hears the hiss right as a spike of pain slams into every limb. It doesn’t matter that it hurts, it matters that it feels like a thousand tiny stabs of a thousand needles everywhere across his skin. He hates it, he hates it so much. 

There’s grates under his knees and he hates that feeling too. Separated metal maws punching up in bumps and ridges — it’s all disgusting. It’s awful, he can break it all down into chemical compounds in his mind and the imaginary neutrons feel like exploding fireworks. He needs it to all stop, for a minute or. An hour. 

Stop.

“Dee, are you—” That’s Raph, he knows it’s Raph. But there’s noise and touching and he can’t breathe with all of it in his face, and Mikey is scared. 

“Don’t touch me!” He snaps back, pulling further into himself on instinct. He can sense Raph’s hand hovering, just by his shoulder. Hears his steady apologizing. 

Noise, noise, noise. 

Leo whistles across the room, “Raph, they got a lot of stuff in here. We should probably make sure they can’t use it.” Giving him an out, a breather. Thank god for twins. 

He doesn’t want to think about what they’d gathered. He’d seen the vials. Just because he hadn’t felt whatever they’d done at all doesn’t mean it wasn’t his DNA. He barely represses a shudder. 

Mikey had been so scared. He’d looked at Don with wide, shocked eyes. Like he’d forgotten that there were people in the world that didn’t care for sunny smiles and friendly hellos, that there were worse things than grouchy junkyard mutants and spider ladies. It felt wrong, some fundamental thing in Donnie’s mind skittering and clattering around. Science was meant to help, to study and grow from— he couldn’t pretend he hadn’t tossed a thought or two around DNA samples of his own but. They’d taken it, right from him. From his baby brother who still thought Santa was a suspiciously hairy short man who visited through TV fireplaces. 

Nothing even happened.

But it could have.

The sheer fact that the phantom feeling of an itch across his skin was in his head and made up and that was a good thing. The scientists could have gotten bored. Decided they’d needed one turtle less. It could have been Mikey. But they'd circled him and stared at him, and poked and prodded, too. Why is that comparable? Why is that worth noting?

His family is here, the scientists are gone. He can hear dad's voice a few scant feet away. So why can't he---

“I’m here,” Mikey’s soft voice appears. “It’s okay, Dee. I’m okay. We’re fine.” 

He’s knotted himself up in a ball so tightly, hands around his knees, shell pressed firmly against the wall. It’s dark here, for once. Don realizes he’s been repeating Mikey’s name almost mindlessly, like a white noise machine in the background. 

"You with me, Don?" Their check in phrase. No touching, not too many questions.

He signs back: 'here'.

"Thanks for telling me. April's helping Dad with something. Leo and Don are in the next room. They'll come back in three minutes, I have Leo's watch."

Good. Numbers, specifics. That's good.

'Injuries?' He signs.

"No, I mean. Not big ones." He can hear Mikey's wince. "Bruised my wrist I think. Dehydrated, probably? Leo said he can check when you want him to, since nothing's bleeding."

'Okay.'

He hears rather than sees Mikey’s slide to the steel floor beside him. Hears his shaky sigh out. “Sorry I didn’t get us out.” 

Donnie tenses. There’s a myriad of reasons that makes no sense, but his words have escaped somewhere in the replay. 

Mikey sighs again. “I— I was thinking about using the mystic powers again, but I didn’t want it to hurt. Or leave you there. I should have been more brave.”

Don remembers the way the gold cracks had fissured up his shoulder, split all the way near to Mikey’s neck. The heat emanating even with all the bandages, and the physical therapy Leo’d tried to walk him through after. He still couldn’t close his left hand all the way on bad days. 

“No,” he manages. “You were brave.”

Mikey hadn’t cried, or begged. He’d channeled some deep down snark and thrown cocky one liners back every chance he could. He was only fifteen. 

Don pulls his head up, breathes out sharp through his nostrils.

"I was scared, too." He tells his knees. A quiet confessional.

He stretches his hand out. The pins and needles are awful and constant, but he needs to know— 

Mikey’s hand slides instantly. It helps. It’s quieter. 

He'll be braver next time, too.

[dukeofdelirium]

This is very true, and I completely agree. I think we also need more context of how Michael was raised and his understanding of “normal”.

He grew up in a 672 sq ft house. He shared a bedroom with all of his siblings. And when he and his brothers toured as kids, they shared a living space with numerous adults and even piled into the same bed as adults. This was completely normal to him. Consulting adults and befriending them as a child star was probably a daily occurrence for him.

He was, in a lot of ways, playing that same role that previous adults had fulfilled for him to other kids who were child stars. It’s not really hard to understand when adding context, imo. Michael didn’t have a normal life or a normal upbringing. We’re talking about a guy who was famous at 5 and who never came down from that fame—and in the short time he had before that stardom exploded into fame the world had never seen, he was constantly surrounded by adults and viewed many of them as close friends and mentors which he then became to other kids later on, like Macaulay for example. Macaulay Culkin has said many times that Michael was genuinely his best friend for years and that they related to each other over being child stars, and that Michael was a safe person to go to amongst all of the abuse he went through.

Also, Michael was genuinely friends with many of his fans, that’s true like OP mentioned. He even knew many of their names and where he had met them, how long he had known them, etc.

Michael was so open to people and so accessible, that he would walk around the street and invite total strangers to Neverland. Keep in mind, this is literally his house. He would also have busloads of children brought to Neverland as part of Make A Wish and other such organizations. He personally helped care for said dying children, as opposed to letting some employee do it.

Michael was just like that. He was raised to be extremely generous, and was raised to share everything with others.

However, I should note that Michael didn’t just let random kids sleep in his “bedroom” without parental knowledge. The parents of these children literally knew and were asked to give permission. And Michael himself never invited this. He only allowed it when a child would ask and said parent stated it was ok.

Speaking of said parents: they were practically always there with their children. In fact, said parents often times slept IN the room. Some even slept in the same bed with Michael and the kids. They even testified to it. And when asked, these people all said “nothing happened”. They were having sleepovers in the most literal sense of the word.

People can’t fathom that in relation to someone of MJ’s status because they don’t know who he was or how he was raised. They only know of the superstar. They can’t fathom that a celebrity of his status enjoyed having simple fun like sleepovers and piling onto a bed to have a movie night to try and feel normal. That doesn’t make sense to them bc they don’t understand MJ. He was just a regular person underneath that celeb status. He liked playing games and having water balloon fights. This was his idea of a good time. Unconventional? That depends on who you ask. But it doesn’t make him a criminal.

I feel like people miss a significant piece of who MJ was, and how he lived, when they weaponize the infamous *bed sharing* against him. People who have a casual knowledge of Michael Jackson don't know how ridiculously accessible he made himself to fans and people in general.

Michael Jackson was the kind of star who not only would call back fans who wrote to him, and have lengthy phone talks with them, he would literally invite these same strangers to Neverland, to visit and sleep, even when he wasn't there. There is this tension to Michael Jackson way of living where he made himself super elusive and mysterious to journalists and paparazzi, but very easy to reach to the "common people" and, to my understanding, that was the mix that bred mediatic disaster.

What people fail to mention is that, MJ didn't just have phone calls, sleepovers, trips with children. He did these things with people from all walks of life: old people, adult people, poor people, rich people, everyone. Basically, his door was open to pretty much everyone and surely that was a totally reckless life choice for someone (let alone someone with high risks at stakes like him) to have, and probably irresponsible, but imo that's also what made MJ so special to the eyes of people who today still remember him with fondness and are extra defensive of him:

They remember the megastar who was "man of the people" enough to actually reach back to fans and spend quality time with them, play with them, eat with them, yeah even sleep with them. That's why to me, every parallel or discourse about comparing modern stars to MJ, or who surpassed him, always fails. Because these discourses miss a fundamental ingredient to the magic formula of Michael Jackson: he was the man of the people. Modern stars of today aren't humble enough for that. People like Michael Jackson, and of course someone like Princess Diana, were. And of course, I don't blame celebrities or artists for being inaccessible to day to day people, because you have to be smart and keep yourself safe, Michael Jackson probably wasn't and his reputation ultimately paid for that, but it also made him human in a way that a Beyoncé, a Taylor Swift or a Weeknd can't relate.

[itsallmouthwashing]

Mouthwashing/ Star trek crossover!! What if the cargo ship was encountered by the Enterprise which once again had crossed into another dimension

YES!! Ive been trying to learn at least a little about Star Trek since I've never watched it- but I really hope I did this drabble some justice! (is it a Drabble if its almost 1k words???) I plan to make it part of a larger storyline :))))) that ties in with another ask :)))))))) ehehehhehehe :))))))

Content Warning for depictions of gore closer to the end (I have plans that I cannot reveal because the haters will sabotage me)

Work under the cut. Look out for more :)

[Mouthwashing requests are SO OPEN BTW!]

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!

It wasn't supposed to end like this. It wasn't supposed to be this way. 

He was supposed to dead. They all were supposed to be dead.

If he thinks hard enough, Jimmy can escape to a place in his mind where they are dead. One where the ship crashed, the cockpit exploded, and everyone was left to wither away in their own melted flesh and boiling fluids. He can imagine this place is heaven, or hell, or some other afterlife that turned out to be the true resting place of pure and wicked souls alike. 

The platform is unfamiliar- unlike anything Jimmy’s seen- and his 4 person crew surround him like he’s some sort of center piece, each phasing in like someone is slowly turning up their opacity to 100. The glass below his shaking legs bleeds with blood unspilled. In another life, he sees the bodies on the ground, lifeless and breathless, bleeding and broken, boiled and torn. 

Everyone is here.

Everyone is alive. 

And there’s someone behind a bright console, looking at them with such stoicism on his pale yellow face one could think he’s a robot. 

“Hello,” he says, and everyone’s heads whip to him. 

“Hello,” says Curly, stepping forward through his position behind Jimmy. He glances around at the long lights that illuminate the half cylinder they’re in. “Who are you?”

“My name is Data.” The man steps out from around the console. “Who are you?”

“I’m Curly, Captain of the Tulpar. I think we… uh… crashed into your ship. We’re terribly sorry-”

“Please, Captain Curly of the Tulpar. Do not apologize. We should be the one’s apologizing to you.”

“We?”

Curly glances over his shoulder, his chest tightening with suspicion and guilt at the act of being suspicious. He has no reason at all, but there’s an itching at his brain stem that won’t go away.

On cue, someone in a red and black long sleeve walks through a set of sliding doors. Daisuke winces at the mechanical whirr. It’s so much louder than the doors on Tulpar. 

“Greetings, fellow travelers. I am Captain Piccard of the Enterprise.” He gestures around. “Terribly sorry for the unexpected beam. I hope everyone is alright.” He extends his hand with a small smile towards Curly and the taller man takes it tentatively. 

“Captain Curly, of Tulpar. A pleasure. Um,” he takes his hand away and pulls his arms tight across his chest, “Why are we here? What happened?”

Piccard takes a deep inhale before speaking. His eyes only glance down to the floor for a moment before looking back up at Curly. “This is not easy to explain.”

“I could explain, Captain.”

“No, thank you, Data. To put it simply, we are from a different dimension.” Picard folds his hands in front of him and surveys the reactions of the Tulpar crew; shock, glee, curiosity, and wonder, all mixing in the features. “We were charting a course to the next location when we suddenly encountered a wormhole. I believe it spit us out directly in your ship’s course, landing you right in one of our thrusters.” 

“I see. Is everyone-”

Fire erupts on Curly’s skin, spreading quicker than his synapses can fire and get him into action. The pungent smell of burning rot fills the teleporter room and funnels out into the hallway as Piccard rushes out, yelling a name no one understands through the panic- Curly’s panic, his screams, his anguish bouncing off the walls and threatening to shatter all the glass in the room.  Data pulls a fire extinguisher from a far wall and deploys the foam, but the fire doesn't go down until Piccard rushes back in with someone with pointed ears. She moves to dump a large bucket of water onto him but the Enterprise’s captain stops her when fire suddenly dies out. Almost like someone simply blew out a candle. 

His skin is gone, his nerves singed and charred as his now black clothes cling to exposed muscle. His left eye trickles down his chin, catching in a spot burned all the way to his jaw bone.

Captain Piccard steps in front of him, instinctively going to catch Curly by the shoulders before the moment registered in his mind. He keeps his hands in front of him when he says, “Captain, you’re going to go into shock.” Curly tries to nod. “You’ve probably lost a lot of feeling so don’t be alarmed, we’re going to lay you down-” More people rush into the teleporter room as distant shouting comes closer surprisingly fast. Four people in black and blue uniforms come in with a board to lay Curly’s now unconscious body. One of them puts something below his legs to elevate them, and he’s carried out of the room just as swiftly with Piccard following after them.

Data finishes speaking with someone else in a yellow top and turns to the remainder of the crew. “We will have time for formal introductions later. For now, please follow me.”

“Where are we going?” Jimmy seems to be the only one able to speak. Anya stares at the doors with wide, horrified eyes. She’s trying to astral project herself out of the room and down the hall because she’s paralyzed from the eyes down but she needs to go with him. She’s the nurse, she’s responsible for their health. She needs to-

“Our medical crew will take much time and care treating your friend. I wish to take the four of you to a place where you can rest while the Captain is occupied.”

[highfantasy-soul]

So I read Bloodmarked and feel the strong urge to write a 'fix it' fic for a certain love story.

spoilers, obviously

the insane desire to fix the Sel/Bree dynamic - starting in book 1 - is strong

Sel should have remained combative to Bree in book one, not suddenly turn and fall madly in love with her by the end of the book. He should have only stayed with her for duty because she's Arthur's Scion and it should have been made clear in the story that it was killing him staying with Bree because he's bonded to Nick.

He should have still been combative as she doesn't want to stay hidden, but it should have been 100% duty as to why he was staying with her and protecting her.

BREE should have actually done things to change his mind, not just be the main character. She should have studied past Order dangers they faced and how they overcame them, she should have kept training with weapons and her aether, she should have actually DONE things to try to get Nick back (giving updates after her bloodwalks), and should have worked tirelessly to help others and learn enough to really help in this war.

AND she should have shown how she's different from just any other Scion - she should have pushed for a different perspective, sought out others to help in the battle since she does know about others who use magic. She should have pushed for inclusion and bringing everyone into this fight in the ways they can instead of just leaving it to the Order. She should have researched more about Merlins through this study of magic and perhaps pointed out inconsistencies in the official records, she should have gotten empathy after seeing how much is expected of Merlins and the standards they have to keep and the punishments if they don't - giving her understanding for Sel's position and why he behaved the way he did in book 1. She should have kept in touch with the Lieges who are part of this war, but have different perspectives too.

They should have SEEN each other DOING things to protect people and fight demons SEPARATELY rather than Sel only existing to protect Bree when she's done something stupid or someone is after her. Bree should have DONE something other than run around helpless and complaining about being helpless until she explodes with power.

They should have learned to RESPECT each other for their own actions and histories and seeing how hard each other are trying to do the right thing - and always butting heads because their methods are so different. KEEP the arguments! KEEP the conflicting perspectives - but have them argue with RESPECT for each other, pleading their own cases, but never devolving to petty shit since, you know, they should be focused on protecting people from Camlann.

---

THEN.

THEN! When Bree is attacked and is bleeding out and Sel gives all his energy to keep her alive, THAT'S when he realizes that he's not just saving her because she's the Crown Scion, he's saving her because she's Bree. He can't stop thinking about what would be taken from the world if BREE is dead (her desire to bring together the different communities, her desire to help others even when she can't access her power, her questioning of long-held beliefs and push back on how Merlins are treated and how enslaved all the Legendborn are to the Order's rules down to who they're allowed to marry and her desire to change that) and that he didn't think once about the cost to the Order or the Lines. THEN we can have his change and the slow burn enemies-to-lovers become apparent.

Nix all this 'you're the most strongest, beautifulest, bravest, phenomenal person I've ever met' bullshit - since he can't give examples of her ever being those things! If you think you can come up with reasons, give me some that don't revolve around her power or her attempting to claim her authority - give me some examples of her ACTUALLY HELPING people. As it stands, the narrative only gives us 'Bree is super powerful and pretty and that's enough to make her brave' - no actual action on her part, just how she was born.

Idk, all the tension was just like......we GET IT! She and Sel LIKE EACH OTHER!!! The narrative just has to have arbitrary reasons they can't be together even though they're very clearly attracted to each other! Sel was super concerned about her being out to hurt Nick in book 1, then 180 and he's in love with her now. It's ok for him to be annoyed that she's in the middle of this and she has no idea what she's doing! It's ok that he's annoyed she has such little frame of reference as to how to fight this war and lead the Order! It's ok if he's still annoyed at her in book 1 because he thinks Nick deserves a bodyguard who actually knows what they're doing!

It really pissed me off that Sel started out as a cool, very hard and sharp character, then once he decided he didn't want to kill Bree anymore, he became a completely soft butterball of a person. LET GRAY CHARACTERS KEEP THEIR EDGES!! Stop smoothing their rough parts once we're on the 'to lovers' path!!

Their whole contention could be that she's studied the Order and sees all the ways it needs to change and offer solutions - maybe specifically how the Merlins are treated - and Sel could push back because of all his self-loathing and fear of himself that the Order pushed in him and so he's always playing 'devil's advocate' for the Order and all their methods of control. Stay in line and you stay safe - they've kept Onceborn safe all these years, why fix what isn't broke and risk the chaos that would bring - chaos demons feed on. Bree could push back on him arguing 'WHO' is being helped, WHO has been kept safe? Rootcrafters hunted down by the Order? Onceborn POC who are subjugated under Vassal power given to them by the Order but wielded in the Onceborn world? The Legendborn who have no control over their lives? The Lieges who will die early because of their curse?

Have Sel and Bree actually bring up real and nuanced themes to explore in the story instead of petty shit like it was. Make their arguments MEAN something more than just 'I'm worried for your safety/You're smothering me'.

Make their rivalry real, make Bree's character DO something, and make Sel begin to question his fear of himself and the control the Order brings him. THEN they can start to have feelings for each other based on concrete actions and who each other are, not just 'oh no, he's hot'.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Hey now, Let her cook!

[donutlover417]

y'all know what time it is!! update time!!

-The mantis is coming to life and talking to me

-Guy with dinosaurs for hands

-Salmon shoes vagina kayak broken bones

-Make the ham man a trans allegory

-Vampire Derrick the garlic fucker

-Toxic rat vore yaoi Ratphobe tax man

-Car door that opens inwards

-My names not David Poleman

-Clown x drag queen couple

-guy with fur on his scalp instead of hair

-good morning america I have a dog with hair instead of fur

-Guy with nipples on the back of his calves

-Guy who has a a full stack of 64 hands

-guy who showers in a full suit of armor

-tong the tiger tongue kissing the frog loops toucan on a sailboat

-"hello sneeblers and sneeblettes"

-Psychic brain worms??

-The grinch x santa enemies to lovers

-Flips u like a pancake :] (a slutty, slutty pancake)

-Guy who eats his phone like a poptart. Complete with toaster action

-guy who sits on a park bench in the rain and just like doesn’t leave till the rain stops. he’s always loudly sobbing. if Benjamin Bench is sobbing you know a storm is approaching

-At least one girl always breaks her arm on the mountain

-A third boob between the eyes

-Fix everyone. Like fixings on a sandwich

-Talking shoes with sunglasses

-The French head removers French head remover man. with lipstick smooches all over em. Like a real sigma man. Yeeee

-he's got with ooze with the goop… the goop with the sludge…

-Being player 2 is like the bottoming of video games

-I can’t see where I am cuz my eyes are closed

-Shirt stretch sleeve penis stretch

-Cute as a button with twice as many holes

-I should get more piercings and steal my parents car tbh

-get the spiders out of your vagina and also delete everything

-gorilla glues your balls togethjer

-Pretty sure someone just exploded

-You’ve heard of podcast now get ready for hogblast

-The text won’t load in my dreams and it’s annoying

-Dreamt a Muslim girl died in my arms but I didn’t know if I was supposed to put her body in the seventh or eighth seat

-What if we just like. Fucked up time. a day now lasts a week a week now lasts a month a month now lasts a year

-Just like wearing Way too many pairs of fishnets at once

-Hallucinating fish devtVvvvV???

-I’m like if being oversaturated was a person

-Penisbinversion??? Penis inversion

-Fish with human teeth that gives your dick a little nibble

-Humans have three core emotions: Horror, Humor, and Horny. The lines between these blur often. That’s probably deep or something

-Gives birth to Elvis Presley back in the timeline further

-Elf ear into penis tf. It is not hot.

-Being chased by ostriches the bird out of a church

-do you think Angels know how fragile their wings are?

-gonna get a tramp stamp that says "base game compatiable"

-(Rich person voice) I’m giving our money for free so poor people are less poor and I don’t have to work as hard yioooee

-Pirate hat that doubles as an emergency condom

-gives birth to the next us president

-i want a bone-free shirt

-Being fucked in the ass with the stinger of a scorpion in this essay I will"

-They call me the twins towers the way I eat broccoli

-to do list: kill yourself cuz the minecraft house you built looks terrible

-“Look, I don’t wanna say she’s a liar… so instead I’ll heavily imply it via this statement.”

-My bingles hurt and it’s probably the fault of the liberals

-Golf ball sized door knob with a fidget spinner for a nipple

-Why am I using a fork to turn off my alarm clock

-Petition to call a group of bees a cock of bees

-bottom bun fried onions 3 deviled eggs mustard cinnamon gummy worms raw human meat a couple pages from the bible gummy worms hot sauce lettuce 1 full scoop of cookies & cream ice cream wilted lettuce sausage tomato top bun

-(To the tune of last Friday night) undead at night

-Giant balloon dog with sledshots on its back

-Salt summer seltzer suace

-Pajama man scratches you with his big hands (they have mouths) (the hands I mean ) -Sucking on a sofa dispenser the way a newborn baby sucks on its mommas teet

-Knee staplers (new type of YouTube vid) They’ve got beef with elbow staplers snd also kpop fans for some reason

-Grugson Bugnutt (apparently I’m meant to know who he is)

-the only difference between Spider-Man and Sam man (Spamton) are the letters

-Grugson Bignittv (Bugnutt) pops a grimble on his squeeby so he can smop Jenny Dingles right in the clunf

-To be clear: Jenny Dingles had an onlyfans

okay i routinely write shit down while half asleep so here's a post of some of my favorites -It’s midnight. I approach, t-posing. This slowly morphs into me doing fornite dances, and then dabbing, all as I chant YouTuber intros. You watch in horror as my Body turns to plastic and contorts until I morph into a fidget spinner. the roblox oof sound effect blasts loud enough to make ears bleed. God has returned.

-Why are chairs so terrifying what secrets do they hold -Caterpillars control the government -God is like a bee he doesnt have legs -What if you yelled at a rock and it yelled back

-I had a dream that m&ms introduced a new character called “mister white-y” who was a whiteboard with glasses, a tie, and glasses and the internet by freaked out because he “wasn’t even a candy” and people began writing MASSIVE analysis videos on his design and why he suck’s super badly Going into massive detail on why each and every aspect of his design sucked He wasn’t in the main line up of m&ms he was a side character

-gay culture is discussing if snails have emotions at 1 am

-I love candle wax I could just rub it all over my body -Dream where someone gets turned to stone and yells “guess I’m sus” while doing an amongus pose before getting turned and everyone was really really really sad wholesome that that was the last night he chose to do

-Amab. Assigned mogus at birth

-Imagine if vaginas were like cheese graters so every time a dude had sex his penis would get smaller. And period’s are just the built up penis bit falling out . That assumes all Afab people have sex tho, which they don’t

-Cocaine belt buckle

-Sex is like mowing the lawn i like to do it with a lawnmower

-Bill wurtz airplane ticket Atlanta Georgia 8;00 pm

-Cake face (body horror)

-Piss is undefinable

-Slime@ rancher dead god

-The bite of an amongus can actually cause arthritis

-Flap my ass like flappy birddddd

-“You know, I’ve jerked off to your wanted poster.”

-Man with hotdogs for eyes

-Egg the walrus husband greets you when you come back from work

-Nine legged baby. it crawls with it's face legs

-why do charmin ads always feel less like toilet paper ads more like someone’s fetish

-I’m just like a turtle I can’t rent my cock

-black hole vagina steals your penis

[snekdood]

"if we make america worse and more of a dictatorship that will be even harder to unravel and make it the way we want the country to be, maybe then everyone will join our Glorious Revolution!" bb girl you cant even be in the same room with someone who thinks you should vote, how in tf do you think you're gonna unite people to fight in The Revolution with you? it's gonna be you and your 5 friends, i hate to break it to you.

[golby-moon]

made a thing that kinda applies to @letsdrawcastiel's monthly prompt of winter cas I suppose since those are Christmas cookies right there. this is a continuation of another art piece thingy I made a little while back

the epic saga continues. Dean and Cas somehow managed to actually make the cookies, but never got around to decorating them for...important reasons and as usual, we shall now all bow our heads in prayer for Samuel Winchester and this miserable existence he calls life

(poor poor Sam, like he's not the one who hung up the mistletoe and I can still never spell that word right on the first try ghbgiy)

(12/12/24)

[luck-of-the-drawings]

OOH YEAH BABY ITS THE SURGERY EPISODE BABY!!! ME AND THE HOMIES NEED SOME NEW FACES FOR OUR NEW PLAN, AND WHO BETTER TO GET THE JOB DONE THAN THE TWO MOST EVIL PEOPLE WE'VE EVER HAD THE MISFORTUNE OF HAVING OUR LIVES VIOLATED BY? I MEAN IT WOULD BE FUNNY. IT WOULD BE FUNNY.

[arolesbianism]

felt like doodling but didn’t know what to draw, so take a bunch of loops and sifs

[eri-pl]

So with @edennill mentioning isekai recently (a week ago? Idk), I started thinking and realized something: (if we ignore part of meta that's self-contradictory anyway or if we squint hard enough) if we are contemplating the concept of "isekai-ed into ME", landing there as an elf makes just as much sense as landing there as a human. Because the difference between the two kindreds is how they're tied to Arda and since we are getting thrown into a different world anyway (because this is the only way this premise makes any resemblance of sense, because time travel is a total mess) we can as well be more strongly tied to it. It makes just the same amount of sense as being more loosely tied.

(Tolkien said that there is no inherent physical difference between Men and Elves; the only difference is the nature of their bond with Arda and stuff like this, purely spiritual or whatever to call it.)

[icewindandboringhorror]

sneepy cozy time....

[demadogs]

ALL THE LIGHT WE CANNOT SEE

(2023) Dir. Shawn Levy