#Drunken Words

[itwasallamess]

Let’s get wine drunk together. I miss the way we drunkenly say things to one another with our eyes. So many unspoken conversations, completely understood. x

[wordssomanywords]

The bar, sanctity

The bartender, my confessional.

Childhood friend.

Holder of secrets.

He probably knows more about me than anyone.

Even myself.

Does he remember my drunken words?

Or does he just choose to pretend.

Why is it easier to confess to him,

A dying man,

Than it is to confess to anyone.

Anything.

Why is it that I feel safer at that bar

Than at any church with any priest?

[crsssie]

Dreaming of College Roommate!Leon

college roommate!Leon who dorms with you because the two of you happened to have selected to be okay with co-ed dorming and the university wanted to test it out

college roommate!Leon who tries his best to stick to his own, polite nods sent in your direction as you send the same back, nodding back when you give him a little wave when you get home

college roommate!Leon who catches a glance at the upper skin of your thighs when you tiptoe to reach for something, flushing red immediately as he snaps his neck to turn the other way, trying his best to stay respectful of the shared space. He'd hate to ruin it for you

college roommate!Leon who is forced to pick you up at the strike of two because you got hammered at a party — stealing you away from whatever fratboy was about to get his hands on you

college roommate!Leon who would rather die than admit that the warmth of your skin and breath was enough to have him lose his mind and flush red

college roommate!Leon who holds both of your wrists with a hand as you reach to pull him in, certain that you should be sober to do anything with him even if you were muttering about how much you needed him

college roommate!Leon who receives his thanks from you rather... kindly.

"Can't believe you're letting me... do this." Leon whispers, hand spreading over the small of your back as he pushes into you, breath caught in his throat as he sinks into you, heart racing in his ears as you exhale with him.

"Mm... least I can do to thank... you." You mumble, voice coming out muffled from the pillow you've decided to cling to. "As long as you don't tell the RA."

"Oh, of course not." He mutters, eyes rolling to the back of his head as you flutter around him. "You just feel... so... good."

"Good." You mumble, lips parted as you shift slightly to get used to the feeling of him inside of you. You wonder if he knows just how full he's making you feel, the sensation resting at the tip of your throat as you catch your breath. "Go ahead. Go ahead."

Leon starts slow, hand on your back forcing you to arch further, string of curses slipping past your lips as he eventually drunkens himself with the feeling of you around him, hips snapping to meet yours quicker and quicker, desperation reeking off of him as his fingers slide down the skin of your pelvis to brush at your clit. Theat earns him a reaction from you as you tighten around him, gasping as your body shakes from the intensity of the orgasm, Leon following shortly after.

"You think they'll separate rooms for us now?" You grin at him coyly as he forces his eyes away from your back to meet yours.

"God, I hope not." He mumbles. "Even then, they couldn't stop me if I tried."

"Wow, Leon. You're not even going to ask me out? How cruel of you."

He lifts you by the hips, turning you around as you yelp, pressing his forehead to yours as his brows furrow.

"I was getting there."

"They're going to ban co-ed dorming because of us, just watch."

"Then it can be our little secret." He mumbles, lips pressed to yours as you lean back to get comfortable. "Would you like to get breakfast?"

"At the dining hall?" You raise a brow, lip quirked up in amusement.

"Unless you'd like something better?"

You pretend to think, running your hand through his hair, giving it a gentle tug as he tilts his head to blink at you.

"Please?"

"Since you asked so nicely." You hum. "Sweet boy."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm." You pinch his cheek. "Mine?"

"Mine." He mumbles back, sighing as he rests his head in your collar.

His.

[lionetta]

meadow soprano and shiv roy parallels

[ingravinoveritas]

"The boy did good" is so possessive yet so incredibly fond--that perfect mix of heartfelt and horny that I first noticed in 2019 and that is so characteristically, thoroughly Michael. That combination of something classic and timeless--because love never goes out of style--with something modern and different. Michael showing his heart without a moment's hesitation.

And then just to make sure we didn't overlook the horny part, he threw in "And he looks good in a kilt as well, doesn't he?" as a chaser. As if to say, "Oh, you thought this was me complimenting my buddy on a job well done? No, this is me saying that my boyfriend looked fucking hot in a kilt." Just to remind us of exactly who Michael Sheen is (like we could ever forget).

Well done, Michael. Well done indeed...

[momentomori24]

Something something about Polle representing Anya in Jimmy's subconsciousness. Something about the Polle statue starting off fine until Jimmy destroys it, causing its voice to distort over time. Something about the day that Anya commits suicide is when its voice dies off for good. Something.

[romionarry]

i literally dont know what to say . im so deeply fascinated with whatever this curse does to ron…. the fact that it has him jumping to show harry things, no one else, just harry, has him cling to harry, no one else, has him adress harry to share his thoughts, no one else, has him say harry’s name over and over again, no one else’s… even in the presence of enough other ppl to hang onto and show things to and share thoughts with… literally all of the others were there too…. hee is obsessed with that harry kid

[shares-a-vest]

'Lucky Guy'

@steddiemicrofic 🍰🍰🍰 < me sending you virtual slices of cake for the glorious offerings this month's prompt has brought so far.

August Prompt: 'Cake' Word Count: 311 | Rating: T | cw: Steve is really drunk but just being an annoying chatty-cathy.

“Eds... E-Eddie...” Steve croaks, speaking directly into his ear as he lays tucked in behind him, “I’s juz goin’ downstairsss for someofmybirthdaycake!”

He moves to swing his leg over but Eddie swats at him, groaning in frustration. How is this slurring chatterbox still conscious!

“Think maybe you should sleep off some of that beer before you try for the staircase Birthday Boy,” he whispers, patting his leg, “Had enough trouble getting you up here.”

“Wait!” Steve says clear as day, clamping a hand on Eddie’s own. He can feel Steve lift his head, “Why aren’t you spooning me?”

With great effort – and hindered by Drunk Steve’s jock strength –Eddie turns over and is met with a set of very sad puppy-dog eyes glistening back at him.

He cocks his head to the person snoring like a human garbage disposal behind his boyfriend, “Robin is spooning you, sweetheart.”

She’s holding onto Steve so tight, they look like one big pile of clothes and brown hair.

Steve’s eyes shine bright as he nods to himself, grinning, “Robin totally needs some cake!”

He barely lifts his head before his eyes roll back into his alcohol-filled skull.

“Wha-t’s hap-ing?” Robin rasps, stirring from their communal pillow.

At the sound of her voice, Steve’s lip quivers.

“Rob,” he sniffles, helicopter-kicking at the sheets until he is on his back and almost squishing his platonic soulmate into the mattress in the process.

“I’m just so lucky, Robs…” he hiccups as Robin shuffles around, teetering dangerously close to the edge of the bed.

Miraculously, Steve forces an arm around her – and squeezes Eddie impossibly tight against him too.

“Such a lucky guy,” he continues, humming contentedly as he slowly moves his head from side to side with every word, “I’ve got my boyfriend! And my best friend... And cake! Allonmybir-th... day...”

He fades into a snore.

[cyclogenesis]

✨ per @some-stars request, the F. Scott Fitzgerald part of my review of Ernest Hemingway's A Moveable Feast:

After chapter upon chapter of events ranging from "I went to the cafe to write and an annoying guy talked to me" to "I was hanging out with this famous writer and he was such a dweeb lol, believe me I'm a normal guy myself and very qualified to judge everyone I meet" to "I went to the cafe to write but then got drunk. Crazy that I'm so broke" we eventually got to my favorite part, where Hemingway meets F. Scott Fitzgerald and gets so mad at himself for having the gayest possible feelings a man can have that he just has to be a passive-aggressive bitch about it for several thousand words.

TO BE FAIR: F. Scott Fitzgerald is a manic pixie nightmare girl. He's Kylie Jenner writing the Great American Novel. He's my personal series of exciting-but-horrible Aries situationships/girlfriends that I chased throughout my teens and twenties. He and Zelda saw you from across the speakeasy and they like your vibe. Do you want to have the most bad idea threesome imaginable? It involves a magnum of champagne and screaming at each other until you pass out. That's how they fuck. Yes he just asked if you had sex with your wife before marriage. That was his pick-up line. He is a lunatic. He is Zelda's disagreeable wife. You wish that Scott was your OWN disagreeable wife. He has undiagnosed ADHD and a drinking problem (related?). You are never bored with him. God, you wish sometimes you could just be bored with him. He's asking you to rate his dick. You, Ernest Hemingway, take a look at his dick and give him a fair rating (7.5?). You take him to the Louvre to look at statues of naked Greek and Roman twinks and you're literally like, "maybe you're a grower, not a show-er." You tell him his wife sucks. Ernest you old queen. You butch little TEASE.

F! Scott! Fitzgerald! Sorry, this is all because I'm jealous that Hemingway got to hate himself while flirting with My Most Horrible Boy. And it's here that the book comes most ALIVE, that it becomes ABOUT something other than a broke guy in Paris trying to write a book. Finally, instead of just being about ol' Hem secretly disdaining every person that tries to have a conversation with him, we get Hemingway wanting somebody, wanting their attention and regard and time, and it's a delicious disaster. Scott's a wreck, a disappointment, a drunk; Scott's gorgeous, dazzling, and so full of talent Ernest is SEETHING ABOUT IT. They chase each other like carousel horses. It's a clown show. Scott lovebombs him when he's not too drunk to forget to, and whines about missing Zelda when Ernest won't take the hint and kiss him already.

Something very funny about all this is that at the time Ernest was about 25 years old, and Scott - who Ernest thought of, at the time, as "an older writer" - was all of 28. So it makes sense to me that much of this section reads like an @ Zola-esque Twitter thread combined with a Tana Mongeau YouTube storytime video: Romantic Road Trip with F. SCOTT FITZGERALD?! (The Beautiful and DRUNK! not clickbait!) "Hi guys, welcome to my memoir or welcome BACK to my memoir. Before we get into it, don't forget to like and subscribe, and comment down below to let me know if you'd like more storytimes about me being a deeply repressed bisexual, OR if you want me to vlog the next time I go on a bender with Scott and we DON'T hook up, at least not as far as I can remember. So anyway, I was heterosexually at work on my next adjective-less short story..."

Sorry, I'll stop. Five stars for that entire section of the book, minus one star for the rest of it. Now can someone make a deeply homoerotic film about their relationship, PLEASE.

[sammygender]

to me john winchester is like. worst man alive. just wants to do right by his family. cares about his sons more than anything in the world but puts them in life-threatening danger every single day. hubris and arrogance of a god and never believes they will actually die despite the fact that he also has the paranoia and terror and deep intense mistrust of the world of eight year old me. treats both his sons like his soldiers, his eldest son like his surrogate wife/best friend/coparent/counsellor, his youngest son like the troubled-drug-addict-bad-boyfriend problem child miles before he ever actually does anything problematic to john and even then just because he has hobbies and wants to go to college.

wants them to be happy and themselves and have good lives, but thinks he needs them to be mini-him and good at fighting and not much else, and that takes priority. 'wants' all sorts of good things for them but just keeps postponing those good things until he avenges their mother until in a second their childhood's gone by. feels deep immeasurable guilt for everything he's done and knows he's ruined his children's lives. damages them in a hundred different ways, one third that he realises at the time and decides to do anyway, another third that he's unaware of at the time and realises later, and the last third that he'll never realise and never take back.

loves them miles too much and still not enough for it to matter. teaches them both that they're the only things that matter in the world and that they don't matter at all. still fervently believes that everything he did was for the best and was needed and had to be done, and always will.

[qlala]

making mick deal with barry when len is in the “sabotaging things before they can get any more serious” stage of their relationship is truly one of my favorite things when writing coldflash… it’s like that part in pride and prejudice (2005) where darcy flees charlotte’s guest house after seeing lizzie there and charlotte asks lizzie “what on earth have you done to poor mr. darcy?” except mick knows exactly what barry has done to len and he thinks it’s hilarious, but he’s also just loyal enough to len to not say that to barry’s face

[enbyaxolotl67]

work song by Hozier but it's a mother-daughter relationship. is this anything

[russalki]

Oh, how peculiar she felt. On Saturday night her everyday soul was lost, and how good it was to lose it, and as a sole memento from those former days her small hands, so mistreated. And this burst of laughter? that burst of laughter coming mysteriously from her full, white throat, a burst of laughter coming from the depth of that sleep, and the depth of that assurance of one who possesses a body.

— Clarice Lispector, “Daydream and Drunkenness of a Young Lady”; from The Complete Stories (tr. Katrina Dodson)

[allegedlyblue]

the temptation to make the next chapter of my fic 5,000 words of enjolras and grantaire debating marx in the louvre ...

[litandlifequotes]

Multiply me when necessary. Transform me into light where there is shadow

Fruit of the Drunken Tree by Ingrid Rojas Contreras

[ingravinoveritas]

So, thus far, we know that Michael's nicknames for David are:

1. Dai (Welsh pet name for David that also means "beloved.")

2. The Thin Dark Duke

...I love that these nicknames are so personal and so uniquely Michael. I love how they speak perfectly to the way he sees David, and to the relationship between them. Intimate. Sensual. So full of thought and feeling (because of course Michael would have a Welsh nickname for David, since both are so close to his heart). Nicknames that show how everything about David--body and soul--has filled Michael's senses and utterly enchanted him.

Now if only we could find out what David's nickname is for Michael. Other than "emotional support pet," of course...