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typinggently · 22 days

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Hip against the table, that gets his attention. “Hey.”

Sam looks up from his notes. “Hey?” Quizzical, with his eyes slipping away for a split second to check the clock on the far wall. “I thought you’d come get me at six.”

Dean shrugs one shoulder. “Guy can’t change his mind? It’s a free country.”

That gets him one of those puppy frowns, some frankenemotion of amusement and annoyance, with some suspicion thrown in the mix. “Well, I’m not done.”

Dean is already pulling back a chair, legs scraping over dark grey carpet floors. “That’s cool, I’ll wait.” He sits, chair groaning as Sam shrugs and returns his attention to the book in front of him. Not even a ‘sure, whatever’.

But that’s fine, that’s cool. Dean can wait.

He looks at the wall, watches the clock tick away silently at the next minute. He looks at the carpet floors, wonders how many stains have soaked into the carpet and if any would show up under black light. He looks at the books, tries to guess their topic without moving in closer. He looks at Sam.

The seams of his shirt are pulled tight, crinkling a little. It’s Dean’s, used to be, some vague shade of dark blue that always looked better on Sam. Rolled up, too, the ass, and stretched over his biceps. His forearms are tan and strong, he’s fidgeting with his pen as he reads. The rhythmic click-clack of his pen should be annoying, but it just draws the eye to his long fingers. When Dean flicks his gaze up, it sticks to the shadows under Sam’s collar, the dip between his collar bones. Shoulders, the golden shimmer on his chin where the neon light catches in his afternoon stubble. His Cupid’s bow. The mole on his cheek.

“Hey.”

Hum, no real answer. Sam flips a page, circles something in his tattered spiral notebook.

“Hey.” Dean kicks his chair.

“What?” Annoyed, this time. Sam glances over, long lashes and a furrow between his brows.

But Dean is leaning in already. One hand rests on the table, crinkling paper under his palm. The tip of his nose brushes Sam’s cheek, then he fits their mouths together.

Sam tastes like Sam, like a day at the library, like dusty carpets and the scent of books. Like the aftertaste of coffee, like neon lights and surprise. Dean nips, coaxes. His neck aches, his lower back pulses with pain, but he doesn’t pull back until Sam returns the kiss, until he rests a warm palm on Dean’s cheek and everything tastes like Sam, Sam, Sam. Until the book slips off the table and bounces on the carpet floors. Forgotten.

[i hate your phone, throw it away // I wish it had never even been invented]

#this is so rough #but you know what we’re getting at. D getting jealous of inanimate objects #clown boys #ficlet #drabble #<- I need to export everything in the D tag into the F tag but I haven’t done that yet #it’s 3:30 am #by now #I’m so tired #so I might get back to this at some point in a more coherent manner

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deanhisnippleisout · 14 days

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balls deep in the passenger seat…

#surely this has been done #by now

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c-jay-s-text-posts-only · 11 months

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A Shameless Comfort

Written with permission from @alexadru

Jaune had been having a bad day.

Nothing had gone right; he’d gotten a pop quiz in Oobleck’s class, fell asleep in Port’s class, and lost another match to Cardin in Goodwitch’s class.

Usually, these kinds of things wouldn’t bother him at all. He would bounce back and smile again by dinner time, and tomorrow, he'd start over, fresh and new.

But today was different.

Somehow, Jaune just couldn’t pick himself back up this time.

It had happened before, and usually, he kept to himself until one of his sisters found him.

But his sisters weren’t here . . .

He left them behind . . .

. . .

He was alone . . .

. . .

At times, Jaune could bounce back without any help, and at least he could convince himself that it would all be okay.

Once again, it seemed today was different.

Having been surrounded by the giants of his year, like Ruby, Weiss, Pyrrha, and even Nora, he felt as if he was the biggest letdown.

Like an anchor . . .

. . .

A sham . . .

. . .

A failure . . .

. . .

His teammates were in their dormitory.

He knew they’d be happy to see him, but he wasn’t ready to face them.

Not yet.

He tried taking deep breaths to calm himself, but that didn’t help much. He tried faking his smile and checking it in his scroll camera, but it didn’t look real enough. He tried everything he could think of, but nothing worked.

So, there he stayed. Waiting behind the door, and too ashamed to be seen.

Eventually, Jaune became too upset with himself and wound up sitting with his back against the wall, knees drawn up, and his head buried in his hands.

Jaune sat there for some time, stewing; just drowned enough not to hear the sound of approaching footsteps.

By the time he did, they came to a stop right in front of him; Jaune looked up.

He knew those riding boots.

He raised his head, a piercing, red pair of eyes met his faltering gaze.

Standing ahead of him, dressed in her casual clothes, was Charlotte Gelé Franke, the girl down the hall. She'd been enamored with him since the term began, when they first locked eyes.

She was a year older than Jaune, and in spite of that, her intentions with him were entirely clear.

Charlotte always made sure she displayed affection to Jaune, but only ever did so to him. Whether it be by pressing herself up against his front or back or by quite bluntly sitting in his lap whenever he dropped his guard.

Jaune never understood why she would, but he never complained. Who was he to stop her?

How was he to stop her?

His friends often made a fuss about it whenever they saw, though, so he never knew what to think. It seemed she damn-near begged him to accept and return her feelings, something everyone else found disgusting.

Weiss did especially - Charlotte was her half-sister after all.

Jaune, of course, didn't really buy into her charade - if that indeed was what it was. He could never tell if she was joking or not.

But looking deep into her eyes right here and now, Jaune couldn’t see that same Charlotte standing in front of him.

He was surprised when he noticed; there were no signs of lust in her expression, she just looked . . . sad.

Concerned . . .

‘That's a new look . . .’ Jaune thought to himself.

Charlotte shook her head, knelt down, and delicately cradled Jaune’s chin in her hand. Then she clasped his hand and guided him up to his feet; she was taller than Weiss, but not by a lot - Jaune had never really noticed this before.

He'd been paying more attention to how she was acting just then, so Jaune didn’t realise where Charlotte had taken him until too late.

Her team’s dormitory.

The room was empty, save for the furniture: the beds, a few chairs, and a desk for writing. Charlotte had spruced up her own quarter of the room, being allowed to utilise her own furnishings.

The softness of Charlotte’ touch remained as she very smoothly coaxed him to her bed, sitting him down on her silky, black bed sheets.

Almost out of instinct and mostly out of resignation, he surrendered. Jaune began to shakily undress himself. He peeled off his chest plate, arm and elbow guards, his gloves, and his shoulder pads. Then he took another shakey breath and prepared to strip.

But just as he made to take his belts off, Charlotte caught his wrist, and Jaune stopped to look at her.

The look on her face was sober, and she shook her head again.

"Sit still." Charlotte spoke at last.

Jaune just obeyed, not taking his eyes off her. It occurred to him only then that Charlotte hadn’t been flirting. Nor had said anything dirty to him.

Come to think of it, she hadn’t said much of anything since she found him.

She hadn’t sat down next to him on the bed either. She was still standing. Tentatively, she closed the gap between them, reached into his personal space, and took his head into her hands.

Jaune almost felt like an ancient artifact under the very careful study of archaeologists. Charlotte brushed her thumb against the side of his nose and pulled him into her chest.

Jaune didn’t know what to think until he felt a soft pair of lips press themselves comfortingly into the crown of his head. They didn't reach his scalp, but he felt them in his hair.

Not too rough.

Just gentle enough.

One hand stayed on his cheek, while the other encircled the back of his head, her fingers brushing through his hair.

Almost at once, Jaune felt as if he'd been taken home, the clock turning back to sweep him into the comforting embrace of someone who really cared.

. . .

Mom . . .

. . .

Mary . . .

. . .

Saphron . . .

. . .

He couldn’t hold back anymore now; his jaw was trembling, and his eyes stung. With a sniffle and a cough, he wrapped his arms around Charlotte’s waist and properly began to cry.

Her arms tightened around him. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks, and his eyes became red and puffy, but Charlotte kept holding him as close as she could, not worrying if his tears might stain her outfit.

"Let it out, Darling." She wooed, "You're safe here."

Surreal . . .

It was the only word to describe what was happening.

Charlotte was bad-mouthed, bad-tempered, and very dirty-minded around everyone; the way she was acting now reminded him only too much of his mother and how close he’d been to her before he went away - she was the only one in his life who seemed to truly understand him.

Now, Charlotte Gelé Franke looked nothing like her, Jaune’s mother was taller, had blonde hair that fell to her shoulders, and her skin was medium tanned. Charlotte wasn’t like that at all; she was shorter, her long black hair fell past her hips, and her skin was porcelain.

But Jaune didn’t care.

It was close enough for him.

A few minutes later, and Jaune had calmed down enough; he stopped crying, and raised his head to look up at Charlotte.

Still, she didn’t look hungry for him, she just looked relieved.

Thankful.

For a moment, Jaune felt bad for thinking the way he had about her.

He wasn’t sure what to say now, if nothing else, he should say he was sorry. All the same, he wanted to know what she was up to.

“Charlotte, I-” He tried.

But Charlotte put a finger to his lips, effortlessly silencing him.

“My Darling, you don’t have to say anything.” She shushed him sweetly, “I’m not gonna do anything to you.”

“You're not?” Jaune was taken aback,

“Of course I'm not.” Charlotte promised, pressing her lips into his forehead, “I can see how much you're hurting right now.”

“Bu- but- . . . but why?” Jaune couldn’t understand, “You always go for what you want, never hold back . . . not when you want something . . . you could probably do whatever you wanted to me right now, and I wouldn’t try to stop you . . .”

That was the truth.

He didn’t have the energy to argue with her at the moment. But Charlotte didn’t make a move all the same. Instead, she massaged the back of his head, rubbing circles into it almost as if she was petting a dog she loved.

“That’s not what you need right now.” Her tone was soft, much softer than Jaune had ever heard from her, “Not from me. And not from anyone else. So, no. I’m not going to do anything to you. I’m just going to hold you, wait for you to smile again.”

Jaune’s eyebrow twitched, and his heart beat a little harder.

Was this real?

Was this really happening?

“I want you to fall for me when we’re at our best.” She explained, “That way, we’ll want to stay together when we’re at our worst.”

Jaune blinked.

The logic was sound.

Charlotte got onto the bed, laying them both down together; she wrapped her arms around him one more time. Jaune was nervous at first until she felt her patting his head again.

“Besides that, I can respect consent.” She lightly tapped him on the nose and winked, “It’s not like I’m some fucking skank who’d take a chance like this to worm her way in when you’re so vulnerable and defenceless.”

Her tone changed, and she now looked a little upset.

“Only a bitch would play a move like that.” Charlotte nearly spat, “Manipulation at its finest, the coward’s way . . . it's Some Pig's way . . .”

She very quickly calmed down and gently, pressed her lips into his hair, then brushed them over his brow and sat up, looming over him to get a good look at his face.

“I promise,” She insisted, “All I want right now is for you to feel better.”

Jaune was speechless.

Charlotte really cared about him. And all of him.

She cared about his feelings, who he was, what he wanted to do . . .

All of it . . .

Every doubt washed away, and at last, Jaune understood. Now, he didn’t feel he needed to avoid her; she was like an angel, though fallen from grace if Weiss was to hear about it.

It sounded like Charlotte realised her mistake in pursuing him before and doing what she could to make things right for herself, and for him too.

Again, Jaune’s jaw trembled. The weight lifting off his shoulders, he relaxed and leaned into her warmth.

"Charlotte . . ." He breathed shakily, "Thank you."

Hoping not to start crying all over again, Jaune pulled her in as close as he could, burying his head in the crook of her neck. Charlotte smiled.

"You know I'd do it all for you." She gave him a mantlan smooch, "But you know . . ."

She trailed off into a nearly ominous pause. It made Jaune feel a bit nervous.

"Yeah?" For a moment, Jaune wasn't sure he wanted to hear what she might have planned,

"I hope you know I won't be taking it easy on you after today." Smirked Charlotte, "As soon as you're back to your old self again, I'm coming for you."

"Eh?" Jaune croaked,

"Once you're outta this funk of yours?" She continued, "It's on. I'm catching your sweet-sweet ass."

Jaune sighed, and it turned into a quiet chuckle.

"Okay." He relented,

"I'm not kidding, I will." Charlotte sounded pettish, "So you watch yourself."

Jaune thought it was funny. His chuckle became a giggle, but before he could really get into it, Charlotte broke the hug.

"What?" Jaune was confused.

Charlotte gazed at him, her piercing gaze softening to a pleasant gander as she wrinkled her nose.

"And there it is." She cooed sweetly,

"What?" Jaune wanted to know, "What's there?"

Charlotte's thumb skimmed his cheek.

"That smile." She told him.

Jaune blushed harder than ever, but his expression didn't change. He kept on twinkling, flustered, but content.

“That beautiful, handsome smile.” Once again, she pressed her lips into his forehead.

Jaune couldn't say anymore now. He just kept on smiling and hugged Charlotte close.

Shameless, though she tended to be, it felt good to be with her.

Especially now.

#rwby #jaune arc #bleiss gele #bleiss schnee #rwby blackguard #i have a whole plot #for this chick #also it should be clear #I love Jaune as a character #i hope you know that #by now

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puppypuppypuppypuppy · 1 year

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you dont have to like my bug art, thats okay

#spark the electric jester #fark #drugs tw #was going to apologize for always immediately redrawing memes for every piece of media i get my hands on but u should all be used to it #by now

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coffeexxcigarettes · 1 month

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From "I've been taking you for granted" to "You've been taking me for granted".

Marianas Trench will always be my only comfort when nothing else works.

#these lyrics hurt #lyrics #marianas trench #by now #every album #every song #every lyric #Spotify

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ireallydolikeyou2 · 6 months

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Nothing that I hate More than Fake ..

#if you haven't somehow noticed #by now #pls be as raw/real as possible #with me #guarantee that i can handle all of it #+ then some

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maryoliverdotcom · 10 months

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it's times like this that i'm actually grateful for that screen protector thingy on my phone

#if my meth is correct my phone screen would probably be in pieces #fragments #SHAMBLES #by now

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awkwardbakugou · 2 years

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man’s really said

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afterthefeast · 7 months

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was gonna wait til i finished act 2 before posting my nightsong thoughts but actually i want to get my first impressions out to see if they change but…currently i’m pretty disappointed by it because from an rp perspective i literally don’t see a single reason why the pc would let shadowheart kill the nightsong if they weren’t already allied with the absolute.

from a practical perspective your whole aim is to get rid of ketheric’s invulnerability - i guess killing the nightsong might achieve that purpose but to me at least the implication throughout the gauntlet is that if you kill the nightsong as part of the dark justiciar trial she doesn’t actually die. (never mind the fact that aylin seems far too important to both ketheric and shar for her to be sacrificed if an ordinary selûnite would do). obligatory disclaimer that i didn’t let shadowheart kill her so i don’t know what happens in that instance, but that doesn’t really matter in this case because i’m talking about how the choice is presented to you, and to me at least it did not seem like killing aylin would be in any way strategic.

in which case it’s not really a choice because a) practically you are strongly encouraged to let aylin go and b) morally your tav has to justify the murder of a defenceless woman for…what, shadowheart’s career goals? even if you’re romancing shadowheart (which i am) convincing her requires a straightforward persuasion check, the mechanics of which thus far have meant you convince her that your position is correct - there’s not much in the way of lasting relationship consequences in that she won’t get so mad at you she leaves the party because you’ve already convinced her you’re right.

all that is to say that i think this is reflective of bg3’s overall binary attitude towards its major choices - there’s a good route (save the grove, defend isobel, free aylin), and a bad route (destroy the grove, ally with marcus, kill aylin). a lot of those choices compound, as well - other people have talked from actual experience about how allying with minthara will lose you a huge amount of content and allies, thus railroading you into picking a side from both a narrative and gameplay perspective. you’ve a huge amount of freedom in how you go about achieving any of those things - stealth, persuasion, combat etc., but the objectives themselves are pretty static.

so when you then have a companion’s personal quest tied to intrinsically to the plot it negates a huge amount of player choice. thematically, the companion quests are binary because they can either break or perpetuate cycles of abuse - that’s an instance in which binary choices can be very compelling. but the thematic concerns of shadowheart’s very intricate and heartfelt personal quest are totally undercut by the necessities of a pretty straightforward choice. i can’t play a hands-off tav and let this be shadowheart’s decision without to all appearances letting ketheric win. this isn’t a truly grey choice like the decision to sacrifice isolde or go to the circle in dragon age origins. it feels like that’s what bg3 was trying to do here by combining shadowheart’s quest and the main narrative, but because that main narrative is actually relatively inflexible, it just means shadowheart’s quest suffers by comparison.

#bg3 spoilers #bg3 #havent spoken to aylin yet so maybe my thoughts will change #this isnt even getting into the fact that overall i think the apparent motivations of the absolute cultists are completely #all over the place #something obviously worsened by the game’s reliance on chaotic evil races like goblins #ketheric is individually a great character but he doesn’t really tie in to the narrativr at all #yet — obviously he could but like. ive 65 hours in this game alreadg so i would kind of hope to have seen #a little more of my villains’ motivations #by now #this really isnt helped by all your major act 1 villains ending up dead by the end of it #and gortash and orin appearing super late #and the emperor still fucking about #im genuinely very confused by a lot of the main quest and im not stupid. ive played rpgs before #like i just. dont understand. why your player would ally with the goblins in act 1 #ive seen some people come up with truly great rp about that so like. its possible to justify #but i just dont think a game touting itself on freedom #and choice should need that much convoluted character work to justify its basic ‘bad’ choice #ais.bg3

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