#it sucks the series is tainted with nastiness

[eternalpassions]

I love Setsuna and Moroha

[flowerwrites06]

the blacksmith — kth

Plot: The Lady finally visits the Blacksmith in the dead of night. 

Pairing(s): Blacksmith!Taehyung x Lady!OC 

Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+

Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series

Word Count: 631 

Genre: Smut | PWP 

Tags & Warnings: explicit smut (rough sex, oral sex — f. & m., fingering, squirting), just nasty stuff 

Authors Note: idk enjoy, my friends 

Taehyung was sweaty and heaving but it only made her more excited. His soot-covered hands touched her soft breasts, tainting with black splotches. Her naked body rested on the dirty floor, open and ready for his taking. It was night out. No one would know. His hands were so big and bulky, heavy as they pressed on her stomach. He still wore his leather apron, sweaty face twisted in the thrill of seeing her sprawled like this. He grabbed onto her flower covered hair and pulled her to stay on all fours.

He was tall enough so her head reached just perfectly at his crotch. Taehyung took off his apron and threw it to the side before undoing the straps of his pants. She tried to hold in the excited giggle in her throat at finally seeing his length. She’d only touched it once before over his clothes and at that time, he looked like he was ready to devour her.

Taehyung grabbed his cock and pressed it against her plump lips. It smelled like sweat and salt. She licked the reddened tip and stared up at him. Droplets of sweat fell from the tips of his black hair. He used his other hand to grab onto her hair again and have her swallow his cock. She sucked and swallowed his tip in between her throat making him grunt.

He fucked her mouth until spit dribbled down her chin onto the stone floor. “The princes’ gonna kill me.” Taehyung groaned as if the idea of defying her betrothed excited him.

She only moaned in response, swaying her hips knowing he could see it.

Taehyung growled in frustration and made her latch off his member. He carried her like a sack of flour and placed her on his chair with her legs spread wide. Dropping down to his knees, he started kissing her dripping cunt, right at the spot where it made her head spin. He suckled at a lightning speed, making the pleasure rush too fast to the surface. Then he slowed. Licking a stripe from her hole to her nub.

Taehyung stuck on thick finger in her cunt and rubbed an inner spot that nearly made her scream. He slammed his hand over her mouth and added a second finger, mercilessly drilling her insides until she felt a spring uncoil sharply. Liquid spurted out of her and onto his hands, soaking his soot-covered sleeve.

Shaking and close to blissful tears, Taehyung jabbed his drenched and leaking length into her cunt. It was so thick and pulsing that her walls ached by the stretch. His thrusts were as relentless as his fingers. She succumbed to his pleasurable onslaught like an obedient doll. Sweaty skin slapped against each other, his large hands handled her body like it weighed nothing, his kisses hot on her lips and his moans rung like music in her ears.

She’d waited for this since she was nineteen. Three years of pining, watching, imagining and teasing with touches only to have her own hand soothe her aches. Taehyung fucked her like they were lovers for the ages.

“I’m gonna come,” he growled as her cunt spurted more nectar.

“Stay inside,” she whispered desperately. Her cheeks flushed and painted with tears. “Come inside.”

Taehyung let out more heaving breaths that turned to growls. Which then turned to blissful moans. Hot and thick liquid filled her womb, sending her into a trance of pure pleasure. She had a smile permanently etched on her face.

Taehyung kissed her again, this time slow and gentle. His hand caressed her cheek and his forehead rested on hers, letting hot breath cascade on her cheeks. “We can never do this again,” he muttered under his breath.

She giggled. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Masterlist

[cupidquinn-moved]

The thing that I love about the Harleen mini-series was the way he re-imagined her origin story. There’s clearly a vast amount of respect for the source material: ie: Her og origin story as it was presented in Batman: The Animated Series (the comic one shot, tho it was adapted for the series, too).Like yes, me made some changes. Her motivation for working at Arkham and wanting to analyze Joker, and her college affair with a professor, not to mention the addition of her meeting Joker on the street and witnessing a fight between him and Batman and the fall of Harvey Dent as a subplot coinciding with her breakdown.

It not only adds nuance to the more...duplicitous nature of Harleen but it does so without turning her into a well-meaning psychiatrist driven mad by the hubris of trying to understand the Joker. The two modern trends I’ve seen when it comes to recontextualizing Harley’s origin story in a time where “problematic” and “toxic” is (overused) in media analysis is to make Harley a total victim or to just quickly handwave it away. Stjepan did neither of these things, but instead turned the origin story on its head.

For example, that affair with her professor. It’s referred to as a fling that tainted her reputation. For those of you who don’t know, because you know, I’m not going to expect everyone to have watched B:TAS (or read that old comic) because it’s only recently been easy to stream, in her origin story episode, Harley is shown as someone who wasn’t especially interested in working hard for her grades and instead flirted (or slept with) her professors in exchange for passing marks. (Side note: Incredible that B:TAS was considered a kid’s show but it had a lot of implicit references that were pretty adult.) There’s a subtle grace to the way that script got flipped. Harley still has that nasty reputation when it reality. she just ended up making a very poor decision.

Harleen is soaked in a thousand little reasons she broke, not just the traditional “she fell in love with Joker” narrative. She’s been emotionally isolated since college and doesn’t have a lot of people close to her (ie: no real support system), shortly after the traumatic first encounter with Joker she’s clearly suffering from symptoms of PTSD. She has horrible nightmares, has trouble sleeping, has daily conversations with Arkham’s inmates including Joker, who acts increasingly familiar with her as time goes on, all against the backdrop of Harvey Dent’s transformation into Two Face and a violent vigilante group taking crime into their own hands. 

She’s working on proving a hypothesis that living in Gotham is like living in a warzone and the barrage of violence and fear erodes at the empathy in the minds of its citizens, which exacerbates the criminality in the city. The tragic irony of Harleen is no longer that she’s a “therapist that fell in love with the Joker”, the irony becomes that she exemplifies the end point of her hypothesis.

Ugh, it’s so good.

I will briefly touch on the Jarley content at the core of the story, and yeah, it’s romantic. Although it’s broadly implied that Joker got a file on Harley to study in order to manipulate her and used her growing empathy/lust for him against her, Stjepan seems to lean in that Joker loves Harley in his own way. Much as I’m not a fan of Jarley, I don’t mind this. An abuser doesn’t come right out with the terrorizing. Even in Mad Love, even in SuSquad 2016 it portrays Joker as winning her over with expressions of softness. So yeah, it doesn’t bother me that Stjepan isn’t coming out the gate portraying his abject cruelty to her. She’s the anomaly, the one he spared on a whim. Sucks to say in this case, but what drives a romance is being able to show how and why a couple might want to be together. Stjepan did a very good job writing the relationship, sorry, but I stand by my assertion that it wasn’t romanticized. Thankfully, he appears to endgame Harlivy, which perhaps makes it a bit more palatable.

tl;dr: It’s three issues. Please read Harleen. It’s so good.

[cassiecasyl]

bittersweet surrender (everything is better now)

My first contribution for @whumpay2021!! 

fandom: mcu  relationship: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes  warnings: self-harm, nightmares/flashbacks  add. tags: Bucky Barnes has PTSD, Alternate Universe - Angels, Angel Sam Wilson, Angel Bucky Barnes, Recovering Bucky Barnes, Alpine and Redwing as their pets 

prompts: Day 9 - gentle/brutal + Day 10 - screaming/silence 

note: this fic is based on a headcanon i have about angel wings which i’ve previously written about in this series. I have pasted some paragraphs at the start for better understanding, but I still highly encourage you to check out the original series! 

Read on Ao3. 

“What are those lights?” Dean eventually asked, wonder and admiration on his face, an expression he hadn’t worn since his childhood was stolen.

“The plumage of an angel possesses a glow specific to the angel,” Castiel explained. “Sometimes, when the angel is around someone they especially trust and care for, this glow manifests in those particles. Nobody really knows what they actually are.”

“They look like fireflies,” Dean stated, but his eyes spoke of a question he was too afraid to ask. Castiel chuckled and agreed before he whispered a little word in Enochian, increasing the expression on Dean’s face. “What was that?”

The angel repeated the word, louder this time. “That’s what they’re called,” he clarified. “It means sparks of emotion, which is contradictory since angels aren’t supposed to feel. With the absence of a soul comes the inability to feel, but somehow, emotions found a way into our beings. These fireflies, as you call them, especially respond to strong emotions, but somehow they don’t resonate with hate, which is one of the strongest emotions. Usually, they show when an angel is around someone they,” Castiel made a quick pause, almost unnoticeable to those who didn't know him, “... love. Those little traitors.”

- After the Flight (The Meaning of Home) by @cassiecasyl

~~~

The poison entered him from the veins in his left arm. It’s still bleeding from the impact, and Bucky thought he saw flashes of bone the few times he’s able to blink his eyes open. He groaned in pain, instictly flinching away from their hands, but his body lay still, obedient. It burned through his system, alighting his insides, flames infecting his body and soul. 

Humans always thought of hell as a pit of fire you’re thrown into, or the stake they’d burned witches on. Bucky knew better. Hellfire devoured him from inside. The souls of future victims screamed a haunting melody as they burned. 

He remembers being a comet. His wings caught fire in the wind, the Earth rapidly approached to greet him in a lethal hug.  Feathers danced back towards the heavens, hopelessly holding out for a home lost. 

The inferno inside reached them now, igniting them anew, as if they weren’t injured enough already. It blazed through his grace, touching the very essence of his being, triggering what should never be forced. Tiny blue orbs sprang from his plumage, fighting their artificial light, reflecting in the tears streaming down his face. No. They couldn’t. 

A nasty smile echoes in his mind, darting around forever. His heart sinks as his love sings, but he doesn’t feel it. They jab into his arm, cutting something off. He is a machine, easily reconfigured. No. They fill him with foreign hate, and it burns what’s left of him. Blue turns inside out, ablazes in orange before glaring at him in red. Bucky screams. 

He screams, but there’s no sound, so he tries again, and again, and again, to no avail. His body is no longer his own. They control the very air he breathes, control the function of his lungs. He could die, here and now, and his body would be none the wiser. 

Blood fills his mind, darker than his corrupted sparks. It is splattered all over the place, all over his face and on his hands. He is shaking inside his stoic cage. A tainted feather falls onto the ground, further painting itself with blood. It is surpringly light, considering the state of his wings. They are darkened with ash and charcoal these days, and covered in the grey mud only snow produces. 

Winter. That’s what they call him. 

He comes when it’s most inconvenient, and leaves only coldness in his wake. Wherever he goes, suffering follows, and even the trees shake with fear. None of them hear him scream. 

He tries and tries, screaming until he swears he can feel blood in his throat, and then some more. Louder. Nobody even flinched. Louder. Why didn’t his mouth move, why were his tears only an extension of hellfire? His eyes burn, but winter freezes him before a tear ever leaves his eyes. They are as trapped as he is. Bucky screams, because that’s all he could do anymore. He screams over the roaring flames and the souls haunting him. He screams, but it never passes the barrier of his skin. 

Bucky screams. 

He screams until another voice joins him. “Bucky!” It was familiar panic, or worry. Hands collide with his freezing skin, and it’s burning again, oh god, they’re burning him again. He doesn’t even remember what he did to deserve this. Bucky kicks and flails, blind because they control his eyes, but his body is his. 

A scream thralls through his ears and he stops and opens his eyes, every nerve on high alert. The dark room seems familiar, but Bucky can’t quite place it. There are shadows playing with him, and the moon, ever the creep, smiles into the window. A night light burns on the nightstand on the other side of the bed. 

Brown, worried eyes catch his. Bucky stills, breathing heavily. Sam. His wings are angled slightly in alarm, showing their light brown freckled underside. He relaxes as Bucky stares, the hellfire and ice slowly replaced with softer warmth. 

Hazel fireflies surround Sam’s wings, standing out more now that he had closed them. On the upside, his wings are colorful; his primary feathers are black and white, covered by grey secondaries. In the middle, they meet his back in a golden brown, blending into his sepia skin. He is beautiful, hoping eyes a promise of home, sparks untainted by hate. 

Bucky reaches out, daring to search for contact, for comfort, slowly enough to ask for consent. Silver light reflects on his metal arm, and he is back there, with them in his veins, no, cables, controlling, controlling, controlling. Bucky recoils, scared of what his hands will do when they meet Sam. He can’t hurt him. 

He can’t, he can’t, he can’t—he already did. Red splotches obstruct his vision, much like the blood he shed when they first met. When the hate still fueled him, rage dancing in his bones, hellfire in his veins, so hot it’s freezing him. When his sparks were still tainted red, a supernatural beast scaring its next victim just for fun. Nowadays, they usually don't show at all. He’d lost them to the winter. 

Though, he means to see their glowing eyes in the corner of his own. He shudders, unsure whether his body follows the motion. No. Bucky shakes his head as he fights against the ice in his lungs. He can’t hurt Sam. Not again. Blood fills his vision, or maybe the moon hides behind clouds, too scared of the monster he is. Too scared to witness a murder between lovers, because one can’t trust his mind. His mind that screams for blood. 

Blood, blood, bloodbloodbloodblood— 

Pain stabs through him and he stills. Bucky blinks, looking into worried eyes that break his heart. He’s so sorry. The air he sucks in is a weird mix of warm and cold, of dry heater and cold night. He stares again, and thinks that maybe a tear escapes his eyes. He’s still an angel, not a machine. Machines don’t cry. 

His hand must’ve found his wings, because that’s where the pain pulses from, sharp and attentive. There’s blood on his hands, but it’s his own, so it’s okay. His fingers graze another feather, thumbling on it and pulling slightly. It was the only thing he could do. Tears run down his face, weirdly warm - everything he is, is frozen, so why aren’t they? - and dropping to his chest and he knows he can’t stop them. 

His shaking fingers lose grip on his soft plumes tainted with blood, and he desperately tries to get it back, to get it under control again, to just feel what he deserves— A hand stops him, burning him with the contact. It’s not letting go, even as Bucky struggles against it, but carefully leads his hands forward, away from his wings. Bucky looks up at Sam, blinking through the tears and an apology on his tongue. 

Sam wraps his arms around him and Bucky falls into him as he melts. “It’s alright, you’re gonna be alright,” he assures him, and Bucky latches onto it as he rides through another wave of tears. Sam’s warmth is so drastically different from the one he dreamed about— comforting, soothing, calm, safe. He nudges his head into the crook of Sam’s neck, breathing in his home and the sweet nothings Sam hadn’t stopped saying. 

“Hey, remember when we were racing in the sky?” Sam asks as Bucky’s breathing steadies. He continues after a moment as it becomes clear that Bucky won’t answer—but the fallen angel doesn’t feel judgement coming from his lover. “And the sun kept hiding behind clouds, so you decided to be Icarus?” 

Bucky chuckles. “And you almost flew into a bird,” he recalls. 

“Almost,” Sam repeats, chidingly, but not without a smile in his voice. Bucky glances up at that. Before, he had been staring into nothing, too afraid to look the other angel in the eye, but now, all he could see was the homely beauty. The moon’s cold light clashed with Sam’s warm skin tone, darkening it like a sunset. 

“Anyway, you flew past the clouds and you would’ve flown into the sun, if I hadn’t caught up to you in time.” Bucky grins up at him. He remembers that day. It was one of the the first time flying since he’d escaped, and the first time he’d made it that far up. By the time he was past the clouds he was positively basking in the sun’s glory and in happiness. And then Sam came, almost golden in the sun, and his luck had been complete. 

“If you’re trying to use this story as a moral, it’s kinda working,” Bucky teases, reveling in Sam’s snort. Right when he wants to cuddle closer, they’re interrupted by an ear-shattering screech that’s trying to impale Bucky’s sensitive ears. Sam just sighs as the noise is followed by a cat hissing. 

He rubs over Bucky’s right arm before he quietly stands up, and Bucky whines at the loss of contact, at the warmth leaving him. It’s cold without Sam, but he keeps the thoughts of winter at bay by ignoring the moon in favor of watching Sam open the door. He quickly ducks as Redwing shoots through the opening, and almost stumbles on Alpine in pursuit. The cat has his eyes keenly set on the bird, who is now circling the ceiling in panic, calling out again. Bucky chuckles. 

He welcomes the cat as he jumps onto the bed and lies down next to his angel. Bucky’s hand automatically finds its way to the soft and fluffy body, petting him until purrs erupt. He laughs at Sam’s exasperated face as he tries to get his bird to land or just calm down in general. 

“You really gotta teach your cat some manners, old man,” Sam tells him and he laughs. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bucky grins innocently. Sam rolls his eyes in response, but the smile playing on his lips isn’t missed to Bucky. Redwing finally lands on Sam’s shoulder and the angel gently offers his hand to him. The bird nuzzles it, chasing the darkness it brings. 

Bucky watches them. He’s staring again, he knows that he does it a lot - Sam keeps pointing it out - but he can’t help he lopsided grin his mouth morphs into at the sight of his family. Alpine had fallen asleep, his fur tickling Bucky’s belly. Right here, at this moment, he is happy. It is weird how fast his weird little family cheered him up. 

Sam looks back at him, his dumbass bird on his shoulder, his eyes undecided between annoyance and love. He thinks his heart might burst with all the love it’s not used to holding. There’s a new light there, suddenly, blue and frazzling. Bucky blinks, trying to chase it from the edge of his vision. It’s just his mind playing tricks on him. 

But then Sam’s whole face lights up. He moves forward slowly, as to not scare Redwing again, and sits down on the bed. Bucky quickly glances back to the side, and then does a double-take. There, caressing his damaged wings, are a few little blue orbs. He cries out in surprise, covering his mouth, tears returning to his eyes. This isn’t real, he tells himself. It couldn’t be. They’d turned them red, replacing all he had with their hate, but now his body is brimming with love instead of hell. 

Bucky looks back at Sam, and sees understanding love reflected back at him. He reaches out, closing the distance between them until their lips meet in a kiss. The warmth is overwhelming, but Bucky doesn’t want it to end. He got his sparks back, he was no longer corrupted, broken. He was happy, sappy enough to cry joyous tears as he kisses the man who made all of this possible, who was the reason for all that was good in his life. 

“Thank you,” he whispers in-between kisses, his heart jumping with every beat, dancing in love. Blinking blue mixes with soft hazel, creating a stylised night sky, completed by the colors of their wings. Bucky puts all the overflowing love into the kiss, his hands flailing to get Sam closer, and Sam returns the favor. 

But then, Bucky moves the leg against which Alpine is resting. The cat wakes up instantly and voices his complaint in a confused meow. He breaks the kiss, softly chuckling into shared air before leaning back to take care of his fluffy child, leaving Sam to do the same with his feathery kind. 

~~~

taglist: (lemme know if you wanna be added or removed!)  @starrynightdeancas @spookyscarykittycat @sherlock-who-mentalist @lost-lunar-wolf @aniridescentdreamer @aixabi

[loulougoingsolo]

Ignore the Rot

I’m quite particular when it comes to snacks. If I find a good snack, I tend to buy it again and again. I don’t buy snacks very often, so when I do, I want to be sure that my choice doesn’t disappoint me. Over the years, my desire to stick to what I like has led to problems, whenever a favourite snack has been discontinued - or (this is even worse) when for some reason unknown to me, the manufacturer has decided to change the recipe.

On today’s  (ok, yesterday’s since I’m a little late) GMM, Rhett and Link try discontinued snacks in order to determine whether they should be brought back or not. And, because this is GMM, and these items have been discontinued, the snacks are also more or less expired - but let’s not have that affect the decisions, right?

The first discontinued snack is Cheetos Sweetos, which for me sounds good - can you really go wrong with sugar and cinnamon? And if you can both eat the snack and use it to propose to someone, isn’t that pretty perfect? (Oh, and FYI, you can wear your engagement ring on the right hand, too, Rhett.)

So, it’s a no for the Sweetos from Rhett and Link, even with their versatile uses as jewellery and snacks. I personally think the spotted tiger looks cute, but ok, I’ll consume my cinnamon treats in some other form.

I’ve never heard of Pitch Black Mountain Dew 1 or 2, but if anything has a branding issue, it’s this product. Not only is that drink a very suspicious shade of toxic green (I really hope it was never black), but also, the name taints the legacy of one of my favourite sci-fi movies, Pitch Black. That’s what you should watch instead of any Daddy’s Home movies. 

I wouldn’t trust Rhett when he says hard stuff can’t rot. I bet it can. And there are hard chocolate things you can suck other than Tootsie rolls, and I think I captured the moment when Rhett realized that himself (and based on the slightly disappointed expression on Link’s face, he realized it too). Moving on.

I can only eat popcorn if it’s hot and fresh. I don’t particularly like it, but hot popcorn is hard to resist. I’ve never been able to understand why anyone would buy popcorn already popped, in a bag, like this Israeli Bart Simpson one. I think popcorn goes stale in an hour, and in my books, there is no way anything as old as these popcorns can be edible.

I can’t say I’ve ever eaten snacks that are quite as old as the ones Rhett and Link try, and I’ve therefore never experienced the smell they talk about (and I hope I never need to). I tend to think that if my food has a smell that gives me an instant headache, I should probably eat something else. I took a class in microbiology years ago when I was supposed to become a scientist, and I can come up with quite a few things that could produce a nasty smell in expired food, let’s just say, none of the options that come to mind are good. I’m not saying I’d rather eat my shorts (like Link) or anyone else’s, but if you have to eat ancient popcorn, at least buy the non-popped kind, and kill whatever is growing in it by popping it in the present time.

Okay, those nuts have definately gone bad. Also, not to be an ageist, but 72 year old nuts of any kind do not sound appetizing. I do love the fact that Rhett instantly starts to talk about Grindr for old people. I know very little about dating apps, but I think old straight people must date, too - so why was the first thing that came to his mind, Grindr? (Also, this reminded me of the amazing series of Old gays on YT, especially the episode where they try Grindr. The old lesbians series is awesome, too!) And the way Link refused to understand what Rhett was talking about made me giggle. Woodchipper, yeah, right.

The GMMore was a Mythical Society voted SMore, and this time, the winning vote went to Rhett and Link reading each other love letters, and while they do that, they also prepare a discontinued box of Sponge-Bob mac’n’cheese. All of this after Rhett makes Link stare at him with blank eyes and a smile on his face by rubbing his chest.

In theory, reading love letters is a brilliant concept (and the one I voted for), but at least for the first two letters, the performances were a little lackluster. As famous as William Shakespeare is for writing all these amazing love stories, I have to say, it takes a pretty accomplished actor to make his verses sound romantic by modern day standards. Rhett and Link are not shakespearean actors, and they didn’t quite reach the emotional level required to deliver these verses, which are, in fact, pretty amazing.

Link taggles the sonnet 147, in which he basically tells Rhett he is madly, insanely in love with him. He can’t be cured of his desperate love, despite now knowing that Rhett is dark as night. Not the happiest of love, this one.

Rhett, in his turn, reads my favourite sonnet (of the ones I’ve heard / read, I am not an expert in Shakespeare by any means). Sonnet 18 is absolutely beautiful, and basically compare the loved one (in this case Link) to a summer day. Instead of saying that Link is as lovely as a summer day (which can be pretty lovely), Rhett says Link is more lovely. A summer day can be too short or too hot, and sometimes, due to weather, not as bright and beautiful as it could be, Link is eternal summer, whose beauty never fades. As long as they shall live, his love will last. That is honestly, the most beautiful thing you could say to someone you love. Rhett’s interpretation with rough sex, hanging buds, and manscaping is hilarious, though. Please, do make a series of Rhett and Link trying to understand Shakespeare. What is ow’st? made me laugh out loud (and it’s own nowadays, btw).

Stir the pasta is not an euphemism to anything, but I’m pretty sure Link’s response, “I like a good wooden spoon”, is.

The second love poems are much easier to understand, and whoever wrote them, did an excellent job. Link’s poem to Rhett was sweet, romantic and cute, without being in anyway over the top.

I googled the song Rhett mentions when he starts to read his poem to Link, and it didn’t quite have the same message as the letter. I think Rhett’s cheeks almost turned pink while he was reading, and with all the silly rhymes, this was very much like the poems people sent each other back when I was a kid. If this is what we get on a regular Monday, imagine what Valentine’s day will bring!

But how friggin’ awesome is it that after reading these, Rhett’s conclusion is that yes, he has a wife, but she understands - to which Link responds with “We all have our roles to fill”. What makes me smile about all of this is not that I actually believe these two are romantically involved in real life, but the fact that they are comfortable enough in their current lives to joke about how close they are without feeling too awkward.

And now I’m off to watch today’s episode, because this post took me way too long to write.

[ontherockswithsalt]

A Made Man

/1/ /2/ /3/ /4/ /5/ /6/ /7/ /8/ /9/ /10/ /11/ /12/ /13/ /14/ /15/ /16/

A/N: Might as well light this candle up on tumblr dot com. Prepare yourselves for some serious trash. Adult content warning. I don’t need to like, warn people about butt activities anymore right? I mean... 

Thanks for taking this ride with me this year! I hope the holidays are good to you, bringing joy and happy times. Kick back with a Joble update. Enjoy!

Chapter 17.

“The universe is scheming to torture me.”

I smirk at Noble’s complaint through the phone as I sink back against my couch cushions. “Mm yeah? That’s my job.”

“There’s a slight adjustment to the plans.”

“Guess how shocked I am.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m difficult,” he concedes. “The job we were supposed to finish today, we didn’t finish. So I have to go in to work in the morning.”

A loud groan resounds in my chest and I reach for the remote control with my free hand to turn down the volume on the news channel. “You suck, Nick.”

“It should only take a few hours and I’ll be free by the afternoon.”

“Well that’s not bad.”

“I was thinking instead of me picking you up at the airport, you could take a cab to my place,” he suggests. “I’ll leave you a key and you can just wait for me here.”

“Yeah, I can do that.”

“And I’ll make it up to you however you want.”

“However I want?” I contemplate the possibilities.

“Mm-hm.”

“I want a lot of things this weekend.”

“God, me too,” he sighs. “The latest picture you sent me the other day has been useful.”

With a soft laugh, I run a hand up my face and tip my head back. What had started as an impulsive, tipsy decision -- after the happy hour I had with Vinny to send Noble a late night picture in bed of my hand grasping my dick -- had escalated into a series of back and forth photos between the two of us over the last several weeks. Just a few. Some more teasing than others.

He adds, “But it only sustains a man so long.”

“Well… tomorrow, I can do a lot better than a picture.”

We hadn't been able to wait long after Noble left New York to schedule another visit. Tell me the first weekend you're free and I'm getting you down here, he had insisted. And I shamelessly didn't refuse him.

Whatever phase we're in right now in this relationship has me uncharacteristically gratified, content, bordering on chipper. It's ridiculous. Even my sergeant and some of the other officers at the 12th noticed. But I was happy to keep the reason to myself for now, and aside from Vinny, nobody else knows.

***

It's a quick getaway to Miami with a late morning flight out of LaGuardia. I tell myself I can pull off not letting my family know about this trip considering I'm due back to New York in time for Sunday dinner. Plus two trips to Miami in the span of two months would surely set off a relentless inquisition from everyone at that table.

In a cab, I relay Noble's address to the driver and settle back to check my phone. I open up my messages and see where our last exchange left off, earlier in the day with a couple of easy good morning texts where he wished me a safe flight. I let him know I’ve landed and I’m on my way to his place, figuring he won’t see it until he takes a break at work.

Then I slip sunglasses onto my face and tip my head back to observe the view from my window.

***

“You there?”

“I’m here.” I tell him, pacing his living room. “Your neighbors and their kids wandered over to use the pool, though. So I told them that was cool and we could all hang out--”

“What?” He scoffs in a panic through the phone.

I can’t help my lazy chuckle as I slide one of his paperbacks into place on his bookshelf, then tip out another one to glance at the cover. “I’m just kidding.”

“Why would you joke with me? I’m way too wound up for that shit.”

“Are you almost here?”

“In like, ten minutes,” he answers. “And there’d better not be anyone else over there because I have loud, filthy plans for you and only you, man.”

I smirk. “Aww.”

“That was romantic, wasn’t it?”

“It was. I’m touched,” I muse. “Oh hey. I found all your spanking porn--”

“Shut up,” he coughs out a laugh and the deep throaty sound of it makes me smile, the memory flaring in my chest. “You wish.”

“Just get here.”

“Ugh,” he groans. “Fine. I love you.”

“I love you.” And then I end the call, amused as I decide on one of his books and turn to sink back to the couch with it.

A few quiet minutes pass before I hear the closing of his car door, then the sound of his keys. It makes my heart hot just hearing it and I don’t miss the unexpected swoop of my stomach in anticipation of him.

“Hey, hey!” He announces. “I told you it wouldn’t take long.”

Sitting up, I glance toward his entryway and watch him approach the kitchen, straight from work looking every bit dirty and spent and used as the clichés I'd imagined.  “Oh damn, look at you.”

He exhales a long breath and drops his keys into a dish on the counter. “I know. Don’t judge me until after I’ve taken a shower.”

“Too bad,” I tell him. I toss the book aside and get up to meet him. I don’t even hide the obvious fall of my gaze as I assess him in jeans and a muddy white t-shirt. His skin, grimy with remnants of dirt along his forearms, glows from sun and sweat and I’ve never seen him look quite like this but damn.

He groans aloud, tipping his head back as he stretches. “God. Come here,” he sighs as I approach. “You’re like the best thing I’ve seen in weeks.”

I reach out and grasp him around the shoulders as he pulls me in to him. I rock my weight against him and feel the breath leaving his back as his muscles contract and arch beneath my touch.

“Do I smell good?” He wonders, burying his face into the side of my neck.

I return the affection, breathing him in at the collar of his t-shirt before I press a kiss on the underside of his jaw. “No,” I laugh. “You're nasty.”

That heavy chuckle echoes in my ear. “That's why I said let me shower.”

“But I'm into it.” I close my teeth on the edge of the shirt, tugging gently at the neck.

A little grunt of appreciation escapes him. “Then get in with me, you sick fuck.”

I don't argue and we manage to get ourselves to the shower just off his room, the trail of our clothes left behind. Surrounded by large, steamy glass and tile walls, his shower certainly outdoes mine back home.

Glancing down, he lets the hot water rush down the back of his neck. I take my time to watch -- and occasionally help -- as sudsy paths skim his chest where he drags a washcloth. They linger, teasing the slick lines of his abdomen until the spray of the shower washes them away.

“Wait--” Moving in behind him, I dip my head back into the water, sliding wet hands up my face. “Can you… go back outside and pretend like you got soaked by the sprinklers and you had to take your shirt off and knock and ask if you can borrow a towel --”

Playfully, he turns and shoves me away but chases me just as fast, his hands grasping for my waist. With impatient movements, but still this dreamy vibe between us because I've missed him so damn much, I skate my palms down his chest.

“You'll be like--” He starts, reaching up to rake fingertips back through my hair. “Uh… Sure but my wife won't be too happy if she comes home and the floor is all wet.”

My head falls back as I crack up and Noble follows against me.

He goes on, “And I'm all-- Something tells me your wife wouldn't be happy about this either. And then we like, fuck on the kitchen table or something.”

My face falls against his neck as my amusement tapers off. “How much porn have you been watching?”

“You started it with the sprinkler scenario.”

“Uh-huh.” I just manage a throaty hum before I latch one hand on the back of his head and capture his lips with my own. I lean into him, hooking my other arm around his neck as his hands grasp my sides.

He tugs my bottom lip with his teeth, just enough to murmur along the ridge of my jaw, “I missed you so goddamn much.”

My heavy chest forces a noisy exhale into the air above his head. Then his slippery hand drops to my balls, paying them attention that makes my legs weak and I let out another loud sigh. “I missed you too. You’ve gotta stop leaving.” I mumble the words before my mouth falls hard on his.

The way he tastes never fails to provoke me, rousing these secret corners of my pulse. My breath comes out harder and my heartbeat suddenly thuds from the hot stroke of his tongue across mine.

His hand skates underneath me, then all the way up in a fist along my stiff shaft. I love the way his hands just take control, all over me. Then his fingers slip down the sensitive crevice at my taint and I almost start to ride them, my hips rocking against his I want it so bad.

He groans when I do, lifting his chin to peer down at me with this heavy gaze that’s fucking sexy, the way his wet lips part while he watches me.

“Is this what you missed?” He wonders, just as the tip of his finger pushes slick between my cheeks, right at the rim of my ass.

A breathy laugh escapes me as I arch my head back. Sliding my grip up the path of his triceps, I tell him, “I missed everything.” Then I lift a coy eyebrow and flick my gaze to his wandering hand.  “Is that what you missed?”

“What, this ass? Fuck yeah I did.” He raises a free hand to the edge of my jaw and kisses me, strong and soft but with this needy curl of his fingers as they trail to the back of my head. With a couple steps, he traps me against the wall.

Impatiently, my hand wraps around his cock right at my hip. But he lets out a broken breath and shakes his head as he adjusts. “No, just you right now,” he rasps. And then he tugs at the back of my thigh until I lift it to plant one foot on the built-in ledge along one wall of his shower.

He dives in closer, hands back at work, one slipping down underneath my bent leg, coasting just between my asscheeks once again until I feel the slow circling of his fingertip at my opening.

“Ahh, god.” I push my head back against the wet tile and my eyes close as I mumble a content but tortured moan. It just vibrates there in my chest.

Then his other hand strokes my dick, idly grazing a loose fist there. He leans in and kisses me again and I muffle a gravelly sigh against his mouth. Holding him to me, digging fingers into his wet hair, I rock against the teasing rhythm of both of his hands.

Just when I want more of that slippery middle finger, he pulls off my mouth and mutters, “Turn around.”

Dazed, my eyelids heavy, my bottom lip stung, I hesitate a moment. Then I glance at the wall behind me and offer Noble a smirk. “Something back there you want?”

He laughs, “Yeah and it's mine” before pulling on my arm and I make no effort to resist him.

I dig my teeth into my bottom lip and my head tips back with my amusement as I turn away from him.

“But it's been a while,” he murmurs the words along the back of my neck. “So if you've forgotten--”

I glance over my shoulder. “Forgotten who my ass belongs to?”

He breathes a low chuckle at the curve of my shoulder. “You better not have.”

“I don’t know. Remind me.” Reaching back, I close my fist around his thick shaft, urging him into me.

“Oh-ho, you act like I’m just gonna pound your ass because it’s been so long and that’s all I want, huh?”

Restless, I press my lips together and gaze up the rainy wall in front of me. “I didn’t say that.”

Then I feel his lips at my shoulderblade while he grips hard at one asscheek. “So impatient.”

I let out a loud groan and slide my palms up the wall in front of me before I rest my forehead there. “Don’t be mean.”

His hand coasts down my back, along my sides and I feel another kiss there, lower. Then again trailing the path of my spine. “Is this mean?”

“Tease,” I mutter the accusation against the back of my hand.

Then he grasps my hips and tugs them back. Pushing my hands against the wall to hold myself up, I look down to see he’s behind me on his knees.

His palm clenches the curve of my ass and I feel his fingertips squeeze. He massages it around until his other hand joins in, eventually skimming the crease along the center and his thumbs part me.

Even though I’m completely anticipating it, I still suck in a surprised hiss of air when his tongue grazes me. I call out, a loud swear as I close my eyes and push my head against the backs of my hands.

He only teases for a moment before he pulls me back against him even more, holds tight to my ass and buries his mouth deep.

I won’t be able to stand up, he’s got me shaking already. The light behind my eyes is swirling. Fuck, fuck, he’s so good it’s insane. The steady, unhurried, but still ravenous devotion from his tongue is enough to nearly make me lose it. And the way he muffles these growling moans there is so hot I’m gonna fucking kill him.

I feel him ease back and then I exhale a ragged, desperate breath when he just barely circles a fingertip right there at the rim of my ass.

“Oh my god, fuck,” I cough out, pushing back against him. I want him inside me so bad, I want him to fuck me with those fingers, but he doesn’t. He just traces the most cruel path, the faintest tight little stroke.

He groans again with this rapt fascination, like he’s so appreciative and I can’t even hate him like I want to.

I just let another moan rattle in my throat and push my head against my hands.

“You still need reminding?” He speaks up behind me.

Another hard exhale leaves me. “What, who owns my ass? It’s you.”

He laughs, loud from his chest and I can’t help but smile at the sound.

“God damn,” I add, weary as I hang my head. I could easily flip around and put an end to the tease. Pull him onto that ledge and tell him to cut it the fuck out and ride him until he fills me the way I need him to. I don’t know, blame it on my typical disciplined resolve, but I won’t challenge him. I’ll take it as long as I can because a part of me loves the painfully delayed gratification.

He hums another approving note as he moves back in and flicks another few wet strokes of his tongue before he tells me, “I can’t wait to fuck you.”

I have to scoff as I turn to look back at him. “It sure seems like you can.”

“I want to make you come here first,” he tells me.

A heavy breath pounding my chest, I reach back for him with my other hand. I grasp his hair, pulling him closer. Fuck, oh my god. I could ride his face I'm so needy with the way I arch against him.

I swallow hard and turn my head once again to rest against the wall. I grasp my own dick, it’s practically throbbing, and tilt my hips back.

I feel him ease up on his knees and he groans as he moves deeper spreading my cheeks and just fucking devouring me.

Letting go of his hair, I steady myself against the wall, jerking my cock until I succumb to an annihilating orgasm. It overtakes me in wrecking waves that just keep crashing into me. I flinch with another just as soon as I think they’ve left.

Finally I find the air I need and I prop my forearm on the wall to hang my head, letting the spray of the hot shower ease my pounding heart.

Something tells me this trip is going to be anything but a quiet twenty-four hours...

[larathia]

On Quintessence and the Galra Empire

I dunno how far this will get into my stories, because frankly I don’t have a lot of characters to work with who are deep into the ideas of why and wherefore, so I’m going to write this (rather lengthy and detailed) headcanon down over here, and y’all can accept it or deny it or whatever but it is in the background of my VLD fics, as this is my genuine understanding of How This Shit Actually Works.

The TLDR is: Our Heroes got it wrong and ‘quintessence poisoning’ is not actually a Thing. Rather, what happened to the galra in general (and the royal galra family in particular) was something else entirely, something only baaarely touched on during the series but absolutely present.

You ready? Strapped in? Good.

1) Quintessence does not and cannot ‘poison’. Rather, it is a multidirectional intensifier.

We get introduced to quintessence, timelinewise, when the reality crossing meteor strikes Daibazaal. Quintessence comes out of that rift pretty much from the getgo, but we do not hear of the galra being negatively affected as such. Zarkon evacuates people near the rift because, well, BIG HORKING RIFT, but quintessence doesn’t seem to affect anyone particularly. We hear nothing at all about, for example, fights breaking out, or plagues, or anything.

If quintessence by itself could poison, it would’ve poisoned Kova the cat first. It would have poisoned the galra people long before anything else happened. No, the only things we know quintessence does  - by itself - based on what we see in the show is:

* it heals * it lengthens lifespan * it intensifies emotion

Keith gets splashed with untreated quintessence and it just heals his burns. Allura and Lotor fly into the quintessence field and there’s just curiosity and quiet joy. Kova gets dosed with quintessence and becomes the first immortal housecat.

2) What poisoned Honerva and Zarkon was the Dark Energy Being (DEB). DEB then poisoned the entire galra empire.

We do see Honerva kind of wilting and distracted, but we don’t see her having that reaction until AFTER the DEB comes through the rift. She keeps a little DEB by her workstation, possibly for years, just studying it. We know from S8 that the DEB is a hugely nasty piece of work, that it feeds on quintessence to survive, and that it can attach itself to a sentient host. I believe that the DEB in Honerva’s workstation drained her quintessence over time, and its visions screwed with her mind - and that’s why she withers the way she does, and eventually dies/lapses into a near-death state.

Zarkon and Honerva enter the rift and are both overtaken by the DEB. They both, thereafter, focus on acquiring and consuming quintessence. The DEB also has the effect of playing on/playing to/enhancing darker emotions like paranoia and rage, causing Zarkon to distance himself from Honerva (letting her name herself Haggar) and Haggar distances herself from Lotor. Lotor is born a sort of dhampir, in that the DEB is part of his being from the getgo. But because he’s born with it, and it’s a part of him throughout his life, he learns ways of dealing with it - it’s not manipulating him, it’s just part of who he is.

Anyway. Back to the empire. Possessed!Zarkon and Haggar need quintessence. They need the galra people on their side, angry enough to suck the quintessence out of planets. Now the galra were never as peaceful a race as the alteans - the galra history is a lot more like our own, in that they revered great warriors and conquerors. But they were clearly able to coexist with other races peacefully before the DEB was unleashed. What Honerva did was implant little DEBs into various sensitive people, and these people became the Druids. I firmly believe the Druids wear masks to hide the physical effect of having a DEB inside them, as well as to hide the fact that they’re not all galra. The DEBs in them grant them their magic, and also tie them in obedience to Haggar. The Druids use their magic to ‘process’ quintessence into fuel that runs the entire galra empire.

That fuel is tainted by the DEBs. So basically, the galra empire is created to run on ...well, ‘hate fuel’. The galra on the cruisers are in close proximity to huge amounts of tainted quintessence, which makes the calm ones angry, the angry ones furious, and encourages things like sadism in the ranks. The exposure makes the galra long lived, but warps their minds and hearts as the centuries pass. That warping lets the galra do what they do during the series.

When Honerva destroys the galra high command, she’s killing off the generals most thoroughly tainted by that poisoned quintessence. When the druids are destroyed, so is the source of that tainted quintessence. And weirdly enough the galra fairly quickly become much less of a Serious Problem. The stuff that’s been pushing them over the edge is gone, and the leaders that were probably also so poisoned as to keep going anyway are also gone.

I’ll backtrack a bit here and explain why I think this is the case.

Firstly: the DEB is known to affect personality.

We know this because Allura takes on a DEB in S8, and her focus is pretty much a beeline for ‘take out Haggar’ after that. Her character development in the whole season is kinda questionable, I grant you that, but we do see her being tempted early on, with visions and dreams, and once she takes the DEB on she’s willing to do things that are seriously morally questionable especially compared to where she started. (Like diving into Honerva’s mind? Really? At the start of the series she had a problem with putting Sendak’s memories into an interrogatable AI.)

We also see Honerva’s acolytes, and we know they’ve taken a DEB. They’re also the straight up most hateful Alteans we see in the primary reality of the show. They’re a lot more willing to react emotionally and from places of fear or anger.

My final evidence for this is the alt-reality Alteans, where it’s the Altean empire that’s the danger. With the worlds affected reversed, we can infer that the meteor hit Altea and not Daibazaal - and while they’re kiiiinda? gentler about it the Alteans are twisted in horrible ways too.

Secondly: Druid magic screws with normal quintessence quickly, and negatively.

We have as our main example for this the Crystal Venom episode. The crystal that Sendak puts in the castleship is purple, meaning it’s been tampered with by Druids. And what does it do? Exactly the same shit that the little DEB mote later does to Allura. It spreads fear through the castle. It tries to kill off the paladins. It plays upon their terror. None of that happens on a cruiser, but the cruisers use liquid forms of the quintessence, not giant crystallized chunks, and it may well be that this is why.

I know a popular fan theory is that it’s Sendak doing this, but we actually have no evidence of that. The AI of Sendak remains dormant all the way to S8. The ‘real’ Sendak is frozen in stasis - we can’t actually say for certain that him waking up was anything but Shiro’s terrified hallucination, as the ship poked at him the way it was poking at everyone else. Honestly, the only AI the crystal could’ve warped was Alfor’s, and we know that it did do so.

Hence, I really think all that purple quintessence in the cruisers and fighters was seriously fucking with galra minds. I think that may well be part of why a lot of cruisers were staffed with robot sentries, too - robots aren’t living, and thus can’t be driven into psychotic breaks by being near sources of tainted quintessence. The officers and commanders are near it, but not so near that the effects are too strong or immediate. Just a low, slow, warping of personality.

In short it’s never ‘quintessence’ doing the poisoning.

It’s the DEB behind pretty much everything.  And since they can’t stop reality-crossing comets from happening, there’s always a chance another rift will form, and some DEBs can get out and start this mess all over again.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk and goodnight.

[orionsangel86]

Hey tumblr people, friends, SPN family,

You may have realised that my blog has become the virtual version of tumbleweed rolling through a desert in recent weeks/months. I noticed on checking my blog recently that I have had an influx of new followers which I think is predominantly thanks to a shout out from Shirley (@destieldrabblesdaily) which I am infinitely grateful for because I consider her one of the best blogs in the SPN fandom. It is for that reason among others that I feel pretty damn bad about not being around recently to share in your speculation, meta and general love for the show.

I haven’t said much since the finale, or even about the finale. I never wrote an episode review for any of the last 3 episodes of season 12. (still haven’t seen 12x21 and don’t plan to) I guess I just want to explain why.

In the past few months SPN has been losing its grip on me, I guess I always thought this would happen one day as it always has in the past with other things that I have falling in love and obsession with until I just… well… get over it. Usually its when a show finishes or movie franchise ends though, rather than whilst it’s still going on. I haven’t felt that itchy desire to constantly check my dash, or write meta or obsess over speculation for the show lately at all. I tried re-watching season 12 and I just couldn’t maintain my concentration. I instead started watching other shows – American Gods is fantastic – and getting out a bit more as well. Tumblr kinda sucked me into this pit where my social life pretty much dried up and became non-existent. Though in all fairness, tumblr also got me through a pretty nasty stint of depression.

I keep hoping that this will be temporary, that perhaps when season 13 comes to our screens that I’ll jump right back in, but I’m not so sure. I guess I’ll watch it, but I don’t know how much I’ll participate in fandom in the future. I want to, I still have that desire to get involved but I don’t have the energy or desire to write meta about the actual show right now. I guess I kinda feel like everything is already being said by the other fantastic meta writers on tumblr and my opinion isn’t really needed.

The thing is, I am tired of SPN. I am tired of the game they are playing with us. I say this, knowing full well that they are dangling destiel in front of us like a carrot dangled in front of a donkey, so close but still so far. Eventually we will get our carrot – of this I am almost certain – but they sure as hell will continue to put us through a bunch of utter crap before we get there.

This is what I am fed up with. I did start re-watching season 12 and I just can’t fathom some things that drove me crazy. Like why when we were first introduced to the British men of letters, it was two strong women who ruled the screen, but by the end, it was another two generic white men to add to our already generic white guy cast. They could have written it in so many different ways to how they did.

Billy’s death pissed me off, so did Alesha’s and Tasha’s. By the time they took Eileen from us I was fuming. Then when they went and wrote off Rowena with an off screen death only told to us in description form I had given up.

On top of this they continued to write scenes of non-con, scenes of violence against POC and women that could easily be avoided whilst maintaining suspense and drama, a dodgy plot point centering around a women fighting her right to choose against the white men trying to take that choice away from her, and on top of it all, fucking Lucifer still being a big part of the show when his character should have died at the end of season 11. His entire story this season was so boring I wanted to skip most of his scenes. I hated HATED his character.

I’m sorry to be negative. The show did some wonderful things this year that I am so happy about. Dean’s story arc was wonderful. His confrontation with Mary in 12x22 had me in tears and I screamed FINALLY out loud as he opened up and admitted things that he has kept inside for his whole life. Dean held this whole season together he really did. The emotional plot was wonderful, it’s what kept me around until the finale because I could see Dabb’s plan for the characters emotional development so clearly in the subtext and later text. Well, until 12x19 for Cas because after 12x19 I don’t understand a fucking thing Cas did and I bloody hope he really has been mind wammied by Jack all this time because otherwise it doesn’t make a lick of sense for his character development.

Ultimately, what season 12 did that was GREAT was threefold:

It built up Dean’s emotional development to its climax where he has finally let Sam ‘go’ and admit the years of abuse he suffered under John, as well as admitting that he was a parent to Sam rather than a brother. Dean’s entire story throughout the whole series has been building to this point and it was WONDERFUL to see.

It built up Sam’s story in the same way, in that he was able to finally break free from under Dean’s wing and accept his own responsibility and place in the world as a whole – as a leader and hero – rather than something tainted and wrong. Season 12 signalled the end of Winchester toxic co-dependency and I was HERE FOR THAT.

It gave us destiel. Now, I say this with certainty guys, although I know it is still contested. Consider it my parting gift to you. Destiel is real and we are going there. Season 12 basically gave it to us because it did things that it cannot now backtrack on. I have never been more certain. Even AFTER 8x17, after Dean’s confession, after “He’s in love… with humanity” and “it was all about saving one human” even after 11x19 and our Hunting Husbands, I still had a whole bunch of doubt on the topic. Now though? I don’t see how it is possible to watch 12x10, 12x12, 12x19 and now, the end of 12x23 without being like “hang on a freaking second – what the hell actually is going on with these guys?” Destiel is gonna happen. This is my speculation for you. Cas will be brought back but he will be brought back wrong and probably under Jack’s control and will walk away from Dean – still crying at his feet – all cold and emotionless as if Dean was nothing to him. Dean will then stop at nothing to get him back. I predict that will happen around the mid-season finale and it will be a big moment for destiel. Another 8x17 but more intense perhaps? Another ‘crypt scene’ but this time with a love confession from both sides? Guys I see it. I can’t not see it now. The one thing season 12 did was take away my doubts. Destiel is real and it is happening and I am pretty sure we will get there by end of season 13.

The problem is, this is no longer enough for me. Even if Season 13 starts with Cas coming back to life in some spectacular beauty and the beast moment which ends in a kiss and a cut to their wedding day… its still not enough anymore. I can’t watch this series just for a ship. I can’t keep going for the fucking carrot dangling in front of me when my hoofs are bleeding and raw and my back is breaking from the weight of all the shit I’ve been forced to carry. The carrot isn’t worth it.

I used to adore this show. Not for destiel, but for the stories, the mythology, the characters and their colourful world of Supernatural things. Now, the characters are slowly reaching peak development and I am getting fed up of watching them get beat down. I want them to have their peace, their happy ending. The stories are no longer fresh and exciting. They are Lucifer and his ridiculous Nephilim baby/not baby.

I am also so fed up of Cas’s story not making sense, of him being controlled or brainwashed or forced to do things he hates. Of his absence when it makes no sense (like when Claire is involved and not a word is spoken about him) or of writers writing him so off key that he comes across idiotic. (thanks Bucklemming). I can’t keep watching the writers butcher this character I adore with all my heart.  

I am so so happy for Wayward Sisters and I will support it with all my might. If only because these writers need to UNDERSTAND that they cannot keep killing off the female characters on this show like they mean nothing. Its just heartbreaking to think that we will never get Charlie, Eileen, Rowena, Billy, Alesha or any of the other female characters who have been wrongly killed off in Supernatural join the female cast of this spin off. I’m excited for Wayward Sisters more than I am for Supernatural right now, because Supernatural is just a massive disappointment for me.

I am sorry I feel this way, its been eating at me for a while. I think it’s the reason I have taken this break. I just can’t put all my time and energy into something that feels toxic to me. I live in fanfic at the moment because it is the characters I adore without the awful truth of canon – even if occasionally canon does still give us those fanfic moments – it’s the other moments that are the issue.

*sigh*

I’m sorry. Part of me desperately wants to hold on with all my might, to come back and throw myself into speculation and meta and all the stuff you guys are so awesome at, but another part of me is so so bitter its preventing me from feeling any joy from it.

Maybe when season 13 comes on I’ll forget this post and just start this blog up again. I certainly miss talking to the bloggers on here I consider my friends, I just feel that without contributing to anything I have no purpose on Tumblr, and I don’t want my negativity to affect anyone else. So in the meantime, this is goodbye. I may still visit and reblog stuff occasionally, but I won’t be writing anything for a while. A long while probably.

It’s been fun Tumblr, but from now on consider this an extended hiatus. Perhaps I’ll see you in the Autumn… perhaps this fleeting romance is over for good. I won’t know until I know. As for Supernatural, I have said my bit. Expect Destiel along with a side of bitter disappointment. Wayward Sisters will be amazing though. So long as they don’t let Bob Singer or Bucklemming anywhere near it that is.

[punk-as-funk]

Lingering Crud

This respiratory series of illnesses has fucking wrecked me.

(Don’t worry and no one pay attention to this; I’m just about to whine and gripe a lot.)

Started out with a very rapid and exceptionally hard-hitting flu at the end of January. (Seriously, it was out of my system again in two days, max.) Then the very beginning of the weekend before last, I came down with cold-like symptoms.   Started with excess mucus in my throat, then soreness, then it outright BURNED, then just ached and finally itched. Meanwhile, it has traveled into my chest, my sinuses, and finally ears and nose with a similar progression of sore-burning-aching-itchy, but with... so, so much nasty mucus and phlegm (except for the ears bit... that would be incredibly weird).  Like I’ll just be talking and a random gob will come up and I have to go abruptly gag/spit it out.  Fucking NASTY.  

Like I’ve been on the fence on whether this is some kind of cold or secondary infection or some other nonsense. At one point I was like, “If, and ONLY IF, my SpO2 levels are below 96% will I go in for some back-up.”   Like I feel so fucking ridiculous going in for a respiratory infection that isn’t even causing a fever, but... shit I just don’t know.  Secondary shit CAN be bacterial which means antibiotics COULD help, if it’s that.  And after that bronchitis and pneumonia form my early twenties I’ve learned to be a touch more... discerning.  Just feels fucking ridiculous.

Luckily, at worst the phlegm/mucus has been slightly tainted yellow, but mostly white/clear... color does matter, people.  If it was green I wouldn’t be hesitating to cart my ass in. 

Meanwhile I’m not running a fucking fever and can only get away with calling in sick if it’s like that fucking flu from last month... this slow, insidious beast and managed to stay annoying but just below alarming for two weeks now. Meanwhile meanwhile, I work 12+ hour shifts and flip flop between nights and days to run errands on days off AND I’ve also been trying to work out throughout most of this because taking a more than five days off working out just because of a damn cold feels so damn uncool, I can’t stand to do it... can’t really accomplish anything cardio right now either, though, and barely can manage 45minutes of strength training because I’m fucking EXHAUSTED.  I am SO.  GODDAMN.  EXHAUSTED.

And every time I take a shower I spend a solid five minutes just coughing up nasty phlegm.

Except in the gym shower it feels like TEN minutes and involves gagging from nausea as well.

I’m going to force myself to veg as hardcore as I can today. Lots of soup and hot tea.  If I’m not better tomorrow I will take my sorry ass to the doctor.

Just... FUUUUUUUCK.  I’m tired of being so tired.

Maybe what I really just need is fucking REST.  I suck at that shit, though, outside of drugging my ass to sleep.

Whelp, here goes.

[thecorteztwins]

@survival-cfthe-fittest Did you want a healthy dose of Farouk this morning? OF COURSE YOU DID! HERE’S A HEAPING HELPING OF HIS GROSSNESS AND HIS HISTORY WITH PSYLOCKE

X-MEN (second series) #77: PSI-WAR PART ONE

Storm gets a message from her Kenyan foster mother, Ainet, and she and the other X-men teleport via some new abilities of Psylocke (Psylocke could teleport through shadows at this time due to...I think her experience with the Crimson Dawn, which is what gave her the red tattoo over her eyes for awhile) to her homeland. Turns out Ainet summoned her to introduce her to a god who is controlling Ainet and the villagers...and the god wants to marry Storm. It seems to be the spider trickster figure, Anansi (spelled as Ananasi in this comic) and he refers to Storm as a "delicious bride" so honestly you already know where this is going. Oh yeah, and he also wants to absorb her power, just as he claims to have absorbed the souls of her people.

Then he sucks out the souls of the X-men around Storm, and they're inside him now, his to play with.

He torments Sam/Cannonball with his dead father saying he's ashamed, but since Marrow, Maggot, and Dr. Cecilia Reyes are relatively new, he goes a different route with them. He tells that they're in a place where truth can be seen, and masks are stripped away. He makes Marrow's horrible bone protrusions vanish, and Maggot's slugs go away, and says he's giving them this gift because "you three have not yet been tainted by the X-men's lies" and then shows them a feral, animalistic Wolverine, who is chained up growling on the floor, and says that he's showing them the X-Men as they really are "without their righteous lies and pretty costumes. I give Xavier's dream and show you it's a nightmare...if you'll listen. So...shall we begin the dishing?"

Basically, he makes them think he's freed them from the nasty, painful parts of their mutation, presents himself as a truth-teller, and makes it seem like it's the X-Men who are not to be trusted. Since these three are newbies, and may not even really want to be there (idk about Maggot but Reyes always wanted to stay out of mutant business, and Marrow doesn't seem to like the X-Men at all despite being one of them) he knows they're most inclined to listen. And, of course, neither they or the readers know he's the Shadow King at this point.

Meanwhile in the real world, Storm is cradling Ainet and saying how she's going to make Ananasi pay, Ananasi starts to taunt her but then is ripped down the middle from within by Psylocke, who comes out of him.

"Has anyone ever told you people how difficult you make baroque posturing?" he complains, as Psylocke quips "Sigh...a typical man...splitting on you the moment you choose to assert yourself. Story of my life."

She explains to Storm that they're not dealing with a spider god, they're dealing with a telepath, and one "of the highest order". Ananasi, however, insists he is a god, and Storm asks Psylocke who he really is, but Psylocke says she can't tell, she can't breach his psychic defenses.

Ananasi changes tactics, telling Storm to be careful keeping counsel with this one (Psylocke) and then taunting Psylocke about how she's been transformed and posessed and reborn so many times she can't tell fantasy from reality.

In other words, he's caught in a lie he knows Psylocke can see through, so he's trying to make both Storm and Psylocke doubt Psylocke's sanity and/capabilities.

"You're everyone's plaything. A mismatched freak. A broken toy who isn't even sure if she exists."

Psylocke retorts coldly that she knows he's frightened of what she can do. I'm betting she's right. She tells Storm to take her hand, and they journey inside him, on his section of the astral turf where Storm's people and the X-Men are imprisoned, while he yells NO! YOU LITTLE WITCH! YOU'LL RUIN EVERYTHING!

Storm gets referred to as his bride once again because gross, and he and Psylocke start to do battle on the astral plane, "Ananasi" belittling Psylocke the entire time. Storm cries out to Psylocke that "Betsy! This is a trap! It's not me he wants! It's--"

And then she's silenced but I think it's pretty obvious it's gotta be Psylocke he was really after all along. He's always had a very strong interest in Storm, since his first appearance, so I have no doubt he wants Storm too, but Betsy is his main target here. We just have to find out why.

He keeps taunting her, insulting her, messing with her head, hitting all her insecurities, until she lashes out at him with all her power.

Which, it turns out, was EXACTLY WHAT HE WANTED HER TO DO

She falls "mind first" into a trap. We don't know the details yet but Ananasi reveals himself as LOL THE SHADOW KING ALL ALONG!

The psychic backlash of whatever he does to Betsy is SO HUGE that it cleaves through the entire psionic plain, and actually affects people in the real world---worldwide. Normal people experience things like headaches and deja vu, whereas telepaths lose their telepathy (which would apply in other comics, and span several issues) This extends not just to people like Emma Frost, but also people like Spider-Man (with his intuitive "spider sense") So it's not just mutants who are effected, but everybody with even the slightest psionic abilities.

X-MEN (second series) #78: PSI WAR PART TWO

The next issue opens with society in chaos. There's car crashes, there's a dude in a pink apron chasing another guy in an art museum, a guy who thinks he's Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, people choking each other, others laughing maniacially, and from the astral plane, the Shadow King relishes it all.

"Rain anguish and chaos on your fellow man! Flood the earth in misery, that your master may drink his fill! That the Shadow King may rule a world of madness! Ah...all that delicious suffering...glorious, don't you think?"

Betsy, whose form on the psychic plane is a melted, multi-faced mess of herself, can only gurgle in reply. The Shadow King says she's embarrassing him with such praise, and says he couldn't have done it without her, adding that he can only imagine the torment she must be in. He explains that thanks to her, any possible opposition to him has been rendered impotent (meaning, all the other psychics are depowered).

He then tells us how after his "humiliating" defeat on Muir Island, he went into a sort of "hibernation" during which he was "hiding from your cursed mentor, Xavier, in wretched host bodies as my strength returned." Finally, when Onslaught happened, "the dissolution of Xavier's mind and power left the psionic plane without its preminent guardian. Only he could have sensed my subtle machinations. With him gone, I could make my move."

Thus he subjugated Storm's people and used Ainet to bring him "new X-Men to tempt, old X-Men to torture, and one foolhardy telepath to trick."

He says he'd stay and watch Psylocke crumble to dust but "I have some X-Men to corrupt. Even god needs apostles."

As he departs, Psylocke's twisted form calcifies, screams, and shatters.

Shadow King returns to the new X-men--Maggot, Marrow, and Cecilia Reyes---and Marrow's bone spikes return, as painful as they ever were, and he reveals his real self. He tells them he can sense the pain they're in and that he would like to see it abolished, and that he can help them as easily as he temporarily did Marrow...if they will turn their backs on the X-Men and pledge themselves to him.

Cecilia says that the X-men are "a royal pain at times" but that they are "good people"

The Shadow King challenges that, pointing out lots of ways they've wronged the three of them...and seems to be tickling Cecilia under the chin with some kind of feathery thing? Dammit Shadow King, can you NOT make this pervy?

"The X-Men offer you nothing but more pain...more lies...whereas I can turn dreams into reality!"

He tells Cecilia, a doctor, how with his help she could go back to saving lives, how he could put the knowledge of the best surgeons in her head. How Maggot could control his slugs and become the hero he wants to be. How Marrow could walk among the surface people, be pretty, be loved, be touched without pain, be looked at without pity or revulsion.

And these poor people, they seem to be enticed. Not agreeing, but tempted for sure.

"A surgeon...I've never dreamed..." "No more pain..." "Could it be true...an oke like me...a real hero?"

But then Cecilia asks what's going to happen to the X-men. The Shadow King doesn't answer, just says they wouldn't show HER the same concern. She still wants to know. He tells her that he's going to try to help them overcome their own trials and tribulations.

LOLOLOLOL

Cut to Sam/Cannonball, who is being berated by the seeming ghost of his dead father, as the Shadow King tells them he's getting "quality time bonding with his deceased father"

Wolverine, tormented on a chain like a beast ("Stripped of his bestial nature, one layer at a time, until we find the man inside")

Storm being swarmed by skeletons covering her ("My lovely wind goddess, I'm already helping her with a crippling case of claustrophobia. She's making wonderful progress.")

UR A DICK, FAROUK

Meanwhile, the broken shards of Betsy Braddock have come together to form her once more...but not as she was. She's a being of solid darkness in the shape of a woman, wondering why she isn't dead as she should be. She realizes it's due to the arcane energies of the Crimson Dawn saving her life. I do not totally know what the deal with the Crimson Dawn is, but as mentioned earlier, it is responsible for her shadow-porting abilities and her red face mark. I don't know the whole story but I think she died and Archangel used the Crimson Dawn to bring her back to life, in exchange for some of his own soul. Don't quote me on this. But yeah, she should have died from what the Shadow King did, but the Crimson Dawn is magical so it saved her.

Ainet, still trapped in the astral plane, appears and begs Psylocke to "stop the beast". Together, they go to find Storm in the "prison" that the Shadow King has her in, "a perpetual nightmare" that is "her private version of Hell"

Meanwhile, the Shadow King is delighting in infecting people all over the world, feeding more chaos and suffering, and gloating about how he can now "Defile any mind'

DEFILE ANY MIND

HE HAD TO SAY IT LIKE THAT

As for Storm, yeah, still buried in skeletons, paralyzed by her deepest fears. A child Storm is there too, telling them how this punishment for bad things she did.

But Psylocke and Ainet help her work through this and it's awesome.

But the Shadow King is being gross again, talking to Maggot, Marrow, and Cecilia, saying that "So? Are we ready to make a deal? Talent? Fame? Beauty? All can be yours if you say the magic words..."Hurt Me Daddy." All together now.."

AND THEN PSYLOCKE SHOWS UP TO KICK HIS ASS

WHICH, NOT A MOMENT TOO SOON

HURT ME DADDY

I CAN'T EVEN ' WHO WROTE THIS

I DON'T THINK IT WAS CLAREMONT, THE DIALOGUE STYLE IS DIFFERENT

SO I CAN'T EVEN BLAME HIM FOR THIS KINKY SHIT

Naturally, the Shadow King has to voice his surprise at Betsy's return and her new look by creepy-touching her face and telling her how "ravishing" she looks like this CAN WE PLEASE GET RID OF HIM FOREVER

Psylocke thinks that his touch feels like maggots crawling through her skin. I think that's very mean to maggots.

Shadow King says "I haven't been this surprised since I underestimated a certain balding American" and HE TOUCHES HER CHEST

NOPE NOPE NOPE

NOT OKAY

BAD TOUCH

WE NEED AN ADULT

He then offers her the chance to rule by his side as his queen. Because if you can't kill her, fuck her, I guess.

While they have this lovely chat, Storm frees Maggot, Marrow, and Cecilia. Shadow King talks about how Psylocke is going to BEG him for the power she so DESIRES and how he is going to "devour every mind on earth at once!"

Figures. He gets all this power and he just wants to eat.

The X-men's souls are now out of him and back in the real world, but he's still got the real prize, that he's going to get into "the collective subconscious of humanity" and "all the delicious suffering of humanity, one morsel at a time!"

He seems to frame things in terms of food/eating a lot, which I guess makes sense.

AND THEN PSYLOCKE HAS TO SAY *THIS* LINE: "He's...he's doing it...touching them all...EVERYWHERE!"

there is no way this phrasing is not meant to be deliberately suggestive ew ew ewww

And she thinks about how the sensation of it is "intoxicating. Saints protect me...I want it!"

ALL ABOARD THE TRAIN TO NOPESVILLE!!

"But more to the point...so does the Shadow King...at any cost. His thirst for power is so great...his lust so consuming...that he's getting lost in the rapture of it all...stretching himself to the limits, and BEYOND."

And that stretching lets Psylocke get a little sneaky psychic blow in, right at the Shadow King's personal nexus. And so her "subtle attack begins the block the Shadow King's far flung talons from the locus of their power" and his influence on people fades, restoring sanity to the world.

The Shadow King howls that this cannot be, that Betsy is nothing, and Betsy returns that "You are one mind! One consumed with greed, conceit, and pride! And one mind can't possibly poison millions without leaving itself open to attack!"

In other words, he got too greedy, opened himself up to much trying to get to others, and didn't think to close even a little to avoid any attacks getting in, because hey, Betsy, is nothing, what can she do against him, right?

The Shadow King, yelling it's not supposed to end this way, is then imprisoned in Betsy's mind. He points out that she's just one mind too, so the moment she uses her telepathy for anything other than containing him, he'll break free. Thus begins the era of Psylocke being just a telekinetic and not a telepath. Or did she not have telekinesis either at this stage? Her powers change around a lot after the Kwannon thing due to various events like this, so it's hard to keep track. But yeah, Betsy's head was his prison for a long time after this, up until she died in X-treme, freeing him to come after Rogue, and you know how THAT went---he just ended up imprisoned with her instead!

[sarahburness]

5 Reasons Why You Need to Stop Taking Life Seriously

Pretentious title, but far from a call to adopt a stance of apathy within this wondrous and dynamic reality we exist together in.

Well, no. It’s quite the opposite.

The insight I’d like to share with you today is the equivalent of an open-handed, movie-cliche slap to the face, regretfully but lovingly administered to pull a panicked comrade back from the brink of a full-blown meltdown catalyzed by a collapse of rational, critical thinking.

This short read is nothing special. Basically, it’s a reminder of the same thing you’ve always known, but for some reason decided to stuff far too deep into your travel pack. And of course, the bug sprays and painkillers at the top of the pile provide less incentive to dump the bag to re-evaluate priorities of survival.

My motivation this day is to encourage within you a willingness to consider the game you’re immersed in from a different hilltop. It’s one with a joy-horizon not obscured by the clouds of stress or grief.

Brevity is always the best way to get a message across, so let’s sink our teeth into the meat of this feast. Let’s skip the greens for a time when protocol dictates we munch on a smaller fare to prolong social interaction.

Enough ramble, let’s dive in.

Here are practical considerations to stop taking our lives so seriously:

Reason #1: You’re Gonna Die

This is definitely the most obvious and important point I need to share.

If your attention wanders to YouTube videos of dogs wearing hats before you read this essay’s completion, at least commit yourself to finishing this first segment’s diatribe. That way, you’ll still walk away with a much-needed reminder to stop giving such a serious fuck to whatever drama encompasses your life.

I can’t speak for Jesus. I can’t speak for yogis, mystics or other tight-lipped people about prolonging a physical body eternally. However, I can suggest to you that there’s a high degree of probability the animal vessel you occupy will slowly break down. It’ll become enfeebled, endure a six-foot covering of dirt or an unceremonious barbecue behind closed doors, severing your tangible connection to this physical world.

So, let��s look at death from both sides of the coin.

If you believe in a mechanistic, uncaring, fluke of a Universe that big-banged you from dumb luck and random chance, every second of your existence here should be valued as the only shot you’ll ever have to experience happiness or contentment.

So, why would you spend one second engaged in something you don’t want to do? Why would you fill your days ingesting toxic food? Why would you consume tainted water? And why would you believe the ridiculous ideas corporate entities endlessly serve to keep you in perpetual fear of living out your most heartfelt desires?

If you believe in the continuity of spirit, eternal life or any form of reality after the Earth-plane, the same basic questions apply — why would you spend a single second in fear of tackling head on each and every beckoning to revel in the experience of a unique, fleeting world? What could an eternal spirit possible have to worry about?

Don’t think about your fear. The time to jump into the deep end is now.

Whatever your beliefs, the most important thing you need to realize is the only time you’ll ever have at your disposal is this very moment.

If your job is boring, quit it. If your woman sucks the life out of you, ditch her. Or if you tap the snooze alarm ritually, it’s probably the time to consider making fundamental changes to the way you navigate your reality.

You can start climbing any moment you choose.

See Also: 7 Easy Ways to Remove Negative Energy and Unnecessary Stress

Reason #2: Your Telepathic Skills are Most Likely Not Great

I’ve met some bonafide empaths and psychics over the years. For the most part, humans are unable to step into the minds of their fellow creatures and accurately read the thoughts/emotions/intentions of the entity standing 2-feet from their face.

When we inject our personal spin on the motives of another, our egoic speculations are almost always a cause for grief. Judgment and faulty perception lead to obsessive and tormenting conjecture, such as…

“That person must hate me. Why else would she have said that? Look at her hair. What was she thinking? I wonder if my ass looks fat in these jeans. Oh, I forgot to check my Facebook updates, I’m sure someone liked my recent post by now. I’m gonna order nachos, I think they’re gluten-free. Oh yeah, forgot about that nasty person.”

And on and on…

The point here is simple and quick:

Stop judging other people’s journeys when you’ve never sampled their footwear. Stop caring about what people might think of you.

You wanna impress someone? Impress yourself and forget the tortuous speculations of how fellow explorers might perceive you.

Adopt an empathetic approach to life, applying it both to yourself and others. Keep in mind that your travel comrades have been just as duped as you to believe iPhones and designer clothing have any bearing on self-worth. The contributions necessary to healing this broken world will never come with a “Made in China” stamp.

Reason #3: You’ve Been Lied To

I’m doing my best to keep these points as concise and simplified as possible. However, there would be nothing more fulfilling to me right now than to break into a 97-part series about all the things we’ve accepted over the years as “truth.”

From politics to health to relationships to government to history to the very nature of the cosmos, everything our “protectors” have weaned us upon is manipulated, twisted, and skewed. They are so far from authenticity that “facts” are more accurately perceived by assuming the exact opposite of whatever vomit the media spews out.

Ironically, I can probably sum up this segment faster than any of the others with a simple statement. It comes not from a paranoid, untrusting person who rebels for the sake of rebelling, but from one who has experienced the buffet of media and culture first hand.

“Do not accept the sustenance proffered without sampling the fare. It makes no sense to fill your belly with fodder that causes indigestion, bloating or queasiness just because it’s familiar, convenient or steadily dined upon by the rest of the tribe. If the menu is unpalatable, learn to cook for yourself.”

Reason #4: Other Realities Exist

It’s tough to broach this topic in the mainstream without coming across as a foil-hatted nut job. I have a sneaking suspicion that within a decade or two, this next topic might just become the motivation for humans to rediscover the adventurous, limitless nature that lies at the core of our essence.

The subject here is lucid dreaming.

I will forego elaboration for the sake of a concise post. However, I would urge you to do a bit of research into this fascinating practice. Let me share with you the key insight I’ve learned from conscious awareness while in the “dream” world.

Earth is not the only game in town. No matter how much the gods of science and media love to dismiss the things they can’t measure, there’s far more happening under our very noses than the Facebook updates and Netflix subscriptions we’ve come to accept as the comforting norm.

There are other realities beyond the JunkieSphere we inhabit. I’ve visited, I’ve played ball. If a man of science wants to tell me there’s nothing more to my astral experiences than a delusion of synapses firing in my brain, I could easily make the argument Earthland conforms to the exact same parameters.

They’re equally both real or both fake — no further elaboration needed.

If you want to explore beyond your job at the office and renew your zest for life, I’ll give you a dozen links to start your journey of lucid dream exploration. Or just call me, I love shooting the shit with weirdos. Track me down through the bio.

Reason #5: Egos Are Fictional

Perhaps another obvious one, but worthy of a last loving slap to the face.

You can shift your ideals and views of the world you live in with a single thought. Your ego is a fiction you’ve created to provide a frame of reference to experience the world. It doesn’t have to control you any more than Instagram does.

An ego is capricious. It’s fickle, fluctuating, and endlessly malleable. The wider you open your doors of perception, the less controlled you’ll be by it. The less you define it, the grander your nature will become. The less often you feed it the spiritual Cheetos it joneses for, the wider the panorama of clarity will stretch, facilitating an ever-deepening understanding of cause and effect.

Maybe the person you hate at work isn’t a vindictive monster because she never gives you the days off you request. Maybe she’s just feeling impotent to change her own world, unconsciously projecting her shortcomings on the people around her. Or maybe life here on Earth isn’t the stress-filled, grab-as-many-prizes-before-the-circus-ends kind of carnival we’ve been led to believe it was. Perhaps, it’s just a unique opportunity to discover the very nature of who we are, what we are, and why we’ve chosen to pay the extra five bucks to enter the freak-show tent.

I’m not an expert on evolution, creationism or pretty much anything else for that matter. I can’t say for certain why humans wander this planet, but I’ve committed my days to digging as deeply as possible into the existential questions that haunt us all.

It’s up to us to choose when and where we ride

Perhaps, candy-floss isn’t the healthiest thing to walk away with as the carnies shut down the midway for the night, but I’m in no position to judge what might satisfy the longings of a wayward soul. We’re all doing our best to understand the endless stream of data thrown at us. The only way to do so is to experience the roller-coaster with arms up in the air as it peaks each crest. Sometimes, the attraction sucks and other times, we feel compelled to buy another ticket. Either way, it’s up to us.

Life is an amusement park that should be enjoyed, not wandered through in fear of every megaphone-announced call to action. The snake-oil tonics and rigged bottle-toss games will always be part of the show, but we can pass them by just as easily as convincing ourselves happiness couldn’t possibly exist without partaking in whatever the rest of the crowd is doing.

When you pass a long line of humans standing patiently, waiting to give the flavor-of-the-month a lick, don’t feel compelled to take a position among them. There’s a good chance the raspberry/crack cocaine swirl wasn’t engineered with your best interests at heart. Sample if you must, but also consider walking past the bright and colorful kiosk.

In Conclusion

Eventually, we’ll get to where we want to go, but only after donning our hiking shoes and accepting the eventuality our feet will get muddied.

And that’s why so few people stand on Mt. Happiness. If the path leading to it was already well-worn, equipped with safety lines and neon signs, we’d all be up there.

You’ll likely need a machete to find the hill you seek. Snakes and spiders will definitely await the trek. But once you’ve filled your soul with the stunning view after an exhausting journey, the pitiful knolls you’ve been continually encouraged to frequent will never satisfy again.

See Also: 9 Baby Steps To Happiness For The Naturally Gloomy

The really fun things are still out there. The adventure only awaits your willingness to embrace it with fascination and wonder, knowing limitation is merely a concept defined by Fox News and the fiction writers of science who profess their wisdom as absolute.

Grab your hat and walking stick, and find out for yourself.

The post 5 Reasons Why You Need to Stop Taking Life Seriously appeared first on Dumb Little Man.

from Dumb Little Man https://www.dumblittleman.com/dont-take-life-seriously/