#the only things in america that would be open at that time are the increasingly rare 24 hour places
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Keepsakes
Status: Ongoing Ficlet collection; unbeta'd
Series: the Hob Adherent series
Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Includes some comics canon, and some cameos from the wider Gaiman-verse (including the Good Omens and Lucifer television shows), but it’s not necessary to know to enjoy the story.
Rating: Mature-ish.
Warnings: Discussions of grief and in-canon character death. Some sexytimes. Some whomp and hurt/comfort.
Relationships: Morpheus | Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling, Eleanor | Hob Gadling’s Wife/Hob Gadling (past)
Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling, Patrick the Bartender, Harriet Butler, Matthew the Raven
Summary: Short ficlets set in the Hob Adherent world, based on prompts received from readers. Feel free to DM me or leave prompts in the comments, and if it resonates with me, I may write up a ficlet! Thank you for the inspiration in advance.
Set amid the events of Cling Fast and Carpe Diem
READ ON AO3 OR READ BELOW:
Postcards
"So, a sword in Buckingham's army, a bandit, a printer, a shipwright and then a merchant middleman for the dockyards, a knight, a beggar, investment broker--"
"Slaver," Hob interrupts Harriet as she counts off his professions on her fingers one slow, sunny afternoon at The New Inn. "Call the thing what it was."
Hari offers him a sympathetic smile. They're the only ones in the pub proper today, as Patrick is off to tend his ailing mother, Dee doesn't come in Mondays, and Morph is having lunch with his editor.
"After which you were an MP and staunch abolitionist, a soldier again in America for the North, an industrialist and labor rights advocate, a yuppie and silicone valley early adopter--"
"Apple paid for most of this," Hob agrees, selecting a glass and checking it for water spots or lipstick stains.
"--and now a professor and publican. Am I missing any?"
“Oh!” Hob remembers as he pulls a pint for her. "And I was ruler of Hell."
She leans across the bar from her stool, and thwacks his arm. “Fuck off, you were not, you old liar,” Hari laughs.
"Was so!" Hob protests, setting her beer down in front of her. "Ask my husband. He was there. I was ruler of Hell for thirteen minutes and seventeen seconds on my six-hundred and sixty-sixth birthday."
Hari raises a challenging eyebrow at Hob over her pint glass as she takes a sip. "I won't believe a thing the Prince of Stories tells me," she says decisively, when she sets the beer back down. "And I don't believe you."
Hob pulls a postcard from L.A. off the bar back, where it's been pinned to a corkboard among a handful of others, all from the same city. This card depicts a cartoon devil drawn over a photo of the Hills, lounging on the iconic Hollywood sign. It says "Greetings from Sin City!" in bright yellow font.
Hob hands it to Hari to inspect. Her face gets drawn as her eyes flick over the handwritten note on the back.
"To my fellow former ruler of Hell; I did it! I opened a nightclub, just like you suggested. Visit me at LUX any time you'd like, Hobsie. xxx Lucifer Morningstar," Hari reads in a voice that grows increasingly strangled.
She hands the card back to Hob with trembling fingers. Then she shotguns the rest of her pint.
"So hell is real, then," Hari warbles.
Hob shrugs. "Everything is real. Humans create gods, not the other way around. If someone believes in it, it exists."
Hari nods thoughtfully. "I suppose you would know, being married to a god."
Hob chuckles. "Well, former god-ish. And don't worry, only people who believe they deserve to go to Hell actually do. Self-punishment or fulfilling prophecy, or something. I try not to think to much about that Celestial stuff."
Hari nods again, and without asking, Hob refills her pint glass. He has a feeling she's going to need it.
"But it is something I'm going to have to worry about," Hari says softly, accepting the drink with a nod.
"Not any time soon, I hope," Hob says, folding his arms on the bar top and leaning close to offer her a comforting look. "And when it does happen, I can promise you that my sister-in-law is gentle and kind. You have nothing to worry about."
Harriet runs her arthritis gnarled finger up and down the side of the glass, collecting up the condensation. "You know, that is actually a comfort." She looks up at Hob with a wicked little grin. "Especially knowing your husband."
Hob throws his head back and laughs.
#losyark#cling fast adjacent#cling fast#carpe diem#the hob adherent series#hob adherent#hob gadling#hob x dream#dream x hob#dreamling fic#dream#dreamling#lucifer morningstar#lucifer#gaimanverse#sandman hob#retirement!Dream#keepsakes
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Make a Wish
This fic was inspired by The Time Dean was Sam’s Girlfriend by fleshflutter on LiveJournal
This is it! The thing I've been working on writing all year. It's finally done!
Dean and Jessica share a birthday, so what would happen if they both made birthday wishes at the same time that caused them to swap bodies? The inspiration story was fluffy and silly and adorable, but what if things were more explicit? Like, way more explicit?
This is a gender-bending body swap fic were the characters' sexual partners do not know who is actually inhabiting the body they are having sex with, so it's non-con. It's a bit of a dead dove, so if you don't think you'd be okay with the tags, please don't read. If you do read, I hope you enjoy it!
Relationships: Dean/Sam, Sam/Jessica, Jessica/omc
Warnings: Non-Con resulting from body swap situation and characters not making good choices
Read on AO3
Words: 14,476
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
January 24th, 2004
If anyone had ever tried to tell Dean that he would be spending his 25th birthday alone in some dive bar off the highway somewhere between Bumfuck and Podunk, middle America, he would have said that sounded about right. Especially after the last few years. Being alone had become, more and more, par for the course.
His dad, increasingly absent, which was fucking saying something when you considered John Winchester’s stellar trackrecord in that particular department, had been off on a solo hunt for a week now. Before heading out, he’d tasked Dean with a simple salt ‘n’ burn, a milk run that had taken all of a day and a half to complete. So now Dean was expected to just sit here, in this rest stop that was pretending to be a town, and fucking wait.
Dean hated waiting. Waiting gave you too much time to think, even though he had nothing good to think about, and thinking like that got you into trouble.
It was a Saturday night and, other than Dean, there were only four other people in the bar, three other patrons who all looked to be well into their fifties and the bartender, who was a decently handsome guy, probably did well enough with the ladies, but he had a beard and skinny jeans that gave off hipster vibes that made Dean decide right off the bat that he didn’t particularly like the guy.
He pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and flipped it open with his thumb. The screen lit up, his thumb hovered over the button that would pull up his contacts. Once again, Sam hadn’t bothered to call him on his birthday and the urge to give his brother shit about it was strong.
Eight months.
He flipped the phone shut and sat it on the surface of the bar to the right of his beer, and tapped his ring against it twice, the silver making a satisfying clink against the hard plastic. It’d been eight months since they’d spoken.
Dean had called on Sam’s birthday, no answer, so he’d left a message, “Happy Birthday, Bitch. Call sometime, let me know you’re still alive.”
It’d taken almost another month before he’d worked up the nerve, which was almost entirely worry-fueled anger at that point, to call again. It only rang twice.
“Dean?”
Fear that had been slowly choking him from the inside let go all at once, replaced just as suddenly by irritation. “So you are alive.”
“Yeah, sorry I haven’t called you back. I’ve been drowning in finals.”
“Yeah right, you know you aced ‘em.” He could hear Sam smile, without him saying anything, and that should have made things better but it really didn’t. But they’d shot the shit for a bit, conversation light and barely surface deep, a shallow script whose only consolation was the reassurance that Sam was okay, better even, he sounded like he was thriving. A weird lump suddenly formed in Dean’s throat. “Hey, I gotta go, but happy belated.”
“Oh? Okay, thanks.”
“Later. Hey? Pick up the damn phone sometime.”
“Yeah, yeah. Bye, Jerk.”
“Bitch.”
That had been in June. Neither of them had reached out since. He gave the phone a spin on the heavily varnished wood, set it twirling in place like a top before reaching for his beer. One long pull and it was drained.
“‘Nother one?” The bartender asked as Dean sat the empty bottle down.
“You know what? Fuck it, it’s my birthday, let’s step it up to bourbon.”
“Birthday, huh? And you’re lucky enough to be drinking here?” There was a barely restrained chuckle at the end.
“Yep.” Dean said with a little extra pop at the end of the word.
“Damn.” The bartender said as he turned and selected a bottle, grabbed a glass, and was back pouring two fingers of amber liquid with practiced ease. “This one’s on the house, birthday boy.”
Dean’s face lit up in a genuine, if somewhat rueful smile, “Thanks.”
The bartender nodded and busied himself further down the bar.
Dean slowly swirled the glass a few times. “Yeah.” he said, quietly, “Happy birthday.” Looking down at his phone again, he raised the glass to his lips and took a drink. He closed his eyes as the smokey, thick burn chased a wish for something out of reach down his throat.
A wave of vertigo crashed over him, so sudden and hard that he was glad he’d been sitting down. Even though he’d watched him pour the drink, the idea that maybe the bartender had drugged him suddenly seemed like a very real possibility.
Wait, why did he smell candle smoke? Shit, was he having a stroke or something?
He opened his eyes and had to grab onto the edge of the table to steady himself as his legs threatened to give out. Bar and barstool were gone, replaced with a house and a small dining table. The room he was now in was full of people looking at him with bright smiles, who all started clapping and cheering as soon as he opened his eyes. Smoke curled up from a forest of little, thin candles sticking out of a flowery cake on the table right in front of him that had, “Happy Birthday, Jessica!” written on it in fancy, blue, cursive icing.
There was a flurry of movement to his left and a pair of pretty brunettes started cutting into the cake and passing slices around. Everyone was smiling and laughing and acting incredibly… normal, like nothing weird had just happened.
Something moved way too close to Dean’s face and he flinched and tried to swat it away. As he touched it, he froze, eyes fixed on his fingers and the lock of long, wavy, blonde hair that tugged on his scalp as he tried to get it away from him. Long blonde hair that was being held not by his own fingers but by delicate, slender, fingers with nails painted pale pink, all glossy and graceful and… soft.
To say it was disconcerting would have been the understatement of all time. He was looking at a hand that was very obviously not his own, but that moved and felt as if it were. He gave another tug to the lock of hair, harder this time, and although it didn’t exactly hurt, it was definitely attached to his head, not a wig or anything like that. He brushed it back and confirmed he now had a full head of hair that came down way past his shoulders.
Chick hands, chick hair… his eyes went wide and he looked down his chest and stared right into cleavage.
He had tits!?
“Oh fuck.” he said in a chick’s voice.
“Hey?” A warm touch to his upper arm caused Dean to turn and look right into the throat of a massive guy standing behind him. Tilting his head back to look up he was met with bright eyes and a dimpled smile that he knew better than his own reflection.
“Sam?”
“Happy Birthday, Jess.” That smile, still sweet but with a gleam, a glint that Dean hadn’t seen since they were both teenagers. One of Sam’s hands came up, jesus he had big hands, and gently brushed along Dean’s jawline, thumb sweeping his cheek as long fingers slipped into his hair behind his ear. Sam’s gaze held Dean’s focus as he leaned down.
Had Sam gotten even taller?
Everything was moving in slow motion, Dean couldn’t feel his heart beating, wasn’t breathing, but his mind was spinning, scrambling to sort through way too much information, too much change, just too much, way too fast. So perhaps it was understandable that he didn’t react in time to pull back.
Just a fleeting, Oh fuck, before their lips met and Dean’s heart leapt into action like he’d been shocked awake. Sam was warm and familiar, but the way he pressed and pulled at Dean’s bottom lip, just a promising hint of more, made a small noise escape Dean’s throat that didn’t sound at all like disgust, like it should have.
Someone wolf whistled loudly nearby, eliciting another round of clapping and cheers from the crowd and Sam pulled back, twin spots of red blazing on his cheeks. He laughed in a way that Dean hadn’t seen in ages, playful and easy and open, as he glanced around at these people who were obviously his friends. A spark of something anxious twisted up in his chest. Dean blinked a few times, licked his lips, and swallowed, winded like he’d just sprinted up a hill too fast.
“Get it, Winchester!” a guy hooted from somewhere behind Dean.
“That’s real mature, Brady.” Sam said, his hand sliding down Dean’s shoulder and the back of his arm, coming to rest low on his back, fingertips brushing against the strip of bare skin between his top and skirt. The skirt thing was weird… drafty, but the warm press of Sam’s fingers sent little static sparks through him and a blush heated his cheeks, spread down his chest, and he was once again very aware of the fact that he currently had boobs… and a pussy instead of a dick.
This was bad, his mind raced like a cartoon character running in place before his thoughts finally caught traction with the ground and lunged forward. He wasn’t him, wasn’t in his own body. He was somehow in the body of Sam’s girlfriend?
Of all the bodies in all the world, I had to end up in this one?
But Sam hadn’t kissed him, he’d kissed his girlfriend, who’s birthday just happened to be the same as Dean’s? Which was… okay, yeah, that was weird as fuck. But she’d obviously just blown out the candles on her cake, which would have been the same time that he’d had swallowed down his own wishful thoughts.
Shit. He swallowed again. Shit, shit, shit.
“I, uh,” he cleared his throat, “I’ll be right back.” He said, trying not to show how unsettled he was at sounding like a chick, reminding himself that he looked like a chick, sort of was one right now. He took a breath, and told himself to play it calm and poker face the situation.
“You okay?” Sam asked, his eyes squinting slightly the way they did when he was concerned, or getting suspicious, his thumb rubbing against Dean’s skin, sending those sparks flying all through him again.
Oh, so not good. This is bad.
“Yeah, good, I just need to go to the bathroom.” Dean smiled as he felt for pockets in the clothes he was wearing, but found none. Where would she keep her cellphone? “Did you see where I put my purse?”
“Yeah, it’s right over there.” Sam looked at an end table by the sofa in the adjoining room.
“Thanks!” Dean said as he broke away from Sam and grabbed the purse.
Taking stock of his surroundings, it looked like they were in a two-story house. It was a little worn and run down, but decorated in a way that practically screamed college kids lived here. Probably a rental near campus, it had that vibe. It was also older, which meant that the bathroom was likely upstairs. He unzipped the purse as he went up the stairs, and thanked whatever luck he had that there was a little flip phone tucked inside. He found the bathroom and was punching in his number as he closed the door.
~~~
“Happy Birthday, tooooooo, yooooouuuuuuuuu!!!!”
Jessica thought of a wish and blew out the candles on her cake, then blinked and started coughing at a sudden burning in her throat. She must have inhaled the candle smoke. While her eyes were closed the room gave a lurch and she was suddenly sitting down.
A loud solid thunk made her flinch as she opened her eyes. Dark amber liquid sloshed in a thick bottomed glass that had just dropped onto a heavily varnished wood bartop a few inches below an outstretched man’s hand in front of her. Whiskey and the lingering, stale ashtray smell of old cigarette smoke hit her all at once. Looking quickly to her right, to see who had dropped the glass, she found that the man's arm that was connected to the hand that’d dropped the glass, was attached to her?
“What the…?” The voice that came out was not hers. It wasn’t even close. It was a man’s voice, with a timbre that resonated deep in her chest. She covered her mouth with her hand but then immediately jerked her hand away at the feel of a man’s fingers touching her lips and the feel of scratchy stubble against her fingertips. Her mouth tasted like whiskey, that’s what was burning in her throat, like she’d just taken a drink from the glass in front of her.
She looked down at herself and saw a broad, flat chest filling out an oversized leather jacket with a thermal shirt underneath, and long, muscular, denim-clad legs. Her hands were thicker, wider, than they should be, with short-trimmed nails, and a few scrapes and scabbed cuts across the knuckles.
Over the sound of Guns ’n’ Roses’ Welcome to the Jungle she could hear a couple of voices talking not too far away. She looked around. She was in some ratty, hole-in-the-wall bar that smelled like a lifetime of regret and spilled beer. There were only a few other people. An older couple that looked like they’d probably gotten here on a Harley, were sitting down the bar to her left, they were the ones talking, but they weren’t close enough for Jess to hear what they were saying. And there was a middle-aged guy who looked like he might be a trucker way down off to her right. He was drinking a Budwiser and staring into space, lost in his own thoughts. There was also a bartender busying himself with restocking the bar. He was probably in his mid-20’s, with a neatly trimmed beard, blue plaid flannel shirt that was buttoned up but not tucked into his well-fitting, black jeans that were rolled into wide cuffs above hiking boots. She watched him move some bottles around on the shelf along the wall and realized that there was a mirror there that ran the entire length of the bar.
Slowly standing and looking ahead into the mirror, she watched as a guy stood up and stared back at her. He had short, sandy brown hair, spiked a little in the front, and big light colored eyes. The dim lighting and collection of various neon in the room made it hard to tell if they were blue, gray, or green, but they were wide. He looked like he was also in his 20’s, handsome, really handsome, but no one she’d ever seen before. She raised her hand and watched as the guy in the reflection did too. She touched her face… his face? He mirrored the movement.
“What the hell?” She said, in a voice that seemed to fit the reflection.
“Everything okay, man?”
It took a few seconds to realize that the bartender was looking at her, that he’d been speaking to her.
“Uh?” What in the hell was happening? Was she dreaming? Was this some weird hallucination? A byproduct of having a stroke? Had she somehow fallen and hit her head? “I don’t know…”
The bartender’s brow furrowed. “Something wrong with the drink?”
She looked down at the glass again. Should she say anything? Say something to get some help? What would she say? Her heart was racing. Maybe she should slow down, take a minute before letting the looming panic take over. “No, it’s uh, it’s fine, it’s good. I’m good. Um, how long have I been here?”
“I don’t know, maybe about an hour.” He poured water in a glass and sat it down in front of her, next to the whiskey. “I know the bourbon here isn’t that great,” he shrugged and gestured around as if that explained it, “maybe take it easy?”
“Yeah. Sorry. I’m okay. Just had a weird… um sort of deja vu thing for a minute there.”
He nodded at her and moved away down the bar again.
Okay, something is going on, but it’ll be okay, I can figure this out, she thought as she sat back down on the stool. That’s when she noticed the hard press of a wallet in one of her pockets. Pulling it out and flipping it open revealed a driver’s license with her reflection’s photo on it.
“James Page, huh?” She said quietly to herself as she looked through the rest of the wallet. There were a few credit cards, about a hundred and fifty dollars in cash, and a condom… classy. She looked at the ID again, it listed his birthday as 01-24-1979, “What?”
Okay, so today was also his birthday. That felt too coincidental to be a coincidence.
Absently, she took a drink of water. If this was a dream, it was the most mundanely detailed dream she’d ever had, the water tasted like chlorinated tap water. She started to pull one of the credit cards out when a cell phone sitting on the bar in front of her, had that been sitting there this whole time, started to ring with an obnoxious metal guitar riff. She grabbed it up and looked at the caller ID. It was her own cell number!
Quickly answering she said, “Hello?”
“Please tell me your name is Jessica.” a woman’s voice said.
“Um…”
“My name is De… uh… James Page, that’s my phone you’re talking on, please tell me that you’re Jessica Moore?”
It sounded weird when heard from the wrong end of a phone call, but she recognized her own voice speaking back to her.
“Yeah, yes, that’s me… what’s happening?”
The woman on the other end of the phone gave a loud sigh before continuing. “Thank god, it’s just a straight swap. Okay, so, this would normally sound really unbelievable, but you already seem kinda freaked so I’m guessing you’ve noticed that we seem to have switched bodies.”
“But, I mean how is that, how is this even possible?” Her heart was pounding in her ears. This is crazy, it’s crazy…
“Did you make a wish when you blew out your birthday candles, Jessica?”
“What? Why is that important?”
“Well, you see, today is my birthday too. Happy Birthday by the way. And I uh, I made a wish right before I opened my eyes in your body. So I’m wondering, since I know you’d just blown out the candles on your cake, did you make a wish too?”
“I… I did, yeah.”
“Okay, good. What did you wish for, exactly?”
She looked around to make sure no one was paying attention to her conversation before replying. “I wished I knew more about my boyfriend’s family.”
“Huh. Okay. Who’s, uh, who’s your boyfriend? What’s his name?”
“Sam… Winchester. Do you know him?”
There was a slight pause. “No. But I’m guessing he’s the really tall guy, soulful eyes, needs a haircut?”
“He doesn’t… I like his hair, but, yeah I guess that sounds like him.”
“Hmm. Okay.”
“Wait, what did you wish for?”
There was a longer pause before James continued, “To find someone I haven’t seen in a while. I dunno maybe they’re around here somewhere? Where am I?”
“Palo Alto. Uh, that’s in California. Sorry, maybe you already knew that. Where am I?”
“Missouri, kinda middle of nowhere honestly. Sorry about that. Look this may not have anything to do with our specific wishes, right? Maybe things just got mixed up because we both made wishes at the exact same time? I don’t really know how all this Freaky Friday stuff works. But with any luck it’s temporary and everything will be back to normal tomorrow.”
She closed her eyes and rubbed her hand over her face, pinching the bridge of her nose. “How is this even real?”
“I don’t know. Look, there’s a set of car keys in my right front pocket, they’re to a black ‘67 Chevy Impala parked out front. It’s an automatic, can you drive?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Okay, good. If you turn right out of the parking lot, go about a mile down the road to the Sleep EZ Motel, I’m checked into room 12. The room key is in my other pocket. My stuff is already inside and the room is paid up until the end of the week, so you shouldn’t have anything to worry about. Just don’t hurt my car and don’t get me killed, okay?”
“Wait, that’s it? I’m just supposed to wait?”
“Unless you’ve got any other bright ideas?”
“What about Sam? My friends? What are you going to do?”
“Hopefully? Nothing. I’ll pretend to be you, promise not to get you hurt or screw up your life, okay? And like I said, with any luck this’ll all sort itself out in the morning.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“Well, I guess we’ll deal with that tomorrow.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah. Hey, Jessica?”
“Yeah?”
“Tell me a little about yourself.”
~~~
Dean hung up the call and deleted it from the phone’s call history. When this was all over, the last thing he wanted was for there to be any way for this to get traced back to him. He tucked the phone back in Jessica’s purse and looked in the mirror.
She was a hottie, Sammy had good taste. Long blonde hair, big blue eyes, full pouty lips, and with a body… Dean gave a quiet whistle. Then he looked around furtively, as if anyone else could see him in the bathroom and somehow suspect him of doing something pervy, but then he thought, fuck it, possession is 9/10ths of the law, right?
Biting his bottom lip and pulling his shirt up, exposing a lacy bra and a really nice set of tits. Cupping them with his hands, feeling their weight, massaging them a bit and feeling his nipples get hard in response was hot enough but looking in the mirror was almost too much, like watching porn that you could actually feel. Until he caught his own stare, the face of some girl that he’d just spoken to on the phone looking back at him, and it hit home that this was someone else’s body that he was a guest in.
“Ah, shit.” he said to the reflection and pulled the shirt back down, smoothed it into place. He looked down, thinking about how weird it felt to not have a dick. He looked at the toilet reflected behind him. Maybe he should at least try to pee while he was in here.
“Sorry, Jessica, but somehow I don’t think either of us is going to be able to avoid peeing all night.” It took him longer than he'd anticipated, what’s so hard about peeing after all, but there was the confusing clothing and then the wiping, and new sensations that came with that, which he definitely tried to not pay too much attention to, and then the readjustment of the clothing.
When he was done and verified in the mirror that he looked normal, you know, for being someone completely different, he took a step towards the door and froze with his hand on the doorknob.
Okay, you can do this. Just go downstairs and pretend to be a girl. How hard can that be? Just go pretend to be Sam’s girlfriend. He’s only, like, the smartest guy you’ve ever known, who’s been trained since he was a kid to notice when a situation isn’t right, when someone isn’t themselves, when they’re actually a monster… Fuck.
He took a deep breath and opened the bathroom door. No, it’s cool. You’re cool. You can do this. You’ve bluffed your way through more dangerous situations with less information to go off of. And Jessica told you enough to fake it for one night. It’s just one night…
“Jess,” Sam was looking at him when he came down the stairs, his face lit up despite a shadow of concern. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” Dean smiled and walked towards him.
As he got within reach, Sam wrapped one arm around Dean and pulled him in snug against his side. Then Sam leaned in and kissed the top of his head, just like Dean used to do before Sam had the audacity to get taller than him. Dean didn’t need to fake his smile but then a wave of guilt threatened to well up, he thinks you’re her, and he had to look down, swallowing thickly. Sam gently squeezed him in a one armed hug.
When they were kids, Sam had been very touchy-feely, clingy, always in close contact with Dean, casual, almost unconscious, but now, unlike then, it seemed a lot less casual. Heat, of a sort that wasn’t just physical, flared up with every touch. And Dean could have convinced himself that it was just Jessica’s body responding in a sort of pavlovian way to a still newish lover. But the problem was, Dean knew better.
Sam’s hands were huge and gentle and warm, so fucking warm, against his side, Jessica’s side, his arm, her arm, his back, not his, his hip… It was maddening but he just needed to play along, like it wasn’t destroying him. Over the years Dean had fine tuned his resolve to push all of this away and shut it up behind a door marked “Stuff You Don’t Get to Have", and now, with a series of simple touches, Sam had unknowingly jimmied the lock and opened the door. Sam was always so good at opening doors.
The summer between Sam’s junior and senior years of high school, before the Stanford bomb had been dropped on their lives, John had been chasing down yet another lead on what had killed mom. Dean had no idea what it was, where he went, because he’d given him practically no information, which was beyond frustrating, but kinda par for the course. But John had left them with Bobby because it had been on his way, apparently.
While they were there, Dean helped Bobby fix cars, and what they couldn’t fix, they’d strip down for parts. Sam had gotten a job at a restaurant washing dishes. It was grueling in the heat and he’d be reeking of garbage from taking out the trash at the end of the night. But Dean would always be there, waiting to drive him back to Bobby’s. He’d have a cold beer open and waiting for Sam when he was showered and in clean clothes. More often than not, they’d watch a movie on the tv, choosing from Bobby’s collection of vhs tapes. They’d take over Bobby’s couch, sprawling and slowly gravitating towards each other, leaning together and laughing over what they were watching. They kept their voices quiet so as to not wake Bobby, who inevitably fell asleep in his armchair or was already up in bed. Sam had been more relaxed and at ease than he had been in a couple of years.
Life was simple and Dean felt just about as free as he could ever remember feeling, without the weight of expectations, there in that safe place and time.
When John came back he was short-tempered and easily bristled. Things between John and Sam, always rough, had gotten steadily worse. John was harder on them both, trying to establish his authority, which only made Sam withdraw when dad was around.
Sam started talking about leaving together, just going somewhere and getting real jobs, the kind that paid in cash instead of scars. But Dean wouldn’t think about it, well, he wouldn’t let Sam think that he was thinking about it. Kept putting it off, until it was too late and Sam was leaving for real, full ride to fucking Stanford, and one last attempt to get Dean to come with him. He’d pulled Dean aside while he was packing, held onto his hand like they were still little kids, “Come with me.”
“What?”
“You don’t have to stay here, you can come to California…”
“I can’t just leave.”
“Why not?”
“Because Dad…”
“Dad is going to self-destruct, Dean, this life is going to kill him and if you stay… if you stay,” Sam’s eyes were swimming in unshed tears that he swallowed back before continuing, “You don’t have to stay. You can do anything, Dean, anything.”
And Dean almost believed that, for one long torturous moment, looking at his brother, the only person that stood any chance of convincing him to break away from his dad, from this life, Dean could almost see it. Sam pulled him closer, slid his hands behind Dean’s neck and rested their foreheads together, silently begging. And that door in Dean’s mind cracked a bit and threatened to break open. Sam didn’t want all that, didn’t want… no. Dean slammed the door closed and locked it.
“You don’t know what you’re asking.” Dean took a deep breath and placing his hands on Sam’s shoulders did the hardest thing he’d ever done, he pushed Sam back enough so he could clearly see his face and said, “I’m not going.”
Shock, grief, embarrassment, hurt and anger all seemed to flash across Sam’s face at once, but it was the anger that stayed long after the others had been packed away. The anger was what Dean had seen when he closed his eyes that night, thinking about Sam on a Greyhound to California.
But here, now, he leaned in and closed his eyes, drinking in the feel of being next to his brother for the first time in years. He breathed in and could smell Sam,even though his mind was having trouble processing the scent. It was Sam, he smelled just like he always did, but it was like this body, which didn’t have the same sensory memory of a childhood spent together in the Impala and rundown motels, processed the scent through different filters, all of which were good, all of which lit up like fireworks with each breath, and shot that giddy, new love/lust feeling through him mixing with his memories.
Sam’s hand was curled loosely around Dean’s, Jessica’s, hip, his thumb resting on the waistband of his skirt again, long fingers flexing in and gently pressing into the hollow of his hip bone, and it was doing things that were steadily eroding what tenuous self-respect Dean had.
Sam would kill him if he found out that this was him and not Jessica. Shit, maybe he should have said something right away.
“Wait, so if the wish is what switched you then that means that when I kissed… Dean, you kissed me back!”
Yeah, no, too late for that now, he just needs to make sure that Sam never finds out.
They made small talk and drank. Jessica was a lightweight, which Dean found out as he was finishing off his third beer. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a room lurch that hard on three beers. He stumbled slightly as he stood up to get another. Sam reached out a steadying hand.
“Whoa. Easy there.”
Dean laughed it off, “I got it, I’m good.. Anyone ever tell you that you worry too much?” Dean said, softening it with a smile that may have been a bit more shmoopy than he’d intended, but it seemed to do the trick as Sam held up his hand in an “I give up” sort of gesture and let Dean duck into the kitchen.
There were photos stuck all over the fridge, and Dean recognized several of the people from tonight, including Sam. He studied them all while he drank a glass of water before grabbing a couple more beers from the fridge. There was a bottle opener on the coffee table and, sitting back down next to Sam on the sofa, Dean popped the top off one beer and sat it in front of Sam before popping the top of the other for himself.
Sam huffed an amused breath through his nose. Dean looked at him, took in the bemused look and asked, “What?”
“It’s nothing, just,” Sam laughed and shook his head, “you just reminded me of someone.”
Shit. “Oh? Who?”
Before Sam could answer, the conversation in the room reached shrill levels when Bria announced that her boyfriend Brad had proposed to her.
“Jess, I’m sorry, I wasn’t going to say anything because tonight’s your night, but…” the bottle blonde held out her left hand to show off a glittering diamond.
Everyone spent the next half an hour or so congratulating Bria and Dean tried his best to play at being interested. He was worried that that somehow he’d given himself away but Sam was smiling at him again, all dimples and teeth and just pure fucking sunshine, and Dean inwardly breathed a sigh of relief and smiled back. He was simultaneously too drunk and way too sober for this situation.
~~~
Jess should have left and found the motel, but what was she going to do in some guy’s random motel room until morning? Pace around and worry? Staying put seemed like an easier option, doing nothing usually was, at least for now. Absentmindedly she picked up the glass of bourbon and took a sip. It burned a bit but tasted surprisingly okay. She thought that James obviously drank the stuff and his taste buds must be used to it. She kept sipping at it.
This couldn’t be happening, it had to be a dream.
She realized that she had to pee. She’d had to for a little while now but had been unconsciously putting off dealing with it. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the sort of thing that could be ignored forever. Looking around, she spotted the restrooms. She turned around on the stool and stood up, ready to be wobbly after drinking and being in someone else’s skin. But she felt solid, and strong. Glancing at her reflection in the mirror behind the bar again it occurred to her that she was going to have to use the men’s room.
This was most likely just a dream, she could do this.
Luckily, since the bar was practically empty, the bathroom was too. Stall or urinal, that was the question. She opted for a stall, just in case someone came in, it felt less weird that way. Closing the door behind her, she stared down at the toilet before looking at the front of the jeans she was wearing. For the first time she thought about the fact that some guy was in her body and would probably have to pee at some point too. Ugh.
Well, she could do this, it was just peeing, everyone does it, right? She unbuckled, unbuttoned and unzipped, then pulled the waistband of the boxer briefs away and down with her left hand while reaching in with her right.
Okay, yeah, weird.
A couple moments later, she was washing her hands at the sink. That was definitely an experience, odd but kinda fun in a rather intrusive feeling way.
She looked at her reflection, really studied it since she wasn’t being watched. She smiled, frowned, and tried a whole range of emotions. Damn, this guy was attractive. Big green eyes with lashes she would have killed for, freckles, perfect lips, and he was tall too, although not as tall as Sam. And he was in great condition, not like one of those guys that works out in a gym all the time, but strong and lean, solid. His hands were callused, knuckles scarred, like he worked with his hands.
“Who are you?” She asked as she looked in the mirror again before leaving the bathroom.
Sitting back down on the barstool, she caught the bartender’s attention. “I’m sorry, what’s your name?”
“Jeremy.”
She nodded. “Can I get another, Jeremy?” and she tapped the empty bourbon glass with the silver ring on her right hand before sliding it forward.
He nodded, grabbed a bottle and poured a generous amount in the glass. “You feeling better?” he asked as he slid the glass back towards her.
She nodded, “Eh. It’s been a weird night.”
“Not the best birthday?”
“No. I was supposed to spend it with my boyf…” she stopped herself suddenly and tried to switch gears, “I had plans, that, no offense, didn’t include this fine establishment.” Shit, she’d almost outed this guy that she didn’t even know. Maybe he was into guys, but maybe not, how would she know, and it was always better to be safe than sorry when literally walking in someone else’s shoes.
Jeremy, if he noticed the slip, didn’t give any indication of being bothered by it. He leaned on one elbow against his side of the bar. “Are you traveling for work or something?”
She looked at him, honestly not sure how to answer that question. She knew she had a room at a motel nearby, but why?
Before she could answer, Jeremy continued, “I mean, there’s not a whole lot of here here, you know? This is not really a destination. And,“ he leaned a little closer and spoke in a more conspiratorial tone, “you’re like an eleven compared to the locals.” He nodded at the few other patrons and cracked a smile.
Okay, so maybe he had picked up on her little slip, but she didn’t think he was a threat, so she just laughed it off and took a sip of her drink.
~~~
Later, standing in the kitchen trying to follow some random friend group drama that could have almost been a telenovela storyline, Sam had come up behind Dean and wrapped him in a hug, hands crossed over his waist, his face nuzzled into his hair behind his ear. Dean’s eyes closed as a delightful shiver ran through him and settled between his legs.
“Ugh, get a room, you two!” Sam’s friend Brady said, teasingly.
Without looking, Sam grabbed a handful of chips out of the open bag on the counter and threw them right at the guy’s face, who actually managed to catch one in his mouth to raucous applause.
“Come on.” Sam breathed, low and quiet in Dean’s ear, and threading their fingers together, steered him out of the room.
“What? Where?”
“It’s getting late and I promised, didn’t I?”
Dean didn’t know how to respond because he had no idea what Sam was talking about.
~~~
Jessica sipped at the bourbon, not sure if she enjoyed the taste or not but the smooth burn was sort of growing on her. She sipped and she thought about what she should, or even could, do. Trapped in a stranger’s body, in an unknown town, states away from anyone she knows, what were her options? She could go find the motel room that matched the key in her pocket, and what? Watch crappy motel tv until she falls asleep in some stranger’s bed, hoping that she wakes up in her own body in the morning? That honestly sounded depressing as fuck. So she stalled, and sipped, and sat, and tried not to completely freak out.
~~~
His little brother was all hands, huge, long, spidery, gentle hands. Hands that covered so much, especially on Jessica’s smaller body. He smoothed over his… her long hair, down his… dammit, her arms, down her back. Eyes shining and bright, open as if to not miss anything, to catch every reaction as he walked backwards into a room to the right of the bathroom, Sam finally stepped back out of Dean’s space enough to let the warm flickering glow light up his face. The room was lit by half a dozen candles, on the dresser, the nightstand, on top of the bookshelf. Dean’s eyes went wide. Oh.
Oh no. This was, shit, this was… he looked at Sam. This was bad, he told himself. He couldn’t, it was too much, too far.
Sam, still smiling, was now a little unsure, a little embarrassed, “Too much?” His hand was rubbing gently up and down on Dean’s back, Jessica’s back, fuck, like he just couldn’t stop touching her.
Dean tried to say something, screaming internally at himself to find a way out of this, screwing things up between Jessica and Sam would be better than… He swallowed and opened his mouth, piecing together some sort of excuse, but all thought evaporated as Sam bit his bottom lip, all dimples and glinting eyes, and leaned in. Dean didn’t mean to smile, it was a reflex, a reaction to the extreme absurdity of the situation, that’s all, it wasn’t because his heart fucking swelled at seeing Sam all lit up and happy, looking at him like that.
Oh, I’m a bad, bad person.
He couldn’t look away from Sam’s mouth. And then Sam was too close to see and he nosed into his hair, speaking right into his ear, warm breath sending shivers through him, “I promised you, tonight is all about you. I want to make you feel so good, see how many times I can make you come.”
And Dean felt hellfire flare up through him, burning his cheeks, making his thighs and inner muscles clench around a deep needful longing. A gasp escaped, unbidden, from his open mouth.
You do this and you really are the scumbag you’ve always felt like. This is the line, right here, right now.
But this was something that he would never get to have normally, only this freaky occurrence giving him an impossible chance to have everything he’d ever wanted, even if just for one night, even if under duplicitous circumstances, in someone else’s body, even if it meant burning in Hell eternally for it.
One of Sam’s thumbs brushed lightly over Dean’s lips, as his fingers curled into his hair, turning his head and mouthing at his ear, nipping at and rolling his earlobe between his teeth before tracing kisses along the underside of his jaw. Dean breathed out a shiver that went all the way down to his knees. Sam kissed right up to the corner of his open mouth.
Dean didn’t believe Hell was real, not really, not an actual place like the bible thumpers would have you believe, but this, even ignoring every other horrible thing he’d ever done, this would surely damn him… but maybe it would be worth it. He could have this, and Sam never needed to know.
He turned his head just a little and caught Sam’s lips with his own.
~~~
With the bar being as quiet as it was, Jeremy took to making small talk as the evening wore on, nothing heavy, nothing too personal, just talking about sports teams (luckily a topic she knew a fair amount about) and cars (which she didn’t but luckily most guys didn’t take much encouragement to go on about that sort of thing without much more than a few interested prompts), but he was nice and kind of funny. It was better than stewing alone in her thoughts.
By the time Jess had had another bourbon, man did this James guy have a higher tolerance than she did, she had loosened up a lot.
So what if she’d probably experienced a psychotic break or something and was now trapped in this weird-ass dream, or maybe worse that she was really stuck in some dude’s body on her birthday and was now drinking alone in some shitty bar. She blinked, god was this what James’ life was like? Hopefully this was just a bad day or something. She at least had a party with all her college friends and Sam… Sam. Shit, James better be playing it cool, like he’d said he would, and not be doing anything to fuck things up between her and Sam.
~~~
For a moment, when he kissed Sam, SammySam oh fuck SAM, he’d forgotten all about his hands, like they didn’t even exist, like nothing existed outside of the bursts of confused chaos in his mind and how kissing Sam seemed to short circuit everything.
Good! No, no! I can’t. Stop. Ohhh god, right, this is right. Can’t. Fuck, finally!
Every part of his borrowed body felt like it was blushing, like he should be legit glowing, and there was this warm, aching, wetness that he was suddenly very aware of between his legs. It was a lot like how he normally felt when turned on, just not as focused, deeper inside and suffused throughout his body. He also found that he was very, very aware of his tits, every move, each breath as they lifted and fell, the way the fabric of the bra and shirt moved, every touch against Sam, he could feel all of it, and was aware of it all at once, and yet craved more. Sam’s hands were in his hair, cradling his head as they kissed. His lips tasted like home.
You can touch him!
And just like that, a lifetime of suppressed impulses and denied wants let loose as he placed his hands on Sam’s sides. Lightning-like desire, in all its terrifying glory, zapped through him, along his fingers and up his arms at the contact. Sam was solid, still lean and lanky with youth, but no longer a kid, not his little brother. Big.
It wasn’t like Dean never touched him, hell, he’d probably touched him more than anyone else. But that was different, it was checking on him, cleaning him up, bandaging and mending, little kid snuggles and hugs, holding his hand as they crossed the street, shoulders leaning together as they sat and joked quietly, just the two of them. This, though, this, was the edge of the map. Here, there be monsters, and his pulse pounded like he was on a hunt.
He ran his hands up over Sam’s chest, feeling the lines of the muscles beneath his shirt as Sam slid one of his hands down Dean’s back, pulling him closer, pressing them together. He didn’t stop at his waist this time, his hand continuing down over Dean’s ass to cup and squeeze. Dean moaned, just a little and in a way that he hadn’t expected, and his hands moved up across Sam’s shoulders and neck and into his hair, fingers tangling in his nape and pulling Sam down, or himself up, it didn’t matter which as long as they somehow got closer. Dean instinctively wrapped his legs around Sam’s hips when he lifted him up, one hand under Dean’s ass, across the back of his thighs, the other still cradling the back of his head. Sam shifted, holding Jessica’s weight easily and Dean wondered if Sam had gotten strong enough to lift his own actual body the same way. That thought made his breath hitch.
Sam pushed the door shut with one foot and then took three strides to cross the room before he dropped them both down onto the bed. Sam caught himself with his elbows, so his weight didn’t come down on Dean all at once as he bounced, a laugh bubbling out of Dean, met with a smile from Sam.
Sam looked at him for a moment, brushing hair from Dean’s face, Jessica’s face, Dean reminded himself. Sam was looking at Jessica like that, like she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and like he wanted to eat her up. Jealousy at the realization sparked in Dean, but it was quickly quelled because Sam looking at Jessica like that meant that Dean could look back through her in a way he never could through his own eyes.
He took in Sam’s bright, clever, magic-colored eyes, and his pointed nose that made him look fox-like and clever. That mole beside his nose, that Dean always wanted poke or to kiss, depending on the day. His hair that, from this angle, spread around his face like a dark halo and reminded Dean of that photo of Jim Morrison, the one where his arms were spread and his chest was bare. He looked like the hero of some Greek myth and he was painfully beautiful.
Then Sam was kissing him again, little nibbling kisses that wandered along his jaw, sending delicious shivers through him. Sam’s hand found the bare skin at his waist, fingers spread out across his stomach, up under his shirt to his ribs as he kissed his way down Dean’s throat.
Dean leaned his head to the side, stretching his neck as he arched up into Sam’s touch. Sam’s fingertips traced along the bottom of his bra, brushed the underside of his breast. Holy shit.
He’d gotten so caught up in the fact that this was Sam, SamSammy, that he’d almost completely glossed over the fact that he was in a woman’s body and was going to experience sex, with Sam, in a body with girl parts! What was, possibly, most disturbing was how onboard he was for this ride. Like, if he was completely honest with himself, the Sam thing had always been there, usually it was forcibly shoved into the furthest, deepest, darkest corner of his brain, and locked down tight, but sometimes it escaped and made it almost to the surface before he’s wrestle it back down again and did his best to ignore it. But beyond an occasional fleeting thought about what the woman he was with was feeling as he went down on her, thrust into her, well, he’d never actually fantasized about actually feeling whatever they felt. The prospect was surprisingly thrilling.
And this isn’t gay (or incest) if it’s Jessica’s body. That thought sent a cold shiver through him, followed very closely by a rancid tendril of self-disgust. What the hell was the matter with him?
But then Sam was cupping his breast, warm hand giving a massaging little squeeze, the nipple genty pinched in the V between his thumb and index finger, sending sparks of pleasure through him and distracting him from his thoughts. Dean had always liked having his nipples played with during sex, well, he really liked having everything played with during sex, but now, though? It was just so much more.
Sam pushed his shirt up, kissed him through the fabric of the bra, before giving a little, demanding “Off.” and worked both the shirt and bra off, undoing the back clasp one handed, that’s my boy. And then his mouth was on him again. Dean’s hands were on Sam’s shoulders, then in his hair as he lavished attention on his tits. And, yeah, definitely an area deserving of all the attention Dean was prone to give because it felt fucking awesome. Before the sensations could become too much, Sam would shift his focus to the other side, kissing and sucking, biting (which felt amazing) and pulling little gasps out of Dean.
Dean squirmed a bit, suddenly desperate for some sort of friction between his legs. Like he’d sensed it, Sam ran one hand down, using little more than the weight of his hand, over the fabric of his skirt, and rubbed, pushing a bit more with his middle and ring fingers, curving with his body, right down between Dean’s legs. It wasn’t quite like having his dick rubbed, the feeling a little more muted, more spread out. But the warmth that spread through him felt familiar as did the desire it inflamed. And he pushed his hips against Sam’s hand seeking more pressure.
The biggest difference Dean felt was where he normally would have wanted to push into his partner, to thrust into them, all he wanted now, the desire that consumed his mind, was that he needed something inside him, stretching him, filling him. This hollow, wanting, ache was new but made him unbearably warm and desperate. And he wondered, not for the first time, about how much of it was coming from Jessica’s muscle memory, because while it was new to him, it felt so perfectly right and natural in this body.
With a final playful pull on one of his nipples, sucking hard before letting it drop and the weight of the breast bounce back against Dean’s chest, Sam kissed his way down across his stomach. Jessica was a bit ticklish, it would seem, because the light scrape of Sam’s stubble sent delightful tremors through Dean. Not enough to make him laugh or pull away, but enough to make him smile.
This is crazy. This is crazy. This can’t be real. I must be dreaming. This is some weirdass fever dream. What the fuck is wrong with me?
Sam reached the waistband of Jessica’s skirt, kissing and tonguing over Dean’s belly button as he worked loose the zipper and slid the fabric down, chasing it with his mouth. Dean lifted his hips so Sam could slide it the rest of the way down and off his legs, leaving him in just delicate, barely there, panties. They were silky and pink and Dean flashed back hard to six years ago, to Rhonda Hurley looking at him wearing her panties like she wanted to eat him alive, a look that was mirrored now in Sam’s eyes as he slowly looked up his… Jessica’s body. Dammit.
That look wasn’t Dean’s, it wasn’t for him. Sam was looking at Jessica like that. Fuck he shouldn’t do this. He needed to say something, stop this somehow.
“Sam…” He pleaded, but it came out too breathless and wanting, needing, and Sam smiled and leaned down, placed a kiss right on the silky pink stretched over the center of all the warmth Dean was feeling and hummed against him.
“Hmm?” and then he kissed a little lower and looked up from under his bangs as he gently stroked one hand up Dean’s thigh, fingers spreading so wide, hot and thrilling. He placed another kiss, this time below the curve of where Dean could see, so he couldn’t see Sam’s mouth as it pressed the fabric right into the wetness between his legs. Sam nosed in then and breathed deep. “All this for me?”
Dean bit down on his bottom lip, part of his mind still desperately trying to get control of this situation, to somehow, miraculously pull back before it was too late, when Sam looked up and locked eyes with him as he slowly, gently, bit the fabric covered mound, worrying it so slowly with his teeth before saying, in a voice deeper than Dean had ever heard him use, “God I want to eat you up. Will you let me? Let me just,” he licked, his tongue spread wide, right up over the now sodden crotch of those pink panties, “devour you?”
And the last vestiges of Dean’s attempts to be a better person crumbled. If he was going to hell, and he was definitely going, then he was going to make damn sure that he got the maximum value out of the trip.
“Yeah.” he said as he reached out and ran his fingers down Sam’s hair, his thumb brushing Sam’s cheek as Sam, SamMySammyMine, smiled his sharp, clever, mischievous smile and pulled the panties off and settled back between Dean’s legs, bending Dean’s knees up and over Sam’s shoulders. One hand going up Dean’s side, his long arm easily allowing him to cup around one breast, while the other spread, fingers splayed, across the tight skin below Dean’s navel, pressing down with gentle pressure to still the squirming Dean hadn’t even realized he was doing.
~~~
The last of the other customers paid up his tab and left. Jessica threw back the rest of her drink.
“What do I owe you?” she asked as she stood up to pull James’ wallet out of his pocket. The gravity in the room lurched violently to the left and she had to catch herself by clutching the edge of the bar. She barked out a laugh and sat back down on the stool. “Whoa.”
“Easy there.” Jeremy said. “No rush.”
He slid another glass of water over to her with a smile. She nodded and gratefully took a drink. It was cold and even though it still tasted a little too much like chlorine to be called good, she knew it would help.
“It’s cool, take your time, I’ve got a bunch of things to do to close up so you don’t have to leave just yet.” He said with a smile.
~~~
Sam’s attention focused between Dean’s spread legs, nosing into the trimmed little bush before licking along the folds of his pussy. His tongue, a wide and warm pressure, different from anything Dean had experienced before. It wasn’t like having his dick licked, which felt good right from the start. But the act was insanely intimate and definitely felt good, and the fact that it was Sam, samsamsam, made him shiver. And then the tip of Sam’s tongue dipped in and flicked across Dean’s clit and there it was! A burst of pleasure followed immediately by a desire for more.
A keening slipped from Dean’s throat, so much higher pitched than felt right to him. Looking down, all he could see was Sam’s shaggy brown hair and his fox-like eyes, pupils wide in the darkened room, looking back at him. Sam slid his hand down, long fingers spreading Dean open. Dean felt the air stir between his legs, cooling around the edges, and he realized just how wet he was. Sam licked again, taking his time, dipping in and flicking across before gently kissing that swollen bud of nerves and then doing it again, and again. Dean gasped when he used his teeth, normally something, as a guy, that would be a complete no-go, but the nipping and nibbling here felt good, really good, primal and hungry, and Dean wanted more.
Sam pushed his tongue in, deeper each time, as he rubbed Dean’s clit, pressing and circling, circling and pressing, sucking, biting, again and again until Dean’s hands had to move because Sam was holding his hips still, so he reached down and brushed Sam’s hair back, so he could see him better, then stayed in his hair, just holding, trying not pull. And his other hand went to his breast, kneading and then pinching the sensitive nipple. Everything combined and built up like a wave swelling, growing more and more, frantic, urgent, faster, and then he was pulling on Sam’s hair, which made him groan into Dean, the vibrations sending Dean crashing over. Sam continued to gently massage Dean’s clit, while fucking into him with his tongue, as wave after wave rolled through Dean.
Just as Dean was able to breathe again, Sam shifted around a bit so that he had both hands working, the one still spreading Dean open and working his clit in slow circles, while he pressed first one finger then two into him.
There was a punk rock girl out near Salt Lake, what was her name? Brenda something, shit he couldn’t think, but she’d had a thing for sticking her finger in her partner’s ass when they fucked her, and while she’d been enthusiastically into it, and it hadn’t been bad, it was weird, kinda good weird, but weird. It was nothing like this.
Sam leaned back in as he worked up a steady rhythm, and started tonguing and sucking his clit again. Dean was so sensitive it didn’t take long for him to feel everything building again. Sam had worked another finger in and curled them forward. It was a tried and true move that Dean had used on many, many occasions, and now he knew why it always worked so well, as he gasped and came hard, muscles fluttering hard around Sam’s hand.
“Samm… Sam,” remembering just in time, “please, oh fuck, mmm, I…”
“Hmm?”
“I need,” but he hesitated before voicing the rest, bit his bottom lip, was he really going to ask for it? From Sam?
“What? What do you need, baby?” Sam asked, his voice lower than Dean had ever heard it, deep but tender and pressed right between his legs, and damn if that didn’t light something up on the switchboard in Dean’s head.
No one but Dean would ever know if he just asked for what he wanted.
“Fuck me?” he said, quiet and unsure.
“Hmm, thought I’d stay here for a little longer, make you scream my name.” Sam slowly nosed in again and licked. “You taste so good.”
“Sam.”
Bright eyes staring up at him. “Mmm?”
“Are you really going to make me beg… on my birthday?”
Sam nodded as he nipped at the inner crease of Dean’s hip.
Dean let out a frustrated groan, “Please? Get up here and fuck me, Sam.”
Sam smiled, “Well, since you asked so nicely.” He sat back, pulled his shirt off and used it to wipe his hand and face before tossing it onto the floor. Shit, Sammy had filled out since the last time Dean had seen him and, reminding himself that he could look, he let his eyes linger on his brother’s torso. He realized he was mentally inventorying the scars he could see, there were no new ones, which was good. Sam’s belt buckle jangled a little as it came undone and he unbuttoned his jeans. Sam stood and pushed them down along with his underwear, black boxer briefs, and then was kicking them off to the side and slowly crawling back onto the bed.
Holy shit! HIs baby brother was built like a Greek god! How often was he working out? He was all slick, cut muscle, long limbs, and… In what universe was it even remotely fair that his little (no longer the operative word) brother had gotten bigger than him, apparently in every way? Dean was not a small guy, over six feet and packing a generously sized dick that he’d never, not once, gotten any complaints about. In fact, he’d received more than enough compliments to give him a, possibly, over-inflated sense of pride. Dean had an amazing cock, that he knew how to use. It was a source of great joy for him. And, he soothed his ego, it was hard to get a proper sense of scale, not having access to his own hands. But then Sam was grinning at him with his wickedly clever eyes and bright, dimpled smile again and Dean felt himself smiling back, his cheeks flushing as Jessica’s body responded to a new wave of want.
Sam crawled up over Dean, stretching his long body and skimming, not quite touching, over him, supporting his weight on his knees and hands. Just as Sam zeroed in on his lips and when Dean anticipated he would kiss him, Sam kept stretching past, reaching over and easily sliding open then closing the nightstand drawer. When he pulled back, a condom packet held by a corner in his mouth, he dragged it lightly across Dean’s skin, tickling slightly and forcing a giggle out of him that Dean would cringe over later when he replayed the moment. Sam sat back on his heels and tore open the packet. A wild thought, a desire, flashed through Dean, causing his cheeks to burn.
“Wait,” he said breathlessly.
Sam stopped and looked at him, concern overriding some of the confidence he’d shown just seconds before. But Dean was sitting up and reaching out, running his hand down Sam’s thigh as he smiled Jessica’s wide smile.
“Just, let me…” and he slid his hand up, his gaze meeting his grasp as he stroked Sam’s length. Hot, velvety soft skin twitched in the circle of Jessica’s manicured fingers. Dean blinked slowly, his eyes threatening to close, to block out such a transgression, but he made himself look, burning the image into his memory. He licked his lips as he shifted so he could lean forward. He just needed to know… if he was here, if he was doing this, then he needed it all, there’d never be another chance. He rubbed his thumb through the drop of precum beaded up on the head of Sam’s cock, spreading it slick across the head, and then kissed there. He looked up to find Sam staring down, eyes dark, mouth open, a blush high on his cheeks like he was drunk, and Dean licked slowly, tasting as he stared up at him.
Dean had never gone down on a guy before, although he’d received plenty of propositions over the years. But he’d eaten out more than his fair share of women and every one had tasted different, each one unique and special and divine, and this really wasn’t much different from that. Salty, a little bitter, not bad, just intimate. And he’d be lying if he said there wasn’t a deep satisfaction to sucking the head of Sam’s cock into his mouth. Sam’s fingers slipped into Jessica’s hair, fingers spanning the width of her head and gently holding there, not pressing, not pulling, as he let out a slow breath.
Dean reached up with his free hand and took the opened condom packet from Sam as he swirled his tongue against the vein on the underside of his cock. And then he pulled back and slid the condom down and gave it a couple slow pumps with his fist to make sure it was rolled all the way down.
He sat up and crawled forward, capturing Sam’s bottom lip as he pressed against him. Sam’s hand let go of his hair and like earlier, he pulled Dean in like he weighed nothing, hands engulfing his hips as he settled Dean on his lap. Dean wrapped his arms around Sam’s neck, reveling in the feel of his tits crushed up against Sam’s chest and Sam’s erection hot and hard between them. His hips rubbed forward, like they were seeking friction on autopilot.
“Sam,” he keened.
Sam lifted him again and lined himself up and lowered Dean onto him. Dean’s eyes rolled closed as he stretched and was filled in a way he’d never even dreamed. He’d never be able to claim that again, he was sure he’d never get the perfect feeling of them fitting together like this out of his mind. And as his hips once again seemed more in control of things than he was, he gave some experimental grinds, and looked at Sam whose eyes were closed, his brow furrowed a little in concentration, and he looked… beautiful.
“Sam?”
Sam opened his eyes, his pupils blown wide in the candlelight and a look of pure want on his face, and he was the most gorgeous thing that Dean had ever seen. He circled his hips, trying to find the leverage to do more when Sam lifted him again, easily taking Jessica’s weight in his arms and began to thrust up. As he repeated the movement, again and again, Dean let his head fall back, his eyes closing, Sam’s mouth kissing hungrily along his jaw and down his neck, teeth nipping, stubble on his chin rough, but never hurting, never bruising, no it was just enough to feel all the way down through to where they were connected.
With his eyes closed and head tipped back, the weight of Jessica’s hair hanging down, bouncing with every forceful thrust, Dean could only hold on, losing himself in the sensations. Sam ran a hand up Dean’s back, his hand tangling in and gently but insistently pulling, causing Dean to arch further back. Sam kissed down, captured one of his nipples, his other hand sliding low across Dean hips, thumb finding and pressing into his clit and the combination of all those sensations pushed him up and over that cliff again. Being so full, having something… his brother’s cock, a thought that he really shouldn’t be so completely good with… inside him, for his muscles to squeeze, and with so much skin-on-skin contact for him to clutch onto, pushed everything up, and up, and over.
When Dean could focus again, he lifted his head, eyes meeting Sam’s, Sam who was still fucking him, and holy hell if his (not so) little brother wasn’t a goddamn freight train. The thought brought a ridiculous swelling of pride with it, some misguided feeling that he’d had a hand in raising this absolute god of a man. Dean smiled, his mouth open with every breath that Sam pushed out of him, and he traced his fingers across Sam’s face, thumb dragging across his bottom lip before Dean leaned in and kissed him.
“Come on, Baby. Come for me? I want to feel you, come on.” he said in between kisses. Sam’s arms tightened around him, his pace speeding up. “ Come on, Sammy.” Dean breathed and he felt Sam’s body tense. He leaned back enough to see Sam’s face as he climaxed. Little aftershocks from Dean’s last orgasm were still pulsing through him as Sam twitched inside him.
When their heavy breaths slowed down to contented sighs, Sam pulled out, removed the condom and tossed it in a small trash can by the nightstand and twisted the two of them so they could fall onto their sides on the bed, his arms still around Dean, facing each other.
Sam brushed a thick lock of hair out of Dean’s face, his eyes alight with reflected, flickering candlelight. He was sweaty and his cheeks were still flushed and he looked contentedly fucked out and Dean couldn’t stop staring at him.
A bemused smile flashed across Sam’s face after a moment. “What?”
Dean didn’t have the words, so he just smiled with his borrowed face, hoping it conveyed the best part of the crazed tangle of things he was feeling. When Sam returned the smile, Dean leaned in and kissed him one last time before snuggling into his brother’s broad chest, his eyelids growing heavy.
Sam placed a kiss on the top of his head. “Happy birthday, Jess.”
Dean was glad that Sam couldn’t see his face because he knew the smile wasn’t reaching his eyes anymore.
Dean lay there until Sam’s breathing evened out into sleep. And then he steadfastly refused to give into the looming tidal wave of guilt that was threatening to drown him, closing his eyes, he breathed in the smell of Sam, letting all the memories it triggered carry him, finally, to sleep.
~~~
“So, I’m curious,” she asked, “you don’t seem too enthused about… wait, where are we again?”
Jeremy laughed, “Eastfield.”
“Right, right. You don’t seem too enthused about Eastfield. And you’re young, seem intelligent, so why…” she gestured around the bar. “You from here? Got family or something?”
“Nah, I mean, not exactly. I grew up near here. Went to college. While I was there, my dad got sick, cancer, so I came home to take care of him. And, I don’t know, after he passed I just didn’t go right back and now,” he shrugged as he moved glasses around, “I don’t know. I’m just sort of here because here feels as good as anywhere to be.”
Jessica nodded and took a sip of water.
“What about you? You’ve been here all night and haven’t mentioned what you do for a living once.” Jeremy carried a crate of glasses into the back, Jessica could hear it being set down, and then he was back again, leaning up against the bar across from her. “Most people don’t shut up about their jobs when they get talking here. It’s just a safe topic, you know? Not too personal but something that eats up most of their lives. But you?”
Jessica shrugged and smiled, taking another drink of water. Jeremy squinted his eyes a bit, pursed his lips.
“What if I guess?” He looked her up and down, clucking his tongue quietly. “A hit man for the Mafia? Is the Mafia still a thing?” He smiled.
She laughed, “I don’t know. But no, I’m not in the Mafia.” I think, she added internally.
Jeremy looked at her, watched her mouth as she smiled. “Are you a model or something… which as I’m saying it, sounds super cheesy.” he said with a bit of a blush rising high on his cheeks above his beard. He was flirting and she suddenly remembered that she wasn’t herself. He was flirting with the gorgeous guy who’d been drinking alone at his bar all evening.
“I don’t really want to talk about what I do, it’s just not…” she shrugged and took another drink of water, licking her lips. The room was still spinning a bit and she felt all warm and fuzzy, like this was all a weird but pleasant dream.
Jeremy leaned forward onto his elbows, only a foot or so of distance between them now. “SInce I’m already kinda making a fool of myself… you are, you know… really hot and it seems like a crime against humanity for you to be alone on your birthday.”
He had nice brown eyes, wide and clear and kind, and what should have been an overdone line came across as genuine. The only other guy she knew that could have pulled that off was Sam. Thinking of him caused a heavy lump of guilt to form in her stomach.
“And yet, here I am.”
He slid one hand closer, fingertips just brushing the backs of her knuckles where her hand was still curled around the glass.
She stared at his hand and thought about Sam, who was the best man she’d ever known, smart, sweet, funny, weirdly mysterious, how did he even know half the shit he knew? And she knew so little about his life, his childhood, just enough to know that it had been nomadic and traumatic. His mom had died when he was a baby, his dad hadn’t handled that well, and he had a brother, but he never wanted to talk about them. He was home, thinking he was with her (hopefully) if James wasn’t screwing everything up. But at the same time, the idea that Sam might not be able to tell that it wasn’t her… well, it rankled.
She looked over Jeremy’s shoulder and saw James’ reflection looking back. Maybe it was the drinks, she thought as she shifted her gaze back to Jeremy, or the dream-like unrealness of the entire evening, but she slowly licked her lips thinking about what it would feel like to kiss a guy using someone else’s mouth, a man’s mouth? Would it feel different?
There was only one way to find out.
She pushed up and forward slightly as Jeremy leaned further across the bar. They both hesitated when there were only a couple of inches of space between them, giving the other a chance to back out. Shyness was never something that Jessica suffered from. Quite the opposite. Throughout her life she’d been accused of being too forward, too bold and daring, too aggressive when she wanted something. She knew she was impulsive, but YOLO, right? She slid her hand around the back of Jeremy’s neck and pulled him into a kiss.
The beard was something new to her. It was scratchy-soft and tickly in a way that was not entirely unpleasant. His lips were soft though and he knew what to do with them. After a moment, they broke apart.
“Hey, come around. I, uh, I want to give you something.”
When she stood up this time she was steady. Walking around the bar, she felt a flush of excitement, like a spreading fire flowing from her cheeks, down her chest, and into her gut. She followed him through the doorway and into the back room where Jeremy turned and pushed her up against a wall with a big, laminated, OSHA poster taped to it.
He was a couple inches shorter, so she had to tip her head down to meet his lips, a feeling so opposite of what she was used to that it added to the overall surrealness of the situation. And then he stepped even closer, one leg wedging between hers, pressing against her, his hands cupping her head, fingers rubbing into her scalp, such a different experience with James’ short hair, but pulling a pleased noise from somewhere deep in her chest. When his hips ground against hers, she was startled at the sensation. All that pooling warmth in her gut was suddenly rushing to her groin, focusing with growing insistence. She could feel Jeremy, already so hard, pressing back and the sensation left her breathless.
“Can I?” He tipped his head down as his hand skated over the front of her jeans, lightly tracing the bulge of her cock. Shit, she had a cock and this guy wanted to…
Okay, so she didn’t know if James was gay, or into guys at all, and she was seriously dating Sam, she was, but when would she ever be given the chance to experience this from this side of the equation again?
“Yeah.” she said.
Jeremy kissed her again as he undid her belt and jeans, sliding his hand down to feel her through her briefs. Her hips pressed forward, chasing the warmth and touch of his hand. And then his mouth was gone. He sank to his knees as he pulled the waistband of her briefs down and freed her straining cock. And it was like watching porn that she could feel, looking down the long stretch of her borrowed body, flat stomach and hard on, flushed dark pink with short, dark curls around the base. And then Jeremy’s tongue licked slowly up along the bottom of her shaft before flicking across the tip. Oh! That felt… good! One hand gently held the base, angling the length for better access, while his other hand cupped warm around her balls, lifting and squeezing in a way that made a small gasp escape her lips. Jeremy stared up at her as his tongue darted out again and swirled around the head of her cock, like he was trying to burn the image into his memory. But when he sucked her into his mouth and she groaned and placed a hand gently in his hair, her mouth falling open, his eyes sank closed and he got to work.
Jessica had given head, she knew her way around a blowjob and took pride in the responses she got, but to feel it, oh it added an entire other level. She couldn’t help but note what worked vs. what didn’t work vs. what really worked. She had also been on the receiving end of oral in her own body many times, something that Sam was particularly fond of (and extremely good at), but while this was similar, it was also so completely different, everything sort of flipped around in a delightful way. Her head tipped back against the wall as she let the feelings take over. Despite having no direct experience on this side of a blowjob, she felt confident that Jeremy seemed to know what he was doing. She didn’t hold back her responses and he picked them up and ran with them.
She was still tipsy enough and this was all still so new and weird, she had no idea how long it lasted before she felt herself tensing up, everything building as he worked at an increasingly frantic pace. As if he could sense how close she was, and he probably knew better than she did, he pulled back just enough to look up and say, “Come on” before swallowing as much of her as he could. A couple more pumps and the pressure in her burst, flooding out of her in deliciously violent spurts, all of which Jeremy greedily took.
When she could focus again, and looked down, he had his own dick out and was coming in his hand, his forehead resting against her thigh, still on his knees. She ran her hand through his hair, unconsciously petting him as they both came down.
When he sat back and fixed himself back into his pants, she did the same. She offered him a hand and pulled him back up to his feet. Awkwardness threatening to set in, she just smiled at him, “Thanks seems like a bit of an understatement.”
“What can I say, I’m a sucker for hot birthday boys.” He laughed, cheeks glowing with a deep flush. “No pun intended.”
Her smile spread wider.
Walking out of the bar a few minutes later, Jeremy’s number written on the receipt in her pocket, only feeling a little awkward at how quickly the whole interaction wrapped up because he seemed honestly content, Jessica looked around the parking lot. James had said it was a classic car, but she wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting. The long, shiny, sleek lines of the absolute beast of a vehicle that was waiting for her was a surprise though.
She fished the keys out of her pocket and opened the door with a creaking squeak that spoke of old joints formed from heavy, solid, metal. She slid in behind the wheel and pulled the door shut.
“Okay. Just an easy drive over to the motel. You can do this.” Turning the key in the ignition, the engine roared to life. Nothing quiet or subtle about this car, but it felt right on a weird, deep level that she wasn’t sure was coming from her. She eased out of the bar’s parking lot and onto the blessedly deserted street, keeping it a bit below the speed limit, even though she could feel the car practically begging to go faster.
Then there was the motel, and she parked outside room 12, locked the car and went inside. The place was… well it wasn’t going to ever earn even three stars on any travel guide ever again, but it was sorta clean and had the basics covered, a bed, nightstand, little desk with a chair next to a dresser with a tv on it, open closet, and a dingy bathroom. She dropped the keys onto the nightstand, along with James’s wallet and phone, as she sat heavily on the side of the bed.
Exhaustion settled heavily on her and she felt like she was made of lead, but still managed to pull off her boots and started to lay down before stopping herself and grabbing the cheap pen with the motel name on it. She scribbled a quick note on the receipt, under Jeremy’s name and number. And then was asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.
~~~
The distinctive smell of stale, decades old, cigarette smoke and bleach hit him as Dean woke with a start. Sitting up and taking immediate stock of himself and his surroundings. Sunlight streamed in around the curtains, lighting up copious dust motes. The distant sound of a door banging shut reverberated through the walls.
He was still wearing what he’d been wearing when he’d left his body last night and had been sleeping stretched out on top of the covers on the bed in his motel room. His duffle bag lay seemingly untouched on the floor at the foot of the bed.
He rubbed his hands over his face and scrubbed at his hair a few times.
His wallet, keys, and phone were on the nightstand next to a note, which he picked up and read. The handwriting wasn’t his. And as he looked he realized it was likely written by two different people.
Jeremy 555-823-3467 was written in one hand, while the rest was another, messy and unsure.
You may not want to go back to that bar.
“Huh.” he tossed the note onto the bed, got up and walked to the window. A quick check outside verified that his car was there and seemed in one piece.
~~~
Jessica woke up slowly, warm and comfortable. She stretched and felt the familiar feel of her own body and smiled. The smile dropped entirely as she realized that she was naked and not alone. Sam, also naked, stirred next to her as she moved.
The night before settling like a brick in her stomach. She knew what she’d done, and would carry the guilt of cheating on Sam, but if she was honest with herself, which she tried hard to be, she believed that the extraordinary circumstances were something that she would have regretted not taking advantage of. Right or wrong, she’d made her choice and she’d live with that. But the idea that some random guy had used her body the same way, with her boyfriend, and that it turned out that Sam hadn’t noticed anything wrong, which either said a lot about how poorly he knew her, or about how good James was at pretending to be someone he didn’t really know, well, that weighed on her in a much more unpleasant way.
It wouldn’t be for another year and a half before that strange, surreal night would come sneaking back into her life in a fittingly bizarre and unexpected way.
Looking at that too handsome face again standing so close to Sam as she flipped on the light in their living room, made the floor feel like it was going to drop out from under her.
“Sam?”
“Jess. Hey. Dean, this is my girlfriend, Jessica.” Sam said, still slightly out of breath.
She blinked in surprise, “Wait, your brother Dean?”
Sam had never shown her any pictures of his brother, had only spoken about him a few times, and had made it sound like they were distant, estranged. She hadn’t ever questioned… why would she have questioned? This, what the hell was this? But before she could form any of her swirling thoughts into words, Dean stepped forward, an over-the-top leering grin on his face.
“Oh, I love the Smurfs. You know, I gotta tell you. You are completely out of my brother's league.”
There wasn’t even a hint of recognition in his eyes, but she still felt the hairs on her arms rise with a sense of danger at the aggressive eye contact he’d fixed on her.
Later, as she watched Sam pack and assure her that he would be back in time for his interview on Monday, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was looming nearby. But she’d never told Sam about that night, it was insane, how could she have even begun to explain it? So she didn’t know now how to articulate why she didn’t want Sam to go. The idea that James was actually Sam’s brother, that he’d… that they’d…
Sam kissed her goodbye with promises of seeing her soon and then was out the door. A familiar rumble of an engine starting up outside, and then they were gone.
#wincest#wincest fanfiction#non con#extremely dubious consent#body swap#gender swap#sam/jessica#dean/sam#long post
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I hope you have a day full of love and sunshine - you deserve nothing less! Thank you for always caring about others and spreading joy - even when it's not the easiest thing to do. Thank you for always, always being there for me, and for simply being you. It was a very, very good day when you entered this world, ma'am. We're all better for it!
I hope you enjoy this beautiful art from @callmebeem. Olivia deserved some love today, too. You know darn well Merida & Casey would never let her day slip by uncelebrated, so here's a little fic for you - I hope it makes you smile. Sending you a huge hug and HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
Something Sweet
Open Heart | Bryce x Olivia, Ethan x Merida, Tobias x Casey | Teen |
Approx. 1300 words | Merida belongs to @lilyoffandoms| Olivia belongs to @storyofmychoices
In some ways, it was a typical Boston morning. The Paramount Diner was bustling with city-dwellers grabbing sustenance before heading to work. The clattering of dishes, morning news blaring from the TV, and a mixture of North End and Brahmin accents shouting orders to Joey, who manned the grill, was not out of the ordinary. The unusual thing was our chatty little crew could actually hear it.
It had become a Wednesday morning tradition. Ethan and Bryce headed there right after the gym; Merida and Olivia stopped by before work, and Casey and Tobias arrived just after... well... you know. Olivia had dubbed them the “breakfast besties,” and Ethan did his best to prevent rolling his eyes every time he heard it. On a typical morning, there would be at least three different conversations taking place, each trying to yell over the other, and anything happening outside of their table would be a misty blur.
But today, you could hear a pin drop. It could be attributed to a late case that left Tobias, Casey, Ethan, and Merida with very little sleep. Or it might have to do with the flight they had to catch in three hours. Perhaps Bryce had a case of nerves over the surgery he had been called to assist on at U Mass Memorial. The rare procedure was being streamed live to nearly every major hospital and medical school in America. No pressure there. The only one who appeared to have a normal day ahead was Olivia, and that was the problem.
Bryce scowled in an utterly oblivious Ethan's direction. But the curmudgeonly doctor couldn’t ignore the handsome, young surgeon when he blurted out, “I can’t believe you had to make this presentation today... of all days!”
Merida looped their arm with Ethan’s and leaned in close.
“Hey, you know I’m the last one who would typically rush to his defense, but I don’t think Ethan had anything to do with scheduling the AMA symposium.”
“And while I’m the next to last person to rush to his defense,” Tobias jumped in. “I can confirm he wasn't on their selection committee, either. So he wasn’t the one that invited us to present.”
Ethan reached for his coffee with a shake of his head. “Thank you both... I think.”
Across the table, Olivia was growing increasingly uncomfortable. “Guys, it’s OK. We’ve been over this before... I don’t mind.”
“Well, I mind,” Bryce frowned, and Ethan couldn't hold back anymore.
“Lahela, for what it’s worth, I’m not responsible for you being asked to assist on a pulmonary autograft at U Mass either.”
“I know,” Bryce unreasonably tried to reason. “But if you didn’t have the symposium today, I wouldn’t have to worry about Olivia being alone at Edenbrook on her birthday!”
“Bryce,” Olivia comforted. “It’s all right. I’m a big girl, and we’re all celebrating this weekend. It’s OK.”
And it was. She was an adult, after all, not only an adult but a doctor, just like the others. It would be silly to think that their busy worlds would stop just because it was her birthday. But if she was completely honest, she was a little sad that she wouldn’t see any of their faces in Edenbrook today.
“It’s all right,” Casey said, tapping Olivia’s knee. “We are going to spoil the heck out of this beauty on Saturday.”
“Damn straight we are,” Merida chimed in. “We have an epic spa day planned, with bottomless mimosas to boot! You guys are lucky if we remember to meet you for dinner after!"
“Oh, you’ll remember,” Tobias chuckled. “If you think Casey will forget meatballs at Carmelina's, you’re bugging.”
Ethan let out a sigh. "Is this where someone makes an obnoxious comment about these two and meatballs."
"Only you," Casey teased. "You really need to stop being such an adolescent, Ramsey!"
Ignoring the exasperated expression on Ethan's face, Casey turned to Olivia.
“I love that we share a favorite restaurant.”
“Of course we do,” Olivia grinned. “We have exquisite taste!” She turned to Bryce and lovingly brushed his hair away from his eyes. “Honey, as far as I’m concerned, Saturday is my birthday, and it will be great. Today... it’s just another Wednesday.”
After giving Olivia a dozen kisses, Bryce left directly for U Mass while the others headed to Edenbrook. Olivia had a busy day ahead, and her friends were checking in on patients before their flight. But Casey couldn't help but feel sad when she watched Olivia walk away.
“I know I said it doesn’t matter, but I was just trying to look at the bright side. Honestly, I hate that we won't be here for Liv’s birthday.”
“Yeah,” Merida soughed. “I feel the same way. Of all days for us to all be away.”
“In reality, we’d all be busy working anyway, but at least we could take little moments throughout the day to make her feel special, you know?”
Merida tapped their pen on the desk. That glimmer that appeared in their eyes whenever an idea struck suddenly appeared. “Come with me!" Merida said, grabbing Casey's hand. "I have an idea.”
~~~~~
Several hours later, Bryce was focused on his surgery as the other's plane touched down in Cleveland. Olivia grabbed her folders from the nurses’ station, surprised to find a bright pink envelope on top of the stack.
With a gentle smile, she put the note in her pocket and continued with her day. Before she knew it, she was ready to sign off for lunch when Nurse Laura handed her an envelope.
“What’s this?” Olivia asked. “I’m not waiting on any results?”
“Not sure,” Laura shrugged. “But I was given strict orders to get that to you right before you headed to lunch.”
Olivia opened the envelope to find an ecru sheet of fine stationery, a note with penmanship not typically associated with a doctor inside.
Olivia beamed as she held the note close to her heart. She was filled with warmth, and not just because she was anxious for the delicious Penne.
“Laura, you have lunch now, don’t you?”
“I do,” the nurse nodded.
“Good! Join me! Carmelina’s portions are more than enough for two, and trust me! You’ll love this!”
~~~~~
The day was busier than usual, so it passed by in a flash, and now, it was time to go home. She just had to make one stop at the nurse's station, to pick up the beautiful flowers Bryce had delivered. But it looked like her surprises weren’t over yet. An adorable pink box from Little Miss Cupcape sat next to her flowers, a colorful note affixed.
The nurses watched on silently as Olivia’s eyes began to tear. “Your friends really love you,” Laura smiled.
“I know,” Liv blushed. “Leave it to them to make me feel special from seven hundred miles away.”
She gathered up her belongings when Laura reminded her of just one more thing... there was no way the nurses were letting her leave before they got to sing.
I hope you enjoyed this, Dani. I know this isn't the easiest birthday for you, but I still hope you find joy in special little moments throughout the day—just like Olivia did here.
Sending you the biggest of hugs! xoxo
#HAPPY BIRTHDAY DANI!!!!#open heart#open heart choices#olivia hadley#bryce lahela#bryce x olivia#ethan ramsey#ethan x merida#tobias carrick#tobias x casey#playchoices
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Shortly after the start of Israeli assault on Gaza, which came in response to Hamas’s murderous Oct. 7 attack on its territory, Israel’s government claimed that its targeting of a major hospital in the north was justified because of the presence of an important command base secretly maintained there by its enemies.
Even long after most of the northern Gaza Strip had been pummeled into rubble and brought under the control of the Israeli army, no proof of anything resembling a major terrorist operations base has been shared with the world.
In the weeks that followed, as Israel’s offensive proceeded southward, reports of large-scale Palestinian casualties multiplied. As of the latest count, the number of deaths has been placed northward of 22,000 and is still climbing.
All the while, though, Israeli spokespeople have cast doubt on this accounting, saying that the real numbers are unknown and suggesting that the reported ones are unreliable because their main source has been the Hamas-operated Gaza Health Ministry. Even U.S. President Joe Biden gave this kind of skepticism a lift when he said he had “no notion that the Palestinians are telling the truth.”
Then, nearly a month ago, came word from a report published in the Lancet, one of the world’s most highly respected medical journals, that a group of researchers had found no evidence of inflated mortality reporting.
As a columnist, I have felt the increasingly powerful tug of other topics. There’s the ongoing civil war in Sudan, which is almost certainly an even worse tragedy than Gaza in terms of loss of life. An important election was held last month in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, one of Africa’s most important countries and a land that has mostly spent the past few decades adrift.
It is this sort of thing that routinely gets underreported that attracted me to column-writing in the first place. If not quite as neglected, there is an election of major significance about to be held in Taiwan, the outcome of which may help determine global war and peace over the next decade in ways that are totally out of proportion with that small island’s size. In South America, also often overlooked, there is Venezuela’s increasingly open covetousness about its neighbor Guyana’s oil-rich territory and a fascinating recent election in Argentina.
Yet it would be wrong to turn one’s gaze away from events in Gaza prematurely. To do so would facilitate the task of the spin doctors on all sides and worsen our own callousness toward one of the worst human catastrophes the world has experienced in recent years.
As the conflict has dragged on and Israel has stepped up its military pressure against Gaza, it has found itself on the defensive on other fronts, most notably that of world opinion, with the United States increasingly isolated as one of the few countries willing to credit its accounts of what is happening on the ground there—and willing to defend Israel’s actions. Meanwhile, the reasons to doubt Israel’s explanations of its strategy and actions continue to multiply.
At various times, Israel has insisted, for example, that it has taken great care in its targeting to minimize death of civilians and damage to housing and basic infrastructure. Even for nonexperts, the more that time goes by, the harder this has become to reconcile with what our eyes have been telling us, as the images have rolled in showing what look like Dresden-level damage of broad and densely inhabited swaths of a territory only twice as large as Washington, D.C. Where apartment buildings once stood, there are now only heaps of detritus, which grieving and orphaned family members are left to sift through with their bare hands in search of whatever scraps of their old lives they can recover.
Three months into the war, detailed reporting on the destruction in Gaza has called into question the notion that Israel ever took serious precautions. It was recently revealed by a U.S. intelligence assessment that—despite Israel’s high-tech arsenal—much of the worst devastation unleashed on Gaza thus far was the result of U.S.-furnished unguided (or “dumb”) munitions, which had accounted for nearly half of the 29,000 bombs dropped on Gaza up to that point in the conflict.
Similar problems with Israel’s account of its offensive have arisen with its claims that it has generally avoided attacking the so-called safe zones within the enclave where it has told millions of displaced Gazans to move in order to stay out of harm’s way. CNN verified in December that the Israeli military had carried out three airstrikes against these zones.
I write these things because of a growing sense of trepidation about this conflict. This sense is not only what seems to me to be a well-justified fear that the casualties in Gaza will continue to mount strongly in the weeks and months ahead, but also that the world is, perhaps predictably, becoming inured to the tragedy.
My other big fear is that a mounting weariness with the seeming hopelessness of the situation in Gaza will only push things toward the worst kinds of outcomes. The one that I worry about most is that Israel’s continuing assault on the territory, with its accompanying constriction of humanitarian relief and mounting nutrition insecurity and health crises, will lead to a disguised expulsion of Palestinians from their land, producing nothing more than a morally fatigued shrug from the rest of the world.
I say “disguised” because Israel may be able to carry this out without rounding people up and physically pushing them over the border with Egypt, which has said that it will not accept a new wave of Palestinian refugees. At a certain point, the desperation created by famine and disease could achieve the same result.
The Biden administration has said that it opposes the expulsion of Palestinians from the Gaza Strip and also rejects the idea of Israel assuming political and administrative control over the enclave, but the Biden team’s record of holding Israel to account on anything to do with this crisis is extremely weak, and its willingness to stand up to Israel by denying it military or political support still seems close to nil.
In Israel, in the meantime, there continues to be discussion among present and former officials about just this sort of “solution”—often using the euphemism “transfer,” though some in Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s party and coalition government have called outright for reducing Gaza’s population or even for a second Nakba—an Arabic word referring to the mass displacement of Palestinians after the creation of present-day Israel in 1948.
The world needs to say no to this and mean it. Clearing Palestinians en masse out of ever more of their land is just the kind of seductive-looking “fix” that is not only profoundly unjust, but will also only guarantee more hatred and tragedy in the future.
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Kissing Sam Wilson #1 - A Normal Crush (Samtember 2023) - Joaquín Torres / Sam Wilson, 650 words.
@samsseptember Day #1 - Free Space
Joaquín Torres considered himself an everyday guy. He did his job, hung out with his friends, and coped with a massive crush. A crush he felt too old to be having, but a crush nonetheless.
Okay, so his job was working alongside Captain America, his friend group was increasingly filled with superheroes and his massive crush was on good old Captain America himself, Sam Wilson. Still, he was a simple guy, a normal one, right? Nothing weird about fighting alongside Sam and wanting, more than anything, to kiss him.
It was normal, okay, but he was terrible at being subtle. He knew it, and so did everyone else around him.
Bucky was the worst. If Joaquín felt like he was too old to have a crush, Bucky was definitely too old to be bullying him for it. The geriatric soldier laughed as Sam left their briefing ahead of the pair. He had things to do - patriotic things - and would meet them later. “I swear your eyes bug out of your head every time he opens his mouth.”
“They do not.”
“Why don’t you just tell him you like him? It’ll save us all a headache.”
“It’ll make things weird when he doesn’t feel the same,” Joaquín said, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it, Bucky. I’ll try to be more discreet.”
“Yeah, that’ll be the day.”
~
Bucky’s sarcasm was annoying, but he was right. Two days later, he found himself in an armored truck with his partner, staring at Sam’s ass. He tried to be subtle, but subtle kind of flew out the window when the awesomeness that was Sam Wilson was involved. Luckily, they were alone, so nobody caught him.
“Boring, huh?”
Sam turned back towards him from where he was watching out of the tiny window screen. They were staking out a new target, and he was pretty sure they’d find something before the night was over.
“It’s a stakeout,” Joaquín said, trying his best to be casual, and not act like he’d been ogling Sam only moments before. “I’ve been on a dozen and they never get less exhausting. Hopefully, they’ll show up soon.”
“I’m sure it will,” Sam said, turning back to look again once more before looking back at Joaquín. “Hey, can I ask you something before we really have to start watching out for them?”
“Of course, Sam.”
“I heard a rumor. It may be absolutely stupid, and if it is just tell me so I can kill whoever told me. But, I heard a rumor that you liked me.”
Joaquín was sure his heart stopped then and there.
“Who told you that?’
“Bucky, if you’d believe it.”
That old man was going to die. Joaquín’s eyes widened, and he took a step back, before being reminded that he had nowhere else to go.
“Uh…”
“He was screwing with me, wasn’t he?”
Sure, he could lie. He could say that it was all a product of Bucky’s addled brain, a crazy conspiracy theory. But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t bring himself to lie. Joaquín shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. He sank into a sitting position against the side of the van.
Sam sank down next to him. They were both sitting inside of the van, not even looking through the viewing screen. They had to get back to work.
But Sam carefully crawled in front of him and then, still awkwardly kneeling, pressed his lips to Joaquín’s. He wasn’t even sure what happened, the world blurring around him. But next thing he knew they were lying on the floor of the van and Sam was kissing him and the world exploded into fireworks.
“I thought he was crazy,” Sam whispered against his lips. “Turns out he was just trying to be a wingman.”
Joaquín couldn’t even hate Bucky for it. What was more normal than having a wingman, right?
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i shouldnt really be giving any hot takes on character design as someone who, despite having mild success in the adoptable scene in highschool, absolutely does NOT still got it when it comes to character designing (nowadays im just trying to do my best orz) but i do think one of the most important things with character design is that they serve the medium theyre in well.
like, a super exaggerated shape style triangle man with tiny legs a la mr incredible works great for an action cartoon movie but i dont know how good that style would work in a visual novel where you tend to only see the top half of the body. you wont be able to appreciate the tiny legs 😔
and as much as i goof on the visually cluttered anime boys in otome games and their odd fashion choices (kent from amnesia. at least 21 belts. 11 on one arm alone) i genuinely think they work for what they need to do, like all those fucking sashes and scarves and cords and capes and swishy things on the ikemen sengoku guys, painful to draw for me who wants to draw a goofy comic of them but WONDERFUL for an unanimated visual novel sprite, flowing clothes and hair adds a lot of movement to static images that you'll be staring at for 20-50 hours.
but of course on the visual novel/japanese adv game end of things u also have stuff like phoenix wright and the absolutely beautiful hotel dusk that tend to have blockier silhouettes than the fluttery flowing cloth and hair of like, a character in a bishoujo game from Key or something, but their sprites are animated which benefits from the blockier and (usually) less cluttered designs.
and theres still lots of exaggeration to be had to get very varied character designs, like the jake hunter games have a very grounded semi-realistic style but everyones posture and body types and expressions are pretty distinct, just the distinction is focused on the upper half of the body rather than the whole body like you would focus on with a comedy slapstick cartoon or like a comedy newspaper comic strip. okay its becoming increasingly obvious through what im talking about that i grew up in north america in the 00s-10s using deviantart where if ur cartoons didnt look like disney or pixar or like i dont know johnny test ur designs were considered not good enough so im still in that world. im still in that world. i hope the world is more open now
and something like the hotel dusk designs also would work well for drama or thriller comics - like i was also thinking about big sparkling shoujo manga designs and like. in a comic if ur like a garfield slapstick comedy u wanna look like a garfield, but if ur constantly doing closeups with serious emotion like a romantic drama shoujo manga, having big glittering expressive eyes and emphasizing the upper half of the character is pretty effective for the combination of medium and genre. i also think naoki urasawa's character designs would look so so good in a hotel dusk style game, that guy makes like the perfect thriller design, varied and diverse in shapes but so effective for a serious toned horror mystery thriller thing will lots of closeups of characters faces. i guess because i love serious and dramatic stories about people talking a whole lot i do gravitate towards this style of character design, where the emphasis is on the silhouette from the waist up LOL but it really goes to show that some character designs that may not fit the late 2000s comedy animation shape-based design philosophy have their own places where they thrive <- obvious thing everyone knows except for me who was on deviantart too much when i was 12
i think what im trying to say is i think big boobied super busy anime girl vtuber designs are fine, good even. i like em, i think they do the job and a lot of work goes into them. u only have a headshot/bust (heh) shown on screen 99% of the time u might as well make it with a bunch of particle effects and cool hairclips and lace and weird moving head wings or some shit. slap some sparkles on that thang
#i really am like a washed up highschool jock when it comes to character design. i used to be so good#im not BAD now but theres plenty of things to improve on LOL#i can't stop making the same 20 something year old vaguely ambiguous mixed race everyman normal guy character#sowwy. it will happen again. it me#old man voice BACK IN MY DAY I COULD BUST OUT 4 DESIGNS A DAY#they would sell within the WEEK. the WEEK SONNY BOY. do you HEAR ME#THE WEEK!!!!#alright grandpa now lets go back to bed (you guys are saying this to me in my strange tag roleplay scenario)#(u guys are my. grandchildren? maybe)#oh this is a long ass post isnt it. hold on im trying to remember to tag that kinda thing more often#long post
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Mask-a-Raid: Part 2
GAGH! Ugh...!? W-Would it kill you to stop running around and slinging me about like I’m your god-damn backpack!?
No...But I find it very entertaining.
*THUD!*
UHUGH!
*After scaling a small Hokkaido building with his package, Matta unstraps Kanade from his back and throws her onto the ground. He then takes something out of his pocket and speaks into it.
...Tsutsuji? I’m going to need a pickup from my current location.
Woman’s Voice: Matta? Wait, what’s this about?
I’m with Kanade Otonokoji, I just rescued her as Shirogane desired. You yourself reccomended that I do this, remember?
But this was a mostly solo mission so I’ll need you to take me to safety. Drop Zetsubou a pin of my current whereabouts.
Woman’s Voice: *sigh* Alright...But next time give me advance warning, why don’t you? I can’t be here to oversee your missions all the time.
Hmph...I’m still glad I have you around.
GYALUSETSU!
...
*Matta disapprovingly raises his head after hearing this angry scream. He turns around to see Kuripa and Kaede fly up to him on Kaede’s spear.
Over and out...
*He hangs up his call with the mysterious woman, then faces them.
Why don’t either of you just give it a rest?
Hehh...Never...!
I’ve put up with too much lately for you to just grab that psycho and make off with her! I don’t care what Zetsubou needs her for, I’m just not letting it happen!
Admirable, I’ll admit...But I must ask...
You really hate psychotic murderers, correct?
Of course!
Then why side with THAT guy and a Monokub?
!!?
Don’t compare Kuripa to her! Why wouldn’t I side with him after everything he’s done for me!?
Does that include almost killing you in America?
!!??
...
Yeah...I knew about it...When the same man spends his life trying to hunt you down, you learn to keep track of his movements.
I can’t fathom why you would continue to place faith in a man who would not only hurt you so horribly, but would do so again in a heartbeat if the ends justified his selfish means.
...I...
Besides...It’s not as if you have any reason to spite me. Zetsubou are becoming increasingly unreliable, and it’s not as if you’ve wronged me in any way.
What are you getting at?
I’m saying...don’t give me a reason to HURT you...!
Too late for that. You’re rescuing Otonokoji AND you killed Kuripa’s sister!
That’s more than enough of a reason for me to hate you!
And how many sisters do you think HE’S killed?
How many lives do you think he’s trampled on as part of his personal revenge story against the world? How many family’s do you think he’s ripped apart?
...
Kurafto doesn’t care how many people pay the price so long as I am one of them. And you still choose to place your faith in-
Just SHUT UP!
!!?
!!?
Kuripa has NEVER killed an innocent, or hurt someone without good reason! I STARTED that fight!
These last few days have been a real eye-opener for me...And I’ve come to realize something.
Lots of bad things have happened in my life recently...and I’ve learned firsthand that there’s no way I can completely deal with them and overcome them!
But that’s because no matter what, I can’t deal with anything by myself! And I trust in the good nature of humanity and BELIEVE in people, no matter what they’ve done.
Akamatsu...!
...
...
We move forward in life together...Or we don’t move forward at all...!
...
That’s adorable...
In that case, you can SUFFER with him!
*PTCHOO!* *PTCHOO!*
!!?
!!?
Hraugh!
Gugh!
Agh!
*SSSLLAAAMM!*
BAAAAGH!?
*Matta grapple shots Kaede and Kuripa, yanks them both forward and pummels them into the ground!
Hrrugh! I’LL KILL YOOOUUU!!
*WHAM!*
...!
*Kuripa kicks Matta in the stomach, but he just leaps back, seemingly unphased. Kuripa immediately lurches to his feet and rushes at him, brandishing his blade!
*KER-SHUNK!*
*SLASH!* *CRASH!*
Yrrgh!
*WHOOSH!*
Gah...!
*Matta suddenly suddenly whips out a pair of scimitar swords and crosses blades with Kuripa! They block, parry and dodge each other’s attacks until Matta brings both blades down on Kuripa, forcing him to block.
Even if you were serious about protecting that girl, you CAN’T protect her forever!
Then it’s a good thing she doesn’t NEED my protection!
Hm?
*WHAM!*
Gah!
*Kuripa nods behind him, and Matta looks up in time to see Kaede soaring straight at him. With her weapon in bludgeoning mode, she slams right into him, knocking him back.
Hup!
Thanks.
No worries.
So, Gyalu-shit-su!
Gyalu-shit-su? What am I, a puppy dog?
I’ve never been able to successfully match you, but what about now!? Feel like you wanna take on both of us at the same time!?
Come at us!
*They brandish their weapons confidently.
...
No, I think I’ll just leave...
We’ll see about-
Wait, wha-?
So long...
*WHOOSH!*
WAAGH!
HEY! GET BACK HERE, YOU MASKED BASTARD!
*Matta suddenly grabs Kanade and jumps off the roof of the building. Kaede and Kuripa grab hold of the former’s weapon and fly after him to give chase.
Hup!
*With Kanade once again slung round his shoulder, he jumps down onto the highway and on top of a speeding delivery truck. He groans as he sees them fly after him
Gagh...That weapon is very annoying...!
You get that side, I’ll get this side!
Right!
*CLASH!*
HRGH!
*Kaede flips over Matta and she and Kuripa strike him simultaneously from both sides.
Oh boy, this is gonna be super rough! Kanade likey~!
H-Hold on time out.
Wha-!?
*Matta casually pushes Kuripa and Kaede back and sheathes his weapons.
*SMACK!*
GUGH!
!!??
*He smacks Kanade’s head behind him and knocks her out instantly.
I could do without the running commentary...Anyway, where were we?
*WHAM!*
AGH! NOFAIRIWASNTREAADAAAAY!
*CRASH!*
Civilian: AAGH!
Sorry!
*Matta kicks Kuripa and sends him flying back into the vehicle behind. He crashes into the car’s window and thankfully, doesn’t injure the driver.
You-!
*CLASH!* *BASH!* *SMASH!*
*Now on her own while Kuripa jumps back onto the truck and tries to rejoin her, Kaede starts to cross swords with Matta.
*CLASH!*
Gugh!
How long will it be before you fall down that path too, Kaede Akamatsu!?
Wha-?
If you continue to follow this man’s guidance, he will corrupt you. Turn you into his own remnant...And you’re still following him, even knowing that?
You don’t know...a DAMN thing about him! OR about the nature of people!
Kuripa and Monodam...Don’t you DARE DISRESPECT THEM!
*CLASH!*
...!
*Kaede shoves forward, deflecting and parrying Matta’s blade, but he simply takes a few steps back and stands up straight.
Kuripa is unruly and violent, but I’m not the same.
We’re from two different walks of life, but I will support him. But I will never follow his goals or be like him.
You say that now...But words mean little...
I can see it in the way you fight...For someone who carries such an air of grace around her, I cannot say the same for your battle prowess...
Your movements are unrefined...amateurish...sloppy...!
Just SHUT THE HELL UP!
*WHOOOSH!*
...!
*Kaede tosses her spear in Javelin mode and it soars straight towards Matta on the other side of the truck...But...
*CATCH!*
...Hm...Like I said...sloppy...!
!!??
*Kaede stars in horror, as Matta catches her full-force weapon between two of his fingers.
That’s...That’s not possible...!?
What...What the hell...ARE you...!?
I’ll say it once again, you misguided little girl...
I EXIST to DEFY the impossible…!
*CRRUUUNNCH!*
!!!???
*Kaede’s heart sinks, as Matta effortlessly crushes the Mozart MK2 between his fingers...!
*CLUNK!* *KER-CLUNK!*
*The split pieces of the spear fizzle and clunk down on top of the truck. She tries to recall them, but the spear is well and truly broken.
Not so powerful without your little toys, are you?
Grrgh! GRAAAAAGGH!!
*WHAAM!*
GUUGH!!?
*Kaede screams defiantly and rushes towards Matta with a clenched fist, but she is effortlessly kicked in the chest and knocked down, wind knocked from her lungs.
Guugh...RUUAAGH!
Hmph.
*PTCHOO!* *PANG!*
BAHAAGH!?
*Kaede still doesn’t give up, and forces herself up to attack again. This time however, Matta fires his grapple shot and yanks an iron pipe from a truck next to them on the highway forward! It flies towards them and smacks Kaede in the head, knocking her down again!
Aah...Agh...*COUGH!* Ngh...!
...
*Her vision clouded, with the remaining pieces of her spear in front of her, Kaede stars up at Matta, who points a pistol down at her face.
Remember this, Kaede Akamatsu...You didn’t have to-
*PUNK!*
...
...
*Kaede throws one of her spear pieces at Matta. It hits him in the mask and cuts him off.
...
You didn’t have to go through with this.
*CLICK!*
!!?
*He cocks the pistol, but right before he can fire...
HYAAGH!
CHAAGH!?
*WHAAAM!*
*Kuripa recovers, clambers back onto the truck and tackles him to the ground!
*SMACK!* *WHAM!* *SMACK!* *CRACK* *WHACK!* *PUNK!* *WHAM!* *BAM!* *SMASH!* *WALLOP!*
YOU! AREN’T! GONNA! TAKE! ANOTHER! SISTER! FROM! MEEEEEEE!!!
Gragh! GAAGH!
*Kuripa LAYS WASTE to Matta, punching him in the face and chest over and over, and adding in a headbutt for good measure!
RAAAGGH!
*WHACK!*
OOPH!
*Matta lifts his leg and knees Kuripa in the gut, forcing him off of him. He flips and recovers, unsheathing his blades once again. Kuripa gets to his feet and claps his hands together.
Akamatsu GET UP!
But I-!
I NEED you, ok!?
...!?
...
...
Alright...We take him together!
#danganronpa survivor#danganronpa#oc#danganronpa v3#drv3#danganronpa another 2#sdra2#kuripa kurafto#kaede akamatsu#matta gyalusetsu#kanade otonokoji#rise and shine arc
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🔥 I think it was for whole medias but I want your take on Bucky Barnes specifically pls
Ohhhh man the can of worms you have just opened (I adore you)
So I have a few that I’d like to share…
I’m not sure if this is a super hot take, but I love the direction the current comic run is taking him. Both in a joking “he’s in his villain era lol” way but also legitimately in a “he’s finally turning the tables and taking control of his destiny, rather than sitting and wallowing in guilt and grief over things outside of his control” way. He was given a direct, specific, singular cause of pretty much all his trauma, and instead of being made to take the high road, he just…killed the guy and took his place to dismantle his entire corrupt system, so it would never happen to anyone else, again. And I know they’ve been having Bucky say and do some pretty dark stuff, but I also trust that the writers know what they’re doing, and I can’t help but notice that his behavior when he’s alone is vastly different than what it is when he’s around other people, so I can say with near 100% certainty that he is bullshitting everyone, and I’m having a damn good time watching him do it.
As for MCU Bucky, I’ve got a prediction that his story will go in one of three ways: either he’ll settle down with Sarah and kind of disappear from the story, he’ll die some stupid shock-value death, or (and I think this is the one it’s gonna be) the new Nomad series that’s pretty much an open secret? That’ll be Bucky. Because they’ve spent the last several years setting him up as someone who 1: is largely defined and driven by his loyalty, 2: is deeply loyal to Wakanda, but now also Captain America’s partner/found family for a second time around, and 3: is about to be thrown onto a team where the woman in charge is actively trying to start a war between the US and Wakanda. His loyalties are going to be tested and split more than ever, and honestly, I think him becoming sort of a vigilante that operates without a strictly defined allegiance to either makes a lot of sense, and, similarly to the comics, breaks him out of the rut he’s currently in. And, on a meta level, it does feel relevant that the comics are suddenly giving him that same sort of vigilante angle and tying him really closely in with their Nomad and White Wolf, despite having little to no prior connection with them. Not to mention that Sebastian Stan is becoming an increasingly famous actor whose name actually has some pull, so Marvel writing him off now just seems like a poor choice, considering he’s shown no signs of wanting to leave. I think he’s had the longevity, at this point, that Bucky will only get a real, final ending once he decides he wants to move onto other things.
Also, this might age like milk, but I don’t think they’re dumb enough to substitute Yelena into the comic BuckyNat storyline. If anything, I could see her being somehow related to him, whether that be literally or metaphorically, and having more of a family dynamic that maybe causes some turmoil with Alexei and the rest of the Thunderbolts. Because not only has she shown zero interest in romance (as she shouldn’t, being aroace in the comics) but I really think he and Sarah are ultimately going to be endgame (assuming, again, that he doesn’t die horribly).
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hyperfixating on charlie muse atm so here’s a big ol’ post. things may be added or changed as i replay the game.
name: charles “charlie” lonnit
age: 49
d.o.b.: 09 / 26 / 1973
gender: cis male
orientation: aromantic heterosexual
physical: chronic smoker (former), weakened lungs
mental: autism (undiagnosed), severe ptsd
long shit under the cut.
background.
grew up in a small town with lots of forest trails and open fields. had an overbearing and frankly abusive father, who was arguably the source for his temper and how quick he is to jump to anger. was only ever called charles by his father, hence why he practically insists on charlie.
the cinema captivated him from a young age, and he always dreamed of one day breaking into the movie business. graduated uni with a degree in film, much to the chagrin of his mother, who always pressured her son towards a steadier career. moved to the u.s. in his mid-20′s, hoping to capitalize on america’s raging involvement in the film industry.
upon arrival, he worked his way up from the literal bottom. unpaid internships, assistant jobs, crew monkey -- you name it, he’s done it. finally got his big break after a director, who admired his steadfast work ethic, submitted his name to head a new television drama. it wasn’t what he wanted, but it’s what he got.
over time, however, that’s all his name became associated with, and he found it increasingly difficult, if not impossible, to latch onto anything else. he was passed over for other series and projects that he was actually interested in, all because they wanted a director with experience in those fields.
his bitterness and disillusionment grew over the years, and his already somewhat rigid and often off-putting demeanor became more pronounced. crew and actors alike would find it difficult to work with him, and after a rather explosive fight with the producers, he was cut from the project altogether, and it became near impossible to find work with his sullied reputation.
eventually, he decided to strike out on his own and founded lonnit entertainment, operating out of a shitty flat in chicago. it’s not much, but it’s his. at least, as long as he can pay the rent.
personality.
given his propensity for going the extra mile ( read: using underhanded methods and nearly breaking the law ) to get stories and facts, he was hard pressed to find a crew that was willing to do the same. he knows some of them aren’t proud of it, but a paycheck is a paycheck. between firings and quitters, he’s gone through his fair share of employees before finally ending up with the crew he has now. he doesn’t tell them often enough, but he admires their talents and what they bring to their ragtag little group.
this will probably get its own post later on, but charlie is autistic, albeit undiagnosed because of his age. it’s the main reason erin ( who is also autistic ) tolerates and, at times, even excuses his behavior.
despite his often prickly exterior, charlie is the mediator and peacekeeper of the group, though the paths he takes to get there can vary depending on his mood -- most notably, utilizing that soft voice and charming accent to defuse a situation, or raising his voice and reminding everyone who’s in charge.
he has remarkably high expectations for himself, and as such, he holds others ( especially younger folks ) to those same standards. exuding professionalism is of the utmost importance to him -- almost ironic, considering the shady lengths he and the others go to in order to obtain footage for the show.
post - game injuries.
needless to say, he has a raging phobia of fire and enclosed spaces. his left hand, crushed in a moving wall, required surgery and several months of rehabilitation. even now, it gives him trouble. between having to move the heated grate and the heat exposure after hiding beneath it in the incinerator, he suffered minor burns on his hands and arms. has a small scar on his left nostril from being nicked by du’met’s knife whilst standing on the pressure plate.
in some verses, he managed to survive the plunge off the cliff after being tied up by erin and mark and left at the mercy of du’met. in addition to severe head trauma and several broken bones, he now bears the word “COMPLICIT” carved into his chest, a mocking memento of being falsely accused of involvement in du’met’s crimes.
IN PROGRESS ; MORE TO COME.
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Trigger warning: Homophobia, Transphoiba, mLm fetishism, mentions of telling me to kill myself, eating disorder, declining mental health etc..
The reason why I'm uncomfortable with women interacting with my Male/ Masc reader x Male character fics, is due to my experience with the Fujoshi's in my highschool and middle school. As well as the early day Anime fans in America.
While in middle school, having to hear my female classmates saying they would love to see two guys fuck. Because, they found it sexually arousing. Asking the openly gay students who's the Top and who's the bottom in their relationships, shipping those classmates with other classmates. Them making smut fanfications of those people. When I said I was uncomfortable with them talking about gay realtionships like that, they said I was being too sensitive or stated that, I was homophobic for not being comfortable with them talking about how two of our male classmates might fuck eachother.
So many women and girls around me growing up within my peers or online, didn't see same sex relationships as anything but sexual fantasies for them to enjoy. It made me so disgusted with myself being a man and liking men, I got increasingly more uncomfortable with my own labels. I started to become more and more underweight, because I kept throwing up due to stress and anxiety. Not only, me being mlm, but I'm a transman.
So while, being open on the internet has a Trans man. I was being constantly accused of faking being Trans, and people calling me a fujoshi. Where they would misgender me and tell me to kill myself, for being a disgusting human being.
Even though, now times have changed, it still gives me those feelings that I had in past, with it. Due to my trauma.
//// This is not an attack on you or your opinion, in the recent post you said,"I don't know why..". So I'm sharing my story. For you to possibly have an idea has to why some aren't comfortable.
- Crow
I can see where you're coming from and I'm sorry all that happened to you. The whole fetishising mlm relationships is the whole reason why I avoid the whole BL fandom all together.
You are allowed to curate your space in a way that you see fit. However, I do not agree with the methods. I share some of your experiences, but I do not believe that excluding women from my blog is the solution. I don't want to promote the 'them vs us' mentality.
I keep my blog open for everyone, because when I write gender neutral content, I want everyone to feel included. I believe by showing that everyone is allowed to just be, I stimulate others to allow everyone else to just be as well.
The whole DNI women thing feels so hostile to me (even though I am not a woman) and I don't want fandom spaces to feel hostile for anyone. I hope everyone can enjoy my content and if some people don't know how to act like a decent human being, I'll deal with them accordingly, but I am not gonna gatekeep out of fear. I understand why others do it, but it is just not for me.
#long post#gayden things#side note: i find it so funny when people do like DNI homophobes on their posts like yes that will stop a homophobe#it looks like someone putting up a “do not steal” sign in the store like yes that will stop thieves
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Keepsakes: Postcards
Status: Ongoing Ficlet collection; unbeta’d
Series: the Hob Adherent series
Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Includes some comics canon, and some cameos from the wider Gaiman-verse (including the Good Omens and Lucifer television shows), but it’s not necessary to know to enjoy the story.
Rating: Mature-ish.
Warnings: Discussions of death and the afterlife.
Relationships: Morpheus | Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling, Eleanor | Hob Gadling’s Wife/Hob Gadling (past)
Characters: Hob Gadling, Harriet Butler
Summary: Short ficlets set in the Hob Adherent world, based on prompts received from readers. Feel free to DM me or leave prompts in the comments, and if it resonates with me, I may write up a ficlet! Thank you for the inspiration in advance.
Set directly following Carpe Diem.
READ ON AO3 OR READ BELOW:
Postcards
Inspired by a comment from Yoon_joee.
"So, a sword in Buckingham's army, a bandit, a printer, a shipwright and then a merchant middleman for the dockyards, a knight, a beggar, investment broker--"
"Slaver," Hob interrupts Harriet as she counts off his professions on her fingers one slow, sunny afternoon at The New Inn. "Call the thing what it was."
Hari offers him a sympathetic smile. They're the only ones in the pub proper today, as Patrick is off to tend his ailing mother, Dee doesn't come in Mondays, and Morph is having lunch with his editor.
"After which you were an MP and staunch abolitionist, a soldier again in America for the North, an industrialist and labor rights advocate, a yuppie and silicone valley early adopter--"
"Apple paid for most of this," Hob agrees, selecting a glass and checking it for water spots or lipstick stains.
"--and now a professor and publican. Am I missing any?"
“Oh!” Hob remembers as he pulls a pint for her. "And I was ruler of Hell."
She leans across the bar from her stool, and thwacks his arm. “Fuck off, you were not, you old liar,” Hari laughs.
“Was so!” Hob protests, setting her beer down in front of her. “Ask my husband. He was there. I was ruler of Hell for thirteen minutes and seventeen seconds on my six-hundred and sixty-sixth birthday.”
Hari raises a challenging eyebrow at Hob over her pint glass as she takes a sip. “I won’t believe a thing the Prince of Stories tells me,” she says decisively, when she sets the beer back down. “And I don’t believe you.”
Hob pulls a postcard from L.A. off the bar back, where it’s been pinned to a corkboard among a handful of invoices and shopping lists. This card depicts a cartoon devil drawn over a photo of the Hills, lounging on the iconic Hollywood sign. It says “Greetings from Sin City!” in bright yellow font.
Hob hands it to Hari to inspect. She flips it over. Her face grows drawn as her eyes flick over the handwritten note on the back.
“To my fellow former ruler of Hell; I opened a nightclub, just like you suggested. Visit me at LUX any time you’d like, Hobsie. xxx Lucifer Morningstar,” Hari reads in a voice that grows increasingly strangled.
She hands the card back to Hob with trembling fingers. Then she shotguns the rest of her pint.
“So hell is real, then,” Hari warbles, wiping a trace of foam from her fear-thinned lips.
Hob shrugs. “Everything is real. Humans create gods, not the other way around. If someone believes in it, it exists.”
Hari nods thoughtfully. “I suppose you would know, being married to a god.”
Hob chuckles and tugs his ear shyly. “Well, former god. Ish. And don’t worry, only people who believe they deserve to go to Hell actually do. It's all about self-punishment or self-fulfilling prophecy, or something. I try not to think to much about that Celestial stuff, to be honest with you. What happens after... well, after, isn't something I need to worry about.”
Hari nods again, and without asking, Hob refills her pint glass. He has a feeling she’s going to need it.
"But it is something I'm going to have to worry about," Hari says softly, accepting the drink with a nod.
"Not any time soon, I hope," Hob says, folding his arms on the bar top and leaning close to offer her a comforting look. "And when it does happen, I can promise you that my sister-in-law is gentle and kind. You have nothing to worry about."
Harriet runs her arthritis gnarled finger up and down the side of the glass, collecting up the condensation. "You know, that is actually a comfort." She looks up at Hob with a wicked little grin. "Especially knowing your husband."
Hob throws his head back and laughs.
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#The Hob Adherent Series#Hob Adherent#Cling Fast#Carpe Diem#Keepsakes#Dreamling#Dreamling fic#Dreamling Fanfic#The Sandman#Sandman#Sandman fic#Sandman Fanfic#hob gadling#hob x dream#dream x hob#Lord Morpheus#Lucifer#gaimanverse
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In A Culture Of Complaint They Developed The Politics Of Grievance
America has made its bed and now it has to lie in it. A while ago, expert political strategists worked out that voters engage more fully with the democratic electoral system on an emotive level than a mere rational one. Therefore, they made negative attack ads which painted their candidate’s political opponents as demons. These campaign strategists formulated speeches and oped content full of emotive finger pointing about stuff upsetting sections of the electorate. In a culture of complaint they developed the politics of grievance. This has now culminated with presidential candidate Trump, who lights the bonfire of hate every time he opens his mouth to speak.
Political Strategists Have Mined The Politics Of Grievance
As several expert political pundits have said, the Trump GOP voters love all this noise and nasty furore. They no longer find politics boring! Their guy pushes every statement to the edge of decency and well beyond. These folk don’t care about protocol and etiquette. They don’t care about doing or saying the right thing. To them it is a circus worth a few laughs and hardly deserving their respect. America has no standards. Free speech lets everything rip. Guns kill children on a daily basis. So what! The only sort of standard is a dollar figure in a civil court proceeding.
America The Land Of Lies & Disinformation
Alex Jones tells lies to millions of podcast listeners about a massacre of little children at a school being a faked conspiracy. Sandy Hook. Fake news is a way of life in 21C America. Jones was successfully sued by the parents of the murdered children for millions of dollars. Donald Trump goes around telling tens of millions of people that he was robbed of the 2020 presidential election by voter fraud, despite numerous judicial and private enquiries proving otherwise. How can you have a candidate undermining faith in the electoral system with lies being allowed to do so without being prosecuted? It is crazy. America has no standards. Fox News peddled these election fraud lies and were sued successfully for $700 million by the Dominion company. America is full of lies and disinformation.
Attention Deficit Motor Mouth Culture
Americans talk too much. Perhaps this is the consequence of running off at the mouth – nobody believes a word you have said? The truth gets lost in a web of lies. The facts go missing amid the storm of misinformation. Presidents lying – “I did not have sexual relations with that woman.” Bill Clinton. Richard Nixon was forced to resign from the presidency after telling so many lies about Watergate. Trump has taken the cake and turned presidential lying into the norm rather than the exception. A large section of the American public are so used to lying by their elected officials that they no longer see it as a bad thing. Better an entertaining lying President than a boring one for their attention deficit psyches fed on a diet of mind numbing TV shows.
The Fall Of A Modern Day Rome
“Americans have reached a point where ignorance, especially of anything related to public policy, is an actual virtue,” he would write in the preface to The Death of Expertise: The Campaign Against Expertise and Why It Matters, which was published by Oxford last year and quickly became a bestseller. “To reject the advice of experts is to assert autonomy, a way for Americans to insulate their increasingly fragile egos from ever being told they’re wrong about anything.” Further down the page, he would add: “I’m worried.”
https://www.harvardmagazine.com/2018/02/death-of-expertise-by-tom-nichols)
Navel gazing American pundits have long predicted the fall of their civilisation. The fall of the American empire viewed in Gibbon like Roman terms. I suppose there are modern parallels with the gladiatorial games attending denizens of Rome addicted to a diet of entertainment and free bread. The Trump cult Americans demand ever more piss and wind from their erstwhile President. If these folk feel disparaged by elites at least they can get their revenge and a few laughs along the way as they watch America crumble and burn before their eyes. Perhaps it is a case of – ‘if I’m not getting what I want I’ll make damned sure nobody else is either!’
Robert Sudha Hamilton is the author of Money Matters: Navigating Credit, Debt, and Financial Freedom.
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#AlexJones#American#cultureofcomplaint#Dominion#fakenews#FoxNews#gundeaths#moralfailure#politics#politicsofgrievance#power#SandyHook#Trump
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Crazy Catering Units From Around The World
At one time, catering units, be they on the fairgrounds or at private events, tended to be basically a box. Nowadays however there are some really crazy catering units available, so that not only are you getting great food, you also get a centrepiece for your event.
We are going to take a look at some of the craziness out there, ranging from pizza's being dispensed by fire engines, to something that looks like its driven straight off the set of Mad Max.
MAXImus MiniMUS
This is definitely one of our favourites. Resembling some post apocalyptic street food vendor that wouldn't look out of placing serving a burger to Mad Max himself. Build to resemble a pig, with a snout and ears, it was built in 2009 for Kurt Beecher Dammeier, it took its name from the two ranges of food it served, one with a heavy sauce (MAXImus) and a lighter range (MiniMUS). Sadly from what we can see it appears to have closed down in 2017
Maximus Minimus
Definitely Post Apocalyptic in Style
Baby's Badass Burgers
We love this concept, though with the way things seem to be going we are surprised it hasn't been protested. Set up by an ex restaurateur and an event planner, this has a definite attractive lady vibe. With burger names such as Cover Girl, The Other Woman, She's Smoking and The Good Wife, and Burger 'Babes' (attractive female serving staff), to spread the burger goodness. The company now has a number of franchised operations outside of it's home of Los Angeles, so obviously it works well.
Babes Burgers
Burger 'Babes'
Snog Yoghurt
A natural frozen yoghurt dessert, sweetened with agave nectar and under 140 calories. What's not to like. So when you need your first mobile store what immediately springs to mind. It's obvious isn't it, an ex London A.E.C. Routemaster bus. Built by a company specialising in luxury bus conversions, the original Snog bus opened in London's Southbank in 2014.
Snog Yoghurt Bus
The Snog Bus
Military Pizza Truck
Built into a 6 wheel drive, ex military truck, this is another candidate for catering in the Mad Max era. This one is kitted out as a pizza truck, but maintains it's military colour scheme and feel. It's also available for pretzels, popcorn and various other dessert options.
Military Pizza Truck
Military Pizza Truck
Space Shuttle Cafe
This one is an extreme conversion. TBH, I can't see you getting this past the DVLA in this country. It is built to resemble the space shuttle, but it's not a converted commercial vehicle as you would expect, no sir, this one is an actual Douglas DC-3 airplane fuselage, that has been fitted with running gear and an engine. It has a commercial kitchen and rest room built in.
Space Shuttle Cafe
The Space Shuttle Cafe
Pizza Fire Engine
This is one of our favourites, so much so that we are actually carrying out a feasibility study to see if it's something we can emulate for our own range of catering options. There are a number of versions plying their catering trade, including a couple of examples in good old Blighty. We particularly like the Company 77 effort, with a working water cannon (good for keeping the queue in order) and a photo booth built into the jump seat.
Fire Engine Pizza Truck
Various Fire Engine Pizza Trucks
Airstream Catering Units
Originally built as caravans designed in America in the 1930's. The sleek shape and highly polished aluminium finish is unmistakable. A number of companies make similar models, but Airstream is the oldest. For decades NASA used a modified Airstream trailer to transport astronauts to the launch pad. They have become increasingly popular for use as catering units both in the States and Europe.
Airstream Catering Trailer
Airstream Trailers
Westport Flea Market Burger Van
Not strictly a burger van, this is more of a promotional item to advertise the Flea market Bar and Grill. But we included it just because of the sheer quirkiness, and the work that has gone into it.
Westport Burger Van
Snowcat Burritos
If you happen to be skiing in the Mammoth Mountain Ski Area, in Sierra Navada, and you are hungry. Then you are in luck, as they have a burrita stall built into an actual snowcat. Well, they actually have two, one serving burritos and the other Calzones. They are also planning to add churros with strawberries and cream.
Snowcat Burritos
Burritos Snow Cat
Keep checking back as we will add more examples as we come across them.
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7 Reasons Why Lab-Grown Diamonds Are Becoming More Popular
Diamonds have been a symbol of love and commitment for centuries, but with the rise of lab-grown diamonds, there’s a new option for couples who want to get engaged without breaking the bank.
Unlike imitation diamonds made from glass or plastic, lab-grown diamonds are real diamonds created in a laboratory using a sophisticated process. This makes them less expensive than traditional diamonds.
Lab-grown diamonds are becoming increasingly popular due to their affordability, stunning beauty, durability, and eco-friendliness, offering several benefits over their mined counterparts.
In this blog post, we’ll explore the top seven reasons why lab-grown diamonds are becoming more popular and why you might want to consider them for your next piece of jewelry.
Let’s dive in!
1. Aesthetically identical to natural diamonds
Lab-grown diamonds are aesthetically identical to natural diamonds. They both have the same sparkle and fire, the same different types of color and clarity.
Not only that, lab-grown diamonds are not a diamond simulant like cubic zirconia or moissanite, as explained by Dr. Sally Magaña, a Gemological Institute of America (GIA) research scientist. Both have the same physical, chemical, and optical properties.
However, one thing does give lab-grown diamonds an edge: they are created in a controlled environment that allows them to have improved clarity and fewer flaws compared to naturally mined diamonds.
Since they are the same physically and chemically, you can’t tell the difference between mined diamonds and lab-created ones with your naked eye.
Only by using specialized equipment and testing are experienced gemologists able to distinguish between a lab-grown diamond from a natural one.
As a final note on their similarity, both lab-grown and natural diamonds are graded similarly on the 4Cs — cut, color, clarity, and carat weight.
This means that the quality grading criteria set by the Gemological Institute of America (GIA) apply to lab-grown and natural diamonds alike, ensuring that one is not better than the other.
You may also like: Should I Get A Lab Grown Diamond For Engagement Ring?
2. Less expensive than mined diamonds
Lab-grown diamonds a great option for those on a budget or for those who want to save money without sacrificing the look and sparkle of a natural diamond.
That’s because lab-grown diamonds are less costly than mined diamonds. In fact, they can cost 30% to 40% less than naturally mined diamonds of the same size and quality.
For example, a 1-carat natural diamond with an SI1 clarity rating may cost $6,100, while a Lab-grown diamond with the same rating would cost about $2,300.
Additionally, you can purchase a 2-carat lab-grown diamond for about the same price as a 1-carat natural diamond.
For a more in-depth analysis of lab-made diamonds’ worth, check out Are Lab-Grown Diamonds a Good Investment?
3. Produced in a much shorter time frame
Lab-grown diamonds can be produced in a much shorter time frame compared to natural diamonds, which take millions of years to form in nature.
According to Sidney Neuhaus, co-founder of Kimaï, it only took five days to grow the diamonds she made for Meghan Markle that caught the world’s attention.
This is because lab-grown diamonds are created under controlled conditions in a laboratory, allowing for a more efficient, scaleable, and speedy production process.
In contrast, natural diamonds require complex geological processes and the right conditions over an extended period of time to form in a natural environment, making them much rarer and more expensive.
Check out some exquisite lab-grown diamond collections in our store.
4. More environmentally friendly
Lab-grown diamonds are often considered to be a more environmentally friendly option than natural diamonds.
This is because natural diamonds are mined through Marine, open-pit, and underground mining.
These processes have a significant negative impact on the environment, including the release of greenhouse gases and damage to local ecosystems. This aside, the cost of maintaining these expansive facilities.
Let’s discuss each briefly.
Mining has a direct negative impact on the earth’s crust.
When mining companies mine for these precious stones, they move a lot of earth (250 tons of earth) per carat of a mined diamond.
This process requires substantial amounts of energy from fossil fuels, which in turn releases carbon and other greenhouse gases into the atmosphere.
On average, 160 kilograms of greenhouse gases is released per polished carat of a mined diamond.
Impacts the ecosystem negatively
The impact of diamond mining on ecosystems can be devastating, with local water supplies and soil often becoming polluted.
For example, hundreds of cattle died in Zimbabwe after drinking water from the Odzi River, which runs downstream from a diamond processing plant.
Similar incidents occur in other mining regions Africa’s with limited water supplies forcing locals, livestock, and wildlife to drink contaminated water.
Impact the Marine negatively
Concerning Marine diamond mining, this, too, does affect the ocean.
Although most of the mined sediment is returned, the process can take two to ten years, and the long-term consequences on the oceans are unknown.
In addition, concerns have been raised about the impact of noise, machinery, and light on marine life and the problems caused by pollution and climate change.
On the other hand, lab-created diamonds do not require the same disruptive mining techniques, and companies that use renewable energy sources like solar can significantly reduce the industry’s carbon footprint.
While the sustainability of lab-grown diamonds depends on the manufacturing process, they are often considered a more environmentally friendly option than natural diamonds.
For those looking to buy beautiful and sustainable jewelry, lab-grown diamonds are an excellent choice and demonstrate a consciousness of the planet’s climate and the environmental impact of mining for natural diamonds.
Want to make a difference for the planet while still getting a stunning diamond? Shop our collection of eco-friendly lab-grown diamonds and discover the perfect piece of jewelry that reflects your values.
5. More ethically responsible
Lab-grown diamonds are considered more ethically responsible than mined diamonds because the latter have often been associated with unethical labor practices. These include using child labor and funding conflicts in war-torn areas through the sale of conflict diamonds also known as blood diamonds.
For this reason, the United States prohibited the sale of blood diamonds in 2003 with the Clean Diamond Trade Act. Also, many countries collaborated through the Kimberley Process to prevent conflict diamonds from being sold.
Despite these safeguards, natural diamonds can be associated with these negative associations, leading to a preference for a more socially responsible engagement ring stone.
In contrast, lab-grown diamonds are created synthetically in a laboratory under controlled conditions by skilled, fairly compensated workers, eliminating the risk of supporting these unethical practices.
The two methods used to create lab-grown diamonds are Chemical Vapor Deposition (CVD) and High-Pressure High-Temperature (HPHT), which do not require any harmful environmental practices or labor exploitation.
As a result, many eco-conscious Millennials and Gen Z individuals who value ethical sourcing prefer lab-grown diamonds for non-traditional engagement rings as a socially responsible alternative to natural diamonds, according to a report from wedding planning website The Knot.
6. Can be custom manufactured to your specifications
One of the advantages of lab-grown diamonds is their ability to be custom manufactured to your specifications.
Manufacturers can create lab-grown diamonds according to your requirements, which can be helpful if you want a specific form or color of diamond that may be challenging to find.
7. Offer the same durability as mined diamonds
One consideration when purchasing a diamond is how long it will last.
Lab-grown diamonds are just as durable as natural diamonds. In fact, they are made up of the same materials and measure the same level of hardness on the Mohs scale as natural diamonds.
This means that lab-grown diamonds are resistant to scratches, abrasion, and breaking, just like natural diamonds.
Considering purchasing a lab-grown diamond for your better half? Rest assured that lab-grown diamonds will last just as long as natural diamonds.
You may also like: Are Lab-Grown Diamonds Durable? (Before Purchasing)
Takeaway: Lab-grown diamonds are an increasingly popular jewelry choice
Lab-grown diamonds are becoming increasingly popular and are an excellent option for couples looking for an affordable yet stunning engagement ring.
They offer a range of benefits, including their eco-friendliness, scalability, durability, and longer lifespan.
As the lab-grown diamond market continues to grow and expand (valued at $1.6 billion worldwide and is expected to increase to $5 billion by 2027), it is clear that more and more people are recognizing the advantages of this type of diamond over traditional, mined diamonds.
Ready to discover the beauty and affordability of lab-grown diamonds for yourself? Check out our stunning collection of lab-grown diamond jewelry today and find the perfect piece to mark your special moment!
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Truly the Morbius of music.
Thirty Seconds to Mars, They’re back baby. And they’re back at a time where their frontman, Jared Leto, seems to be at a public reception all time low. I don’t know if I’m alone in this, but before 2016 my thoughts about Jared Leto were that I didn’t really have any. He’s been in a lot of movies over his lifetime, and a number of them I actually really like and love - but not because of Jared. Being a method actor who puts his whole body and soul into a role is such an integral part of his brand, yet even at his best it feels like his characters could be played by someone else entirely and nothing will be lost. It wasn’t until a decade into Leto’s acting career that we got Thirty Seconds to Mars’s debut album, where even early on he proved to be even less compelling as a musician than as an actor. They started off as a mediocre space rock influenced alt rock band on their self-titled record, then shifted into being mediocre emo inspired alt rock band on “A Beautiful Lie”, before settling into the sound they have today on records such as “This Is War” and “Love Lust Faith + Dreams”, which can only be described as the middle point between modern Muse and modern U2…except worse. And that’s saying something, cus neither of those bands are doing well right now. I think it says a lot that despite being 20 years into their career and being one of the few remaining successful rock bands, they’re only really remembered for one song (which, I will admit, “The Kill” is a banger and a 2000’s emo staple). Like their frontman’s acting career, Thirty Seconds to Mars in the mainstream felt like they’re just kind of there, like they don’t really matter.
It wasn’t until 2016 where people’s indifference towards Jared Leto’s projects turned from indifference to annoyance. There was the multiple different headlines of all the ways Leto was being an ass on set to the cast and crew of “Suicide Squad” for the sake of THE METHOD and getting inside The Joker’s mind, only for people to see the movie and his performance being one of the most notably goofy things of the last decade (in case you haven’t been told yet, method acting is total bullshit). Then there was Thirty Seconds to Mars’s fifth album, subtlety titled “America”, which by all means the universe seemed to agree completely sucked. It really seems like they were trying to tap into that overblown genre mush Imagine Dragons sound that unfortunately ruled the rock airwaves in the late 2010’s, and the result was an album that seemingly appealed to no one. Then there was multiple instances that painted Jared in an unflattering light - uncharismatic interviews, reports of him being condescending and aloof to fans, an absolutely bizarre performance in “House of Gucci”, an annual Thirty Seconds to Mars retreats that the band delightfully calls a cult and by all means it does look like a cult, a number sexual assault allegations. I’ll also say from my own personal experience I had the misfortune of seeing Thirty Seconds to Mars open for Muse, and it was nothing short of uncanny and weird. And who can forget, “Morbius”, a movie iconic for no one wanting it, no one seeing it, and no one liking it. “Morbius” became the new standard of mediocrity, and what made it even more of a collective punching bag for dissatisfied consumers tired of cynical, formulaic media was the fact that nobody who worked on the movie seemed to get the joke, and Sony even rereleased it thinking there was an actual demand, only for it to bomb the box office again.
I’m honestly surprised Jared released anything so soon after “Morbius”. The public narrative of him is that of an uncharismatic egomaniacal dickhead who takes his artistry way too seriously and thinks his art is next level shit even though its become so increasingly mediocre that it has become a collective joke. I would think he would want to take some time out of the limelight or at least rethink how he approaches his work since the writing on the wall is that it desperately needs a change. But Thirty Seconds to Mars have taken five years to release their newest album when they promised it would only take thirty seconds, dammit. Apparently him and his brother Shannon had written two hundred tracks for their newest album in 2021 and were just waiting for the right time to release it, even saying they were sitting on three albums worth of material. I guess the band felt like the time was now to put something out, and I guess curiosity got the best of me. I hoped that Thirty Seconds to Mars had learned something from the last fifteen or so years of increasingly negative reception, maybe switch things up a bit and do something different because the formula hasn’t been working for a while, and I don’t see why it would work in 2023 when music is so much different from where it was even five year ago. Maybe they would get their heads out of their asses and stop making their typical brand of ego fueled, pretentious, generic, bland stadium bait and instead release something that feels like it was created by someone with thoughts and feelings.
And then as I was about to listen to this I saw its Windows Screen Saver album art and its title: “It's the End of the World but It's a Beautiful Day”.
Yeah, I don’t think that’s happening.
What are we doing here? What are we doing here. There are only so many hours in a day, why did you spend your limited time making this and why are you asking other people to give theirs to hear it? I am genuinely asking you, Jared and Shannon Leto of Thirty Seconds to Mars. Because from where I’m sitting, it feels my time was wasted by one of the most milquetoast, flavorless, and soulless albums of the year simply because you were bored and wanted another car. “It's the End of the World but It's a Beautiful Day” is an album that is one of the most lacking in care, heart, emotion, soul, personality, ideas, and effort I’ve heard in a while, and that’s saying something because “ELEVATION” and “Honestly, Nevermind” came out just last year. This sounds like thirty minutes of an AI recreation of a Chainsmokers remix of an Imagine Dragons cover of a new Post Malone B-Side. It’s like the duo have studied the charts circa 2015-2018 and algorithmically spat out every poorly aged millenial pop trend nearly a decade too late. Thirty Seconds to Mars claims that they wrote over TWO HUNDRED SONGS for this album, and THIS was the best they had to offer. Jared Leto, you are fucking with me. You have to be fucking with me. You would think that if you spent five years writing 200 songs that you would come up with *something* interesting at least by accident, but it’s like Thirty Seconds to Mars is trying to go out of their way to make music so bland, manufactured, generic, formulaic, and devoid of humanity that it’ll appeal to literally no one.
From beginning to end, the production on “It's the End of the World but It's a Beautiful Day” feels like it’s trying to take from what the band thinks is popular and puts the most derivative, uninspired take on it it possibly can without bringing anything new to the table. Opener “Stuck” tries to cash in on the recent queer leaning dance pop revival with the most flat, colorless sounding EDM beats I’ve heard in a while, the perfect encapsulation of the “H&M changing room music” criticism that has become popular for generic pop music these days. As if that wasn’t enough, the main riff/backend hook sounds like a bastardized take of “Disturbia” and “Bad Romance”, except substituting Rihanna’s cool mystique and Gaga’s artsy weirdness we get Jared trying to sing “dah-dah-dah-dah-dah-dah” in the most ear grating way possible. Meanwhile, I’m guessing the duo saw that their attempt of being Imagine Dragons on “America” and instead of realizing it was a bad idea to begin with, they decided that they needed to literally get the singer of Imagine Dragons, Dan Reynolds, to co-write and produce the next track, “Life Is Beautiful”, (god, what a fucking eye roll of a title). And yep, this sounds exactly like Imagine Dragons - and I do mean that as an insult. The barely existent verses that artificially inflate the chorus, the overblown Hans Zimmer BRAAAM drop, the “Well Will Rock You” stomp claps, the poorly implemented, trap hi-hats, the faux soul Dan Reynolds mini hook, the atmosphere sounding like it was made by a boardroom for a car commercial - this sound was already overdone, growing old, and receiving incredibly huge negative pushback back in 2018 when Thirty Seconds to Mars released their last album, who the fuck is this for in 2023? It’s cheesy, gaudy, and tacky, and it brings out the worst of both bands. These songs aren’t good by any means for the reason I listed above, and they may arguably be two of the worst here, I’m not sure, but I wouldn’t fault anyone for actually preferring them because they’re the only songs that poorly attempt some sort of edge - because from this point on, the rest of the record sounds like it was made to be the soundtrack for “The Bachelor”.
“Love These Days” sounds like modern Maroon 5 circa “JORDI”, and I don’t just mean Maroon 5 as in generic but as in it sounds exactly like Maroon 5, with it’s predictable, formulaic melody, its stale trap beat that shows the band is aware of hip-hop but not enough to be any good at it, and it’s “oh, this relationship has so many problems and we fight so often and we’re toxic for each other - but god, the sex is out of this world” lyrical theme. Also, “Getting high on heartbreak, hooked on to the pain, kind of fucked up and fake”? Jared, why would you say that? Why was Olivia Rodrigo’s last record more emotionally intelligent than this whole album. You’re 51 years old. “Lost These Days” (no, this isn’t a typo, there are actually two songs with virtually the same title) continues the Maroon 5 route, opting for their non distinct sad pop song sound this time with an outro that sounds like it would fit right in with the Chainsmokers era of radio pop, while “Never Not Love You” sounds like if someone dared to ask “what if Skillet remixed a song from ‘Dear Evan Hansen’”, and trust me, no matter how gross that sentence sounded to you the actual song is much worse.
Meanwhile, “Seasons” sounds like if the band tried to recreate “Sunflower” by Swae Lee and Post Malone from memory with its breezy atmosphere and electronic drums, except they sucked all of the catchiness and charm out of it and intended it for suburban moms to listen to it instead, while “Get Up Kid” is uncanny with its flat, corny, faux sentimental vibe, sounding like pouring out your traumas and mental health problems to someone and then responding “just be positive and you’ll stop being sad :)”. Both of these songs suffer from being just two of many notable instances of Jared’s vocal production and mixing being just ugly to listen to. Say what you want about Jared, but the man *can* sing - his style is overdramatic as fuck but he *can* sing - yet here, it sounds so fake, unnatural, and digitized, loaded to the brim with processing and Melodyne audibly dragging his voice from note to note, that I’d believe if you said they actually used AI to recreate his voice. And while we’re on the vocals, how can I forget the millennial whoops? Thirty Seconds to Mars are no strangers to overusing vocalizations to add a bit a bit of catchiness and fake emotionality instead of writing meaningful lyrics and well crafted songs, and they’re here in spades on this album. The “oh-oh’s”, the “you-oo-oo-oo’s” the “aye-oh, aye-oh, whoa-oh’s”. They’re here on almost every track trying to get you to feel something and bait the stadiums into singing along, but they just come across as soulless and as a way to fill up space where they couldn’t find a line. I know I must sound like I’m nitpicking some non-existent issue but I promise you the minute you notice them you won’t be able to stop, and they’ll get increasingly annoying every time they come up. All of these shifts from one gentrified pop trend to the next are not only bland and obnoxious as hell, but it makes the band feel like they have no real identity, sounding like some gray soup resembling pop music you’ve heard before but not being particularly good at any of it.
But the worst part of “It's the End of the World but It's a Beautiful Day” isn’t just the fact that it’s completely derivative and generic, it’s how the record is all style and no substance. The booming basses, the big hits of stomps and claps, the overdramatic vocal performances, the stadium bait millennial whoops; they all point to a common problem of the band trying to come across as profound with material that just has no content. The Ed Sheeran co-written track “World on Fire” is just beating you over the head with this attitude of “THIS IS DEEP, THIS IS MEANINGFUL” with its melodramatic vocals, pounding drums, big synths, and melodic guitar leads, yet the song is packed to the brim with clichés of “Life leads us out of the dark, Let there be light, And we’ll set this world on fire” that are not only unoriginal but completely unspecific. The meaning of “life is beautiful” is that life is beautiful. Oh, and you should rise up against…something? I guess? The closer “Avalanche” drops these loud burst of vocoder choirs, clearly trying to set the mood as larger than life with some sort of great knowledge, but they just sing the vapid lyrics “Time, time to live our lives, Set the world on fire, From the ashes, we will rise, Life, don't let it pass you by, Open up your eyes, From the ashes, we will rise”. Like…do I have to say it? These words are so cliché that they practically don’t mean anything. They’re not saying anything, these are empty slogans you hear at MLM events trying to convince you to ruin your life. Not only are they completely predictable with rhymes you can see coming a mile away, they just sounds vapid, surface level, and fake deep.
And that’s the problem with this whole record. From the overblown instrumentation to the exaggerated performances to the calls to action for nothing in particular, this record is trying so hard to be big, grand, meaningful, and profound, yet every attempt at trying to be impactful comes across as hollow. It’s empty grandiosity and the definition of being pretentious. More than anything, it reminds me of bad Christian rock. Think about it, the overdramatic performances, attempting to sound huge yet feeling incredibly limp, calls to action to do…something, attempting to sound deep and meaningful yet coming across as cliché and meaningless, trying so hard to sound sincere that you sound anything but. Thirty Seconds to Mars is just using the aesthetics of bad Christian rock while taking out the religious part of it. It’s basically a non-religious Newsboys. But while I think bands like Newsboys suck, I’ll give them this - they do have a message that they do care about, and I think they’re earnestly trying to spread it, even if I think it’s in one of the most ineffective and corniest ways possible. Thirty Seconds to Mars has no message, I don’t think Jared Leto cares about anything, I’m not even fully convinced he likes music; I think he’s just so far up his own ass that he thinks his surface level stones ramblings over stadium bait atrocities are just that good and meaningful and will sell records to continue to fuel his celebrity lifestyle.
So yeah, I don’t like this Thirty Seconds to Mars record. In a lot of ways, I actually feel like “It's the End of the World, But It's a Beautiful Day” is the album equivalent to “Morbius”. There seems to be no purpose behind it existing besides it could make money and the fact that it can. It’s generic, dull, insipid, unoriginal, unimaginative, run of the mill, nondescript, and has no point of view whatsoever, and as a result its got not appeal besides being similar to other media people are already tired of and not being a particularly good resemblance. It’s trying to hype itself as a big event, and yet the final result is just pure background noise, with anything that does stand out being gaudy, tacky, and flat out gross. And most importantly, it’s got Jared Leto making a big deal about how much of an artist he is while having nothing substantial to show for it, leading to him further looking like an egotistical ass. It feels like an album made with very little of any love and a record made for no one, with music and lyrics that come across as inauthentic, insincere, manufactured, and lacking in substance when it’s desperately trying to act like it’s not. I’ve seen lifestyle gurus that charge $6000 for a three day wellness stay that come across as more genuine than this. There might be albums that I rank lower this year on my worst list - we’ll see when we get there, I’m being 100% real with you when I say I don’t know yet - but I can tell you right now that there is nothing else that I’ve heard this year that feels this cynical. “It's the End of the World, But It's a Beautiful Day” by Thirty Seconds to Mars is completely absent of soul, care, effort, feeling, emotion, and anything resembling good.
Thanks, anon.
But please don´t send messages that are THIS LONG.
It´s impossible to read smthg that has 20000 words.
I prefer if you send just the link and then people can go to a different site to read the actual article.
I don´t need my feed being taken over with smthg as massive as this, thanks. 👍
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TSC/TMI OC - Oraia
form adapted from this template!
BASIC
Name: Oriana "Oraia" Haven
Birthplace: Nueva Orleans de Baja Luisiana de Nueva España (present-day New Orleans, USA)
Birthday: May. 9, 1795 (biologically 34/chronologically 212 in 2007)
Race: Warlock; parents are Michaelle Durand (Human Witch) & Juan "Mad Jack" Gabriel Hernández aka Belphegor (Greater Demon)
Ethnicity: Dominican Creole (Spaniard, French, Dahomean)
Sexuality: Pansexual
APPEARANCE
Overall: Oraia appears as a typical female in her thirties, standing at approximately 5'5" (1.65 m) with a toned physique and tanned light brown skin. Her dark brown hair is naturally tousled with bouncy, tight waves. As the decades pass, she tries different hairstyles, but she tends to wear her hair loose with just a couple of strands sectioned off. Her eyes are a light sea green. She has warlock marks consisting of the ears of a doe and transparent fish scales in patches covering her skin. Oraia's magic looks like mercury--silvery-white liquid metal. Nowadays, she tends to dress somewhere between what mundanes call "bohemian" and "chic", wearing short, lacy tops and high-waisted pants with open blazers, or long, thin A-line dresses. Both of her ears are pierced at the lobe, orbital, helix, and the sideways industrial point. The only makeup she wears is eyeliner (unless you count her always-colorful nails).
FC: Hannah John-Kamen
BACKGROUND
She was born to the Dominican Creole woman, Michaelle Durand (who was a free woman of color) and the Prince of Hell, Belphegor. Belphegor had just come off several years of plundering throughout the Atlantic as Captain Mad Jack, a Spanish pirate. He then decided to explore the colonized New World, which is where he met Michaelle on the then-named French colony of Saint-Domingue in the Caribbean. She initially thought that he, as a European man, was only interested in having her as his placée (a free woman of color who had children by and could get property from the European man who she entered into an agreement with, despite not being married to him in the eyes of the Christian church). However, he was genuinely attracted to her. He courted her as one would back then and began teaching her magic once he realized her family preferred pagan traditions to Christianity. By the time he and Michaelle left the Caribbean (fleeing the Haitian Revolution) for North America, she was pregnant. They were in love until Belphegor showed his temper on several occasions. On one such occasion, a man called Michaelle by a slur. Belphegor beat that man until he was pulled away, blood on his clothes. And when he and his wife would get into arguments, he'd get loud and break things. It was something that his wife grew increasingly tired of until she finally told him to go. Oraia doesn't remember most of that, but Belphegor would contact her as she got older, more after her mom died. By then, Oraia had a pretty good idea of how the mundane world worked, how to do a few elemental spells, how to speak Creole French, and how to cook well enough for herself. Belphegor would take her traveling, using his ability to open portals (which she'd unknowingly inherited). While he was there, his supposed White status kept her safe, but he was teaching her enough magic to fight lower demons if it came to that, plus how to speak Chthonian, the language of warlock magic. He also introduced her to the Shadow World, which made her happy--her warlock marks as well as her ethnicity had been met with mixed reactions in the mundane world. In the Shadow World, if you hadn't done anything to piss anyone off, you had some respect. The warlock gained a reputation for her ability to acquire precious objects, cast strong elemental spells, and show kindness to children and animals.
PERSONALITY
Overall: There is not a person that Oraia is afraid to approach. This extends to speaking to children, lesser demons, and Shadowhunters, though she isn't dumb enough to do so without some defensive magic at the ready. If she gets an idea in her head, she’s very eager to see it through–and sometimes that’s not the healthiest option. Overall, Oraia is a compassionate, loyal, and positive person. Few things make her angry--but if you do make her angry, she’ll quickly resolve the issue, then go back to drinking or partying or whatever it was she was doing moments ago. Close friends are her family. When she isn’t looking for an adventure or trying to help someone, she’s being hedonistic: enjoying sex, socializing, and sunbathing.
Hobbies: exploring, dancing, partying, having sex, helping kids
Fear(s): never having a family of her own; being isolated
Languages: French, Creole French, Chthonian, English, Spanish
FAVOURITES
Food: bananas foster
Drink: a paloma or a mojito
Colour: sky blue
Season: spring or summer
Scent: vanilla
Music: 80s and 90s pop, or anything fast from a violin
Time of Day: noon
Item: one of her mom's scarves
Movie: Grease
Type(s) of Magic: elemental, dimensional
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