STOP SAYING THAT BEING VEGAN WILL MAKE YOU LOSE WEIGHT
1. It is not true. Eating certain vegan foods with a planned out diet along with a certain excersize routine along with certain genetic factors will help you lose weight, but the same can be said for many diets that include animal products but that doesn’t mean eating animal products makes you lose weight, so this is irrelevant. (Oreos, skittles, twizlers, sourpatch kids, pringles, and coke are vegan).
2. It’s fucking fatphobic. As vegans, we believe that exploiting animals is immoral and therefore we abstain from consuming products produced by exploiting animals (and encourage others to do the same). By spreading the lie that veganism inevitably leads to weight loss, you are perpetuating and reinforcing a common stereotype put onto “overweight” people in our society…that they are immoral. Many people already hold the bias that there is somehow something morally wrong with being fat, but claiming that vegans are all thin and in “great” shape goes all the way through with the idea. This amounts to saying fat=animal abuser instead of saying carnist=animal abuser…which has nothing to do with weight at all.
Description: During a hunt, Sam is force fed demon blood and relapses in his addiction. The plan is to lock him up in the bunker’s dungeon and let him detox, just like before. Y/n isn’t sure she can just sit by and watch him suffer.
Warning: First time writing Sam smut. It’s fairly mild again, but I’ve marked it off.
A/N: This one took a while for me to write, it proved much more difficult for me to wrap my head around. Feedback is appreciated, but please be gentle! I’m still not used to writing smut and Sam is one of the most difficult characters for me. :)
“Dean, please.” You catch the oldest Winchester’s arm and try to pull him to a stop, but you make little progress. “There has to be another way.”
He shakes you off. “I don’t like it any more than you do, Y/n. But this is the only way.”
Sam is still screaming. His hallucinations started about an hour ago.
“Isn’t there anything else we can do for him?” you plead. “Listen to him. Dean, he’s hurting. Couldn’t we-”
“Y/n, there are two ways to stop his pain right now,” Dean says, whipping around to face you and grabbing your shoulders. “We can let him sit until he’s clean, or we can gank a few demons and feed his addiction.” His green eyes bore into yours. “Which one do you think Sammy would want, huh?”
You know the answer. Sam had been off of demon blood for years, but it hadn’t been easy. There was withdrawal, just like with any other drug. He was an alcoholic of the deadly sort. If he stayed away from the drink, he was okay.
But when some demon force fed him blood, the relapse had happened almost immediately.
You remember how it felt to find him like that. How you’d burst into the room to see him just sitting there, a brokenness in his eyes that turned your blood cold.
“Can I at least go in and sit with him?” you ask. “Just in case he tries to hurt himself or something.”
Dean’s expression softens, but he shakes his head, pushing you up the stairs leading away from the dungeon and back to the bunker’s library. Cas is sitting at one of the tables, reading, but he looks up when the two of you enter.
“He’s dangerous when he’s coming off a high,” Dean says apologetically. Sympathetically. “I’ll keep an eye on him. Get some rest. Try not to think about it.”
He’s right. You know he’s right.
So why does it hurt so much?
You wait until Dean’s asleep. It takes longer than normal. He’s always restless when something’s wrong with Sam. But after several hours of lying in bed, listening to him wander the bunker’s halls, you finally hear the sound of his door clicking shut.
Ten minutes of silence later, you’re on the move.
You slip back down to the dungeon armed with pillows, blankets, and a backpack stuffed with books and movies and even a little junk food. The last time Sam was detoxing, he didn’t have any appetite, but you’ve brought Sourpatch Kids because you know they’re his favorite and you’re in desperate need to see him find some relief.
Things are almost eerily quiet when you push open the door.
Sam sits slumped in his chair, hair falling in front of his face as he bows his head. He looks tired, broken, and there’s a sharp pain in your chest at the sight.
“Sam?” you murmur quietly, not wanting to wake him if he’s finally getting some rest.
His head snaps up immediately and you have to fight the urge to wince at the dark shadows beneath his eyes. “Y/n?” The word sounds more like a croak. He sits up a little straighter, but the bonds on his wrists hinder him. “You shouldn’t be down here.”
You adjust your backpack. “I know,” you reply quietly. “But I couldn’t just - I couldn’t…” You trail off, not sure of the words you’re trying to say.
Sam says nothing.
You force a smile. “I brought you some things,” you say, slipping your backpack off of your shoulder and laying out the pillows on the ground. “I’ve got those lore books you were reading. The laptop if you want to watch a movie. Sourpatch kids.” You hold up the bag with a grin. “Who says rehab has to be boring?”
His mouth twitches into some semblance of a smile. “Thanks, Y/n. Really. I mean it. But you shouldn’t be down here. It’s dangerous.”
“You’re not dangerous,” you argue immediately.
“What if I start hallucinating again?” he retorts. “I could hurt you.”
“Sam.” You cross the room to stand in front of him, taking his face between your hands. “You’d never hurt me.”
His eyes fall closed at your touch and he sighs contentedly, leaning into your hands. But his brow furrows a moment later.
“Headache?” you ask quietly, using the tips of your fingers to massage his temples.
As you stand there, he leans forward and rests his head on your shoulder, his entire body seeming to slump with exhaustion.
“Well, the first order of business is getting you out of these cuffs,” you say, pulling back gently as you start to untie him.
“Y/n, no,” he says immediately. “If I turn violent-”
“You won’t, Sam,” you assure him. “You’ll feel better if you can stretch out and relax.” You remove the last cuff. “Now. Lie down on these pillows like the giant, goofy puppy you are and feel better.”
He raises his eyebrows, seeming unimpressed by the sight of you with your hands on your hips. “Giant, goofy puppy?” he asks drily.
“You’re ridiculously large and you like it when I pet your head. You’re basically a dog.”
He rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling fully now as he stands up and stretches before lowering himself onto the pillows. He lets out a sigh of relief almost immediately.
You smile, settling down next to him. “Hungry?” you ask, pushing the bag of candy towards him.
He shakes his head, reaching for a bottle of water instead.
“Do you want to read or watch a movie?” you ask him, draping a blanket over him as he lays down fully.
He closes his eyes, turning to rest his head against your shoulder. “Read to me,” he says quietly.
“Read to you,” you repeat. “You want me to read to you about Mayan mythology?”
“It’s your voice,” he replies. “It’s - I don’t know. It’s soothing.” He looks at you steadily, a flash of pain crossing his features. “I’m tired, Y/n.”
You smooth a hand over his hair. “Sleep then,” you whisper.
“Read to me,” he insists.
You lean down and press a kiss to his brow. “Okay.” Then you open the book and start to read, your voice barely more than a whisper. Sam curls against you and it isn’t long before his breathing slows, the rise and fall of his chest a steady motion against your side. When you’re sure he’s out, you close the book and lay down next to him, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind.
It’s only a few moments before you’re drifting off to sleep yourself.
You wake to the sound of Sam screaming.
He’s facing away from you, clutching at his head and trembling violently. His chest heaves with every breath and there’s sweat dripping down his forehead and plastering his hair to his face.
“Sam,” you say worriedly.
He groans, back arching off of the floor.
“Sam!” You set a hand on his back to try to calm him.
He’s on his feet in an instant, and you don’t know what he’s seeing, but the look in his eyes has you scrambling to your feet and backing away from him.
“Sam, it’s me,” you say soothingly, holding up your hands in a gesture of surrender.
He shakes his head, screaming again. “Get away from me!” he shouts. “Get away! Not again! Not again!”
He shoves you up against the wall, your head knocking against the brick with a painful crack. You cry out, but you don’t resist him.
“You stay away from me,” he snarls. “You think I don’t know what you are? You’re a demon.”
You shake your head but his hand closes around your throat. He practically lifts you off your feet, the toes of your shoes scraping against the cement floor. You claw at his hand, struggling feebly to break his grip.
“Sam,” you choke out.
You reach up with one hand and push his hair back, using the tips of your fingers to rub his temple just like you did earlier, willing him to see you.
The door flies open with a bang and then Dean is there, angel blade at the ready. His eyes go wide when he sees you and he sprints across the room, slamming into his brother and knocking them both to the ground.
You slump to the floor, gasping for breath and helpless to do little more than watch as Dean struggles with Sam. He gets him into a hold from behind, squeezing tightly when his younger brother tries to break free.
“Sammy, snap out of it,” Dean orders. “It’s me. It’s Y/n. Whatever you’re seeing, it’s not real.”
“Let go of me!”
“Come on, man! Snap out of it!”
And then Sam’s eyes fall on you. There’s a shift in his gaze and it’s like the fight goes out of him all at once. He sags back against his brother, staring at you in a mixture of pain and horror.
“Y/n?” he whispers.
“I’m okay,” you croak, one hand still resting against your throat. “I’m okay.”
Dean pulls Sam back to the chair a little forcefully, but Sam doesn’t resist at all. He slumps into the chair almost gratefully and doesn’t so much as twitch when Dean straps him back in.
You see Sam’s lips moving, and you realize he’s whispering “I’m sorry” over and over and over again.
After making sure Sam is secure, Dean crosses to you and grabs your arm to haul you to your feet.
“You okay?” he asks urgently, grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you slightly.
You push away from him, still wheezing. “I’m fine.”
“Good.” He shoves you toward the door, ignoring your protests as he pushes you out of the dungeon and slams the shelf back into place behind you.
“What the hell were you doing down here?” he demands, and the cold fury in his gaze is enough to make you back away from him. “I told you. I told you to stay out of there!”
You wrap your arms around yourself protectively. “I couldn’t just leave him,” you reply, but there’s hardly any force behind your words. “I can’t just-” You choke off angrily at the familiar lump forming in your throat. “Dean.”
His face softens as the tears start to fall and before you can register what’s really happening he’s stepped forward and pulled you into a gruff hug. You’re still for a moment, and then you let yourself relax into it, burying your face into his chest while you cry.
“I know,” he says quietly. “I know it hurts. Hell, last time I had to do this to him it felt like it was killing me.” He pulls back now, holding you at arm’s length to look in your eyes. “But if you really love him - and we both know you do - you will do what I ask, and you’ll stay strong, and you will help me get him through this. Sam needs you, Y/n.”
You bite your lip, nodding determinedly.
Dean offers you a sad smile. “Good girl. Come on, we’ll have Cas take a look at your neck.”
“No, it’s okay,” you reply, following him up the stairs leading out of the basement. “I just want to get some sleep right now.”
He nods, but his eyes are calculating as he studies you. “He’s going to be okay, Y/n. The hallucinations, that’s the worst of it. We’re getting close.”
You stretch up on tiptoe, kissing his cheek. “Thanks, Dean.”
He ruffles your hair, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “Get some sleep, kid.”
You make a quick stop in the laundry room to steal one of the boy’s flannels - much more comfortable for sleep - and then after changing, you crawl under the covers and close your eyes.
But sleep proves illusive. You’re used to restless nights. It’s part of a hunter’s job description, but tonight feels different. You toss and turn, ignoring the throbbing in your neck from the developing bruises that are shaped like Sam’s fingers.
After a few hours of staring at your ceiling, you slip out of bed, and find yourself padding down the hall to Dean’s room. “Dean?” you call quietly, knocking twice before pushing the door open.
He’s leaning up against his headboard with his laptop balanced on his knees when you enter. At the sight of you, he pulls his headphones off. “What’s up?” he asks with a touch of concern in his tone.
You shift from foot to foot a little awkwardly. You don’t spend a lot of time in Dean’s room. “Couldn’t sleep,” you say after a moment.
He nods. “Me neither.” Then his brow furrows. “Is that my shirt?”
You look down at yourself. “Sorry, I just grabbed one from the laundry room,” you reply. “I thought it was Sam’s. I’ll go change-”
“Nah, don’t worry about it,” he cuts you off. “It’s not like I’m running low on plaid shirts.”
You laugh, but it feels forced.
Dean sighs. “You want to hang out in here for a while?”
You nod, going to sit next to him on the bed after he slides over to make room for you.
“Have you checked on Sam recently?” you ask him, glancing over his shoulder to see what TV show he’s streaming on his laptop.
“I was down there a couple hours ago,” he replies. “He was sound asleep. No need to worry.”
“Maybe I should go check on him.”
“Y/n, no,” Dean says immediately. “He’s got twelve inches and at least eighty pounds on you. Just stay up here and you can check on him in the morning.”
You fiddle with the hem of your shirt, saying nothing.
He sighs heavily. “Do you want me to go check on him again?” he asks. “Would that make you feel better?”
“Yes,” you mumble.
Dean rolls his eyes. “I swear, you two are going to be the death of me,” he mutters, but he’s on his way out the door.
You settle against his stack of pillows when he leaves, drawing the blankets up around your chilly feet. You’re tired suddenly, safe in the knowledge that Dean is watching over his little brother, and in a few moments you find yourself drifting off to sleep.
Dean stops in the doorway when he returns, smiling a little in spite of himself. He’s struck by how similar you and Sam are, in that moment, remembering nights when Sam couldn’t sleep until Dean went to make sure everything was okay.
So instead of waking you, he pulls the blankets over your sleeping form and sits down at his desk.
You groan, burrowing further under the covers.
“Up and at ‘em, sunshine.”
You pull the pillow over your head.
There’s a pause, and then, “Just remember, you brought this on yourself.”
Dean yanks the blankets off of you in one swift movement, leaving you glaring and shivering from the sudden cold.
You pull the pillow away from your face. “What do you want?”
He rolls his eyes. “I’m heading downstairs to let Sam out. Figured you’d want to see him.”
You shoot out of bed. “I’ll go change.”
Dean laughs, shaking his head as he heads to the dungeon.
You’re standing in front of your closet rifling through your shirts when the door opens and Sam slips in, looking tired, but much better than before.
He freezes, when he sees you, eyes locking with your’s in the mirror. There’s something in his gaze you can’t identify.
“How’s your neck?” he asks quietly, stepping into the room and shutting the door quietly behind him.
You touch the bruises almost absentmindedly. “It’s okay,” you reply. “It looks worse than it is.”
He nods, but the tension doesn’t leave him.
“Sam?” you ask a little nervously, taking half a step toward him. “What’s wrong?”
He looks you up and down slowly, gaze lingering on your shirt. “You’re wearing Dean’s shirt.” It’s not a question.
You look down at yourself, shifting from foot to foot a little awkwardly. “I just grabbed a shirt from the laundry room,” you reply. “I didn’t have any clean pajamas.”
He takes another step forward, expression unchanging. “Did you sleep with him?”
You blink, not fully understanding. “Do you really think-”
“You don’t have to explain,” he cuts you off.
“There’s nothing to explain,” you reply hotly. “I didn’t sleep with Dean. I would never sleep with Dean.”
“So what happened?” Sam asks, ignoring you. “How did it all go down? You were heartbroken over my relapse, Dean tried to comfort you, comfort led to a little more? Is that how it happened?”
“Sam, you’re exhausted,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “You went through a lot yesterday. Why don’t you just lay down and try to get some sleep-”
“Why, so you can sleep with my brother while I’m out?” he cuts you off.
You open your mouth to respond, but end up just shaking your head, pulling a shirt off its hanger at random before heading for the door. “Maybe I should just go.”
He catches your arm, shoving you up against the closed door roughly, and part of you thinks he might still be high. “Did you feel anything for me?” he growls. “Did any of it matter, or was it all just a ploy to get to Dean?”
“If I didn’t love you,” you hiss, planting your hands on his chest to try to push him away from you. “I would’ve left when you left these bruises on my neck.”
Before he can respond, you kiss him.
He responds to you immediately, grazing your bottom lip with his teeth as he grabs the front of your shirt and pulls it apart sending buttons flying. You slip the fabric from your shoulders as his hands go to work at the clasp of your bra.
He groans when you tangle your fingers into his hair and tug, lifting you off your feet to toss you onto the bed. You hit the mattress with a gasp, but Sam is on you before you have time to recover, pushing you onto your back and hovering over you as he kisses along your collar bone.
You tug at his shirt and he pulls away from you just long enough to slip it over his head and whip it across the room. He kisses you again, tongue pushing roughly into your mouth, before dragging his teeth across your jawbone. The kisses he presses to your neck, however, are feather light, wary of your bruises, of hurting you.
You grab his face and hold it between your hands, staring into his eyes. “I didn’t sleep with Dean.”
You push him as hard as you can, flipping him onto his back and swinging one leg over his hips to straddle him. He throws his head back when you bite his neck gently.
“I love you, Sam,” you murmur, kissing him again. “Only you. Only. You.” You punctuate each word with a kiss and he grabs your hips in a grip so tight it’s almost bruising.
“Prove it,” he whispers.
You fumble a little with the snap on his jeans, pushing them off of his lean hips swiftly before lowering your head and kissing his stomach, just above the navel. You work your way upward slowly, trailing over the planes of his stomach and his chest, breathing in his scent.
He moans when you grind your hips against his, feeling how hard he is beneath you. He flips you again easily, tearing your panties in his haste to get them off of you.
You gasp when he slips two fingers inside of you, hips rising up to meet them of their own accord. He drops his mouth to your chest, pressing kisses to one breast while he palms the other.
“Sam, please,” you whimper.
You don’t have to ask again. He pushes your thighs apart and pushes into you in one swift movement. It’s only a moment before he starts to move, his pace fast enough that the headboard knocks against the wall with each thrust as he drives you into the mattress.
You dig your nails into his back and he reaches back to catch your wrists, pinning your hands above your head. He holds them in place with one hand, slipping the other between you to help you along.
He pulls back to look at you, hazel eyes boring into your e/c ones. You can’t look away from him.
“Say my name,” he grunts, and it’s the intensity of the command that pushes you over the edge, screaming his name.
He is quick to follow you, biting your shoulder to stifle his groan.
Sam gives you a much gentler kiss as he pulls out, rolling onto his side before tugging you into his arms and burying his face in your hair.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, kissing your cheek lightly. His fingers trace over the dark bruises along your neck, and the fresh bite mark on your shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
“Shh,” you soothe, trailing your fingers through his hair and struck by the immediate change in his mood. “It’s alright. It’s alright.”
“No it’s not.” He pulls back slightly to look at you and you see that there are tears in his eyes. “I love you, Y/n. I should never have-”
“Sam,” you cut him off, putting a finger against his lips. You gesture to the bruises on your neck. “This? This was not you.”
“But this was,” he argues, touching the red mark on your shoulder.
“So why?” you ask, knowing he won’t feel better until he can get it out in the open.
“I just -” He sighs. “I saw you, wearing Dean’s shirt, looking like he had just - and I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, and I couldn’t just give you up either.” He looks at you seriously. “I was jealous, Y/n. I was so angry.” His fingers start to trace nonsense patterns across your shoulders. “But it’s not an excuse. I shouldn’t have lost control like that. I shouldn’t have been so rough with you.”
You sit up a little, tracing your the tip of your index finger over the similar mark you left on his chest. Then, with a smirk and a wink, you lower your mouth to his neck, sucking just above his collar bone.
“There,” you reply, looking with satisfaction at the mark you leave. “Now we’re even.”
He laughs. “I think you got my back pretty good, too.”
“I was a little distracted,” you reply drily.
He laughs again, but the sound quickly dies off as his expression darkens once again.
You sigh. “Sam, listen to me.” You rest your head on his chest. “I love you, okay? Every part of you. I will love you when you’re happy, I’ll love you when you’re annoyingly jealous, and I will love you when you’re fighting an addiction. Nothing’s going to change that. You can’t get rid of me.”
“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers.
You smile. “Well, the feeling’s mutual.”
He leans forward and captures your lips in a much sweeter kiss, cupping your cheek gently. When he pulls back, you settle against his chest, sighing contentedly when he starts to massage the back of your neck.
“I’m still sorry I was so rough with you,” he whispers after a long moment.
“You’ll just have to make it up to me later,” you reply without opening your eyes.
He laughs, and you feel him kiss the top of your head. “Deal.”
Shout out to whydon'twedoitontheinternet for tagginng me
5 things you’ll find in my bag
-small pieces of paper people usually use as flashcards
-big league chew gum
-some sourpatch kids candy
-random loose coins from wallet
5 things in my bedroom
-big Beatle books
-about 5 flower crowns
-a collection of perfumes
-two dream catchers close together (for extra protection from nightmares)
5 things I’ve always wanted to do in my life
-see a Paul and/or Ringo concert (JUST ONCE)
-have a published comic book
-complete my wall or many things (so far it’s got posters, art, a deck of cards, chip bag etc.)
-have many Beatle records, CDs, and cassette tapes
-To find myself (spiritually)
5 things that make me happy
-listening to music
-not being disturbed
-John’s laughter (can you blame me?)
-people that i’m friends with/consider to be my friends on tumblr (@whydon'twedoitontheinternet, @great-bay, @pmccartney, etc etc love you guys :D)
5 things on my to-do list
-to post a comic that will change EEEVERYTHING about the relationships in the SF AU (SHHH)
exercise on stationary bike
draw, draw, and more draw
-post a bit more on DA
-5 things you may not know about me
-I collect plastic water bottle caps (idk i’m planning to make something with them)
-I have a love for Phantom of the Opera and Jekyll and Hyde
-I have prescription John Lennon/circle glasses
-I have a Beanie Boo owl that i named Jimi (after Jimi Hendrix)
-I have two little twin sisters who also love the Beatles and it’s adorable C:
Is Ryan Ross okay? I love my sweet moon child so much but is he alright? Has he eaten today? Did he laugh or smile today? Did someone send him a good morning text and remind him how much they care for him? Whens the last time he had his favorite food? WHy does he take so many pictures of his dog? Dottie is cute but Ryan is cuter? Does he have a beard still? Is he hanging out with his bestfriend and having a good time and enjoying himself? Who is keeping my smol son safe ???? Is he still singing? Is he still writing music not for fans but for himself? Did he finish that 5 pound bag of sourpatch kids yet? That is a lot of sourpatch kids why did he order so many? Did he share them? IS MY SON SAFE AND SOUND??
okay the use of the word “stud” has been deemed offensive and rightfully so, so let’s come up with something else (the catch is that there’s 2 lexas that’s the only downside, but they’re both completely different)
lexa #1 - fit life lexa (fl!lexa):
is a total sweetheart but acts like a hardass
clarke describes her as a sourpatch kid
her hardass exterior is simply bc she get easily pouty and jealous whenever guys/other girls look at clarke
soft gf clarke reassures her that she’s the only one for her
she loves photography, aside from owning her own boutique gym she’s an amateur photographer (clarke recreates the pictures she takes by hand)
i headcanon her as intersex but she can be whatever you want her to be
(i take jessy’s headcanon for her having a premature ejaculation problem in this au except to a lesser extent)
is a service top w bottom tendencies
is strong af and sinewy
takes nutrition seriously (sometimes she cheats but it doesnt harm her much)
has a 4 hour sleep cycle like she goes to bed for 4 hours, gets up and quietly goes to the gym to workout for like 2 hours, then comes home and showers so she can get back into bed w clarke and sleep until the sun comes up
clarke’s not particularly a fan of her leaving but she loves it when she’s all fresh and clean and her body is still lowkey humming with energy from her workout
clarke can cook like 3 things, 1 of them including cereal so lexa is the one who cooks (trying to get clarke to eat sauteed kale is a pain in her ass)
when they have sex she’s always concerned if she’s hurting clarke and clarke either reassures her verbally or flips them over
add on anything else u want but that’s basically it for that lexa
lexa #2 - dapper lexa:
went to a private high school and was the top player on her lacrosse team
she put on a decent amount of muscle in hs and has managed to keep most of it (she works out a few times a week but she a busy hoe)
she’s lithe and strong but not as defined as fl!lexa
i headcanon her as cis in this universe but again she can be whatever you want
is a dominant top
(clarke loves it)
frat boy clarke in this universe loves to mess w her super composed and in charge gf
lexa wears suits as hell she has like 4 pocket watches to go w certain suit designs
either a ceo or a lawyer idk which y'all can decide
did i mention clarke is a total troublemaker in this au what an ass
turns lexa on at inappropriate times (she sends nudes during her work hours the horny binch)
lexa gets her revenge later those nights
owns like 3 vacation homes in other countries
she’s taken clarke to brazil and europe and parts of south and east asia for vacations
once got sick while in a foreign country and clarke was like “pls dont die” she was freakin
lexa was fine
sometimes late at night in lexa’s penthouse the moonlight will hit lexa’s face in just the right way and clarke will just stare at her gf and wonder how lucky she is to have her
lexa does the same things
okay that it
okay those are my 2 separate au lexas i hope u like
I am down to both of these tbh! You always come up with awesome ideas dude keep it up
Siblings never talk like siblings in shows. Do you ever watch a show and you just are sitting there thinking ‘In no universe would my brother and I ever have a witty back and forth that includes small pieces of information for the audience.’
It would go like this:
“Where are we supposed to be going?” “I have no fucking clue.” “lol”
*possibly fighting bad guys*
“The door is broken.” “Yes thanks I have eyes.” “Douche.”
*fixing the issue*
“carry me home.” “You are bigger than me.” “carry me bitch!” “fuck you!”
“do you want tacos?” “yes.”
None of this weird banter about relationships and fighting monsters and what it means. You need to have a conversation about feelings its all “do you need condoms or for me to kill someone?” “god no! please leave my room.” “taking the sourpatch kids when i go…” “fine, stay you chode.”
cries now that it's finally open I forgot what I wanted to send!!! Okay but would McCree like sweets? What types? mmm nothing more American than Apple pie with vanilla ice cream. Cakes? Candy? Ooh, what about foodplay? Whipped cream and chocolate syrup. Maybe even sprinkles!! "I got a hankerin' for some sweet thang- and it's /you/."
• he does have a sweet tooth
• he likes handmade sweets like apple pies and taffy
• he is a slUT for ice cream. //he likes rocky road or chocolate
• he okay with cake but prefers cupcakes
• he doesn’t like those boxed candy like sourpatch kids or redvines
• he LOVES food play. Whip cream and everything tbh.
• ///he sprays whip cream straight into his mouth.