Mar 21
when the flame went out
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Moldova
seen from Romania
seen from Greece
seen from Moldova
seen from Moldova
seen from United States
seen from T1
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Brazil
seen from China
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
when the flame went out
reze thoughts
Anyways do you guys think that Finney stopped doing things he enjoyed after the basement because he could still feel the Grabber’s eyes on him? Do you think he gave up baseball because he couldn’t stop thinking about how that devil would likely swoon over how strong his pitcher’s arm is, would obsess over how the outdoor weather would make him perspire? Do you think that Finney stopped dressing freely and started covering up as much of himself as possible, wearing layers on top of each other to shut out the feeling of imaginary eyes staring down every sliver of flesh, no matter how mundane they’d be? Do you think he stopped going out, for whatever reason he may be out, to protect against the possibility of being seen again? Of being hurt? Do you think that Finn hid as much of his old self as possible, buried him down as deep as he could because he was mortified of being even remotely desirable in that disgustingly accidental way ever again?
Blakeshaw shippers DNI please die I’m so serious
Dean getting de-aged to 6yrs old with only memories from that age and Sam losing it a little taking care of him. He’s mute most of the time, only talking when he thinks it’ll make Sam feel better. Except for the first time he talked, which was to ask where Dad was. Sam said he was out on a hunt, then Dean asked if he was “one of daddy’s friends,” and Sam went with it, said he was a family friend. Dean nodded but Sam isn’t sure he believes him, given the many distrustful, weary looks he’s given him. Sam shows him around the bunker, including their rooms and where his Dean thinks he hid the best snacks. Dean seems to be settling in okay, a little less on edge after a few hours.
But later that night Sam finds Dean sleeping on Sam’s bed, not his own, dressed only in one of his shirts. He’s on his side stiff as a board, nothing like the relaxed, sprawled out sleeping position Sam had found his Dean in countless times before. Sam assumes he had a nightmare or just felt more comfortable in Sam’s room. Maybe even forgot whose was whose. Then Sam notices the wet sheets, and the equally as wet little legs. He sighs quietly, and goes to start a bath.
Dean starts crying immediately when he wakes up, whispering apologies and something else too mumbled to understand. Sam shushes him, reassuring that it’s okay, not a big deal, and scoops him up. He carries the boy to the bathroom where the tub sits ready. Not for the first time in the past 24 hours, Dean tenses and goes completely silent. Sam tries to coax him back but the kid stays frozen. Not wanting to make it worse but not sure how to help, Sam quickly gets him in the tub to wash off, hoping yo make their time on the bathroom short. Dean stays quiet and stiff until Sam reaches his thighs, then he starts lightly trembling. Still, he says nothing.
Sam hurriedly gets him out of the bath and wraps his Dean’s towel around his shoulders. It’s much too big and drags on the floor, but it’ll keep him warm. Sam tells Dean to go to the other bedroom and grab some clothes while he cleans up. He gets the bedding in the wash and puts on clean sheets, then makes his way to Dean’s room to check on him. Dean is sitting on the bed in only a shirt again, hands in lap. He looks up when Sam’s body blocks the hallway light and twiddles his thumbs. Then, “I’m sorry about before. But.. I’m ready now.” He sticks his hands under his legs.
Sam waves it away, “It’s okay, really. Let’s just get you in bed.” Dean hesitates, checking Sam’s face for reassurance of ..something, Sam isn’t sure what, before climbing on top of the blanket stomach down. The too-big shirt rides up his legs and Dean doesn’t adjust it. Sam swallows around the lump in his throat.
“Don’t you want to be under the covers? It’d be much warmer.”
Dean turns to look at him and frowns. Like the idea is ridiculous, and it’s absurd he suggested it, then his eyes flash with guilt and he lowers them again. He shrugs. Slowly, he turns on his side again, this time facing Sam, and at the same time his eyes go past Sam’s waist to his groin, he lets out a tiny whimper.
Bile tickles Sam’s throat as he takes in the way Dean’s positioned himself again. Right on the edge of the bed, head about hanging off, eyes now squeezed shut.
“Ready now.”
Nausea rises quickly, nearly beating the speed of fire coursing through his blood, and Sam blurts out a tight, “Goodnight,” before taking off down the hall back to the bathroom.
___
tag, you're it.
(PLEASE read the warnings of the fic linked above before you read!)
poor vienna
A theology that precludes you from ever talking frankly about sex is a theology that guarantees that children in your midst will be hurt, btw