#Gunpowder Day 2024

[harrowedworld]

Remember, remember, the 5th of November, gunpowder, treason, and plot.

I see no reason why gunpowder treason should ever be forgot.

[rabbitechoes]

first week of september!! fall is drawing near!!! there were some pretty cool tracks that dropped this week, two in particular that are on the shortlist for some of my favorites of the year. 2024 is drawing closer to the end, but this continues to shape up to be one of the best years for music in recent memory. In other words, NEW PHIL ELVERUM MOUNT EERIE ALBUM WOOOOOO WOOOOOOOOO YEAH YEA H YEAH YEAH!!!!!!! also feel free to follow me on rate your music and twitter <3

"Made Out of Memory" - Nilüfer Yanya

◇ released: Sept. 2, 2024 ◇ featured on My Method Actor (not yet released) ◇ genres: indietronica, alt-pop

Starting to sound like a broken record, but this new Nilüfer Yanya single is very solid. We're only a few weeks out from My Method Actor, but it's shaping up to be one of the most promising releases of the year. I love the subtlety she implements into these songs. Everything is given just the right amount of attention. The guitars on this track are buried, but crawl to the surface at the most opportune moment. Her vocals are also gorgeous, as are her melodies. Really good cut here, can't wait to dive into the full record.

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"Broom of Wind" | "I Walk" - Mount Eerie

◇ released: Sept. 3, 2024 ◇ featured on Night Palace (not yet released) ◇ genres: singer-songwriter, indie folk, slacker rock, post-rock

4 years after the biographical meditation of Microphones in 2020, the highly prolific singer-songwriter Phil Elverum is returning in November with a new record under the Mount Eerie name. This announcement was accompanied by these two brilliant singles, the brief jaunty "Broom of Wind" and the weird atmospheric "I Walk." As a massive fan of Elverum's work, these songs were exactly what I could've hoped for - especially the latter. Spacey yet organic atmospheric sounds held together very loosely. Everything feels free-flowing. The traditional rules of song-structuring are construed in subtle, yet effective ways. His lyricism, as always, is just amazing. He makes you feel so much, deep in your core, even when he's crooning what seem to be abstractions.

In the press-release for this record, Night Palace is referred to as a spiritual successor to The Glow Pt. 2 - arguably Phil's magnum opus and one of the greatest records of all time - it also states that "These are songs of re-surrendering to a state of wonder and abandoning the wrung-dry skepticism that this hard world can impose." It doesn't seem like a cheap way to get fans re-invested, he has no reason to do that. If you're a fan of Elverum's music, you're most likely locked in for whatever he has coming down the pipeline. This genuinely, like his previous record, feels like treading old ground with more experience this time around in order to reinvigorate the creative process. Anyway, I'll try to save my ramblings for when I can dive into the full record, but this is firmly my new most anticipated album of the year.

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"th1 [evnslower]" - Aphex Twin

◇ released: Sept. 4, 2024 ◇ featured on Selected Ambient Works Volume II Expanded Edition (not yet released) ◇ genres: dark ambient, drone, space ambient

Another track from the Aphex Twin archives has been officially released leading up to the deluxe edition of Selected Ambient Works Volume II. More savvy Richard D. James heads will probably know much more about this track than I, maybe it was leaked through a big Soundcloud dump or found in a trashcan behind his house. Whatever the case, this is pretty great. Very ominous ambient piece that sounds like it would fit on the soundtrack to a horror film set in space. It feels claustrophobic in a way, unlike the previous single "#19" which felt very peaceful and optimistic. "th1 [evnslower]" puts you on edge, makes you feel like there might be something looming just around the corner.

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"Magic I Want U" | "How to Teleport" - Jane Remover

◇ released: Sept. 4, 2024 ◇ genres: glitch pop, alternative r&b, breakbeat

Jane Remover is back again with another set of seemingly standalone tracks. Like the other two tracks that dropped a little bit ago, they're a bit of a departure from her last album - which is honestly a bit refreshing. I enjoyed that record a decent amount, but there's a bite to these songs that's irresistible. The star here is "Magic I Want U" with its hard-hitting production and tight melodies that just sound absolutely exhilarating. "How to Teleport" isn't bad either, it's got a ton of cool sounds. These new Jane Remover tracks are some of my favorites of hers and although these aren't attached to a new project, I really hope she pushes some of these ideas further in the future.

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"We Will Rock You (Megan Thee Stallion Version)" | "Neva Play" - Megan Thee Stallion

◇ released: Sept. 5, 2024 | Sept. 6, 2024 ◇ genres: southern hip hop, trap, pop rap, drift phonk

Big week for Megan Thee Stallion fans it seems! First, with the bizarre collaboration with Queen for a remix of sports stadium staple "We Will Rock You" ... it's fine. A bit gaudy and awkward, but I don't hate it. The next day she released "Neva Play" with RM of BTS, which is a bit better, but not particularly amazing either. I think it's the beat more than anything. I don't want to hear Megan over a phonk beat in all honesty. Neither Megan's or RM's verse stood out to me either. Oh well!

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"For Sure" - Ethel Cain

◇ released: Sept. 5, 2024 ◇ featured on American Football (Covers) (not yet released) ◇ genres: slowcore, dream pop, post-rock

Following Iron and Wine's indie folk reimagining of "Never Meant," Ethel Cain is the next to contribute to the new American Football covers album with her version of "For Sure." I definitely appreciate what she does with this one. The slow-burning, super lush sound just lulls you into a trance all the way until the big climax in the middle. I didn't have high hopes for this covers project - although I'm mostly just butthurt because I thought American Football were teasing NEW music instead of an anniversary celebration of their first LP, but I digress. This is a really great cover and I'm a bit more excited to hear what the rest of this project has in store.

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"Unt" - Pinhead Gunpower

◇ released: Sept. 5, 2024 ◇ featured on Unt (not yet released) ◇ genres: punk rock, pop punk, power pop

Green Day side-project Pinhead Gunpowder are back with their first new song in 16 years. It's a bit of a snoozefest to be honest. Billie Joe Armstrong has settled into his ways as a vocalist and everything he sings has this level of cleanness to it which is a bit unbecoming of a punk record. It sounds a bit rougher than what you would expect from Green Day proper, but it still just feels a bit toothless. Not doing much for me instrumentally either.

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"The Emptiness Machine" - Linkin Park

◇ released: Sept. 5, 2024 ◇ featured on From Zero (not yet released) ◇ genres: alternative rock, alternative metal, post-hardcore

Linkin Park are returning years after the unfortunate passing of former frontman Chester Bennington, but this time with a new vocalist Emily Armstrong - who definitely doesn't have ANY baggage whatsoever! Truth be told, I've never been a big Linkin Park fan and unfortunately that remains to be the case with this new single. It just feels way too drenched in dramatics to the point where it feels a bit sterile to me. Armstrong's verses were fine, albeit a bit generic. Yeah, I just don't think this is for me. To longtime fans of the band, I hope you guys like this!

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"Ego" - Halsey

◇ released: Sept. 6, 2024 ◇ featured on The Great Impersonator (not yet released) ◇ genres: pop rock, alternative rock, pop punk, power pop

Halsey is releasing her new fifth studio album soon, which will feature all of her singles over the past few months as well as this new one "Ego." I don't dislike this song or anything, but I'm not seeing the picture she's painting here. I guess these new songs have been eclectic, but I fail to see how they'll coincide on a full-length project together. This is definitely a departure from the nostalgic alt-rock of "Lonely Is the Muse," instead leaning more into poppier sounds. Her songwriting is very personal and intense across these songs, but I worry that these constant flip-flopping between sounds will obscure that. We shall see.

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"ELEMENTS" - wolfears

◇ released: Sept. 6, 2024 ◇ genres: post-punk, funk, afrobeat

This groovy new single from wolfears is really sick. There's this palpable anxiety to it that makes everything feel exciting. Everything is in constant motion. The grooves are prickly, never allowing you to settle into them. Their vocals sound like they're reciting mantras and chants which adds to the uneasiness. It's a good feeling of unease though. Her musicianship is pretty impeccable on this cut too as she handles every bit of instrumentation here. I could've been fooled into thinking this was the work of a full band. Overall, "ELEMENTS" is a really solid track and if you're a fan of either the Talking Heads or Fela Kuti - hopefully you're fans of both - give this a listen!

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"Ruby Rosary" - A$AP Rocky feat. J. Cole

◇ released: Sept. 6, 2024 ◇ featured on DON'T BE DUMB (not yet released) ◇ genres: jazz rap, east coast hip hop, cloud rap

A$AP Rocky has released the third single leading up to his new record DON'T BE DUMB. This is a really good track, I'm loving the jazz rap production a lot. Rocky's verses continue to wow me during this rollout, more than they have in some time. They're not the most impressive, but they're undeniably smooth as hell. He's bringing some confidence into this one. Even J. Cole's verse wasn't that bad, he needed a verse that was at the very least good after "Grippy" and his rough MIGHT DELETE LATER tape. Yeah, I'm loving this. This is shaping up to be a really promising project, hopefully we get a concrete release date in the coming weeks.

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[pilgrimjim]

"No faith, no truth, no trust"—The Cost of Lies in American Politics

Equivocation—the art of deceit—destroys the trust necessary for the social bonds of civil society. Like the weird sisters in "Macbeth," the weird brothers (Trump/Vance) use lies to deconstruct reality and foster tyranny. Can truth survive their chaos?

Magnus Zeller, The Orator (c. 1920). The German painter foresaw the danger of authoritarians who prey on the emotions of the mindless mob. The problem is, when you marry intelligenceTo ill will and brute force,People are helpless against it. — Dante, Inferno xxxi [1] On November 5th, Guy Fawkes Day, the citizens of Great Britain will celebrate the defeat of a conspiracy to overthrow the…

[deancaspinefest]

Congratulations to all of the incredible artists and authors who participated in the eighth round of the Dean/Cas Pinefest!

Over the past month, 34 authors and 23 artists teamed up to share a collective 1,420,869 words of pine-filled fic and 117 works of art. The talent and artistry of this fandom absolutely floors us every year, and we're so happy that you're all still here sharing your wonderful creations with us 🌲 

With that in mind, we'll definitely be back for more! An official announcement for the 2025 Pinefest -- our ninth year -- will come sometime in July. Follow us here on Tumblr to make sure you don’t miss out on any details!

Under the cut, you’ll find links to every fic & art masterpost from the 2024 round, and you can also check out the collection on Ao3. Make sure to let the authors and artists know how much you enjoyed their creations with a like, kudos, or best of all, a reblog, rec, or comment!

following the light

One Drop, when What You Need is the Ocean

Of Dust, Gunpowder and Holy Water

Books, Pies, and Roommates

A Fairy Tale Cliche!

All in Honesty

Another Kind of Memory

Not our kind of thing

Different Currencies

In The Dog Days

Whatever Makes You Happy

Significant severe

all that we intend

Something Happening Somewhen

Two Princes

Broken (The Worst Is Over Now)

Well, I Never Been To Heaven

The Reel Deal

A Fabulous Evening's Apocalypse

Foxfire

Super Double Bus

Suddenly I See

Lavender Fireflies

Heartland Flyer

Something Blue

Wouldn't It Be Nice

If Only You Return to Me

all out to sea

Dear Father

Opposites Distract

Faking It?

Given to Fly

Take The Long Way Home

A Glacial Pace

All caught up on this year’s crop of pine? There are 694 more works of art and 219 more fics to be found in the previous seven Pinefest rounds -- and if you're into numbers, you can find a full breakdown of this and past year’s stats here!

Until next time… happy pining!

[the-queen-of-hell-666]

Handsome Stranger

Kinktober 2024 - Day 21

Pairing: Dark!Lloyd Hansen x Innocent!Fem!Reader

Kink: Dub-con/Non-con

Word Count: 1400+

Summary: Your friends leave you alone at a bar and Lloyd takes an interest in you.

Warnings: DUB-CON/NON-CON, explicit language, explicit sexual content (dub-con/non-con (drinking, non-consensual unprotected sex), unprotected vaginal sex, vaginal sex, choking, oral sex (m! receiving), deepthroating, face-fucking, creampie, d/s dynamics, slight baby trapping), Lloyd is a shady motherfucker (but we think we can change him), kidnapping (sorta), naive!Reader

a/n: Here's Day 21! I haven't written anything dark in a while so I might be rusty, but I hope you enjoy it!

Banners by @vase-of-lilies

Your friends wanted to go out, you wanted to stay in but majority rules. So you got dressed in a short and tight white dress and small pink heels and your makeup was done tastefully. By the middle of the night, your friends had all found dates and had left you alone to wallow in the back of the bar, sipping your drink slowly as your eyes flitted around the room. You noticed a very handsome man looking you over, he was wearing a dark blue sweater and a black cotton duster and his hair was done neatly, slicked away from his face. His neatly combed mustache drew your eyes as he sipped his whiskey and you shivered as his tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip. 

Lloyd knew from the moment you walked into the bar, you were going to be his. You looked so innocent and young in that white dress and you ordered the most diluted drink they had on the menu. You were a dream to him. He just needed your friends out of the way so he could approach you. He sent over a few of his men to take your friends away so you could be all alone. He noticed as your eyes kept darting to him throughout the night, he noticed your shutters and shivers, along with the clenching of your thighs. He had you right where he wanted you. 

He stood up and took his drink with him as he walked over to your small table in the corner of the room. He had a dark smirk on his face as he looked you up and down shamelessly. “Why you all alone, little mouse?” Lloyd drawled as he leaned a hip on your table. 

You bit your lip softly as you peered up at him through your lashes. “My friends ditched me.” You pouted softly and took another sip of your drink. 

“Well that ain’t right.” He tsked before offering a hand to you. “Why don’t you join me in my booth? Get you another drink. Try to cheer you up.” 

A bright smile graced your lips and Lloyd could almost feel his cold heart beat, “Thank you, sir. I would like that.” You nodded and stood up, stumbling a bit from your previous drinks, but Lloyd caught you in his strong arms. You giggled and hid your blushing face in his chest, inhaling his scent of gunpowder, whiskey, and cigar smoke. “S-sorry.” You hiccuped and he chuckled softly and led you to his booth. 

He slid inside and you went to sit next to him but his large hands reached out and grasped your hips, “No, no, little mouse. You get the best seat.” He winked and pulled you onto his lap, making you let out a gasp at his show of strength. 

“O-okay.” You blushed as you felt his bulge pressing against the curve of your ass. 

“I’m Lloyd. What’s your name, little one?” He hummed as he trailed his fingers along your thighs. You gulped before stuttering out your name, making him chuckle, “Don’ be nervous, sweetie. I’m not gonna hurt you.” He smirked and his hands squeezed your thighs and pulled you closer. 

You blushed as his blue eyes trailed down from your eyes and to your lips before flicking back up to your eyes. He leaned down and caught your lips in a hungry kiss, you were caught by surprise but the alcohol coursing through your veins made you lean into the kiss. You rested your hands on his shoulders as his hands groped at your hips and down to your ass, squeezing softly, making you gasp against his lips and he slid his tongue into your mouth. You moaned softly as he sucked on your tongue and you pulled away with puffy lips, panting softly as you looked up at him with innocent eyes. 

“M’not usually like this.” You mumbled softly as your eyes darted away and you stared at your fingers as you played with them. 

He gave you a smirk and he pinched your chin and pulled you up to look him in the eyes. “You want this, hm? I can practically feel how wet you are. Are you soaking your panties for me, little mouse?” He hummed as his hand trailed down and cupped your mound in his warm hand. You gasped softly at the sensation and your hand wrapped around his wrist as you nodded hesitantly. “Good girl. Let's take this upstairs.” 

That’s how you found yourself on your knees in front of Lloyd with his cock down your throat, spit and tears streaming down your face, as he bullied his cock deep into your tight throat. He was sitting on the bed, still clothed with his cock out, but you were bare naked in between his spread thighs. He had tangled a hand in your hair, making you take him all the way to base before pulling back up his cock. You whimpered and whined as you clenched your thighs, your wet cunt pulsing and dripping down your thighs, wanting to be filled by Lloyd’s thick and long cock. 

He quickly yanked you off his cock, making you whine softly as you looked up at him with wet eyes and spit dripping down your chin. His large hand cupped your jaw softly and wiped a bit of spit from your bottom lip before thrusting his thumb into your mouth, making you suck on it. “You’re such a mess, little mouse. You look so pretty like this.” He smirked and wrapped his hand around your throat and pulled you up and onto the bed. He maneuvered you onto your hands and knees for him, revealing your soaked cunt to his hungry eyes. He spanked your sensitive cunt once, making you squeal and try to move away from him. “No, no, little one. Stay still.” He growled and pulled you back to him as he teased his tip through your folds. 

“N-no. P-please, use a condom. M’not on the pill.” You stuttered quickly, feeling nervous all of a sudden. 

He rolled his eyes before pulling his cock away and grabbing a condom from his wallet before he shrugged and tossed the condom away. “Okay. M’all ready for you.” His smirk took on a dark tinge before he slammed into your wanting cunt, his cock bare but your mind emptied as soon as his thick cock filled you to the brim. 

You moaned as your hands reached out and grabbed the sheets in front of you as he started a rough and unforgiving pace. He groaned as your walls sucked his cock back in with each thrust and his large hands gripped your hips tight, keeping your bottom half up while you melted into the sheets. You cried and whined with each thrust as the pain gave way to pleasure with each movement of his hips. It felt like your every nerve was on fire as he brought you pleasure. He wrapped one hand around your neck and yanked you up against his chest, pressing your back against his wool sweater covered chest. 

The dynamic of him being fully clothed and you bare while he ruined you, turned you on even more. His hand squeezed your windpipe softly, just cutting your air off slightly as he pounded your cunt. You reached your hand back to tangle into his cropped hair and pulled him down into a heated kiss. He smirked into the kiss as he folded you back over and pressed himself deeper into you. You let out a cry of his name as he bit down on your neck, just enough to leave a bruise and it pushed you over the edge, making you cry and whine as your walls pulsed with your orgasm. Your thighs shaking as your knees went out, but Lloyd’s arm around your waist kept you up as he gave one more thrust before emptying inside of you. 

You both slumped against the bed as you came down from your highs. He huffed softly and pulled out of you slowly, and he sat back to admire your full cunt, as his cum dripped down your folds and onto your inner thighs. You turned your head just in time to see Lloyd snap a picture of your full pussy with his phone, and you quickly sat up. 

“Delete that!” You exclaimed and went to grab his phone but he chuckled and shook his head, moving the phone out of your reach. 

“No can do, little mouse. You just looked so pretty full of my seed.” He smirked and you gasped sobering up quicker than ever before. 

“N-no! I-I can’t get pregnant. I-I don’t want to! Why would you do that?!” You cried as tears welled in your eyes. 

He gave you a fake pout, “Cause I’m not letting you go.” He smirked and kissed your head, making you flinch. “Get comfortable, little mouse. This is your new home.”

[cherrycola-and-marigolds]

“Let The Show Begin”

@mechtober-2024 day 12 and i f i nally have gunpowder tim on my page-

anyway the prompt was concert and i chose one of my favored quotes from a live show :D

i had fun with the lighting! click for better quality as always lol

also horrid apologies for not doing great on the guitar, although i play the thing i can’t draw the thing lol

[marrkopolo]

A Wise Man Once Said

Precious lost its ring in the scrap yard with no metal detector the lavender pussywillows hide the trolls

Hong Kong wheel of fate UW spinned it first Knights of Templar slaughtered at a mass concert of bloody crimson tide

Tithe on a full moon for 2x the glee The crash of waves against the rocks, like bodies slapping against each other during sex blood shooting through veins Hot heat, sticky, in Iceland together I too, know of these lands

Tax season says the King! blue knots on a tent red food buckets hung like death #four crosses in a foreign land alone is no place to exist

An underwater welder lying on the blue tarp, is like a union of troops led by a zebra.

Flying flags at Disney welcome to the world of water failed regret, emptiness and betrayal tattered flags get left to rot sew it in with the others together and the quilt becomes strong and scintillating

Crush you with your own history headless horseman and halo hair dark horse donuts This is as good as it gets!

Red-lipped lipstick cracked porcelain face You can't hold a candle to this

King of the Hill My pool stick is clean now true Kings swim in the swimming pool together King of the Hill Jack of Spades went with the stolen crown and robots learn to volunteer.

Pledge to a sanitizer salute to a gong beat your chest it's loud and strong Love at first sight or sounds like a good idea Wisdom of the crowd or individual motivation?

A rabbi with the yachts Fortified lamps sees all UFOs, telekinesis and even explosive lingerie. One denarius for a days work Why they get more? Stand while another sits. Then switch roles and you'll see why.

What sees with three eyes? The melatonin-like parental bond, third eye awoken, Moksha.

Insane Luke has a scar red dots that kill. Baldie takes biosphere crown the bald animal is cutting loose again Is doraphilia still fun to you?

I attempt to transform but the tea is too strong my hands have small heart Lying down a tiny raindrop falls into my ear swirling into the cochlea My whole world has changed!

Eczema stealing make-up twice North Face go north Racks of weapons are not enough this time

My mask is old but gold bars had paved my fortunate path …a fortunate path(whispering)

Tik Tok vault one exit is enough The eagle has docked into spray-painted madness. Not to fret I hear a falcon cry Jump when the law is bent it will help you fly

Six shooter Six pack 3 sewers 3 fires Twin-spirit 1 spacesuit

Mountain top king of the hill climb Nepal Hajj pilgrimage princess climbs like a pirate piggyback down the wedding aisle

Opposites attract

One fell to its doom down the abyssal void towards the bottom and a ghost ship lost in the Bermuda Triangle with Pandoras Box Lazarus

Gunpowder in shoes Footprints in the sand Jesus did not tap

Short and tall fat and thin Lookalikes Soundalikes Smellalikes the hunt of touch and taste What double currencies create the ultimate Yin Yang effect? AI said to cure pride and competition, exchange abacus rubik-cubed calculators instead of cash.

Echoes and reverberation voices become lightning WATTS= AMPS X VOLTS

Float your payloads into the troposphere with skinny vertical structures of contained saltwater Heat a planet with a satellite asteroid belt

A call for help QR codes morse code gun flare smoke signal what are your coordinates? R-E-B-O-R-N

Some ancients say gunpowder only made flee then gun made to kill Oil spills from bronze age to silicon chips flood the market cut the mall castle cake in half Zangief on a segway You win.Perfect.

Lawrence Groves copyright©2024

[gentlebeardsbarngrill]

04/15/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; David Jenkins; Taika; Samson Kayo; Kay Buchanan; Nathan Foad; Watch parties; GLAAD LAST DAYS; Fan Spotlight; Love Notes; Daily Darby / Tonight's Taika.

== David Jenkins ==

Okay so I apologize all-- somehow I missed that all the David Jenkins pics going around were NEW. I don't know why but I thought they were from a while back. My taxes brain really has me messed up. So these are from the past 2-4 days. Now it makes a lot of sense too as to why everyone's been honking louder! You can see him there at WB Studios, and yes that is him with OFMD fan-stickers on his laptop.

Source: Kinga Malisz' IG

== Taika Waititi ==

A small glimpse of Taika and his ginormous doe eyes on the set of Klara and The Sun. Src: Vas J Morgan's IG

== Samson Kayo ==

Samson was out in Abu Dhabi U.A.E sporting his Prada Sun Glasses! Chaos Dad and Samba happened to pop into his comments as well! Thanks @ashes-skye for pointing out these great photos! SRC: Samson's Instagram

== Kay Buchanan ==

Our lovely leatherworker Kay Buchanan posted lots of cool things today on her instagram! Stede's Dagger Sheath

Next up was the Gunpowder Pouches for OFMD

== Nathan Foad ==

Some first shots of Nathan in his role in #LovesLabourLost! Src: Royal Shakespeare Company IG

== Watch Party Reminders! ==

== Flight Of the Conchords ==

Season 1 is done! Season 2 starts tomorrow with Episodes 1 and 2! Join Save OFMD Crew, and @/ iamadequate1 this week for Flight of the Conchords watch parties! You can watch each day at 4pm PT, 7 pm ET, 11pm BST! If you don't have access, feel free to join us on the #RhysDarbyFaction Discord server, you can hit me up for an invite.

Hashtags:

#FlagOfTheConchords

#OurFlagMeansDeath

== LAST CHANCE FOR GLAAD ==

Voting closes in two days, get your votes in while you can! Remember: you can vote more than once. 😉🏴‍☠️

IMG Src: @saveofmdcrewmates

== Fan Spotlight ==

One of our crewmates @/RabinaryCode on youtube has put together this cute Queen Parody for Rhys! Give it a listen if you have some time :) Vocals: @ferventrabbitao3

Lyrics: @tanteclem

== Cast Cards ==

To quote @melvisik "Tonight is Ian Alda (yup, related to Alan Alda) playing the clerk... reads notes Clark Clerkwell... person who told Stede he's dead "

== Love Notes ==

Hey lovelies. I hope you all are having a fresh start to your week. I've heard good news and rough news, so I truly hope if you have good news, it stays that way and if you have bad news, it looks up for you!

I really am so glad to see people clowning though. I know no one wants to get their hopes up, but it's nice to see that kind of energy flowing through the fandom again. We deserve a little treat of hope once in a while and it warms my heart how much people are running with it.

Hope is the dream lovelies. All things spring from hope. Don't give up on it. Even when things feel the worst, hope is what keeps us going. I have so much love for you friends. I know we have our bad days, but I hope you know that no matter what happens me and the crew will send you love. We love sharing this space with you. Rest well lovelies. Some quotes about hope tonight:

"The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience." - Emily Dickinson

"The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams." - Eleanor Roosevelt

== Daily Darby / Tonight's Taika ==

Sorry, tonight's theme is just... this interview because every time I see it it makes me smile so horrendously huge. I love them so much and certainly together like this. The goofy bastards. Gif Courtesy of @captain-flint

[eoieopda]

Namjoon + “sibling’s best friend” except the sibling has been rooting for them to get together for years

combined with your other namjoon request 💕🫶🏻

Namjoon + “stuck in an elevator” bc god of destruction or simply bad luck idm either

the one with namjoon and the u-haul

2024 ETA: long after this was written, the user who requested this drabble admitted that they were a minor masquerading as an adult, violating my explicitly stated boundaries re: minors being prohibited from interacting with me and my content. this user has since been blocked.

ft. jeon!reader, moving day, a mild age gap, jk being a lil shit as usual, and blondejoon 🥵 (cw: claustrophobia / brief depiction of a would-be anxiety attack)

If you ever managed to get your hands on your brother, you might kill him.

Of course, you’d have to find him first — and if your sixteen unanswered calls were any indication, Jeon Jungkook might’ve left this mortal coil already. Unfortunately for you and the rented U-Haul parked outside your apartment building, you needed that evasive little shit and his inhuman stamina.

More importantly, you’d needed him an hour ago when that rental clock started ticking.

The minutes you’d burned up already — firing text after unacknowledged text at your twin — were ones you’d quite literally pay for later in the form of late fees. Jungkook knew this, knew you, knew that your neurotic, Type-A brain had calculated exactly how much time would be needed for the two of you to orchestrate your cross-town move. Just like he knew you were simultaneously too weak to move these boxes yourself; and too poor to shell out for the full-day rental package or professional movers.

And yet, there he wasn’t.

You’d worn crop circles into the carpet already with your relentless pacing. One more step, and the pedometer built into your Apple Watch might give up altogether, explode into a cloud of sparks around your wrist. Worse, it might send out an emergency alert to the nearest mobile crisis unit and get your ass pink-slipped. Maybe, you think, you should try being still for once in your life. 

You hit the brakes so suddenly that the inertia makes you wobble, but you don’t fight it. Instead, you let that anxious momentum drop you unceremoniously onto the nearby sofa.

The one was supposed to be loaded up an hour ago.

Not that you’re counting.

Just as soon as you slump with a huff into the cushions, a rhythmic knock at your door yanks you back to your feet. All you see is red as you stagger over a sea of cardboard boxes, wind your way through garment bags, odds and ends to reach the entrance to your apartment. Your hand snaps like a bear trap around the doorknob when you finally clear the obstacle course; and you nearly rip the door off its hinges when your rage propels it open.

The preparatory breath you’d sucked in — gunpowder in your lungs, ready to pop off at your unbelievably tardy brother — instead leaves you in a startled gasp:

“Oh, God.”

Immediately, your face begins to burn with embarrassment. You don’t know what to do with your hands, either; they’re still balled up into fists and ready to swing. Fuck! Sweaty palms! You wipe them furiously on the back pockets of your denim shorts and try to keep the rest of you from liquifying.

“Actually,” comes a surprisingly soft voice from a body so contrary, “It’s pronounced Namjoon.”

Oh, no, no, no, no.

Not that lopsided, tight-lipped smile.

Anything but that.

You, a fool, blurt out the obvious, “You’re not Jungkook.”

Of course, this offering is worthless. The twerp who entered this world three minutes before you was sixty-three minutes late; and his friend — the one you still can’t believe Jungkook manages to keep — was standing in his place. His older, smarter friend, whose massive hands you picture when you —

Kim Namjoon has a laugh that makes less noise the more he means it. Based on the melodic little hiss that erupts in response to your declaration, he finds your buffoonery hilarious.

You are not long for this world, you fear.

“Got me there,” he concedes. Looking up to find him beaming at you, you’re not surprised that staring at his grin — the one that shows all his teeth and makes his eyes crinkle — feels a lot like staring into the sun.

Don’t you dare faint. You’ve survived three years with that face. You can and will be normal about this.

As if that wasn’t enough, Namjoon has the audacity to lay his palm flush against the door jam above your head and lean down and — shit, his biceps just look like that? All the time?

You’re already a puddle at his feet when Namjoon hums, “Heard you needed an extra set of hands.”

You want to ask if he’s psychic — his hands, in any context, are precisely what you need — but you don’t. You clear your throat and throw on your best approximation of nonchalance. Cross your arms over your chest in a way you hope looks casual, tilt your head to the side. 

You raise a single eyebrow before responding, laying it on thick, “So, he lives, huh? Texts you but not his own flesh and blood? Sends his poor hyung as a proxy?”

“I have free will, you know,” Namjoon chides you without any real heat. “And a free afternoon, too.”

He then shrugs his shoulders before pointing over yours. The target he’s acquired sits at the very edge of your peripheral vision, a beast in velvet upholstery. His grin is downright impish when he continues, “Unless your plan is to yeet that couch straight off the balcony, I suspect your options here are limited.”

If you’d been given the opportunity, you’re confident that you may have come up with some witty remark. Instead of ongoing banter, you get a hand on either side of your waist, picking you up and moving your rag doll body out of the doorway. Namjoon smirks as he sets you down, ignores your slacked jaw, and invites himself into your apartment.

On his way to the couch, he spots something that catches his eye. He pauses, bends down towards a laundry basket full of assorted bullshit, and pulls out what can only be described as a cursed object. It’s your most hideous and most beloved possession, having joined you in every major move since you left your parents’ house: a ceramic shelf-sitter in the form of a rooster, the body of which is entirely made of sculpted fruits. 

Namjoon is absolutely baffled by it, open mouth forming a circle as he stares down at his discovery. You should be baffled, you think, it’s God’s ugliest creation. Then, as if the force of his quiet blinking was too much for it to handle, the bunch of bananas composing its tail feathers pops off and promptly falls to the ground.

Horrified, he watches in slow motion as it hits the hardwood below with a thump. You watch as his shoulders sag; unable to tell whether the fond little tug in your chest is based on your weird, broken art, or how completely crushed he looks.

“Ah, fuck. I’m sorry!” He gasps, ducking down to grab the runaway appendage. Fuck the bird — it’s him. Then, he mutters directly to the object looking laughably small in his palm, “What’d you do me like that for? Rude as hell.”

Instinctively, you cross to where Namjoon stands in the center of your living room. When you reach him, you feel him brace himself for your reaction; but all you do is bend at the waist, grab a small tube of super glue from that same laundry basket, and hold it up. He glances from your fingers to your face.

“A must-have when you break shit as often as I do,” you chirp. Then, you gesture with your free hand to the basket. His gaze follows and locks onto the small, strawberry knee joint that you’d accidentally severed as you packed. To say that his eyes light up is an understatement.

Namjoon taps at the “made in” sticker on the bottom of the rooster and smirks, “This is what you get for buying American, honestly.”

_____

You didn’t have “spending time with Kim Namjoon” on today’s bingo card, but you’re certainly not complaining.

Lucky for you, he was stronger than your idiot brother and infinitely less frustrating to be around. The pair of you moved around your apartment like you were ballroom dancing; neither of you needing the steps called out to know them. It was easy, it was synchronized, and you didn’t have to beg him to stay on task.

Absolute none of that would be the case if your day had gone as planned.

In thirty minutes’ time, all of your possessions had been loaded into the U-Haul except one: the couch. Due to its bulkiness, you knew it’d be difficult to maneuver despite its relatively light weight.

Namjoon, boasting more brain cells than you by a long-shot, had suggested using the elevator. So long as it was angled properly, he reasoned, the two of you could make it fit without issue. Then, you wouldn’t need to wrangle the first neighbor you came across to help you pivot the blasted thing around every stairwell.

It was a short trip, only four floors, so you’d decided not to explain why you’d taken the stairs for every previous run of boxes.

Maybe you should have, because forty-five minutes have passed since you entered that elevator, and you are swiftly running out of ways to pretend that you’re fine.

From where you sit cross-legged on the elevator floor, you can hardly see Namjoon, who is believed to exist somewhere on the other side of your couch. Every now and then, there’d been a flash of blonde hair next to one of the couch’s arms — proof of life — but he’s more often invisible than not.

You’re okay with that fact, you realize. It means he can’t see the way your anxiety is manifesting only half a meter away from him.

“D’you think this call button even works?” He calls out to you, unknowingly contributing to the cold sweat slicking the small of your back, “I’ve pressed it a hundred times and — as you know — we haven’t been rescued.”

You wonder if you sound as strangled as you feel. Throat tight, you mutter, “Nothing in this building works. ‘S part of why I’m moving.”

Apparently, you do sound as strangled as you feel. You hear shifting in Namjoon’s corner of the elevator, and then you see his face materialize near the bottom of the couch. His eyebrows were initially furrowed, but the concern he carried there migrated. It settles and causes his eyes to widen when they find you.

“You alright?” He asks immediately. Sweetly.

In the grand scheme of things, yes, you would concede that you are — generally — more or less alright. You’ve been in worse places with worse company, and relatively speaking, this isn’t your ultimate nightmare. You’re capable of far greater panic than this.

In this moment, however, in this godforsaken metal box with walls that feel like they’re getting closer by the second, and stale air that gets heavier and heavier when you try to breathe it into your lungs, the walls of which are also getting —

Namjoon answers for you, decidedly but without even a hint of judgement, “You’re not alright.”

There’s more shuffling from the corner. Within a few moments, he manages to wriggle himself into a standing position. With two hands now on the couch’s spine, he glances urgently in your direction. His eyes soften, but you’re distracted by the loose lock of blonde hair that falls over his forehead, over them.

“If I find a way to you, does that make it better or worse?”

Of course, big-brain Kim Namjoon has the sense to ask. Of course, he’s emotionally intelligent enough to realize that joining you in your space could either calm your anxiety, or force it into X-Games mode. Of course, you feel like you’re being hydraulically pressed, so you don’t have the available brain cells to run a proper cost-benefit analysis.

So, you peep, “I — uhh, I don’t know?”

He purses his lips like he’s trying not to smile — because, as you’ve learned, he’s a good fucking person — but you feel a little bit less like you’re actively dying when you watch the corner of his mouth twitch upwards. Taking that gut reaction at face value, you swallow and wordlessly wave him over.

Only one way to find out, you suppose.

The way he grunts softly when he single-handedly pushes the couch further upright would make your whole body clench if it wasn’t already. The same is true of your rapid heart rate and the simmering desire to swoon. Wait — it’s called “fainting” if it’s a medical event, right? Whatever it is, the urge only gets stronger when he slots himself into the tiny bit of space at your side.

“Here — Oh, hang on,” He says, prompting you to look his way.

Your eyes catch him just in time to watch him wipe his hand off on his jeans, then hold it out to you. Without a second thought, you accept it. Squeezing slightly to express your gratitude, you smile and let your joint hands rest against your thigh. Like a shot of clonazepam, he has you calm in an instant.

A few moments of silence pass comfortably. Eventually, when your pulse returns to safety, you tilt your head back against the metal wall behind you and gaze upwards. The ceiling is back where it belongs, no longer inching towards you with the intent to flatten you against the floor. You breathe deeply then sigh out the exhale.

“I’m so glad I’m not trapped in here with Jungkook,” you announce, “If he were here, he’d be jumping up and down to try to get this thing to move, and I’d be nerve-barfing everywhere.”

“Good god,” Namjoon snorts. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye; he’s thoroughly amused, not at all grossed out by the picture you’ve painted. You know I’m right, you think.

It’s not clear if he knows you’re watching when his smile turns shy. He says it quietly, like he’s divulging some heavy secret, “Glad I called him off, then.”

You hum in agreement before those words actually register in your distinctly soup-like brain. When they finally do, you tilt your head to the side and narrow your eyes at him in confusion. For the first time in three years, he gets to hear what it sounds like when you buffer in real time:

“Sorry, you — huh?”

The math isn’t adding up. The science isn’t — doing whatever it is that science does. The words? Well, they’re failing you. You’ve got nothing.

Namjoon’s free hand rubs against the back of his neck. He smiles sheepishly, so damn cutely. For a second, he nibbles on his bottom lip before coming clean, “I may have asked Jungkook if I could sub in today.”

No thoughts, head empty, just wide-eyed blinking. It’s all you’re capable of with your stomach doing backflips the way it is.

“He was — umm — more than happy to switch swifts, you know?”

Of course, he was. Jungkook is a brat.

Namjoon chuckles and it’s then that you realize you’d broadcasted your thoughts out loud. He shakes his head as if you hadn’t just spit objective fact out into the elevator. Your eyebrows furrow as you try to follow the plot.

“For being an older brother, Kook’s a surprisingly good wing-man.”

Your jaw drops. Finger raised, you interject immediately, all piss and vinegar. “Joon, he is three minutes older. Don’t you dare give him credit for that. His ego’s already hit the ceiling, and I am not calling him oppa —”

Namjoon purses his lips again. The corner of his mouth ticks upward again. He’s apparently waiting for a response that you haven’t given him, again. Your sentence dies out before you can punctuate it.

Oh. Did you —?

Eyes as big as the moon, you sputter, “Wing man?”

“There you go, champ,” he laughs, affectionately nudging your shoulder with his. “Is that lag one of those twin things people talk about, or —?”

You land a playful smack on his bicep, but let your hand linger. Not unlike the way he’d done twice before, you pinch your lips together and try not to grin like the fool you are. Taking advantage of your pause, Namjoon reaches across his body with his free arm and peels your palm from his bicep. He keeps on holding it and you only melt a little bit.

It takes effort on your part, but you squirm in your spot until you’re able to face him more fully.

“Namjoon, you have to tell me the truth,” you demand. You squint back at him, narrowed eyes emphasizing the dramatic tone you’ve taken. “Did you or did you not break this elevator on purpose?”

He laughs so hard that it’s silent. His heads ducks down, too, until his forehead rests gently against your shoulder. From there, he sighs, “I did not break this elevator on purpose.”

After a pause, he sits back up, handcuffs his gaze to yours, then grins with all his teeth. “I’d be a fool not to capitalize on the opportunity, though.”

You close the distance and kiss him with all you’ve got, cotton-candy sweet and fresh-linen soft. It’s easy — the way it felt when your busy bodies swirled around your living room, never once stumbling — and you swear you hear bells ringing.

Namjoon pulls away breathless. He begins to ask the question, but the gentle lurch of the elevator answers before he can finish.

[joeyalohadream]

Clegan Hurt/Comfort Fluff fic with a sprinkling of angst, set in their days in England, sometime before Algeria.

Part one of a new series I'm beginning, exploring some random first times for the boys. I will jump around from Pre-Cannon, Wartime, Post-War and every where in between, but all of the stories will be connected.

Part two of this series will also include a first for me personally! My first ever attempt at writing smut, which I am both excited for and also worried about, but we'll take it one step at a time!

Snippet:

Bucky feels his cheeks heat up and he looks around the room, knowing it’s still empty but feeling the need to make sure it stays that way. He clears his throat and narrows his eyes at the younger man. “Well, that’s an experience no one should miss out on for too long. Whatcha waitin’ for?”

“You,” Gale says back, easy as anything. He’s looking at Bucky with a soft, peaceful expression. The wounds on his face have stopped bleeding, but some bruising is already starting to bloom around his temple and one of eyes. His cheeks and the bridge of his nose are still red from the wind and the cold. He’s dirty, smells like gasoline and gunpowder, his aftershave barely distinguishable. He looks beaten down and exhausted. But in his eyes, there is a tenderness that Bucky has only ever seen directed at him and it makes his heart beat faster in his chest. “Think I’ve been waitin’ on you for all my life for that one John.”

“Christ Gale,” Bucky sucks in a sharp breath. He looks around the room again before leaning forward and cupping his large hand around Gale’s cheek, the tips of long fingers brushing against the short curls at the back of his neck. He lets his thumb stoke that delicate cheekbone and feels the weight increase against his hand as Gale leans into the touch, his eyes falling closed.

“I’m going to take you to London,” he tells him and smiles when Gale’s eyes open again to look at him. “We’ll get a pass for the weekend. After the shit you pulled off today, no way Harding says no.”

“You think?”

[b33zlebubz]

RIGOR MORTIS | CHAPTER THREE

SIMON RILEY X AFAB READER | MASTERLIST | AO3 PREV CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER TAGS: reader uses she/her pronouns, blood violence & death, suicidal ideology, slow burn, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, toxic workplace environment “Abandoned in a battlefield with the one person you thought you would never see again; you're forced to come to terms with the ghosts of your past."

MONDAY APRIL 22ND 2024  MEXICO, 2200 HOURS

Your camp is the cabin of a wrecked SUV.

You're not sure what did it, yet; what wrecked the car and left the side of it charred.  Air strike, landmine, a very high-quality grenade launcher…you don’t really care what specifically, you just know that it's supplies and shelter.  It's lodged into the mud on the side of a dug-out, having crashed some time after the battle turned sour.  The rain has cooled the metal over the course of the past day leaving the back somewhat intact.  One of two of what must be the soldiers that drove it are now laying in the ditch; shot from the front window during the wreck, you imagine, charred and dead.  Their uniforms and helmets suggest they’re part of your battalion, but you try not to think about it.

It makes a decent shelter; dry and shielded from the rain that still pelts against your helmet.  The inside stinks of gunpowder and ash as you usher Ghost into the back and he collapses against a supply crate pressed in a corner.  He grunts, breath quick and heavy against the soaked cloth of his mask as his head falls back against the container.  First aid training kicks in and you’re listening for any sign of a punctured lung or liquid in his lungs.  

"We gotta get that mask off," you huff, helping him fumble with the straps to his helmet.  With the adrenaline fading, your own voice sounds muffled to you, the product of damaged eardrums.  "You're waterboarding yourself."

He lets out something that might be a humorless chuckle, his eyes closed as he juts his chin up.  His hands are clumsy and useless as they pull at the strap.   "Wouldn't be my first time, sergeant."

"Colonel."

You lift his helmet off and he blinks at you blearily, "what?"

"It's Colonel, now," you say, taking off your own helmet and tossing it aside.  Your hair free from the heavy armor, it sticks to your face in wet clumps.  "A lot can change in eight years."

You could be imagining it, but you swear you see a flicker of hurt in his eyes before he grimaces, his neck lulling before you catch his head.

Ghost strains, his breathing growing labored.  Still, he finds the energy to smile through the rip in his mask, and a rivulet of blood flows from the side of his cheek and into his mouth.  

"Knew you could do it, love," he slurs.

You hate how your heart twists with fondness that still lingers, and it tastes like copper and bile when you swallow it back.

"Never doubted it," you say, words softer.  You pat the side of his face and he grunts.  "Stay awake.  I don't know how bad you're hurt yet."

Your hands grasp at the torn edge of his soaked balaclava.

You watch his eyes flicker through water and blood.  Dark brown irises with uneven pupils glance down at your hands through lazy eyelids, and then up at you—but he doesn't resist like you imagined he would.  Instead, he can only manage a heavy swallow and a resigned nod.

He hisses as you lift the fabric away from his head as carefully as you can.  A five o'clock shadow crisscrossed with scars greets you before a broken nose on a ghostly-pale, angular face.  Sandy hair is cropped short, dark with blood that cakes high on his temple.  

If it were another situation—another time—you think, maybe, you would've stopped to marvel at him.  Commit the facial features you had once wondered about so much to memory while you traced the sharp curves of his face with a gentle finger.  Instead, you can only focus on how your injured hand fumbles with the first-aid kit on your vest—pulling out a sterile cloth that you press to his injury.

"Fuck," you hiss.

"I'll live," he breathes, closing his eyes again.  He places a hand over yours, applying more pressure that's weak, but still more than you can manage at the moment.  "Looks worse than it is.  Head wounds always do.  Just keep your hand there."

"Yes, sir," you mutter, falling back on old formalities as your bloody hand quivers against his face.  He squeezes it before his grip loosens, and his head lulls again.  You grab him by the chin.

"Ghost.  Don't."

His eyes flicker open again briefly before they sink shut once more.  When he doesn't reply, a flicker of panic sparks in your chest.

"Stay with me, Lieutenant," you pat his face again, trying to keep him awake.  "Ghost?"

"You," he whispers, his voice barely a breath against your face.  “We’ve met before…yeah?"

You swallow thickly.

"Angel," you tell him.  "It's…it’s Angel, Ghost.  It's me."

"Angel," he repeats with all the softness eight years of distance, blood, war, and anger can muster—and the idiot is still smiling as his hand slides off of yours, leaving a bloody handprint in its wake.  "'Missed you."

Panic ebbs at your mind, and you grab his arm as you get in his face.

"Ghost don't fucking fall asleep, you hear me?"  Disparity makes your voice crack, "Don't fucking leave me here."

No response.  You shake his shoulder.

"Ghost," you beg.  "Simon!"

His head lulls against his chest as his eyes sink shut, and your breath catches in your throat.  Slowly, you remove your hands, backing up against the side of the van.  You sink against the opposite wall.  Unable to catch your breath, your heartbeat thuds in your ears.  The sound is backed with the static of rain that still pours down around you and Ghost's unconscious breathing while thunder rumbles distantly across the sky above, mocking you.

You're left, once again, with only the corpses of your dead squad outside to keep you company.

[shiorimakibawrites]

Day 27 - You Are To Me

Day 27 - You Are To Me Prompt: 27: Near-Death Experience + 21: Fainting/Collapsing Word Count: ~400 Character: Frank Castle Pairing: Frank Castle x Reader Warnings: Gunshot injury, blood loss, angst, implied murder Taglist: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer, @beezusvreeland, @yarrystyleeza Tuna-Tober 2024 Masterlist

This was originally written for my 300 Follower Celebration based on a prompt sent in by @zomtart. Companion piece of Day 1 - Why?, Day 7 - Distant, and Day 11 - Proof of Life.

Now with added fan art!

You Are To Me

It happened so fast.

When you saw the gun pointing at Frank’s unprotected back, you didn’t think. You just moved. Using a combination of surprise and momentum, you pushed him out of the way just as a loud bang rang out in the night.

Pain blossomed at your shoulder. It felt like you had been punched in the gut. Hard, with someone’s full strength. Knocking the breath out of you and making it hard to take in new air. You couldn’t move your arm. You couldn’t stand up. All you could do was lay there, staring at the dark red stain spreading across your shirt.

You had been shot. It didn’t seem real. Even with the pain and the blood. It just didn’t seem real.

The sense of unreality continued as Frank swore, then dragged you behind something. A car or a truck. You didn’t really notice. You were only dimly aware of more gunshots, the chonk-ping of bullets hitting the ground, the acrid scent of spent gunpowder . . . then the deafening boom of another gun, much closer this time. A softer thump of something crumpling to the ground. Then silence.

Something getting pressed hard against your wound. It hurt. But not enough to dispel the almost dream-like quality. You could hear Frank shouting, his voice filled with anger and fear, “Don’t die! Don’t you dare die on me!”

“Sorry,” you said through numb lips before everything went black.

***

The starkly chemical smell of bleach was the next thing you were aware of. You opened your eyes to stark white walls, the beep-beep of a heart monitor, the fainter murmur of voices. Hospital. You were in the hospital. Why . . . then you remembered. You had been shot.

You looked over yourself. Your shoulder had been heavily wrapped in bandages and secured into a sling. The other arm was hooked into an IV, your hand clasped tightly in Frank’s hand. He was sitting in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs, pulled up right next to the bed. He didn’t look like he had slept in days.

Noticing that you were awake, he squeezed your hand tightly.

“Never do that again,” he said. No, ordered. It was an order, issued in that firm, no nonsense tone that demanded immediate obedience. It matched the look on his face, stern and unyielding as granite. Except for his eyes. The eyes gave away the fear, the anger, the relief. Voice thick with unshed tears, he continued, “Never take another bullet for me, darling. I ain’t worth it.”

You squeezed his hand. “You are to me.”

[undersero]

“Woah,” Hika says for the third time, stepping forward on wobbling legs. The echo from the thunder spear rings in their ears.

“Right?” Hange beams, turning toward their friend.

“If we could get that towards the nape-“

“We could blow any titan to smithereens!” Hange finishes while laughing.

“What do you think, Levi?”

“Wondering why you let Hange have access to so much gunpowder.”

“They haven’t killed any of us yet,” Hika points out.

“Yet!” Hange chirps.

“But really,” Hika directs, “the thunder spears, Levi.”

“They’ll do,” Levi admits.

“Really? That’s all?”

“That’s as much praise as you’ll get, Hange.”

The Drabble Challenge 2024 | Day 5 of 30: Ring

[purgatory-is-life]

Mechtober prompt 29/day 29-crossover

this one is going to turn into a longfic at some point as well, bc I just think its silly and i love doing crossovers they drive me insane

@mechtober-2024

Mechanical Bats - Reality666Rift999 - The Mechanisms (Band) [Archive of Our Own]

tw; cursing, mentioned murder, mentioned vehicular manslaughter, mentioned physical assault, mentioned crimes, probably more, let me know what I should add!

---

“Cass!” Steph called, causing the black-haired woman to turn towards her. “Where are you going? Tim was gonna drag us all to that show thing?”

“Oh,” Cassandra hummed. “That was tonight?’

“Yep!” Stephanie replied, popping the ‘p’.

Cassandra nodded, taking a moment to think. “I will be there, I’m meeting someone. A friend. I will– hm… They will be there, too.”

“Ah, okay, okay. Be safe? And punch ‘em in the gut if they do anything!”

“They will not. …Would probably enjoy it, too… Hm.” Cass waved, and turned, leaving Stephanie confused in the manor’s foyer as Cass left Wayne Manor.

Stephanie sighed, shaking her head, before turning and heading back further into the manor.

—--

“Good morning my dearest Gunpowder!” Marius grinned as he sat down in his plush seat. This asylum really knew how to treat their doctors!

Tim, on the other hand, looked about ready to blow the place up–which, to be fair, was their normal. They sighed dramatically, sitting upside down on the plastic chair.

“Oh, Marius. I’ve smuggled in only about fifteen pounds of plastic explosives, I’ve found answers to all that Nygma guys’ riddles and he’s run out of things to ask, how do you think? I’m bored! There aren’t even any octokittens around to keep me entertained! This place is so boring!”

“You’ve been here for a week, Gunpowder…”

“And I’m bored! Which crime even was it that got me sent here? There’s at least a dozen to pick from!”

“Uh…” Marius looked through the folder he’d been given. “Aggravated assault and first degree vehicular manslaughter! Damn, they didn’t even pick any of the good ones.”

Tim groaned loudly. “This is stupid! This place is boring! And clearly they don’t give a shit, they hired you of all people!”

“I am perfectly qualified, thank you very much! They do seem to be quite severely understaffed for the amount of criminals here, though.”

“Exactly! We should just break out of here, use those fifteen pounds of explosives and ditch this place to get back to having some fun.”

“Oh!” Marius clapped his hands. “Funny enough, that reminds me! We’re doing a show tonight at Calypso’s, you want to come? If I help you, you won’t even need to worry about using up your explosives just yet, I’ll smuggle some guns in later! The security is tight but, well, has that ever stopped us?”

“Yeah, well, you can just summon things from fuckin’ nowhere, so I think you’re an outlier.”

“Well it’s not like I can do that on purpose, that just kind of happens! A surprise, really, that they haven’t thrown me in here with the others because of my violin thing, actually.”

“My guess? They can’t because you don’t have a known criminal record.”

“So far! The game is young, we got here what, a month ago? Much to do! Many crimes to commit! And there’s superheroes, that’s gonna be fun to fuck around with. I think Jonny’s planning to start a war already!”

“Of course he is! It’s Jonny, mate doesn’t know how to do jack shit that doesn’t involve violence and bloodshed.”

“Well… yeah, it is Jonny. He’s violent and chaotic and that’s how we like him!”

“Hm. Usually. Anyway, concert tonight?”

“Right! It’s at about, uh… What kind of clock do they use around here again?”

“Twenty-four hours, generally.”

“Right! So then the concert’s at about 19:30 tonight, so I’ll come break you out around 17:45?”

“Amazing!” Gunpowder clapped excitedly. “Finally some kind of fun!”

“Of course! Now,” Marius grinned, “on to the therapy session!”

Gunpowder stared at Marius, mechanical eyes whirring as they zoomed in and out. “Don’t do this to me, Mari. Please.”

“Well it’s what I was hired to do~” Marius’s grin widened. “So, where were we last session?”

“Ugh…”

—--

Calypso’s was a new bar and grill that seemed to spring up from nowhere, swiftly gaining popularity for its declaration of being a ‘Neutral Zone’, good drinks, and live music. Particularly, the live music.

The music was always performed by an indie band that similarly appeared out of nowhere. With their surprise arrival on the scene, they quickly gained popularity alongside the bar. Their songs were violent and cruel, speaking of endless death and destruction and war as if they were the greatest thrills one could seek. The bassist owned and ran the bar, and the band performed at other small, local bars and venues whenever Calypso’s itself was closed. Overall, besides the violence and bloodshed in their songs, they were largely unassuming.

Except for the fact that the guitarist was arrested and sentenced to five years in Arkham for driving into and killing a pedestrian before beating someone half to death with an unlit scented candle, the bassist was clearly making some kind of name for themself in the criminal underground based on the hushed whispers heard around the city, and Tim was utterly transfixed by them.

Bruce Wayne did not like them, their music was loud, bloody, and confusing and they were almost definitely all criminals. But, Tim liked them, and was dragging everyone to Calypso’s to see the band perform, and Bruce wanted more than anything to support his kids. And that’s how he found himself being dragged to Calypso’s at six in the evening, Tim talking excitedly to Steph while Jason and Dick argued about something. Probably a book, Bruce had stopped paying attention to them a while ago.

Barbara would’ve come, but she didn’t want to and had elected to have a quiet night in the Clock Tower, watching over Gotham in case of an emergency.

Either way, Bruce was using this as a perfect time to properly investigate the band running the bar. Going as Batman would only raise suspicions of the bar owners, show that he was on to whatever it was they were doing under the table; it was risky, and gathering intel would be harder to do if he had to fight off whatever security force worked for the bar.

But when Tim had invited the whole family out to see the band, well. That made things significantly easier.

Entering the bar, the first thing Bruce noticed was the smell. There was, naturally, the thick stench of alcohol wafting through the air, the thick scent of cigarette smoke, but it smelt… A lot more clean. Of all the bars he’d been to, as Batman or as Bruce Wayne, it was probably the one that smelt the nicest and the cleanest.

He wasn’t sure if that was weird or not, but he still noted it.

They weren’t very far into the building when Cassandra walked up to them, waving with a small smile. Stephanie grinned excitedly. “So, where’s your friend?” was the first thing Steph asked. Bruce sighed. Cass didn’t seem phased, though, and simply offered a small smile.

“They will be here,” she said, nodding. “C’mon, I’ve got us a table.”

Tim fell into step with Cass quickly, the two leading the way through the bar while the rest of them followed.

“This is going to be so cool,” Tim said, grinning and snapping his fingers. Cass nodded, that small smile still on her lips.

“It’s going to be very fun.”

“I wonder what they’re going to play? I’ve got a few ideas…” Tim continued to ramble, Cass nodding along while leading them to the booth she’d picked out. Bruce bit his tongue, and let them talk about the band in peace. (Tim rarely smiled so brightly anymore, still a bit upset about Damian’s arrival– he deserved a few things to smile about.)

Bruce surveyed the other patrons, keeping an eye out for anyone familiar or any of his typical rogues. Bruce didn’t see anyone out of the ordinary, and sat down. The booth had a nearly perfect view of the stage, which seemed to be in the process of being set up. There was a booth ahead of them that was closer, but no one was sitting in it yet. There were several menus placed around the table, and Bruce decided to survey it. There were a lot of strange items, ones that he wouldn’t have expected to see at a dingy, brand new bar-and-grill that just popped up. Alongside the standard items– cheeseburgers, nachos, fried pickles, and beer– there were things like steak, old, well-aged wine, and baked alaskas. It was… odd.

“So…” Dick said, tapping his fingers along the table, “you’ve talked a bit about this band, but what exactly are we signing up for?”

Tim just grinned. “Oh you’ll see.”

Dick just rolled his eyes. Bruce glanced around at the other patrons again, and at the stage. A few people had gathered on it. They appeared to be talking about something. One of the people on the stage was tall, wearing a long, pinstriped trench coat, while one of the others was fidgeting with one of the microphone wires in a brown leather vest, and a white shirt, and the other was very stiff and wooden in their movements, wearing a uniform that Bruce assumed was some kind of military uniform that he just wasn’t familiar with. Other than their outfits, nothing stuck out about them as odd, and so Bruce turned away.

Jason was demanding something from Tim, probably more of an explanation, while Steph stared intensely at the menu as if she wasn’t going to order the nachos, like she always did when at a new place that served them. Dick was also observing the menu with intensity, while Cass watched the stage with interest.

“You can’t just bring us here with no explanations and expect us to sit idly by!” Jason proclaimed.

“I can, and I did,” Tim replied. “Besides, out of everyone, I think you’ll like their songs the most. Maybe they’ll appeal to Dick’s inner theatre kid–”

“Hey!”

“–but I think they’ll appeal to you a lot. There’s a lot of bloodshed!”

“I don’t only like violence,” Jason wrinkled his nose. “I don’t even necessarily like violence. It’s just that it’s useful sometimes.”

“Well, there’s a lot of classic literature drawn from, in their songs, too. There.”

Jason looked like he wanted to hop across the table and strangle Tim, but he refrained, which Bruce was thankful for. A waiter stopped by, and asked if they were ready to order something.

Everyone simply got water or sweet tea to drink, and Steph ordered the extra-spicy nachos, Dick got a double-patty cheeseburger, and Cass got mac-and-cheese. The waiter took their orders with a sure nod, and disappeared off somewhere else. Everything was going smoothly, so far. It was calm, and there wasn’t anything odd going on around them. It put Bruce on edge– when everything was too calm, too nice. Something had to go wrong, soon.

Bruce glanced at the stage, and saw several more people having gathered, tuning instruments and getting set up for the show. As he looked over the stage, one of the people up there–the bassist, he assumed from the instrument across their shoulders–glanced at him, directly in his eyes, and grinned. It was only for a moment, but it sent chills down Bruce’s spine, and Bruce tore his eyes away.

Cass turned back to the others, and announced, “The show’s starting soon.”

Tim jumped and turned towards the stage, grinning excitedly.

As everyone’s attention drifted towards the stage, the person in the brown leather vest grabbed a microphone, saying into it, “Test, test. Our audio working alright?” The sound echoed throughout the bar, but it didn’t break or crack in any way. Bruce followed the person’s eyes towards a booth towards the center of the room, where someone was seemingly working their audio. They gave a thumbs up, and the one in the vest turned to the one in the probably-a-military-uniform. “Toy Soldier, test that mic for us.”

“Will do, Old Chap!” The stiff one saluted, and leaned into the microphone to sing a couple of scales.

The band continued doing a few tests, until they were satisfied that everything was working and sounded alright. With those out of the way, the one at the microphone in the center-front stage, nodded and started talking again.

“Right, well, I must say– welcome one and all! Returning patrons and new faces alike! I’m sure you know the drill by now!” They gestured to one of the string players, who started playing a vibrant and energetic tune that was quickly joined in on by the rest of the band.

And with that, they started singing.

“Like whiskey laced with gasoline, We’re deadly when we’re drunk

So shut your face and settle down, You sneering little punk!

‘Cause space is vast, You are small, It’s black and bitter cold

The book is lying open,

There are tales to be told!”

The seemingly lead-singer was grinning wildly, as he sang.

“The fire is burning lower and the Stars are shining bright

We’ve stories grim as pistol lead to tell to you tonight!

So grab yourself a mug of beer, gin or vodka, hold it near

The book is lying open,

There are tales to be told!”

Tim and Cass were clapping along, as was most of the bar.

“Killers, renegades, liars and thieves!” The lead singer called out, “Welcome! For those of you unfamiliar, we are the Mechanisms! The Crew of the Starship Aurora, roaming through the universe in search of adventure, seeking fun, enjoying a good spot of violence here and there, and looking, most of all, for a good story. But also, mostly the violence.” They shrugged and grinned. “Let me introduce to you my Crew! First off, we have Drumbot Brian, our ship’s pilot and–naturally–our drummer!” There was a cheer from the crowd, and the person in a top hat with brass-painted– painted? From where Bruce was sitting, he almost couldn’t tell if Drumbot Brian had face paint on or if he was actually made of brass– smiled and waved, grinning. “There’s Raphaella la Cognizi, our keys player and resident science officer!” The one behind the keyboard jumped slightly, and smiled widely, waving as her mechanical wings fluttered. “And of course, our ship’s quote-un-quote ‘doctor’, Baron Marius von Raum on violin! He’s neither a baron, nor a doctor.” One of the violinists grinned and waved with a black, metal hand, before returning to playing. “My dumbass sister, on viola, Nastya Rasputina!” The woman on the viola flipped the lead singer off, adjusted her glasses, and returned to her playing as well. The crowd still cheered, though. “Our beloved and be-loathed archivist, Ivy Alexandria, on just a truly unfathomable amount of instruments.” The redhead waved, a small smile on their face.

“On harp and lyre, our Navigator Lyfrassir Edda!” The dark skinned person sitting next to a decent sized harp waved as well, their silver hair glowing slightly iridescent under the light, looking at them directly for too long left colorful dark-spots in Bruce’s vision and gave him a headache. And returning from the shortest hiatus ever, our Master-at-Arms and guitarist, Gunpowder Tim makes her daring return!” There was an uproarious cheer throughout the bar, and Gunpowder Tim smiled, giving small bows around the room with a wild grin. Her presence caught Bruce’s eye, as she was the one that was supposed to be in Arkham for manslaughter. He had to make a note to call Gordon, to check on the asylum and make sure no one else had broken out once they were done here… “The Toy Soldier is… here, for some reason, to sing and play the glockenspiel and mandolin. I don’t think I’ll ever understand it.” Jonny gestured to the stiff one, who waved excitedly.

“I’m just happy to be involved here!” The Toy Soldier declared.

“Yes, we’re aware. And of course, everyone give a warm, warm welcome, to our host, the owner of this here bar, our dearest quartermaster and bassist, Ashes O’Reilly!” There was another cheer, and the bassist grinned, though they didn’t react much more than that. “And lastly, though never the least, there’s myself! Your humble narrator, Jonny d’Ville, captain of our amazing starship!”

And then, as if it was some kind of cue that Bruce didn’t get, several people in the bar (including Cass and Tim) and on the stage yelled out, “First Mate!”

Jonny d’Ville sighed dramatically, but there was a subtle smirk on his face. “Really, I should expect this by now, no one ever respects my authority.”

“You don’t really have any,” Ashes said, “here in my bar. Technically.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

They let the music play for a moment, before Jonny began singing again.

The show continued on for a while, playing an album that Tim had excitedly called ‘Once Upon a Time (in Space)’, that didn’t last nearly as long as Bruce was expecting. It was a retelling of several classic fairy tales, set in a sci-fi, war-torn world. And while Bruce definitely wouldn’t call it anything he found particularly interesting, the story was good and the atmosphere was strangely warm. (It was a bonus that Cass and Tim were getting so excited and clapping or cheering along to the music, that they enjoyed it so much.) Their food arrived shortly after the first song, ‘Tales to be Told’, according to Cass, and it was surprisingly good. Especially for a new bar run by someone who didn’t seem to exist a few weeks ago. As the concert wore on and ended, there was a loud cheer, and the band started to put things away.

Ashes put their bass away, and Bruce watched as the possibly-metal man approached them. They had a conversation, before Drumbot Brian rolled his eyes and bowed slightly to them (despite being nearly a foot and a half taller than them), before walking away, and then Ashes turned around and locked eyes with Bruce again, grinning.

They walked over, and Cass grinned as they approached. Tim’s eyes widened, when he saw them approaching. Ashes leaned on the pillar that their booth was attached to, grinning a bit at Cassandra.

“Hey, Cassie,” they said, surveying the table, “so this the surprise you mentioned earlier?”

Cass nodded. “Lucky coincidence,” she said. “I forgot they were coming tonight.”

“Ah.” Ashes grinned. Steph swung her head wildly between the two of them, from Ashes to Cass and back to the bassist.

“Cass? Your friend is the fucking owner?!” Steph asked.

Cass grinned and nodded.

“Yep,” Ashes said, grinning and slipping one of their hands into their pockets. “Ashes O’Reilly, owner of Calypso’s, and a friend of Cassie’s. They/them pronouns, preferably. Nice to meet you all.” Ashes offered a hand to everyone, Tim was still shell shocked, but everyone else was mostly able to shake their hand. Ashes offered their hand to Bruce, and he hesitated, before gripping their hand tightly. Their hand was almost uncomfortably warm.

“Bruce Wayne,” Bruce replied, “nice to meet you as well.”

[deancaspinefest]

The 2024 Pinefest Posting Schedule is here!

Under the cut, you’ll find the full posting schedule for this eighth round of the Dean/Cas Pinefest, along with links to each preview. Posting season begins on pie day -- March 14th -- and will run for 34 days, with one team posting every day.

Enjoy the previews, and make sure to check out the links to everyone's other work while you're waiting for their pine-scented posting day!

Happy pining, everyone!

Thursday March 14 | following the light Friday March 15 | One Drop, when What You Need is the Ocean Saturday March 16 | Of Dust, Gunpowder and Holy Water Sunday March 17 | Books, Pies, and Roommates Monday March 18 | A Fairy Tale Cliche! Tuesday March 19 | All in Honesty Wednesday March 20 | Another Kind of Memory Thursday March 21 | Not our kind of thing Friday March 22 | Different Currencies Saturday March 23 | In The Dog Days Sunday March 24 | Whatever Makes You Happy Monday March 25 | Significant severe Tuesday March 26 | all that we intend Wednesday March 27 | Something Happening Somewhen Thursday March 28 | Two Princes Friday March 29 | Broken (The Worst Is Over Now) Saturday March 30 | Well, I Never Been To Heaven Sunday March 31 | The Reel Deal Monday April 1 | A Fabulous Evening's Apocalypse Tuesday April 2 | Foxfire Wednesday April 3 | Super Double Bus Thursday April 4 | Suddenly I See Friday April 5 | Lavender Fireflies Saturday April 6 | Heartland Flyer Sunday April 7 | Something Blue Monday April 8 | Wouldn't It Be Nice Tuesday April 9 | If Only You Return to Me Wednesday April 10 | all out to sea Thursday April 11 | Dear Father Friday April 12 | Opposites Distract Saturday April 13 | Faking It? Sunday April 14 | Given to Fly Monday April 15 | Take The Long Way Home Tuesday April 16 | A Glacial Pace

[tangerinesgirl]

Kinktober 2024 - October 24th

Glove Kink // Masturbation //  Somnophilia

Adam 'Frank' Barrett x Fem!Reader

Rating: 18+, explicit

Word count: 500>

Warnings: smut, asphyxiation, blood, slapping

Kinktober List || Masterlist || AO3

There's just something about those gloves.

Maybe it was the fact that they have been used for questionable things, and the thought of you adding to that, makes your pussy throb. Frank could easily use disposable gloves instead, but he just loved the way you looked on the receiving end of the leather.

Or the smell of him lingering in the creases of the material. Musky, sweat with a hint of his aftershave. Metallic like iron, from the smell of someone's blood, with leftover notes of gunpowder. Used and dirty, you love it that he doesn't clean them before touching you, both of you desperate for them to be inside your cunt.

Perhaps it's the way Frank loves seeing you go wild for them. You moan as you take his digits into your mouth, tasting the bitterness of whatever is on them. All while slick starts seeping out of you, wetting the inside of your thighs. Frank knew he could get you to do anything he asked right now, as your tongue recognises each groove of his leather clad hands. You do all this before giving him the sloppiest, most enthusiastic, blowjob for years.

It could be the feeling of the gloves tracing down your body, the natural creases somewhat rough on your nipples. He pinches it, making you ache, on the cusp of pleasure and pain. Closing your eyes, you let him touch you however he pleases.

He does all this before drifting his hand south, down your body. Rubbing against your clit, coating the glove in your juices. Before his fingers insert into you, cold at first, stretching you out wonderfully. Dry leather rubbing against your walls, pulsing around him.

His fingers are massive normally on their own, overwhelmingly so with the gloves. Tears starting to form in the corners of your eyes as he works his fingers slowly into you, curling inside to make room for his cock. The leather memorising you, moulding to each curve.

It's also the way your slick coats the gloves, your scent embedded into them, carrying over into his next job. You grinding down on his fingers until you cum, giving them a whitish gleam, before Frank licks it off in front of you. You practically begged him to bend you over and fuck you into next week after that... Which he did.

Then there's the leather creaking ever so gently as he grips your neck tight, while roughly fucking into your pussy. His eyes full of danger in the most delicious way, primal instincts surfacing seeing you writhe underneath him. It's hard to tell if you or Frank likes the way he controls your breathing the most. Your body shivers as his eyes darken, but not with fear... with anticipation.

Or, while he's spearing into you, his other gloved hand slapping across your ass loudly. The leather rippling across your skin as you gasp and clench around him. You would feel this for days afterwards while he's busy on his next mission.