#like on god baby how do produce that gas

[arolesbianism]

Man oni can't do this to me I'm supposed to be preparing for artfight but all I can think abt is Them™ from the second I wake up to the moment I go to bed how am I supposed to prepare in these circumstances 😔

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - I Still On1y Care About...

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

Sept 2024 Week 1

Ongoing Series - Thai

Monster Next Door (Thai Thurs Gaga ) eps 7 of 12 - Deeeelightful. They are so damn cute + a nice kiss! The rise of the green flag semes continues. I like it when Diew flirts and shows that he does have some experience in a relationship, and he can/will flex his power. Props to God for being a man who remembers to TAKE HIS DRINK with him. 

Addicted Heroin (Thai Tues WeTV) ep 4 of 10 - Yep I still like it and all its toxicity. It’s fun to see how closely it follows the original. Now I really can’t wait to see how this one ends. Since this time around we get an actual ending.

Battle of the Writers (Sun YT) ep 6 of 12 - How did they know that what I wanted more than anything was a side couple = spoiled prince + demon lord? How clever they are to give them to me. Meanwhile, in a shocking twist, the leads have known each other since childhood. Because why be original? 

I Saw You in My Dream (Weds Gaga) ep 8 of 12 - Oh it’s very cute. I love Ing. I love that Ai was honest with his bestie. Best friend's older brother trope is a go! Also good kisses all round. 

Kidnap (Fri YT) ep 1 of 12 - Ohm has his shirt off less than 5 min in. I guess GMMTV is learning what we want. My boy Title is the creep character again. I’m assuming that’s why GMMTV brought him on board at this juncture. Sigh. New boy, Q, looks like Mek’s younger brother. Ultimately? I'm not convinced on this one. It is doing what it says on the tin, but nothing more than that. I’m not wild about it, but I will keep watching.

The Trainee (Sun YT) ep 10 of 12 - The more OffGun BLs, the more time they spend communicating as characters in those BLs. It’s kind of charming. They've become the pair that advocates for communication in relationships. I like it as evolution for their brand. Flirting via the printer was very fun. Especially as the Thai script is so beautiful.

Live in Love (Sun Gaga) ep 1 of 5 - I guess this is a lockdown narrative? Odd choice. A lot of familiar faces but from more minor rolls. Is this from the Destiny Seeker people? It feels like that. It’s a bigger cast than I was expecting, and a sort of classic university BL of the kind star Hunter produces. Or the end of love people. Pretty classic Thai pulp stuff. I’m mildly enjoying it. Hali is too hot to be the dorky second lead. Nice to see Boat back on my screen. However, it is… what’s the word I am looking for? Oh yes. Boring. Plus singing. 

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

The On1y One (Taiwan Thurs Gaga) eps 5-6 of 12 - I entirely lost my mind over this show this week. Fuck me it's so good. The delicacy sends me. I keep expecting it to be clumsy and then is just isn't - it's so subtle and it demands we pay such close attention. I feel like I'm holding my breath the whole time I'm watching.

Cliff's notes on these 2 eps as follows:

The pure unadulterated tsundere of it all.

The awesome angst, it aches.

The series of repercussions after the fight was pacing genius.

The brilliant juxtaposition of "the kid who self isolates too easily" versus "the one who has been forced into isolation" meets both of them being smart enough to know why they react out of hurt, but neither can stop doing it.

Baby’s reaction to learning he’s going to be left behind = to instantly make plans to do the leaving in the future hurts my heart in the best possible way.

"Maybe what we call eternity is just persistence."

Maybe one boy simply deciding to be another boy's rock is romance. 

Production better nail the second half of this show! It better be the world against them from here on out or the audience is gonna riot.

And by "audience" I mean me.

Sugar Dog Life (Japan Sun grey) ep 5 of 10 - Oh noes! Poor baby boy!!! My heart hurts. But also gah so cute and next week they shack up together! Hooray! 

I Hear the Sunspot AKA Hidamari ga Kikoeru (Japan Weds Gaga) ep 11 - too much time spent on the girl again. I don’t need excuses for why she’s a bitch. So can we talk about Taichi instead? It’s such a good characterization, this boy who understands everything about other people but doesn’t notice anything about himself, including his own abilities of observation. The person who is special never realizes how special they are, I guess. The soundscapes are so good with this show. The moments where prod decided to be silent are so vital and so pivotal and used with such delicacy and strategy, it’s truly audio magic manipulation.  

First Note Of Love (Taiwan Mon Gaga) eps 7-8 of 12 - I loved how Orca just jumped on the stage. What a great side couple. CHARMED I TELL YOU. Orca was all… singing? Naw. I came back to fuck the manager's brains out. Anything less than that is unacceptable. 

Takara's Treasure AKA Takara No Vidro (Japan Mon Gaga) ep 10 fin - Essentially this was a growth story for Takara and an exercise in patience while the two of them learned each other’s quirks and languages. It was also an exercise in patience for me... who doesn’t like the power differential of a weaker younger character having to do all the pursuing while constantly feeling like he is inferior to the older popular hot character. I know this was a BL that was definitely for some people, since plenty liked it way more than I did, but I didn’t like it very much even though there’s nothing objectively wrong with it. It simply wasn’t to my personal taste. 7/10 

Seoul Blues (Korea Fri? YouTube) ep 5-6 of 8 - Enter an ex or something? Well he certainly has a type. Bah. This whole series seems to be mainly about cheating. It’s very annoying because they are all so pretty. 

Happy of the End (Japan Tues Gaga) - Based on a manga, longer than usual run time. A boy is disowned for being gay, dumped by his boyfriend, and ends up in a dysfunctional co-dependant relationship with his would-be kidnapper. We were due for another messy JBL. Messy gay pain here we go.

Oh it’s exactly what I expected. Do I like it? No I do not. And ya know what? There is plenty airing. I have a bad feeling about this one. DNF 

It's airing but...

4 Minutes (Sat Gaga) eps 1-6 of 8 - Gaga picked this one up so we can watch it there. I'm waiting until the end, it seems angsty and confusing and full of awful people being awful. But also... high heat and I'm shallow. So we shall see which devil wins (and how it ends).

The Hidden Moon (Sat ????) ep 1 of 10 - This is a supernatural romance (my ghost boyfriend trope) ‘เดือนพราง’ by Violet Rain (I Feel You Linger)... A Bangkok writer is hired to write an article about an old mansion in Chiang Mai which is being converted into a café. He gets into an accident and nearly dies on his way there. After that, he sees the ghosts of people who died at the mansion, one boy catches his attention. Was substantially recast. Couldn't find it. Didn't really look.

In case you missed it

Meet You at the Blossom (China) - I'm eating crow, binging the fucker, and live blogging. It's just taking me some time. This isn't really a bingable show, not for me anyway. It's A LOT to take all at once. No new one this week.

Next Week Looks Like This:

Plus:

9/9 Jack & Joker (Thai Mon IQIYI) 12 eps? - Be gay YinWar, do crimes. Dehup gives us Yin, War, Mark and a few other familiar faces in a Leverage sitch, only queerer.

9/14 Love Sick 2024 (Thai Sat ????) ?? eps - Remake of the original. I'm scared too.

9/15 Bad Guy My Boss (Thai Sun Gaga) 10 eps - Assistant to a player boss who is in love with that boss decides to quit to save himself. The boss then makes a move. (A gay What's up with Secretary Kim?)

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

Coming SEPTEMBER 2024:

9/17 Love is Like a Poison AKA Doku Koi: Doku mo Sugireba Koi to Naru (Japan Tues Netflix?) 10 eps - Lawyer and a con artist meet at a bar, pair up, fall in love.

9/28 Teenager Judge (Vietnam Sat YouTube) ?? eps - oh I don't know just Ba Vinh doing his thing with pretty boys again.

9/? The Time of Fever (Korea iQIYI) 6 eps - HoTae & DongHee are back! Side couple from Unintentional Love Story, same actors, same character names I an WILD for this.

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

Not sure what this is from but I capped it for a reason so, shrug.

The scent trope AND the childhood crush trope? I see you suckering me into one trope because I like the other. Clever, Battle. Very clever.

(Last week)

Streaming services are listed by how I (usually) watch, which is with a USA based IP, and often offset by a day because time zones are a pain.

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

Sigh, Tumblr in its infinite wisdom doesn't like too many at-ings.

[winchester-24]

Imagine being kidnapped and Sam coming to save you

It was always humans that threw you off. Monsters were consistent, they had signs, and you knew how they operated. Humans, on the other hand, were a wild card. They could change their motives, tactics, and scenery at any point.

You were in town buying things for dinner. You told Sam and Dean that you would make a homemade meal tonight, but you needed to go get the ingredients. You kissed your boyfriend Sam, waved bye to Dean, and told them you wouldn’t be gone for more than an hour and a half.

You were looking at the produce at this little market when you started to feel like you were being watched. You looked around but did not see anything out of the ordinary. You kept searching for the perfect tomatoes when you felt the eyes again. Something was wrong. You looked up, but everything looked the same. Until you noticed something weird. There were three ways to leave the market: by the checkout, the back door, and a side door. At each exit was a man of different build, around the same age, but all wearing the same baseball hat. Heads down, ‘looking’ at whatever was in front of them. You then realized that it was just you and those three men in the store; the cashier was nowhere in sight. You dropped the tomato you were holding and pretended to look at the other produce. You grab the pocketknife you keep in your back pocket and slide it up your sleeve, opening it and holding it against your hand. You discreetly assess which man would be easiest to get away from if you needed to. For all you know, you’re being paranoid. You then change your plan, take out your phone, and start texting Sam, saying he needs to come to the market.

“Now, why are you starting to text someone, love?” a mysterious voice says behind you. You quickly turn around, trying to hit send on the text, but accidentally calling Sam. The man knocks you out with a punch to the face and starts yelling at the other men to get you loaded up and back to the house. The whole time, Sam can hear and yell your name.

Sam’s P.O.V

I was looking up possible cases to go on when Y/N called me. I smiled and immediately picked it up.

“Hey baby, you,” I was cut short by hearing the phone clatter on the other end and a man yelling at others, telling them to put Y/N in a truck and head back to the house. I stood up.

“Y/N? Y/N!” I yell but do not get a response. Then, the phone call drops.

“Dean!” I yell, already grabbing my things. Dean comes running into the library.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think Y/N is in trouble, let go!” I say quickly, Dean following right behind me. We hurry into the Impala, and Dean slams on the gas.

“Where am I going?”

“The market, the one that Y/N always makes up stop at.” Dean presses on the gas harder as I start to bounce my leg. I pray to God, an angel, and anyone that she is okay. Dean gets up there in record time, and we see her truck as we pull up. I quickly leave the car and run into the store, calling for her. Nothing. I noticed that no one was there either. Shouldn’t there be a clerk? Dean comes up behind me.

“I get left. You get it, right?” He asks. I nod my head, our guns drawn. I round by the produce aisle and see her phone on the ground, broken as someone has stepped on it.

“Dean, I got something,” I call. Dean walks up to me and sees her phone.

“Well, that’s not good.” He mutters. My heart drops into my stomach, and I do not know how to start looking for her. I look around.

“Dean, shouldn’t someone be at the register?” I question. Dean looks around.

“Yeah, let's look around.” We split up again, trying to find out where else Y/N might have been taken.

“Sam!” I hear Dean yell. I turn and quickly return to the more excellent section where Dean stands and an employee is tied up. We quickly untie the poor guy and get him out of the cooler.

“What happened to you?” I asked, hoping he would give me any information on where Y/N was. The anxiety that the worst has already happened to her crawls up my stomach into my chest. The employee tells us that three men came into the market, they saw her, and the next thing he knew, two of them had him gagged and in the cooler, before he could even blink. They were fast and coordinated. Dean nods his head and turns to walk out of the market. I follow behind, seeing the overcast coming in. It’s going to rain soon.

“What are we thinking, demons?” Dean asks as we walk back to the Impala. I don’t answer, but I stop at her truck. My eyes start to gather tears as it sets in more and more that she is gone. Dean walks up beside me and puts his hand on my shoulder.

“We will find her, Sammy.” I nod and get in her truck to take it back to the bunker, and Dean follows in the impala. I let the tears fall the whole way back.

“I’m going to find you beautiful; just give me time,” I whisper to no one.

Your P.O.V

It’s been around two days since you were taken. You only know this by the judgment of the light coming through the little window in this rickety basement these people have you in. You have been cut, slapped, beaten on, and verbally assaulted by all three of the men who took you. You still don’t know much about them, but your hope of getting out of here is less and less every hour. There is no way for Sam to track you, have no way to figure out who took you, and these metal chains they have you restrained in aren’t going anywhere anytime soon.

You hear the door to the upstairs open, and steps start coming down. You can’t help but let out a whimper. You wish you were back at the bunker with Sam and Dean. You and Sam could be cuddling on the couch, watching a movie that neither of you is paying attention to because you two are paying attention to each other instead. Dean can comment about how you two are gross and to get a room, to which Sam would respond by getting up and picking you up, causing you to laugh as Dean makes fake gagging noises as Sam leads you to your guys’ room.

Your little daydream is cut off by someone slapping your face hard. You cry out in pain and look up to see the smallest of the three guys looking at you.

“Today is a special day!” He says excitedly, breath smelling like he hasn’t brushed his teeth in years. He doesn’t wait for you to respond but keeps going. “Cousin Lance gets in today; he liked you yesterday with the pictures we sent, so he is going to come to take you!” Your eyes grow wide. You can’t leave Lebanon. The guy laughs and gets close to your face and strokes it. “It is a shame. I thought you were beautiful, and we would keep you longer.” You look at him and spit in his face. He stumbles back, not expecting you to do that.

“Ah, you bitch.” He says, punching you in the face. That’s going to leave a bruise. You hear the door open from upstairs again.

“Tanner, let's go!” You hear a voice yell, and Tanner kicks you in the stomach before leaving back up the stairs. When the door shuts, you start crying.

“Please, Sammy, hurry.” You say in between sobs.

Sam’s P.O.V

It’s been two days, and we are no closer to finding Y/N than two days ago. The library is destroyed, our room has things thrown everywhere, and I can't remember the last time I ate. I’m sitting at the table, trying to figure out where these men could have taken Y/N. The security tapes Dean returned to get from the market don’t show their faces, so it’s hard to look up anyone who would look alike. I slam my laptop shut and put my head in my hands. For all I know, she could be dead. Dean comes walking in.

“We need to get you out of here for a little while; maybe a break will give you the fresh eyes you need, and you need to eat.”

“I can’t eat right now, Dean,” I mumble, heading to the kitchen for another beer.

“Y/N would want you to,” Dean replies.

“Y/N not here right now, Dean! Because I can’t find her! I have no idea where she is, if she is okay, or if she is already gone!” I snap at him. Dean doesn’t get angry or upset. He looks at me with understanding.

“You are running on nothing; you need to put something in your system other than alcohol if you want to be able to rescue her when we find her,” Dean says. I sigh.

“Okay.” I follow him out to the Impala to the diner, which the three of us frequently visit.

When we get there, we slide into our usual booth. Dean and I start looking at the menu, and I already know what we are going to get when I casually look up.

“Dude,” I whisper to Dean. Dean looks up at me.

“Hm?”

“Those hats look familiar?” Dean turns around while I look back at my menu. Four guys are sitting at a table. Three of them have the same hats we saw on the security camera, and the fourth guy has a different hat. Dean turns back around.

“I knew food was a good idea.” I roll my eyes.

“Dude, shut up.” The guys are too far away to hear anything they say, but we can eat and watch them. When they get up from their table, I lightly kick Dean under the table. He stuffs what he can of his burger in his mouth and then drops a fifty on the table. We get up and stroll out to the parking lot. We hear them talking to one another.

“Just follow us. It's ten minutes from here. You can't miss the house; it has Papi’s old red tractor out front, " one of the guys says. Dean and I get into the Impala and wait for the group to leave before following them from a distance.

We are coming, baby girl; hold on.

Your P.O.V

You don’t know how long they were gone. You tried everything to get out of these chains, but nothing worked. You needed the key, but it’s across the room hanging up. They put it there to mock you—disgusting pigs. You cried out in frustration and from being exhausted. You don’t know the last time you ate or drank something, and the pain is starting to catch up to you as well. You hear doors start opening upstairs and wish you could pass out. Tears make their way down your face again as you begin to realize this might be it for you; out of everything you have fought, it’s damn humans that get you. You then start to hear commotion upstairs and yelling. You listen to feet pounding around the house but can't make anything out. Your vision begins to blur, and you lean your head back against the pole you’re chained up against. Then you start hallucinating.

" Y/N?! " You hear Sam yell. You let tears out, knowing that it can’t be real; your mind is just being cruel. You hear feet pounding down the stairs, and you cry more, not caring anymore who hears you. You are sobbing.

“Please, no more, don’t hurt me anymore.” You cry out. You feel the gentlest hand cup your face.

“Oh, baby, what did they do to you?” A voice says softly. You recognize that voice. You open your eyes as best as possible and see Sam leaning over you.

“Sammy?” You whimper out.

“I’m here, beautiful, I’m here.”  You relax and let out another tear.

“Thank God.” You whisper out. You hear Dean, and a few seconds later, the chain lets loose of your wrists. You feel Sam pick you up, and you cry in pain as he moves your body in a way your ribs don’t like.

“I’m sorry, baby, I’m sorry,” Sam says repeatedly. You were going to reply to him, but then darkness just overwhelmed you.

When you woke up, your head was pounding, you were sore all over, and you felt like you couldn’t move. You opened your eyes to see that you were in your old room before you started sleeping with Sam full-time. Your wrists were bandaged, along with your midsection, and places on your leg were bandaged up. Your left hand was occupied by the younger Winchester’s hand, leaning over your head, resting on your bed, fast asleep. You tried shifting a little bit but let out a little whimper of pain when you did. This woke Sam up with a start.

“Y/N, you’re awake!” He says, eyes lighting up.

“Water.” You croak out to him, throat dry as can be. He quickly grabs the water bottle from the nightstand and helps you drink some. You end up drinking half the bottle. He takes it from your lips, and you sigh, leaning your head back on the pillow. You look at Sam, and you smile.

“You saved me.” He looks at you sadly

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner.” You rub your thumb across the back of his hand.

“I’m just glad you found me.” He leans over and kisses your forehead.

“I’ll always find you beautiful.” He leans lower and kisses your lips. You lean as best into the kiss, enjoying the chance to kiss him again. He puts his hand up to your hair and strokes it as he tries to be gentle, not wanting to injure you further. He pulls away and looks at you with so much love.

“I love you so much, Y/N. You are never leaving my sight again.” He says.

“I love you too, Sam.”

[ananke-xiii]

A dream, mine:

spn s13 but with cas alive and jack's a baby, dean and mary are in the AU and lucifer is still on earth. Somehow sam and cas manage to save jack and themselves from lucifer but now they're on the run and they are both questioning their life choices. Sam's like super pissed because he's been baby trapped by cas of all people and he's now stuck with an unhinged angel and a baby that's half his nemesis, a nemesis with which he shares the most unfortunate, most fucked up, saddest "profound bond" of all time. Cas is pissed too because he was handed the shortest (technically the tallest but shhh) straw by fate and ended up with the wrong brother, what's worst, he's now forced, once again, to re-evaluate all his millennia-long prejudices against all kinds of abominations since he's stuck sharing a car with two of the finest examples ever produced. Jack is just a baby which means he cries a lot, wants to eat, does his things etc and the crying alone is enough to send cas and sam crazy. Cas resents sam because he thinks he's using the angel with the excuse that he doesn't sleep so he can look after the baby. Sam resents cas because he went doing his hot girl shit instead of following his plan. Things reach a boiling point when they're in a gas 'n sip, sam deep in "newborn lore" on his smartphone, trying to understand what a newborn can eat out of gas station food, and cas's exasperated because "we can just wear a white coat, go to a hospital and steal breast milk". Sam snaps and he's like "what IS wrong with you, dude?" and cas is so done so he's like "tell me, sam, what IS wrong with me, sam?". Sam's not dean and he's not above recounting all the times cas has fucked them over, fucked him over, he literally uses his fingers to start counting everything that's just wrong with cas and he sure as hell starts by telling him how thick an actual angel of the lord, "the fucking angel of fucking thursday has no feel" (sam's words not mine), can be to save a person from hell without realizing that the soul's not there when he basically did the same thing for dean so "uh cas, explain this to the hand, CAS-TI-EL"! And cas finds out that, after all, he's not that bad at this feeling and being almost human shit cause he suddenly feels very in touch with his feminine side and he's ready to remind sam how thick can he be to think that god was speaking to him telling him to open the cage, like "what sam, just because amara was speaking to dean, you thought god would have spoken to you, to you, SA-MU-EL?" They're one step close to a catfight, neither of them is shy enough to prevent it, they both can and will grab each other by their hair and grip tight to raise themselves from this domestic hell. But they're in a gas 'n sip, whisper-yelling about angels, hell, souls and god and people begin eyeing them, the clerk reaches for the phone. They stop and realize that, in their current state, they're both two male presenting beings somewhere in their forties or in their vicinity with a screaming baby in cas' arms and one call away from child protection services . Things are not good.

Meanwhile, dean is with mary, fake bobby and fake charlie having the time of his life in the fake purgatory copy that is the AU releasing all his decade-long repressed sexual energy toward a certain angel by killing angels with bullets made out of angel blades and knifing the occasional monster of the week that goes bump in the night. Things are good.

[bigmouthlass]

Title:  We're Counting On You, Lord

Series: Supernatural B-Sides

Author:  BJ

Fandom:  Supernatural

Rating:  Teen

Synopsis: In my headcanon Baby's a bit more tempermental than she is on-camera, and breakdowns happen often enough Sam has a routine down when it comes to busting Dean's balls over it.

Tags:  Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Jody Mills, Baby the Impala, Baby is a brat, Sam is a brat, Dean is a brat, songfic

AN:  Song is "Mercedes Benz," written by Janis Joplin, Michael McClure, and Bob Neuworth, performed by Joplin on the album 'Pearl.' All recognizable intellectual properties are owned by their respective creators and holders of any copyrights or trademarks. This is a not-for-profit work of fan art and protected by Fair Use.

---

If asked, Dean Winchester will call his car the perfect hunter's car.  Sure she drinks gas like water and doesn't do off-road, like, at all, and don't even ask about parking.  But the pros -- bench seats for emergency sleeping, trunk big enough for a small apartment's worth of gear, all sorts of nooks and crannies for hiding spare cash and ammo, surprisingly inconspicuous for her size and age, able to cruise at 70 for days -- far outweigh the cons as far as he's concerned.  Power, beauty, and able to bounce back from everything the job can possibly throw at them.  They're a matched set, Dean will tell you.

If asked, Sam Winchester will point out that the car sticks out like a bobcat at a dog show, the air conditioning barely works no matter how much Dean screws around with it, its zero-to-sixty can be measured in days, it eats brake pads like they're potato chips, and why in the hell hasn't Dean upgraded the suspension because he swears he can feel the car crying whenever it hits a pothole.  And with the amount of time they spend taking secondary highways, that's a lot of crying.

Most of his gripes get shot down with an annoyed glower and, "One word-- legroom."  And Sam will admit, Dean's got him there.  Getting stuck in Brady's Alfa Romeo Spyder had not exactly been the high point of his freshman year.

Questions about reliability will produce similarly opposed responses.  Dean will swear on any holy book you hand to him that Baby's a perfect lady, never breaks down, never strands him in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night.  Sam will make sure he's safely out of earshot and swear the damn thing's never completed a journey without going bang, ever, not once in the thirty-odd years he's been riding in it.

The truth of course is somewhere in the middle.  Dean's been working on Baby since he was old enough to hold a flashlight steady and he's brought her back from scrap and spare parts more than once.  But the flat fact of the matter is, the car's a blue-collar broad of a certain age who's lived hard.  She has . . . quirks.

---

bang!

"What--"

cough

"Aw shit--"

"Mmm?"

"Don't-- c'mon Baby, just for me, be sweet to me--"

sick revving noises

"God dammit."

"I think the car just gave you the finger."

"Don't listen to him sweetheart, he's just being a bitch as usual."

bang! car lurches hard enough to throw driver and passanger out of their seats

"Definitely telling you to go fuck yourself."

"Shut up."

crunch of shoulder gravel, engine stops

"Well . . . at least it's not dark this time.  Or raining.  Or sleeting, Or--"

creak of door hinges, pop of hood latch

"Sam, shut up."

"No, you know what?  You're right.  I will shut up."

pop of trunk lock, clink of tools

"Because--"

dramatic clearing of throat

"Oh no you fucking don't."

humming for a note

"Start that shit and--"

voice rises in pitch

"'Like to do a song--'"

"Shave your head in your sleep--"

"'--of great social--'"

"Break every bone in your body--"

"'--and political import.'"

"Tie you to a bed naked and call that Becky chick--"

"'Goes like this.'"

thunking of a hand on a car's side panel

"Oh Lord! won't'cha buy me, a Mercedes-Benz?  Mah friends all drive Porsches, I must make a-mends."

"I will fucking end you Sammy, I swear to God."

"Don't call me that-- I work haaaard all my life time, no help from my friends."

"Sammy-Sammy-Sammykins--"

"So Lord! won't'cha buy me a Mercedes-Benz?  Oh Lord! won't'cha buy me, a color TV?"

"Sammycutiewootiepieface--"

"Dialin' for Dollars is tryin' to find meeee.  I wait for dee-livery, each day until three."

dark muttering about home perms and dye it all bright fucking pink I swear to God

"So Lord! won't'cha buy me a color TV?  Oh Lord! won't'cha buy me, a night on the town?"

soft whine of ultimate suffering

"I'm countin' on you Lord, please don't let me down.  Prooooove that'cha love me, and buy the next round."

"Make mine a double."

"So Lord! won't'cha buy me a night on the town?  Everybody! oh Lord! won't'cha buy me a Mercedes-Benz?  Mah friend all drive Porsches, I must make a-mends.  I worked haaaard all my life time, no help from my friends.  So Lord! won't'cha buy me, a Mer-Cey-Deez-Benz?"

silence

"Are you finished?"

a decidedly fiendish chuckle

"Just getting warmed up.  My car is a . . . "

sounds of two grown men trying to seriously throttle each other by the side of the road

---

"So, you boys wanna run that by me again?"

Sam and Dean glared while the Sheriff of Minnehaha County tried not to laugh.  She made a mental note to show Donna the video later.  The best part had to be the both of them looking up guiltily as Jody barked, "GENTLEMEN," Sam in a headlock and Dean with a bloody nose.

They pointed at each other, "He started it."

---

AN2: Oh, the song Sam started at the end is Psychostick's, "Two Ton Paperweight."

[theboysfromaustin]

I am a very dignified writer.

----

June 3, 2004

Ian bit his lip, tapping his pen on the list, wondering how much produce he could buy that he and Kazuo could actually eat before it went bad.  Kazuo brushed against him, catlike.  This was their first trip to Central Market together, and he was trying to get actual food for Kazuo, who self-admittedly, had grown up eating cold canned goods and gas station roller grill items.

Ian was happy to have Kazuo.  He felt younger, more invigorated.  They were in love, that was the simplest way to put it.  Kazuo leaned on the cart, “It's weird to eat fresh veggies ‘n fruit.” “You'll feel better if you eat fresh food.  It's nice to cook for more than just myself and Maureen.” “You're an excellent chef.  You spoil me.”

Ian smiled, absorbing the praise.  Praise from Kazuo was high praise.  He loved his scrappy, young partner.  He began to pick through the massive selection of apples, Kazuo's hand lingering on his hip.  He got engrossed in the selection, not noticing Kazuo slip away.  What he did notice quite quickly was…

The smell.

He sniffed, lip curling, looking around.  He did notice now that Kazuo had disappeared.

Conveniently.

Little bastard.

He did notice the people around him were now staring. In horror. In disgust. He felt a creeping blush overtaking his face and neck, and he went into defensive mode, “I…I, um…that wasn't…”  He stammered, sweat beading on his brow.

A baby began to cry, unable to comprehend the horror of the creeping stench.

“My…my boyfriend is…lactose…int…” His face was crimson now.  People were shaking their heads as they fled the area.  A man entered from the other side, stopped, and turned around.  “I..I didn't…Kazuooooooo…..” He groaned.  Great.  Now he was the token smelly guy.  He trudged forward, head low, trying to find his evil, stinky bastard boyfriend.

In the bakery, Kazuo leaned on a bread display, giggling like a total idiot.  Ian was very polite about his lactose intolerance.  Hell, they were getting into an at-home rapport of completely immature jokes, which delighted him.  He knew Ian would come to find him.  He felt bad, but he knew Ian would find the humor in it.  Ian put on a dignified and serious front for work, but they'd only been together intimately for a couple days, and last night Ian had fallen asleep with his head on Kazuo's chest, and at some point, violently farted them both awake.

They'd both nearly pissed themselves laughing.  That's how he knew Ian was the one - a gentle, sexy, wildly intelligent lawyer who looked like the lovechild of Sam Waterston and Dermot Morgan, but who also had the sense of humor of a fourth grader?  Perfection.

Ian grabbed Kazuo under one arm, and unceremoniously dropped him into the cart, “Come on, stinky.” “Hi.” “You're mean.” “I had a bad childhood.” “Your stank made a baby cry.  A BABY.” “How many points is that?” Ian made a strangled, choking sound as he tried not to laugh, “Ah, Christ.  I think we need to leave before they have to fumigate.” “I crave milk.” “Fuck no.” “Cheese?” “I'm going to stick you in a freezer.”

Kazuo leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Ian's chest, “It was funny.” “It wasn't.” Kazuo looked up.  Ian was staring dead ahead.  If he looked at Kazuo, he would laugh, and Kazuo would win and continue his reign of terror.  Kazuo reached up, placing his hands on Ian's cheeks.  “You smell.” “You don't mind.” “God knows why.  I'm buying soy milk.” “You wouldn't.”

“Called my bluff.  Can't stand that shite.” “Haha.” “Hush,” Ian snickered, relenting and kissing his head, “You're cute.” “I know.” “Humble! Enough bravado for seventeen people.” “Can we go back to the fruit section?” “That's probably a bad idea.” “I love you, sweet boy.” “I love you too.  You're my stinky weirdo,” Ian ruffled Kazuo's hair.

Their relationship was new, but it was also weird and extremely loving - different from all the others he'd been in.  As weird as Kaxuo was…

Ian was willing to do anything for him.

[nochi-quinn]

campaign 3 episode 58: brb flying to la to steal matt's shins

I got sick again today but I'M TRYING

they got him!!

"we really should give all our producers a raise"

marisha that top

I believe the trope is magipunk but obvs I haven't seen it yet

HOWEVER magipunk is one of my favorite tropes so I'm hoping

game now called Taliesin's Baby

I hate literally every second of this

"teeth, tentacles and terror" hate that too

mapphew strikes again

"the trees have bones"

"we had a real estate agent but they ghosted us" BOO

"it's a bit much"

"I think you grabbed the one that was too big"

augh the wolf snouts coming out of it

"six :D"

HATE THAT NOISE

matt's noises are also hurting my brain so this tracks

nobody gets freaked out by legendary actions like travis gets freaked out by legendary actions

"BUT THAT'S METAGAMING"

"he's actually half butts"

matt says Make Expensive Choices

why does laura sound like she's on Old Timey Radio

I WARNED YOU ABOUT STAIRS BRO

it's a Wet Monster it should take double from lightning

Chew Again

BIT IT AND QUIT IT

"how many of its butts fell off"

guiding bolt upp the butt(s)

FEARNE

"matthew how DARE you roll a natural 20"

NINE

FRIDA

somebody curse matt's dice

trade matt's dice with laura's

frida pulling every available feat out to throw at the meat tower

Action Surge Sharpshooter Grit Point is the fighter version of Reckless Great Weapon Master

"please gif that"

"aRe YoU uSiNg ThE sAmE dIcE"

"say parmesan if you want me to hit him" "PARMESAN"

"OKLAHOMA SAFE WORD"

a whole lot of rules just got flung around and I zoned out in self-defense

"a weird divacup for this massive period stain"

AUNT FLOW

"does it have eyes" "occasionally" "you can't SAY THAT"

hey I hate it

"a roll I wish I had failed"

gay

"tree trunk of skin" [lenny]

"it's not the holy grail!" "if you read enough dan brown - kinda!"

liam is here in spirit

AND ON SAM'S GAS CAN APPARENTLY

"GIVE HER BANGS"

"no, we just got the art"

oh hate

oh HATE

please run. please leave.

it is going to Eat You

"I rolled a 1 but it comes out to 23"

this is the closest we've gotten to matt breaking out an hourglass in a while

"paper - not being humanoid - because it's a piece of paper - "

"it's nOT A DILDO"

"frida - take this down"

CHRISTIAN

"and then I burn the notes and leave" okay arkhan

"just be a little smarter, okay?"

and then it WORKED

"this gargamel motherfucker stealing smurfs"

"I've never read a book. I'm actually older than books."

not the dot matrix printer

"be careful, link….the yuck moon rises once again…"

"I only saw her from the back but my god was she beautiful"

"abs for days"

COBOSO

"I don't know why wizards would have abs"

"it was very sad, he died, clearly"

irl gifts IRL GIFTS

SHIRTS

"I invented polyester"

and in the COLOR SCHEMES

"it's segmented, sepratated" sasha nein's mindscape

"you're a mess"

don't chase the rabbit!

if there are stars when you look down -

everybody gets presents

"it's a sweatshirt made out of wood"

YOU ARE WHO YOU CHOOSE TO BE

"one more?" "…….ka-put"

EVERYBODY GETS PRESENTS

eabria come get your smut

their collective quest to get travis to turn into a tomato

I can't believe this is canon

they almost have to swap back now right. right? this is such a good place to wrap up. please return the other half of the table.

thank you for not being That Guy matt

;-;

HEY MATT??

YOU'VE SUFFERED A TERRIBLE FATE HAVEN'T YOU

the RED END

did fcg just become a champion?

IS DEANNA BEING MADE A CHAMPION?

gods going through their whole rolodex sending out SOSes

I forgot how much of a dick pelor is

I'm sorry, the ~dawnfather~

wait is the spider queen freaking out at opal? is this a disaster on both sides of the aisle?

where's opal, I wanna talk to opal

imogen is the kid who grew up secular and heard about every different religion from pop culture osmosis

(imogen is me)

it's a Stuff-Doing-Coin

see in scripted media her giving him the ring would be an enormous death flag. it still kind of is because I'm a paranoid panda but still

you have to give travis the inventory it's the rules

SDKJFLKSD

matt

THE RTA

sam sploded

this is tonight's real lore drop

just throw a dart at the map

it does DAMAGE?

"why does he say it like that"

MATTHOLOMEW MERCER

"WHAT'S NEW JERSEY"

liam's not even here to do the accent

"that's more fun" FOR WHO

NO FUCK YOU

LAURA

MATT

I HATE EVERYONE HERE

"I can't tell if she's doing a bit"

BEEN A WHILE SINCE I WANTED TO FIGHT THEM IN THE PARKING LOT AFTER THE SHOW BUT HERE WE ARE

[beansprouts]

lil reaction / theory / criticism thought dump because i just finally finished The Calling; spoilers

Right away, the first and most glaring thing for me: in the DA novels, Ga*der is unable to write badass women without tying their agency to a man and then domesticating them, and it drives me insane. It's been a while since I read The Stolen Throne, and I remember Rowan primarily as a badass knight, but here, only a few years later, Maric believes she enjoyed being a wife and mother more than she ever enjoyed fighting (and she died of Padmé Amidala syndrome before the events of this novel of course). Genevieve is a nuanced character, but one of her defining motivators her whole life was becoming a Grey Warden warrior (and then the fierce commander she is in this novel) and yet we're supposed to believe in her lotus eater dream she's perfectly content as a placid housewife? Fiona is an excellent heroine, but even she ends up tragically producing a noble baby, blond and human of course (not even going to touch the bullshit racism of "the child of an elf and a human is a human"), whose future is given more framing in the last chapter than novel protagonist Fiona herself.

I hope I don't need to explain how frustrating it is to read books set in a world that claims to treat men and women equally, but then only frames women in the narrative when they happen to be wives, mothers, or sisters of important men.

On the topic of Fiona's future: I knew from Inquisition that she was the only person ever cured of the Calling, and I was curious about HOW and hoping for at least a bit of discussion of such a lore-significant detail. We get precious little, though.

But I wanted to share my thoughts since I saw discussion of it on my dash. I am pretty confident that the taint was somehow passed onto baby Alistair for the following reasons:

- It doesn't make sense for the Architect's magic to have cured the taint, since we never see such an effect with Utha, who experienced this magic for much longer (from the time of The Calling to Awakening). Besides, it's implied that the magic accelerated a magical transformation to a darkspawn-like state; Fiona lost the taint entirely and never reached darkspawn status like Bregan, Utha, or Genevieve.

- Given how Maric is framed in these books, I was also wary of a narrative that he magically cured her Grey Wardenism with his Royal Purity Dick. But the timing for that theory doesn't work. Fiona continues to see more corruption spreading across her body after they have slept together.

- Weird shit happening to corrupted souls because of sex (and particularly sex as conception) echoes the Dark Ritual in Dragon Age: Origins. There's a thematic juxtaposition between both prequels and Origins of sex in places of battle, darkspawn, death, birth, and magic not fully understood. I think the intention is partially to set a Dark Fantasy For Adults With Violence and Sex! atmosphere that subsequent installments have moved away from.

- It's a bit messy (why was Morrigan's capturing of the dark god's soul instant versus the loss of Fiona's taint only happening later?) but I think it's the theory that makes the most sense both in-universe and thematically.

Speaking of the taint and the power of the Architect, do we ever learn how Duncan's dagger works, supposedly made of the same magic as the Architect's? Is it the same dagger you can retrieve in Return to Ostagar (which does bonus damage to dragons for some reason)?

I actually loved the character arcs of Genevieve and Bregan. I loved learning slowly about the dynamics of their complicated sibling relationship over the course of the novel, culminating in several twists.

...although Genevieve and Clarel in Inquisition, I can't help noticing, are very similar.

Really the more Ga*der I read the more I realize his novels just use the same few tropes over and over. It's not quite as bad as Alex*s Kennedy but it does become tiresome.

Take a shot every time he uses the word "swoop" or a character heroically jumps on top of a monster.

More positively: I love Loghain as a character. One could frame the two books and Origins as a character study of Loghain specifically: what kind of experiences shape a man with both the strengths and prejudices that lead him to be a badass here but the tyrant we see in Origins? I found it especially juicy that he was able to save Maric, Duncan, and Fiona here due to his suspicion of the Orlesians manipulating the Grey Wardens being correct- the very suspicion that becomes a self-destructive paranoia in Origins.

I was able to identify Julien and Nicholas as lovers almost instantly (I suspect this is true for many queer readers, though it's framed as a shocking revelation) and their outcome is beautifully heartbreaking. Knowing Ga*der is gay himself, I don't really see it as an instance of Bury Your Gays (although such a criticism would be valid I think, since they're the only gay characters in these two books and they do die first). To me the message feels like: gay love like this, however beautiful, is doomed by a hateful society and can only survive in dreams. And that's fucking tragic... but also extremely Gen X of an LGBT take.

Because, let's be real, Maric and Loghain were at least a little bit married all along.

Aside: Duncan's little accidental hookup with the random circle mage was very cute.

I tried to ship Maric and Fiona, I really did, but their romance felt so bland to me that I was more invested in Duncan's aforementioned one-page tryst. I'm not sure why. Maric and Fiona grew to trust each other naturally enough. But Fiona kissing him felt less like romance and more like an outburst of exhaustion and loneliness; all of her subsequent longing to be with him just felt out of character.

Duncan and Fiona's friendship was delightful, though.

I went into this book excited to get more Duncan (I have a Grey Warden OC who is Duncan's bastard daughter lol. so much for women not related to powerful men :P) and I found his backstory compelling as I'd hoped. My only issue is that a supposed Orlesian speaks with an American accent in-game, because if Duncan had a French accent Loghain's anti-Orlesian fearmongering would make more sense to newcomers to the world, but that's a DAO problem really, and if I'm to start pointing out linguistics issues we'd be here all summer.

Utha's signing I found surprisingly well done (from my perspective, though I'm not in a signing nor nonverbal community).

Shout out to the Fereldan Circle for apparently attracting evil megalomaniacs like Kirkwall attracts blood mages. I wonder if young mages had evil mage takeover drills like I had growing up for bomb threats in public school.

[iwantjobs]

5/3/2024: Dear Antifada: There's no need to impose violence because that's a loser's technique that produces temporary rewards in this war-against-babies-and-children-religious-war now that I have good evidence that there is a God (father of Jesus)/Allah/Krishna/Ong Troi/etc. Try boycotting and suing and it will end them eternally but it might not provide instant-temporary result. Please produce a list of businesses that supports the genocide in Israel like ExxonMobil for the gasoline for Israeli's fighter jets and half of the world and country will stop doing business with them. I no longer use ExxonMobil. There are Jews who have common sense and less animalistic-colonizing-apartheid hearts who don't support Israel to suddenly being rescued out of Hitler 's Nazi gas camps and jump right into the Palestinian region and start demanding their ancient Jews' land back from 3,000 by kicking out, stealing land, and killing Palestinian and calling them animals in land they have been living for 400 years. You don't come out of the Holocaust crying to the world how evil Hitler , Germany, and the Nazis were to kill 6 millions of your people, and immediately within 1-2 years inflict kinda similar pain on another group of humans who didn't hurt you (Palestinians). Now you're resorting to bombing babies and children to respond to them killing a few of yours on land they are been loving for the last 400 years while you were in Hitler's gas chambers while praying for me very from the enemy. That's very bad, man. This is a common sense of the self-hating Jews who are fighting hard with their Palestinian friends for a free Palestine. I heard there 2-3 Israelis in Israel who got harassed and jailed for protesting for a free Palestine, too (they are the radical left wing of Israel or socialist of Israel).

There are white people with common sense and less animalistic-colonizing-apartheid hearts to learn that colonizing and apartheid were ugly, painful, and sinful past of their ancestors so stealing land, kicking people out, and killing them so helping Israel to steal land, kick out, and kill Palestinians by bombing their babies and children so Israel can reclaim their ancestors' land from 3000 years ago while the Christians can have a safe place to vacation to see where their Jesus walked on water. A common sense white person would know that if Israel is helped by the Americans to take back their ancestors' land, well folks, the children of those white people will in turn help the native-Americans to take back their ancestors' land of 1,000 years ago in America and all European colonized land. Well white people who support Israel in hurting the Palestinians to take back their ancestors' land of 3,000 years, you are solely responsible for opening this door to kill your American and Christian empire for your children and grandchildren will use the same kindness your have for Israel to help the Indians and indigenous people to take back their ancestors' land--it will be your greediness to control Bethlehem as Christians that will be he reason why your America will be broken into pieces like the Soviet Union. See what I mean about humans with more common sense folks. Where are your common sense Jesus' people. Don't blame it on the terrorists, Antifada, colored people's, communist, socialist, blame it on your greeined to start a religious war all because you think your white privilege demands the town where Jesus was born and where Jesus walked down water as your vacation spot. Retards. ✌️ 💕 Via suing. After my life as a homeless in the van, then I'll go to Saint Joseph, and then I'll relinquish my American citizenship eternally to go back to Vietnam if it's not too gay, or Cambodia to fix my people's bad karma when Vietnam tried to colonize Cambodia during the Vietnam war to end the Cambodia genocide by taking down their communist leader (commies fighting commies so karma made Chinese commie to fight with Vietnam commies recently with the China aggression I. South China sea), and even Laos. Take care folks and stick to peace by suing if you want eternal change. I'll come back to Tumblr once awhile if I hear of humans act too out of control like how I heard Antifada promotes violence on Israel businesses (Israel businesses are not the same as Jewish businesses. If you are a Jewish, place a sign on your business saying you don't support Israel like the self hating Jews who don't support Israel and fighting for a free Palestine). Hey Texas governor, the words Jew and Israeli are two different words so they are not the same as anti-Jews. Anti-semites and anti-Semitic is not the same as anti-Israeli and anti-Israel. You know English better than me, why do I need to explain this English to you?

Oh white Americans, socialism and communism will take over a bit of America because you betrayed your own democracy values with your help in Israel's taking back land from 3,000 years in war while preaching freedom and equality. Freedom for the gays and women but not for the Palestinians. Your capitalism in your democracy will also be reduced for its your overdosed capitalism that is destroying earth and making us humans as the cancer cells of the planet with your drilling for earth minerals to accommodate your business quotas. Like I said before, humans have to change a bit to accommodate living on this cancerous dying planet. By accommodating,I mean lose a bit of democracy and capitalism here but gain peace living amongst earthlings and healthier planet for earthlings to live in. I'll say again, the American empire is dead thanks to January 6th and the anti-Israel student protest, but America will still be rich like England, Germany, and France.

[healandconquer]

lessons on thought

When things end, however tiny or large it may or may not be- I tend to ruminate heavily on the impermanance of people. Perhaps because my only serious relationships have been long distance, or various other reasons I'm sure- I tend to fall back on this idea of human beings emanating the essence of airports. Airports are somewhat a purgatory to a destination and a literal waiting room of sorts. In a building that bleeds arrival and departure by pure definition- is a parade of people celebrating, grieving, meeting and leaving for the first time, second time, third, some have lost count, arriving to an end, an ending to an arrival, or so on and so forth. Sometimes when I'm really out here in my feels, if I sit around long enough. I can almost taste the bittersweet aftermath of it all, also a possible projection of my personal stuff but nonetheless my tongues already gone sour. Who knows? Because let's just be real- I don't think I'm ever going to sit in a moment like a normalass person without applying some sort of meaning into it. Call it a blessing or a curse or the terribly beautiful life of an the artist . I'm just a little simp that sits in her feelings for longer than she should sometimes. But we move. In addition, I fucking with the life of me, hate the thick smell the insides of an airplane produces. The hour after when the air meets the exact altitude where the gas molecules slowly thin out and the quality of ventilation drops. It's an indication we have now, wholeheartedly, utterly, departed any sense of ground or sealevel. Whoa. So If you're reading this and are terrified of flying, on God I apologize in for the description but talk about motherfucking instability baby, because I'm also trying to see palm trees eventually after being immersed in the Vancouver weather of doom for too long, so no one's really trying to do all that. But we do it anyways. I say that as I shrug.

The transition period of seasons changing for some can feel like an unexplainable ache that enters without consent. Nothing stops for anyone and as I get older- I recognize how important it is to prepare ourselves for both: The arrival, and the departure and if we're going to truly deep dive into this- the leaving or the being left. The packing, unpacking, lugguage, carry-on however you swing it, by nature we will always be carrying something. Tangible or figurative go figure.

To be honest I didn't really know where this excerpt was going, I've really just been heavy on the backpack of loneliness. But maybe let's just call it lessons on flying, or lessons on fear or even lessons on resiliency. Or some sort of lesson, I'm sure I'll figure it out once I'm done rambling.

Because something I learned about anything and everything is that all of it- blood to bone and skin to flesh, in every aspect is a risk. Every step or decision, option is a risk and it will never ever even for a moment not be. It is valuable it is to sit with that idea whenever we flinch or flex in any capacity. The nature of people coming and going is a flight that's never sat with me securely. Because when we're scared of the thing, where the thing might not work, or doesn't work, when head and heartspace cave in like a plummeting bullet- we need not to ask "What can I do to avoid it". But to acknowledge, WHEN it hurts and IF it hurts, will I be good? Will I be 100? Will I be okay?

It's a cliche saying for a reason- that pain is fucking inevitable and some experiences will leave you floating on your back in the bed of lessons disguised as mistakes. Crying or crashing or both. That's pain and let's face it, it's going to be out here like a bitch coming for you for no goddamn reason the more we play hide and seek.

Will I be okay even if it hurts? Will I be good in myself? Can I allow myself the audacity to break? And the audacity to come back to myself in tandem? If the answer is no to all those questions. It's probably about time we do more work in entering those terrifying uncomfortable spaces to build that strength like a muscle. Within reason- (and I asterisk "within reason" x 1000) if you're not doing something that forces you to crash into mirrors- what is the point of anything really? Grief is a uniform we must wear if we want to be truly be human.

Though I'm still out here trying to figure out what that looks like in my framework- I might be writing this with the intention of sharing but I'm also writing this to myself to serve as a reminder of all the things that I don't/shouldn't regret. Jumping headfirst into situations and swimming out of the depths of it feeling like damn fool. Like "girl you're not stupid you knew what the hell you were walking into". It's giving- "were you asking to be punched in the damn face or something?". It's giving a bouquet of narratives I didn't ask for and sure as hell refuse to claim. Call it one part naive, or one part we can paint that shit into bravery and bloom into something bigger and a little more worth it that the last. Yeah. That's what it is I think. I merely have the capacity to break and I simply dare to heal from it evocatively. What is art if it isn't that?

Let's call it that.

[severeweatheralert]

Ashes

Original short story written for a discord prompt.

The dishwasher broke today. I had Hannah over, so cooked too much, hid the take out containers in the thrash beneath produce scraps and tins of cubed tomatoes. She brought a girlfriend, all smiles, pink hair and a college T-shirt, and Hannah had that same glint in her eyes that you had in our wedding photo. It's still up on the mantle. The ashes of the fireplace beneath it are cold, now. Do you remember last Christmas? You were working the graveyard shift again, because Kyle's girlfriend had just had a baby and John had booked a flight out to see family and Mike, well, we all know not to depend on Mike. So I sat by the fireplace and told myself it wasn't Christmas. I don't think it's been lit it since.

Dinner was stilted, jagged, Hannah's girlfriend chattering over the potholes she couldn't know we stumbled into. She sat in your chair; Hannah didn't flinch when she chose it. We spoke about the weather and the news and future plans and the price of gas, nowadays, and have you seen the thing the neighbours put up in the garden? Hannah's girlfriend tried to tell me about her major and her job and I didn't hear a thing, I just saw the way Hannah looked at her, with that fondness. Your eyes in her face. I tell myself I'm too old to be jealous of young love. For all I know they'll break up next week, over a miscommunication or a perceived slight or an impending move across the country. It's those emotions that they tell me to journal about, they'll pass, they're normal. I don't want any of it to be normal. I want you to walk back in the door.

With the pasta gone and dessert politely demolished, they spilled out of the front door, into the driveway, bundled up in boiled wool coats and soft scarves. I'd have liked to close my eyes and pretend Hannah was six years old again, off to play with a friend, to regale me with tales of crocodiles and castles when she inevitably rushes back in the door again. But Hannah's at an age now where she doesn't tell her mother what kind of games she plays. What people she sees, which bars she goes to, where they end up after that. I waved them off. Their tail lights streaked red into the night, in sight one moment and round the corner the next. I lingered, a few unwise minutes, but the street stayed empty. The air still, November fast approaching. Fog reaching up from the tarmac with long, pale fingers. The neighbours across the road had a sign in their front yard, lit up in red and green, loud words in a garish font. Happy 25th anniversary!

Remember when we worried the house would be too small for us? If we wouldn't need more bedrooms, a finished basement? We could always move, you'd tell me, if we ever outgrew this stack of drywall. I'd like the house to shrink in on me, now. Stick to me like cling film. Every week I dust rooms I don't use anymore. Hannah's bedroom, frozen in time, and sometimes I sit in there and pretend she's still eighteen years old and sneaking into the house at 2AM as if we don't hear the stairs creaking. It's quiet like a church. Not even the rumbling of the dishwasher.

The dishwasher. It sat blinking tail light red and opening it unleashed a flood of water, the sickly grey of dead skin, full of chunks of god-knows-what. The half-digested dishwasher tablet stuck to a plate, and my socks were growing wet, and for a bizarre moment I was almost grateful. Something to do. So I grabbed dish towels and bright yellow lemon-scented chemicals, the mop. Stacked the remnants of the evening into the sink. The way we used to when we were still renting that apartment. Right after college. Remember how our fingers would wrinkle when we did the dishes, then? I folded half my torso into the dishwasher, pulled the filter out, rinsed off peas and see-through mushrooms, clicked it back into place. Put the racks back in, the dishes, the pots and the pans and the plates. The cutlery. Hit the button. There was the buzzing noise of water flowing in, the vague satisfaction of a job well done, but when I came back downstairs with clean socks and pants without wet patches on the knees, the light was blinking red again. I didn't think.

Your name spilled out of my mouth before I realized you were gone. I swear I almost heard you answer.

The house is all quiet, now. My hands have wrinkled. There's not even the rumbling of the dishwasher.

[the-firebird69]

I'm out here burning you and you don't have a huge pile and it keeps getting bigger and we have about half you gone they assholes are going to see it cuz when daylight comes you can see things. Never mind with lights or seeing at night and it's still there it's just dark out you see. No you're stupid Joe Watts you're a freaking imbecile my God are you dumb. And the pile is high it's like 2 mi high it's about four of them one for each conveyor and we send your bodies down and we'd be happy to tie you up and show you what it is the headway is. I put in about 2 million in the last few seconds and that's the only one burner they're making tons of electricities and the other ones slowed down and the fuel is building up and we know what you're saying so going after you there you'll be out of areas that have fuel storage like Tampa and Miami Jacksonville and a few other places that have bases and or airports, and the gas we use is usually found from somewhere else so they just sitting there with a 3/4 full tank at the plant looking at it and we said get it processed and get these trucks going on this brush and we use the brushes fuel and then run out of the plastic and wood junk, so they're moving on it and it's a lot of fuel it's going to be a ton more as a matter of fact we burning so hot it's producing 10 times the amount of electricity is thought and the whole state but actually is running off this place and we have fuel everywhere oh God I'm going to kill you baby you dumb f*** Neil adamiac....lol. I'm just kidding but what happens is hilarious and second movie for a lot of people they're copycats right garth... He admits it and says he's in the middle of something. Neil go. It says he has nothing to say and I see you always do but you say something stupid like Joel watts it's probably who you are. I'm pretty requests together for Max to put down the damage that you idiots cost especially you trying to remember Lord it's you doing it and I'm putting it down I want to know how they're doing it and see if we have a consensus I'm tired of the s*** and I'm getting clear of you and I'm starting to be able to think

Mac yeah it is a plant that burns you his honestly taking

Trump

No it isn't ml.max

What happened by the end of the day

Trump

Shut up and die

Mac

[rofax]

My baby is home from the NICU!!

[ruthlesslistener]

misc. Hollow Knight headcanons

aka just shit floating around in my brain that im not sure if i posted before or not

...

-Despite giving himself eyes, PK still navigates the world primarily through scent and sound. He could find a spot of blood on the opposite side of the White Palace with little effort, and often accidentally terrified his subjects with it. Unfortunately, this means that he is faceblind as fuck, and absolutely terrible at picking up emotions through visual cues. He can do it if he tries, it's just that it almost never occurs to him to do so. He will also never admit to how dependent he is on sniffing people to know who they are (and how much Hollow having no identifying scent when they were a baby bothered him)

-This characteristic lead to Hornet ALSO being extraordinarily faceblind/bad at reading expressions, much to her chagrin. She's way more visual than he is (I base her off a jumping spider, personally), but her way of identifying people is more through a jumbled mix of general body shape, scent, sound, and behavior rather than their faces alone. This works fine in cases where everyone is wearing masks anyways, but without...yeah. No dice

-The White Palace was a physical structure, but given the fact that two powerful gods lived within it, it was prone to shifting corridors, confusing pathways, and a general sense of being 'alive' despite being constructed of metal and marble. If neither of the royals wanted to be found, the Palace would not yield their secrets, and those who dwelled within its walls often mentioned areas within the Palace where time felt as if it had slowed to a stop and/or lingered in a bygone era, as if the structure itself was reminiscing on old memories

-Herrah can't bake for the life of her, but she makes some absolutely smokin' spider barbecue

-Lurien DOES have the gift of foresight (in Hallownest, under PK's rule, you have a 100% chance of having a free mind, a 55% chance of having soul magic, and a roughly 5% chance of having some sort of ability related to sight), but even if he's capable of inducing it/reading it better than other mortal bugs, it's still terrible. Most of the time it manifests simply as brief visions of what can possibly happen and can be misinterpreted as intrusive thoughts, which is very stressful and tiresome for him. Attempting to glean more from the visions also gives him a hellishly bad migraine, so he usually just uses this gift in the proximity of PK (who can offer easy soul healing/verify if its a vision or just anxiety). Despite these downsides, his gift of foresight DOES come in handy for PK, because PK's foresight is so broad that narrowing it all down to important, dramatic events can be a little difficult if they're not on a world-ending level

-Cuts of raw vengefly or aspid meat with fresh eggs gutted from the corpse is a popular dish in Hallownest, typically served right after the prey item has been cleaned. It was originally scorned as a dish for savages like the mantids/poor farmers, but quickly became popular as a sushi-like street food as Hallownest grew

-Farming was done primarily by the banks of the Blue Lake, focusing on algae collection, lakeweed cultivation, and wild grain farming (similar to rice). This was really only possible with WL's blessings, and did not involve animal domestication. The closest that the beetle tribe came to domesticating prey was simply leaving large colonies aside with food items as gurenteed hunting-caverns, which developed entirely separately from the hunters of Deepnest's method of feeding carver hatchers the viscera from their kills as a means of producing more dirtcarvers

-The mushrooms of the fungal wastes (and the Shrumal tribe by extension) are entirely edible if prepared right, and make for some excellent synthetic meat in times of lean hunting. Only the mantises know how to do this, however, and their staunch refusal to share their culinary secrets have lead to many sulfurous gas poisonings by overzealous cooks and explorers who tried to replicate their recipes

-Wyrms are technically omnivorous, but derive the most nutrients/soul from fresh, raw meat, which makes them apex predators simply by virtue of how much they need to eat. There is only one plant in the world that can poison them, which grows far from Hallownest and is known only as 'the killer' in wyrmtongue

-Spiders, on the other hands, are obligate carnivores, so pretty much all of their cuisine has a centerpiece of meat with shrooms or roots added onto the side for extra flavor. Fruit is hard to come by in spider meals, but is highly sought after despite many of them being allergic to it. Leaves are pretty much nonexistant

-Hornet inherited the ability to be allergic to some fruits from her mom, which she remained unaware of for several years. She thinks it's bullshit.

[itsnothesameasitwas]

greek mythology aus you say 👀 ana my dear pls spare some links 👉🏼👈🏼

yes… I said that my dearest friend 😌; sadly there are only a few ones but here the links of those i have already read 

✰ To Hell and Back by poshboyfriends | 4k | NR | MDC (happy ending)

an au based off of the story of orpheus and eurydice, the one with the musical lute player who loses his lover and plays his way through the underworld to bring her back.

✰ The Five God Cure for One Anxious Heartbeat by homosociallyyours | 11k | GA

When OT5 decides to sneak into a music festival to have a bit of fun and maybe make a few people fall in love, they expect things to go relatively smoothly. Fate has other plans.

Or: Niall, Louis, Harry, Liam, and Zayn are just five lesser Greek gods out there trying to have a good time, and they're feeling so attacked right now.

✰ not even the gods above (can separate the two of us) by feelslikehxme | 17k | TUA

“Mhm. Soulmates, the two of them.” Harry lays back on the grass, shielding the sun from his eyes with his arm. The last thing Louis needed was the sun shining down on Harry, not that he was staring or anything. “Do you have a soulmate?” He asks, curious to how matchmaking worked. It must be nice, watching people around you fall in love.

“I do. Somewhere. Everyone has one.”

or the one where Louis finds out he's the son of Athena, Harry keeps matching him with the wrong people, Niall accidentally breaks into Louis's flat and Liam doesn't know when to stop asking out Zayn.

✰ Winter Pines and Ocean Eyes by binarysunsets | 14k | TUA

Harry is awoken by the sudden weight of his dog across his chest, and he yawns and stretches his arms above his head, relishing the crack of his back the gesture produces and sending Fen tumbling down onto the bed. There’s a niggling sensation that he has something important to do that day, but in his still-sleepy state he’s struggling to recall what it is. When it hits him, he freezes mid-rub of his eyes, and his hand slowly falls to the furs strewn across the bed. His fingers tangle into their soft texture and he bites his lip.

Right. It’s that day.The day he’s meant to travel south.

Or, the arranged marriage au between young viking Harry, son of his clan's chief, and a certain caesar by the name of Louis, heir to the empire.

✰ A Dangerous Night (To Fall In Love) by FallingLikeThis | 7k | E

“Hey, Harry!” Louis greets, walking up to Harry with a sunny smile.

Any other time, that smile would lift Harry’s heart even as it made it race. He could let himself get lost in it, would probably catch himself more than once hoping, wishing for it to be more than a smile aimed at a friend. He’d relish the moments he could forget that that’s all he is to Louis. Any other time, he’d be selfish and let himself entertain those thoughts. But this is not like any other time. Tonight is the beginning of the end.

or Harry has visions and sees the destruction of Pompeii before it happens. Now, how does he tell his best friend what's to come?

✰ this is heaven in hiding by hemakeshimstrongx | 48k | GA

Harry is destined to sit on a throne. Louis makes him want to throw it all away. Or: Harry embarks on the greatest journey of his life. Louis is there every step of the way.

✰ keep your eyes upon the skies by hypocorism | 12k | TUA

Disney - Hercules AU

✰  the tragic story of a muse and a war god  orphan_account | 30k | E

Harry is a reckless god of war, Louis is a muse unspoken of, and their love might not be written in the stars.

PERCY JACKSON AUS

✰ in a sea of mist by tomlinvelvet | 126k | E

A Greek Mythology/Camp Half-Blood AU where Harry is lost, the road to peace is a wretched one, and somehow, through a mist of confusion and regrets, Louis seems to be the only thing that makes sense and everything Harry needs.

✰ How Far We've Come by hrrytomlinson | 32k | TUA

“This is Harry Styles,” Chiron offers.

He’s beautiful. His eyes are a stunning green, the color of new foliage. The new kid’s limbs are long and lanky—he looks extremely uncomfortable and uncoordinated. Louis internally smirks to himself, guessing the kid probably won’t be too skilled with a sword, or a bow, or anything sharp, most likely. His hair falls to his shoulders in sets of loose, brown curls. The color is rich and luscious, resembling soil so much that it looks like flowers could sprout from his hairline at any moment. But Louis’ eyes are stuck on his soft looking lips, pink as flower petals and slightly parted as his eyes scan the horizon of the camp.

“Welcome to Camp Half-Blood, Harry.”

✰ Like A Drum (Baby, Don't Stop Beating) by exitthequitters | 9k | NR

They walk through the camp together hand in hand, past the big house where Chiron waves happily at them, past the strawberry field where Louis first kissed Harry, past the lake where Louis first met Zayn and Liam, past the dinning hall where Niall sat down next to Louis before he knew he shouldn’t, and to Harry’s cabin.

Or, they're all sons of Greek gods at a summer camp for demigods.

HADES/PERSEPHONE AUS

✰ Breakable Heaven by amomentoflove | 44k | E 

“What do you think?” Louis gets captured by Harry’s green eyes, unable to look away or even take a breath.

“I think you’re the most magnificent creature I’ve ever met.”

“You must not have met many creatures then.”

Harry’s eyes glance downward to Louis’ lips and his tongue darts out to wet his own. 

“None like you.”

✰ My Heart Lies With You by asphodelknox | 31k | M

“What did you hit me on the head for?” Louis said. He tried to frown, but it hurt too much. Plus it was hard to frown at someone taking care of him so tenderly. “I didn’t hit you on the head,” Harry said calmly, moving from Louis’s forehead to remove some bandages on his arm. “My friend Niall, the God of Death, hit you on the head.” “Well, why did Niall hit me on the head?” Louis asked. He noticed his lips hurt too, and felt a small gash on them. His arms were covered in scratches and cuts, and as he moved to sit up, he winced at a pain coming from his waist. “What the hell happened to me?” Harry sighed. “Niall… can get a bit… excited.” “Was he excited about hitting me on the head?” “No!” Harry said. “Niall just got away with himself.” “Does he do that often? Get away with himself, I mean?” Louis asked wryly. “Only when an idea gets stuck in his head that he can’t get out.”

For being the God of Death, Niall has a habit of acting on ideas without thinking them through. It's probably why Harry ends up with an unexpected but entirely welcome visitor in his bed the day after a Mount Olympus party.

✰ daisies & dying by xaz | 14k | E

Harry’s eyes stayed cemented to the marble tiles, engraining the memory of his shiny loafers and their contrast to the flooring as he heard the footsteps draw near. An icy hand yanked his chin violently, forcing his face forward.Hand still clutching Harry’s chin, the man gave a toothy smirk, “I’ve waited centuries to have you as my bride. I won’t settle for less than your full attention, my love.”

OR Hades!Louis and Persephone!Harry but make it pirates

✰ you flower, you feast by stylinsoncity | 18k | M

He's King of the Underworld, but don't assume Louis has it all. He could stand for some excitement in his monotonous, eternal life and maybe, even.....a soulmate.

(Despite not having a soul.)

And along came "Harry".

✰ For every reason why, you were my because. by hisfirstrealcrush | 3k | GA

He was his greatest form of love.

an au in which harry meets louis in his forest and nothing seems to matter but his ocean-like eyes and his warm embrace.

------

hope you like them!! <33

[gaiuswrites]

Thread the Needle | Yoga!Din

Pairing: Modern!Din x Yoga Instructor!Reader

Rating: Explicit (minors, goodbye)

Word count: 3.5k~

Warnings/tags: Yoga!Din (yes, he gets his own warning), hurt/comfort, language, smut, good ol' fashioned cunnilingus, piv

Notes: ✨ HI FRIENDS ✨ Yoga!Din rides again. This idea has been stewing (pun intended, you'll get it later) in my dumb brain for a while now and I've finally decided to write it. Technically, this takes place a little farther into the future (perhaps when the pair is more of an item, and less of a fuckbuddy fling, but thorough plot? We don’t know her). Anyways, enjoy! Cheers x

He doesn’t mean to be dramatic, but it’s the most agonizing sixty minutes of his goddamn life.

He’s seated on his mat, legs folded into a fucking pretzel—lotus pose, a calm voice inside his head corrects—and he’s steaming.

She isn’t here.

He is—Din, for all his faults, showed the fuck up to class but she didn’t, and in her place there’s some smelly old bat, this woman’s wrinkly ass – sits bones – plunked down at the front of the studio— occupying her spot, where she should be.

His eyes stalk the movements of this other woman as she putters around the studio—the godawful stench of something earthy wafting behind her— and it looks wrong. It feels wrong; like a violation somehow—of the space.

Of their space.

“The light in me recognizes the light in you,” they all utter in unison like a fucking hippie cult, and he books it out of there, swiping his mat up with an aggressive slap and rolling it under his arm.

“Hey,” he calls out, pacing towards the front desk. The receptionist— Riley? Kylie? Din can never remember—glances up from her phone, bright eyed.

Poor thing.

“Who the fuck is that?” He jabs his thumb over his shoulder towards the studio, the gaggle of ladies trickling out of it already gossiping and clucking away. Din doesn’t mean to sound accusatory; he doesn’t mean to be this intense. It’s not this girl’s fault, he knows that— but she’s in proximity and she’s shit out of luck.

“M’sorry?” she sputters, blinking up at him.

Breathe, that same voice coos—he can feel the tickle of it behind his ear.

“Our usual Wednesday instructor,” Din begins again, clipped. “Where is she?”

“Oh," she shrugs, "she called in sick.”

With a furrowed brow he pitches forward, craning over the desk. “Is she okay?”

The girl— Miley? —all but flinches back from him, a quizzical expression wormed onto her. “Uhm, yeah she has the flu—nasty one, too, but she’ll probably be back by ne-"

Din doesn’t linger long enough for her to finish. He’s wheeled around, striding from the building, the tinny chime of the bell ringing out as the door creaks closed behind him. The women exchange waggling glances in his wake, tittering in mouthwatering delight—more juicy fodder for their post-yoga soiree.

///

He doesn’t remember driving there. He made a quick stop to the grocery store— their grocery store, now— to pick up what he needed and before he knows it, he’s at her front door, bringing his fist down upon it in hard raps.

He hears movement—can sense it there, can practically imagine it: her lithe body tip toeing over— no, she’s got the flu, maybe it’s more of a shuffle—and peeking through the peephole. There’s a weighty pause and then—

The slow, dubious clicks of unbolting locks, the turning of a handle, the yawn of the wood as it opens.

Her voice is made small with disbelief and exhaustion. “Din?”

“Can I come in?”

She cracks the door ajar, standing in the frame of it now, a thick blue comforter slung over an arm, and she can’t quite mask the stupefied look etched onto her face.

He’s never done this. She’s never done this. He’s been to her place twice—three times, if he counts them fucking in the car in her driveway—and he’s certainly never showed up unannounced.

“Uhm, I-”

“Great.”

Din pushes past her, plastic bag swinging heavy at his side.

“W-What?”

She’s left gaping, mouth and eyes opened incredulously, ogling the way he struts through her entryway, before finally having the wherewithal to close the door. “Hey, what are you-”

“You need to keep your fluids up,” he says roughly—as if it’s obvious—making a beeline towards the kitchen.

She follows after him, bunching the throw snuggly around her shoulders. “Din,” she utters feebly, “I really don’t think you should be here right now.”

He doesn’t respond.

“Please, I don’t wanna get you sick."

He thunks the bag onto the granite countertop, producing two cans.

She doesn’t know why she bothers, it’s not like he’s listening to her anyways. If she’s learned anything about Din Djarin, it’s that he’s nothing if not stubborn—impossibly immovable. He’s tossed his jacket off, slinging it over the island, a determined glint in his eye as he prowls around the kitchen, opening cupboards at random.

“Seriously, I don’t want you catching this. I feel like shit… Oh my god, I look like shit,” she groans in realization, burying her head in the blanket, hermitting herself away.

“You look fine,” he replies gruffly, delving through the drawers in search of a can opener.

Frumpy sweats and a baggy t-shirt with some faded logo on it that’s absolutely hanging off her. Hair tossed up and sloppy, coiled into a loose bun, errant pieces rebelling every which way. A little pale, maybe. Tired eyes. Messy.

Beautiful, he meant. She looks fucking irritatingly beautiful.

Din continues to rifle through her cabinets and he exhales in frustration, “Jesus, where do you keep your pans?”

“Bottom right,” she points begrudgingly.

He grunts, finding one big enough and sets it down on the stove.

She can’t stop fussing over him; making comments here and there, asking if he wants anything, needs anything—water, kombucha, tea, a beer, a snack—if she can help in any way possible—and it nearly sends him over the damn edge.

“Would you quit it and just let me take care of you?” he grits out, and her mouth clamps shut with a pop.

She’s quiet after that, picking anxiously at a thread poking out from the blanket she wears like a shawl—observing as he empties the cans into a large pot, lights the gas stove, and brings it to a boil. She gives him space, stationing herself by the kitchen table, leaning a hip into one of the four chairs there.

Honestly she does try to keep to herself; she tries to accept what Din is doing for her, but she can’t help it. As soon as she sees him ladling the soup into one of her favorite cups—it looks so tiny in his grasp— and bringing it over to her like a goddamn patron saint, she breaks.

“You really didn’t have to do all this.”

“Yeah well, you need to get healthy so you can take your class back from that fucking fossil.”

“Din,” she admonishes.

“Baby,” he gives her a pointed look and she gnaws at the inside of her cheek, a blush blotting her clavicle. “She fucking smells. Now sit your pretty little ass down-”

“But-”

He presses a hand to her shoulder, forcing her to sink into the chair with a soft oomf, and places the bowl in front of her. “Don’t fight me on this. Drink the fucking soup.”

She huffs, glancing down, and then back up to Din.

“Progresso?”

He grunts.

She blows at the steam rising from the hot liquid. “Chicken noodle?”

Din crosses his arms over his chest and plops back onto the island.

“Classic,” she praises, mumbling into it.

She loathes to admit it, but the first sip tastes like heaven. It soothes her raw vocal chords, worn hoarse from nights of coughing, and seeps deep to warm her cold bones.

Din remains mute through the whole affair, staring owlishly as she spoons it down, slurp for slurp, until he’s satisfied she’s finished. When she does, she arches an eye brow at him— mouth pressing into a thin line. Happy now?

He tips his head and pads over to her.

“Wait, no you don’t have to-" He swipes it from the table, the spoon clanking against the ceramic rim. Din moves to the sink and she groans.

“Just leave it,” she whines, but he ignores her—stubborn stubborn stubborn— he’s already got soap on the sponge and the water running. Again, she huffs and rises to her feet, hem of the blanket trailing behind her.

“Thank you,” she gives in a hushed tone.

It’s so strange— being taken care of in her own place. She doesn’t know what to do, where to go. It’s ill-fitting, foreign, and she can only hover there, buzzing like a pesky insect beside him.

He’s wiping the dish off with a towel when he chances a peek back at her, practically stuttering when he does.

She’s swaddled in that fucking quilt, awkward and impossibly sincere and precious just standing there—watching him play house in her home. A brush of color has sprung up on her cheeks—more light in her eyes, too—and Din, try as he might, can’t pry himself off her.

She’s sick—she’s sick and gorgeous and he wants her. He wants her to feel better, he wants to fuck her, he wants to hold her. He’s overcome with it.

He swallows.

Fuck.

He abandons the bowl and rag in the drying rack and turns to her, her eyes widening, glassy and bloodshot, as he tucks a stray hair behind her ear— knuckles trailing down her jaw.

“Din…”

Her tongue skips over her lip—mocking him—damp and full and begging to be taken by his own, and her breath catches as he drags a thumb across that plump flesh, enrapt with the way her mouth parts so effortlessly for him—so fucking supple. Din’s gut twists and his blood thickens in his veins—the air between them rippling with something velvet and carnal.

He takes a step towards her. Her throat bobs.

“You’re gonna get sick,” she pouts in protest, rutting her palm into his chest, but there’s no fight in it. The blanket slips from her shoulders, hitting the ground with a dulled splat.

“Din,” she tries again, “I don’t want you to-"

He leans in, cradling her cheek, murmurs fanning over her face. “I’ll risk it.”

And he dissolves the gap, sealing her mouth with his in a tender kiss. It’s almost chaste at first, how they rove tentative and unhurried over each other—an innocent exploration— all until his tongue darts out to touch along her lip and she whimpers into him, letting Din dip into the dark cavern of her mouth. She tastes warm, like comfort and broth and rainy days, and he sighs as she brings her hands up to weave into his hair.

Neither of them fight for dominance like this—their tangle of soft sounds is perfectly balanced— Hatha; effort and ease, breath and body. He pushes, she relents—she surges forward, Din bends. They dance like this, slow as tar, until she catches his bottom lip between her teeth and tugs.

It’s like a switch has been flipped.

He seethes, inhaling sharply as his hands slide possessive and greedy down her body, grabbing fistfuls of her waist hidden under all the oversized layers, and crushing her into him. She’s making these airy noises, panting and urgent and fuck if it doesn’t tear him apart—viscerally, from the inside out.

Din walks her backwards, step for choreographed step, foxtrotting until she bumps into the kitchen table. He breaks away from the kiss to reach past her, frantically pushing away the unopened mail and receipts and loose change, the jingling of her keys cutting through the wanton quiet as they clang onto the tile, and he hitches her up to sit there with one fell swoop.

“I wanna make you feel good,” he husks, inbetween the bites he’s searing onto her neck. “Please, just lie back for me sweet girl.”

“Din, I-“

He silences her with a nibble to her ear, coaxing a breathy yelp out of her. “Lie back, baby.”

It doesn’t take much convincing after that. She acquiesces, Din’s wide palm splayed on her breasts, guiding her to recline back onto the table. He makes speedy work of her sweatpants, yanking them down her legs and flinging them off to land in a crumpled heap.

He sinks to his knees, pulling the cradle of her hips to the edge of the table before parting her thighs. The gloss of her cunt, wet and glistening for him, makes his hardening cock jump up to his stomach, and she twitches as soon as the cool air brushes against her.

“Fuck me,” he groans, whispering into her heat like he’s pained, like the sight alone is torturing him—like it’s slowly but surely ending his fucking life.

Din breathes her in with a sigh, that summer fruit tang— the scent of her aching and pulsing for him— and he starts tracing up and down her inner thigh with his tongue and teeth, nibbling along the path there until he’s at her apex. He’s dimpling her pliant skin with his calloused fingertips, strong hands wrapped under her knees, keeping them splayed as he kisses along her outer lips, nipping at her hip bones, teasing everywhere but where she needs him most.

It’s devastating—debilitating—and she’s shaking now. Every muscle, every fiber of her, convulsing with anticipation—with the promise of being dissected, of being torn apart and stitched back together again. She’s already got a hand covering her mouth, muffling the sobs he’s drawing out as he toys with her— playing her like a fucking fiddle.

Din’s eyes flit up to find her like this, brow pinched tight and cries stifled, and he chuckles— he fucking laughs— heady and ambered into her legs.

“You doin’ alright up there, teach?”

“F-Fuck you,” she hisses out with a weak whine.

God, she’s fucking perfect.

“You need something, sweetheart?” He smirks— she can feel the shape of it against her thigh, the way his stubble grates along her skin— and she can only mewl, speechless. Pathetic.

“Yeah, I know what you need...” Din hums, before finally - finally - taking mercy on her.

With one single drag, he tongues a broad stripe up her slit.

The noise that rips through her sounds like she’s being strangled— it gets caught in her throat like a trapped animal in hot car— a desperate little thing clawing to get out. Her nails scrape against the wood, leaving nicks in the chestnut lacquer. Immediately, she cants up to him, searching for his mouth hungrily and Din all but obliges as he clasps onto her hips, keeping her still while he fucks into her.

He’s carving her out— hollowing her; burying himself in her folds, nosing against her mound. He laps her up in kitten licks, delving the muscle of his tongue in and out of her, leaving her weak and gasping. Din laves up and down and side to side in clever little swivels, before he reaches her clit and sucks.

Her fist shoots from her mouth to grip his wavy locks, grinding shamelessly against his face.

“O-Oh my god, Din - fuck - Din. Oh fuck oh fuck-"

He loves it when she gets like this; that serene and tranquil exterior— the one that can quell a studio full of strangers into a haze with only the sound of her voice, that voice he can’t get out of his fucking head, the one that got them into this mess in the first place— shattered, mutilated beyond recognition and all she has left is her need— her wild, unbridled need.

Her need for his tongue, for his fingers, for his dick. Din Din Din, she only wants him— only needs him.

He slips a finger into her, easing past his knuckle in one movement, and her chin tips back, crown of her head digging into the table, hair mussing against the wood grain.

Her nipples have pebbled through her shirt, her pretty feet arched and contorted, and she’s heaving - writhing - like this above him.

He adds another digit, pumping in and out, the squelch of her pussy sounding lewd and obscene and fucking divine as he grazes her clit with his teeth, pulling at it.

“Fuck-” she rasps, legs quivering on their own accord— instinct and reflex demanding she tremble— and Din moans into her sex, feeling her walls constrict around his fingers, and he curls them up as he thrusts, hitting against that spongy patch insider her that makes her vision go white.

“Din, I- I’m—"

She can’t manage the rest. Instead of words, she cries— high pitched and wounded, as if she’s barely making it out alive. Her legs clamp around his head, bracing him there, and she cums— she loses it for him— her slick coating his nose, his lips, the hair speckled around his chin. She soaks him, and it leaves Din rocking his hips and humping the fucking air— as randy as a teenager, ravenous for anything, even if it’s just the friction of his pants drawn tight around his erection.

He takes her through her orgasm, lapping at her softly until she’s warbling—a slew of nonsense babbling out of her— and he leans back on his heels to admire his work, eyes singeing into her cunt made puffy and swollen pink, fluttering at the loss of him.

He plants one final kiss to the cleft of her pussy before shifting his weight back up to his feet, slotting himself between her.

Fuck, he isn’t as young as he once was— he feels his age in the ache of his knees. All the yoga in the world can’t erase his scar tissue, can’t undo time.

But he thinks maybe—if he’ll let himself—that she makes him feel younger. Lighter.

He squeezes her calf and begins to move away when she whimpers, bolting upright to palm greedily at the bulge pressing painfully against its constraint, her fingers fidgeting with his zipper and Din— in an uncharacteristic show of strength and self restraint— gingerly clasps onto her wrists, holding her still.

“Hey,” he murmurs, and her eyes snap up to meet his. “This isn’t about me.”

“No, but-”

“You don’t- we don’t have to-"

“Din,” she pants, grabbing onto the waist of his jeans and pressing her center into him, smearing herself along the denim there, her pearled clit catching on the rough fabric. Her eyes have gone jet-black with desire, obsidian lust burning through them. “Din, fuck me. Please fuck me, plea-“

Shit.

He’s never moved so fast in his goddamn life, unbuttoning his jeans in a flash, untucking himself— throbbing, leaking already—from his briefs. He gives himself two rough jerks, his blunt tip prodding at her entrance, before pushing into her with a gasp.

Fuck, she’s warm— not just warm, she’s hot. She’s molten, and she’s milking him for all he’s worth, gripping around him, fucking strangling his cock with how wet she is—how tight. God, she’s a fucking dream—a nightmare too, undoubtedly.

“Fuck baby - shit - you’re—hnng-” He groans—can’t even form a real sentence—all of his blood has rushed out of his brain and straight to the juncture where their bodies meet.

His eyes flutter deliriously at the feeling of her stretching around him like this and for a passing, fleeting moment, he considers the fact that he should be gentle with her— that she’s not feeling well, that she’s probably sore with body chills and God knows what else and that she should rest—

But once her knees are split apart and legs spread long— so fucking flexible, fuck she’s killing him— his well-met concern all but abandons him.

He fucks her hard— so hard she falls back, that unforgiving surface bruising into her spine. He probably hurts her a little—just how he likes, just how she loves.

Din plows into her, digging into the meat of her thighs, slamming into the pussy that takes him so fucking well, the pussy that feels like it’s made for him— like she’s made for him— and the table shudders with each roll of his hips, scraping it inch by inch along the tile, knocking against the chairs with loud, clattering bangs.

“W-Wait— wait wait wait-“ she pants, hands scampering up to his arms.

He slows his thrusts until he’s stilled inside of her, worry creasing around his eyes. “W-What? Are you okay—what’s wrong?”

“T-The table," she whines, “it’s from fucking IKEA. I built this piece of shit myself— there’s no way it’s gonna stay standing with you fucking me into it like this.”

Din barks out a laugh, throaty and genuine, and for the second time today, he comes to the conclusion that she’s perfect.

“Bedroom?” she nods down the hall.

“Bedroom,” he growls before scooping her up, lifting her off the table, her legs scrambling to hook around his waist, forearms bracing around the broad plain of his shoulders.

“Din!” she squeals in surprise, “I can walk, you know.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, giving her a bounce and a light slap to her ass. “You’re sick.”

///

“Onions,” he mutters, leaden eyelids nestled shut.

He didn’t mean to stay over this long—well past sunset, later than he’s ever allowed himself—but how could he be expected to leave? After she came on his cock - twice - and he had filled her up until his cum was gushing from her, extricating himself out of this exact position of woven, spent limbs and sweat stained sheets sounded criminal.

“What?” She cranes groggily up at him.

“The sub. She smelled like onions. And patchouli.”

“Hey,” she tuts in mock offense, “Brenda is nice.”

“Good for Brenda. Doesn’t make her smell any better.”

“God, you are so rude,” she laughs, shaking her head as she nuzzles into Din’s side, lips curving into a sleepy grin against his chest—right above the aching thump of his caged heart.

Taglist (I apologize if I missed anyone!):

@radiowallet @pedros-mustache @djarinsbeskar @chasingdreamers @greatcircle79 @iamskyereads @imnotinlove-thisisnotyoursong @fan-of-encouragement @read-and-rec @helmet-comes-off @keeper0fthestars @hellabaybee @ourmotherofyearning @krissology