#I love having this little escape to come on here and talk to the gay people in my phone

[mashmouths]

so i started this show and it just gets worse and worseeeee not only did it lift the romance subplot directly from twilight (and not well) but they also are trying to play the forbidden love angle hard in the fantasy racism vein except it's a "cross-species" relationship between the two whitest people i've ever seen in my life and there are three people of color in the whole (first season of the) show who aren't villains and it seems that every other episode (and sometimes ebery episode and sometimes twice an episode!) there is a man physically or magically subjugating a woman and i keep waiting for the big reveal at the end to be stolen from fucking rainbow rowell

[housewifebuck]

cam pléase don’t worry about being on here or office hours or gifs or whatever just take care of yourself. please. we love you 🥺🥺💙💙

Ily thank u I appreciate u guys sm u don’t even know

[lurkingshan]

Things I Can't Stop Thinking About in Let Free the Curse of Taekwondo

My friends, we are in for a world of pain, Hwang Da Seul style, and I could not be more excited for her to hurt me. Her shows are always so beautiful and evocative and layered with deep emotion, and this one is no different. Here are some things that stood out to me from the first two episodes.

This show is giving us a classic character dynamic that Korea in particular seems to love: the persistent sunshine boy masking pain who insists on getting close to the closed off grump whose pain is right there on the surface for anyone who cares to look. I loved them both, as individual characters and as a pair, instantly.

Our tale appears to be taking place around about the mid-2000s, based on the technology, music, and drama references in these first couple episodes (h/t @dropthedemiurge). Both the main characters are serving as narrators of different parts of the story, and they seem to be looking back on this time from the future.

Juyeong captured my heart as soon as he started dancing with himself in the middle of the street, and my interest and investment in him only grew as we got more pieces of his backstory. The implication is clear that his sexuality is the reason for the fracture with his Christian pastor mother and why he was sent to this town to be "set straight" by an abusive coach. But he’s still in touch with her, speaking on the phone every day and promising he’s being good, even as he gives in to his desires (but not before removing his crucifix). He's a filial son who seems to be harboring a lot of guilt for disappointing her, and this whole situation feels very akin to being sent away for conversion therapy (and now I'm thinking about Love in the Big City again).

Dohoe feels all around more jaded than Juyeong, which is perfectly understandable given he was abandoned by his mother and left to live with an abuser in this town he hates. Not only is he putting up with constant beatings from his father, he is suffering bullying at school from a boy who used to be his friend until things got a little too gay between them. Anyone who had been hurt by as many loved ones as he had would be justified in trusting no one, so it's telling that he let Juyeong in as quickly as he did. Dohoe radiates loneliness and he was dying for someone to see him.

It feels notable to me that both Dohoe and Juyeong came to this connection knowing they were gay and having already had bad experiences because of it. It's rare that we get two characters in a bl romance who both Know (h/t @bengiyo).

The romance in this show is so well written, I was already screaming into my pillow within two episodes. I tell ya, nobody delivers romance writing like Korea when they decide to be serious. The little ways Juyeong and Dohoe see each other, the way they pay attention and notice each other's mood and health, the way they go out of their way to bring each other a bit of happiness. Dohoe's journey to secure Juyeong's weird ice cream! Juyeong making snow for Dohoe (snow is one of THE biggest signifiers of love in kdrama language)! And on top of that, they communicate with each other. As soon as it's clear their attraction is mutual, they start talking about it. They confess (Dohoe in a more tortured manner, and then Juyeong after removing the symbol of his mother's oppression). They discuss where in this damn town they can safely make out with each other, and go do that! Perfection.

The tone of this show is also pitch perfect. The dojo and taekwondo scenes, along with the presence of Dohoe's father, root us in a kind of toxic masculinity that feels stifling. We feel transported back in time, in a setting where the accents and scenery are different from the usual drama fare, in a place where Dohoe and Juyeong don't fit in but also can't escape. Every moment feels anchored in both a warm nostalgia and a cold dread, because we can feel something bad coming even as Dohoe and Juyeong experience moments of happiness together.

Hyeonho is an interesting character. In some ways, he's very stereotypical: the bully who is battling his own internalized homophobia by punishing the ones he likes, and is now even more activated by his jealousy. But I do find it notable that he seems unwilling to let Dohoe get too hurt. He won't beat him himself and instead gets his little gang of thugs to do it for him, and he also stepped in (literally, he put his foot between Dohoe's head and the pavement) to make sure Dohoe didn't get irreparably injured. I'm not sure what to make of him just yet.

The references are everywhere in this show! HDS loves to reference both her own works (especially Where Your Eyes Linger and To My Star 2 in these first episodes) and other classic kdramas, along with making ample use of remixed versions of common kdrama romance tropes. It would probably be impossible to catch them all on a first viewing (a great excuse to rewatch).

Sending a plea to the universe and @troubled-mind to deliver the music on this soundtrack to me; it was so beautiful and perfectly used in these first two episodes.

[thechekhov]

Dungeon Meshi Quick Reacts

CH.30 (Good Medicine)

I kind of assumed that things would get worse from here...

...yeah, there's no 'but' to that. Getting Falin back so quick was too good to be true.

Aren't those the ghosts Falin talked to? They could be friendly.

"ee gads! a hairless little man!" I'd be frightened too if Chillchuck was suddenly behind a door I'd just opened.

Chillchuck, buddy, less than 24 hours ago you threw a knife directly into a dragon's eye. You can take care of some worgs, right?

Senshi's a card carrying member of the smells-okay-to-me-chief club.

Orcs be like 'oh, dragon's gone? Hm. Curious' and then just carry on. Wouldn't you be worried that something took out the dragon? Could be even more dangerous than the dragon itself.

I feel like at this point Falin might be just that.

MOUTH TO MOUTH RESUSCITATION!

Marcille, I don't think you have a lot of options.

......just realized those moose antlers are holding up her rack. Talk about a pushup bra. Damn. Respect.

Wait go back to that "create monsters to do their bidding" thing again. Was that the little mini dragons or does that include larger monsters like the dragon itself?!

OR something that was IN the dragon, controlling its actions and make it act irrationally? Is that why the Sorcerer wasn't surprised to see Falin as a separate thing outside the dragon? Was the assumption that whatever THING it was had escaped and become Falin?

And for all we know... it kinda had. It had merged with her spirit....

Or maybe I'm way off.

Congrats on the larger story plot! :D You're now in even more danger! Hoorah!

Chillchuck, a normal person would just go 'I'm leaving, pay me'. You're giving yourself away, worrying for them.

I can't hate him for the reasoning here. The deeper you go, the less likely you are to be found. The only person who cares enough about Marcille and Laios and Chillchuck to find their bodies are.... each other. So if they're dead here, they're likely dead-dead.

I want to nestle into her bosom and live there as a little creature.

Moreso than when she was literally in the gullet of a red dragon?! Come on, be reasonable. At least she's alive now. And remembers who she is.

Ooooh friendly ghosts. Makes sense why Falin was so chill about them.

All the more reason to believe there's something to be done!

Love the doggo yawning behind Chillchuck.

He's a coward, but being afraid isn't necessarily a sign of weakness. It's a sign that you realize how dangerous a situation is. Cowardice isn't stupidity, no more than ignorance of danger is bravery.. I think the orc leader is maybe realizing he's not doing it for completely selfish reasons. Mad respect to her though.

It WAS Falin, wasn't it? It wasn't as if it was a thing pretending to be her. She was there, and she was revived successfully, and then the soul confusion thing happened.

......damn. What a small holiday they got, before the next horrible thing happened...

hey, Marcille is not dumb! She's got loads of braincells! they're just all focused on doing evil stuff and being gay.

🎯

That's right! It's just like you, Chillchuck!

Was that... there before?

Oh, okay, no, it was. Hm.......

This stupid man is about to full a Falin and jump out a window to go look for her, isn't he.

Gods, this sucks for him so much. For all of them. Because they.... they WERE successful! They rescued Falin! They brought her back from the head! They DID that!

But now, instead of getting the reward of it, she's just gone. Is it better, because she's alive?

Or worse, because the threat is even more nebulous?

If they all died, would it be worth it?

who's the coward...? he's ready to go back.

For Falin, they went down there. They risked themselves.

For them, after talking to him only a bit, the orc leader went from 'hey, nice snack for my dog' to 'we're helping you get that girl back'.

It's about the CONNECTION!!! IT'S ABOUT HELPING EACH OTHER AFTER LEARNING TO UNDERSTAND ONE ANOTHER!!!

[elliesmainhoe]

Heyy 🔮 here I have a request (if you have time ofc)

Ellie with streamer gf were the reader has a loooong stream going and Ellie bringst her food water etc and keeps the reader company.

💜💜

Ellie Williams Headcanons: Streamer!Reader

Cute 🥰

She's always coming in to your office with a cup of tea, snacks or dinner.

Tries desperately to hide off camera.

Chat knows your dating ofc- she's known as the 'mystery girl with the tattoo'

Buys you loads of Knicks knacks to put on the shelf behind you of your favorite games and media

She's bought you a plumbob cushion (sims), about seven animal crossing figurines and a Gengar plushie (Pokemon).

Just to name a few

Arcade dates! Arcade dates!

She loves video games just as much as you do but is not extroverted enough to do it for a living, so your a pretty even match when it comes to who's gonna win.

yourinstagram

6,302 likes

yourinstagram Arcade date with bae <33 (she beat me, I'm not okay.)

View all 102 comments

dinnodina why do I third wheel so much? 💔

Y/Nss_1fan gf reveal when?!

You often do charity streams, they're usually quite lengthy and use up a lot of your energy.

So ofc your gf caters to all your needs.

In honour to raise money for research and support for the charity your chat had voted to support this month- you decided to do a 12 hour long stream.

You did a variety of things- you played different games, reacted to fanart and TikTok edits. It was a lot of fun.

A small knock on your office door told you of Ellie's presence. "C'mon in babe!" You yelled out to the girl, she shyly tiptoed in, a plate in her hands and a can of coke that she slowly put it on the desk.

User1: tattoo bae!!!

User2: omg omg omg play multiplayer with her!

User3: Move away y/n she's mine.

"you wanna stay and talk with us baby?"

"yeah I'd like that"

yourinstagram

17,912 Likes

yourinstagram thank you to everyone who donated to charity during yesterday's fundraiser live stream! After 12 hours of fun we made an amazing $17,403!!!

Have a little gf photo as appreciation ❤️🥰

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Taglist: @aunslie @lonelyfooryouonly @eywaskisses @daryldixonh0e @kittynnie @lovelyyevelyn @randomhoex @moonlightdivine @haerinwho @mufflaa @mial1l @sarahsmileslikesarahd0esntcare @moonlighting87 @escaping-reality8 @magicalfreakcowboylawyer @hejdevkdbdjsd @dergy @half-of-a-gay @ellieismami @cyberlainn @gollumsmygel @sseorii @kyleeservopoulos @taloulalila @ellieluhme @kiiyoooo @delusionalvioleht @joelscharm @hi2647 @gumdropkoo @coffeeandbookskeepmealive @womaniza @namgification @kimiisims-blog @tayyyystan @abigaillovestoread @whoreshores @kylieeluvstlou @knowitsforthebetterr @endureher @erikaar @lanasluverr @sayah13 @ilovebufflesbians @srryhoneyy @222fine444u @jade1212

[08melancholie]

Patch up, Cowboy. — Micah Bell/Arthur Morgan

tags: Tension, Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Tension, Mild Smut, Non-Graphic Smut, Blood, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Gay Panic, Sexuality Crisis, enemies to whatever the fuck they are, Jealousy, Jealous Micah Bell, Micah Bell Is His Own Warning, Toxic Yaoi type shit i love them oh god, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Medium Honor Arthur Morgan, Toxic Yaoi

summary: Law always finds itself around Micah and Arthur, no matter what job they do. This time, though, they get surprised by a bunch of bloodthirsty O'Driscolls and one hell of an ambush. Put your differences aside and patch up, cowboy.

a/n: my first character/character fic thats posted woah, were making history here chat

words: 3,040 | AO3 LINK

A red rag draped over his leg, medical alcohol between his thighs and Micah's chin in-between his index and thumb, holding up a clean cotton cloth to his mouth and collecting blood.

"'Ya gotta stay still." Arthur's voice grumbles, slightly strained. The fire next to them crackles loudly and the night is silent, all for the occasional cricket or animal howl in the far distance or moving shrubbery. "I can't do it if you're squirmin' around the entire time." He holds onto the chin of the other with a firmer grip, trying to wipe his bottom lip of the leaky red substance. Micah's hand stay in his lap, palms squished between his thighs as he leans his head back, looking down at the other cowboy.

He snarls when the alcohol-infused material brushes over his busted lip, trying to jerk his head away—to no avail, as Arthur's grip keeps him exactly where he is, unmoving. "Damn it, Morgan.. thought you was a gentleman." His laugh is a small wheeze, the hot breath escaping his mouth and landing on Arthur, who tuts at him and shakes his head at the comment.

—————————————————

A nice little homestead that needed urgent clearance and robbing—deemed perfect for Arthur and Micah, by Dutch. Clearly not, by Arthur's protest to the idea. Micah gives a very offended scoff at the other man. "Come on, Morgan. You an' me, it's a perfect team." Arthurs' eyes practically roll to the back of his head, but he can't find it in himself to go against Dutch's word, no matter how much he may hate the blonde snake.

He gives Dutch a look, very obviously, before sighing and calling Micah to follow over to where their horses were hitched up. They rode mostly in silence, every attempt at small-talk between Micah and Arthur lasting a measly few minutes, if that many.

The homestead looked partially abandoned when they arrived. "This don't look good," Arthur wanted to listen to his gut and turn back, or find something else that actually looked promising, but of course, Micah was having none of it.

"Oh, don't be like that," He rode Baylock closer to Arthur and pulled on his horses reins. "thought you was one of them.. 'don't judge a book by it's cover' fellers." He mocks, trying to get Arthur to keep riding towards the homestead. With more reluctance, Arthur follows along. "That's the spirit." Micah makes sure to comment, looking over his shoulder to where Arthur is riding close-by. They hitch up a safe distance away—you never know, even if it looks abandoned. "Follow the lead, cowpoke."

Micah's got his hands on his two DAs, fidgeting with the handles while they slowly creep up the area, heading straight for the little house. Arthur puts his bandana up and places his hands on his gun belt, walking to Micah's left. They approach the front porch, making their way up the small set of stairs and up to the door. A quick glance to each other, Micah puts up his own bandana and nods for Arthur to have the honours.

The door swings open into a worrisome silence, nothing but the slow creaking of the old hinges as the door slows its pace and hits the wall. "Well, looks like nobody is home." Arthur glances at Micah at his quip, narrowing his eyes before walking by the man.

He gets straight to business; opening drawers and cupboards for anything useful. Micah does the same—kind of. He looks here and there while mostly just exploring the house. Soon, Arthur is left alone in the main room, a living room and open kitchen. He's looking through the kitchen drawers when the silence gets abruptly disturbed; a gasp, metal clanking, a gunshot. Arthur is quick to stand up from his crouching position and draw his revolver, checking the corners over to the room where the noise came from. As much as he'd love to see Micah shot, he doesn't need that right now.

One of the doors down the hall is ajar, and theres a scent of gunpowder coming from the room. A quick cock of his revolver, huff and prayer before Arthur enters the room; just to find a grinning Micah, leaned on the wall and playing with his revolver. "Didn't know 'ya cared that much about me, cowpoke." Arthur is just about to berate the blonde for the idiotic quip, before he's met with Micah's wide eyes— "Shit!" —and a quickdraw. Micah shoots right past his shoulder.

Arthur grips his gun and turns, to see a man on his front bleeding out on the living room floor. "The hell?" Both of them exit the room, Micah first.

Micah walks up to the dying man, using his boot to kick the mans gun out of reach, just in case. He crouches down and grabs a fistful of his hair, lifting the body up slightly. Nothing that could make him stand out—except a bright, neon green neckerchief. "What's an O'Driscoll 'ere for?" Micah murmurs between the two men before using his brain to connect two and two together, releasing the dead mans' hair and instantly standing to his feet, walking and shutting the front door.

Arthur catches on just as quickly, instantly readying his gun. "O'Driscolls ain't ever travel alone..." He comments, and he's very correct—proven so by the sudden gunshots that smash the house windows, glass flying over the floorboards as both of them duck, away from the view inside of the house through the broken windows. It's at least four other people shooting, against the two of them. They've dealt with worse, surely; this will go smoothly.

They're ducked under one of the two windows each, peeking out to shoot. Theres a few more than four, seven instead. Which is odd, as O'Driscolls never really go out in bigger groups than of three or four, which makes Arthur and Micah assume this was very planned. That's an afterthought, for now, as they need to focus on shooing them all dead. First three go down easily, until the other four start getting closer to the door. Something Arthur and Micah don't notice, is the O'Driscoll right at the door just waiting for the right moment. When it does come, it almost ruins the entire mission. The door opens, hitting Arthur in the side and shielding him from whats happening on the other side when the O'Driscoll busts in. Micah, thankfully, has a good reaction time and manages to stand up and move before getting shot. Unfortunately, it isn't enough as he gets shot in the thigh by the O'Driscoll before Arthur can close the door and shoot him. Micah hisses as the bullet penetrates his skin, clutching it and spitting out blood from his mouth, having bit the inside of his his lip open during the small stumble to the ground. "Get up, Micah!" Arthur's back is pressed to the door to prevent anymore surprises. Micah regains his composure with a low grumble, spitting on the floor before getting up and grabbing his guns again.

Gunpowder fills the nostrils of the two men by the time the last one of Colm's men escapes for his life, rushing away on his horse before Micah or Arthur can shoot him down. "Damn it," Arthur holsters his gun and places his hands on his hips, looking over to Micah. "we can both agree that was planned, right?"

Micah is picking glass out of his boot, sitting on the couch inside the house. "Mm, yeah. Seems so." His thigh is still bleeding slightly, his chapped lip stinging. Arthur got him a towel from the bathroom to wrap around his bullet wound, try and stop the bleeding until they can get him taken care of.

"Can't stay here, might come back." Arthur comments, opening the door and checking the surrounding area before beckoning Micah to follow suit. He grumbles, getting up from his seat and putting his guns into their holsters, walking—a bit uncomfortably—around the shattered glass pieces and out the door. They're mostly silent for the walk back to the horses, given how theres little to say here. Micah mounts up on Baylock with a hum and pat to the steeds neck, Arthur soon following. It was getting dark, slowly but surely, as the sun started dipping down around the earth, deep oranges and pinks filling the sky, with faint hues of blue still present. "I say we camp out, don't trust going back like this." Micah shrugs neutrally, deciding on just going with whatever Arthur has to say. They ride a few miles away from the homestead, into a nearby forest.

With their horses hitched safely, the two outlaws set their tents up and Arthur starts a little fire while Micah tries cleaning his wounds up. His lip is absolutely busted, few smaller gashes and splits in the bottom one along with the bigger one he bit into his flesh. It's a hassle to clean, even more his thigh. One spot on the towel is fully soaked, absorbing Micah's blood like a sponge. Peeling it off brings a grumble out of Micah, turning it over to a cleaner side and dabbing at his thigh. Arthur finished up the fire and looks to Micah, who seriously looks like the doesn't know what he's doing. For a man so stubborn, Arthur knew Micah would never allow him to help the clueless outlaw.

"You know what you're doing?" He decides to speak up, getting up from his crouching position and placing his hands on his gun belt.

Micah looks up at him from his thigh with an annoyed pout. "Of course I do.." He continued to dab at his thigh, but starts slowing down. "..clearly."

Would his hatred for Micah win over, be more important than not letting him get a nasty infection? That's a million dollar question.

And here's your answer.

Arthur sighs before walking over to the man and casually seating himself right next to Micah, prying the towel out of his hand. Micah goes to protest, snarl at him, but Arthur shushes him. "Don't be an ass now, it'll get infected if 'ya don't do it right." Arthur places a two fingers on Micah'd thigh, stretching it slightly which causes some vulgarities to slip from Micah's mouth. "Ah, 'm sorry," he places the towel back down and goes for his satchel, digging out a flask-like bottle and a small rag, along with a mini-box; mystery item, woo. "Hope 'ya don't like these pants that much," Arthur draws his knife and, carefully but swiftly, cuts up a better opening to the wound through his trousers.

"These are practically all I wear, Morgan. Surprised 'ya haven't taken notice of it."

"One of the girls'll sew it up for you." Arthur replies. Micah rolls his eyes and sits back, letting Arthur work with no further quips or protests. Arthur takes the flask and pours some of the liquid onto his clean rag, removing Micah's towel. "What's that 'ya got there anyw—shit!"

Arthur presses the rag—now soaked in medical alcohol—down onto Micah's thigh, grabbing his knee with the other hand as Micah tries to jerk it away. "Don't be a baby, Bell." He keeps the other outlaws' leg close, not letting him pry it away. "You're fine, stop overreacting."

Micah grumbles again, still letting out little hisses to the burning-tingly sensation in his leg. "Could'da warned me, 'ya know?" He mumbles, placing his hands in his lap and looking away from the white rag on his leg as it slowly changes in color.

After a moment longer, he takes it away and drapes the slightly red rag over his thigh, moving to grab the box. He opens it to reveal a needle and some thread, for the stitching. Micah watches him place the end of the thin string piece in his mouth, observing the action. A little too closely, maybe. Arthur runs the thread through the hole in the needle, looking at Micah. "No snarky comment 'bout it?" Micah rolls his eyes while Arthur gives a brief huffed laugh, leaning down slightly. He places his whole hand on Micah's upper thigh, trying to use the campfire to better see what he's doing.

A few twitches here and there; a gasp or two; Micah's arm finding itself gripping onto the wood log they're sat on. He never liked getting stitches. Nobody did, to be fair, but he had an extra hatred for it. He let out a deep exhale when Arthur finally finished, relieved. "We still got that lip you chewed open." Arthur reminds him, which breaks Micah away from his moment of gratitude. "Come on, it ain't nearly as bad as this," Arthur gestures to Micah's fixed up thigh, and he just waves him off. Arthur puts the needle and thread away, thankfully, and instead gets another smaller rag out. I mean, damn, is he always this prepared? Micah angles himself slightly more to face Arthur, who dabs a bit of the alcohol onto the clean rag, making Micah grimace. "You'll be fine." Arthur sees his reaction and clicks his tongue at the man.

A red rag draped over his leg, medical alcohol between his thighs and Micah's chin in-between his index and thumb, holding up a clean cotton cloth to his mouth and collecting blood.

"'Ya gotta stay still." Arthur's voice grumbles, slightly strained. The fire next to them crackles loudly and the night is silent, all for the occasional cricket or animal howl in the far distance or moving shrubbery. "I can't do it if you're squirmin' around the entire time." He holds onto the chin of the other with a firmer grip, trying to wipe his bottom lip of the leaky red substance. Micah's hand stay in his lap, palms squished between his thighs as he leans his head back, looking down at the other cowboy.

He snarls when the alcohol-infused material brushes over his busted lip, trying to jerk his head away—to no avail, as Arthur's grip keeps him exactly where he is, unmoving. "Damn it, Morgan.. thought you was a gentleman." His laugh is a small wheeze, the hot breath escaping his mouth and landing on Arthur, who tuts at him and shakes his head at the comment.

Despite how confident he sounds, Micah is sweating; his hands are clammy and his eyes are slightly widened, staring either at Arthurs hands or his eyes, switching frequently between the two. Arthur was mostly focused on making this less painful for Micah, surprisingly, so he didn't notice much about how Micah was reacting. Thank God.

The rag swiped over his gashes, sending little tingles through Micah's mouth, causing his slightly parted lips to twitch a few times. His eyes were on Arthurs' face, taking note of the slow flutter of his lashes every few seconds he'd blink; the crease in his eyebrows as he focused; his slightly crooked nose that's been broken a few times, something he knew of, because he was there for one of the instances before; the slightly plum-ish color of his mildly chapped lips and their mostly thin, yet soft look—stop.

He grimaced at his own trail of thought, and his lips clasped down closed—right over Arthur's thumb. The man glanced right up at Micah's face, which was getting more red by the second, his blood split between going to his face and his trousers. Arthurs' eyes flicked between Micah's mouth and eyes, just like Micahs' own two. The silence was deafening, awkward and felt so much longer than it truly was. What made it even worse was Micah opening his mouth, just for Arthur to keep his thumb there for a moment, staring intently at Micah. Both of them hadn't yet realised the very defined outlines of their erections, leaving little to imagination if any of them dared look down and check.

After what felt like years, Arthur clears his sore throat and retreats his hand, wordlessly starting to pack up the medical supplies. No words were needed, actually. Their new, little problems spoke volumes, that much was obvious. Micah slowly got up and instantly retreated to his tent, leaving Arthur to intently wait for Micah to close the flaps before hunching over and exhaling all his pent-up breath, head in his hands. What the hell was that?

He glared at his own boner when he leaned his head down, cursing at himself. The distaste he held for Micah was not strange to anyone; in fact, it was a known fact that Arthur simply did not like Micah. That's how its always been, and how Arthur planned to keep it. None of this... whatever it was, with Micah, will ever mean anything. Arthur knew what he was, like Micah did. Both of them were specifically only into women, and this was a simple reaction of touch-starvation, their bodies being confused. That's what they'll go with.

Now there's another problem to solve, in the tent right next to the culprits' own one.

The campfire had long extinguished itself by morning when Arthur walked out of his tent, instantly feeling a certain heat in his cheeks at the sight of Micah—the early-bird, obviously long awake by the time Arthur had gotten up. Micah doesn't dare look his way, the beige hat he wears covering his cheeks well enough. The mere knowledge of his presence brought color to the pale, weathered skin of Micah Bell.

The awkwardness of last night didn't even compare to the one of riding back to camp. It was quite the ride, a slow, silent and painfully on-edge trot through West Elizabeth and back to Horseshoe Overlook. Neither of the two spoke, not even small-talk was deemed possible at this point. They rode alongside each other for a few hours, silent and red in the face.

Seeing camp come into view might have been the highlight of this trip for the two of them.

They hitched up wordlessly, ready to part when Dutch's voice beamed through the campsite, making both men curse and reluctantly turn. "My boys! Tell me, how was that?"

The truth would make him lose his goddamn head.

Kudos on AO3 always appreciated! This ship has me in the worst chokehold known to mankind, they make me absolutely sick and make me want to bite my fingers off for writing this but..... toxic yaoi. Need therapy bad.

EDIT: I honestly left this a very open ending, and technically; a part two is possible. Please do tell me, on AO3 or here, if that's something you'd like to see! <3

[stylinsoncity]

This SEL timestamp takes place about a year after the events in Rio and a few months after they've toured the rest of South America. As mentioned in chp 25, they've started traveling to preternatural villages around the world. This covers some of that.

This is sort of integral to stories about vampires, but there's a lot of talk about feeding, etc. Just fyi!

Enjoy!

The Inner Village might be Harry’s favourite of all the preternatural villages they’ve been to. He’s not saying he’s ready to move to New York City and he can’t imagine Louis is either. But there are pockets of the Inner Village that are incredibly wonderfully gay and coming from their close-minded town, it’s a relief. There, they attend a drag show operated entirely by witches. They also meet Kristen and Teo from the Stonewall Coven, a found coven made up of queer witches. Harry has never met or heard of a found coven, at least not in Europe. He has a loving coven of his own, but the idea that there are witches uniting to support and love each other as family nearly makes him cry. Seated at their dimly lit bar table, the emotion is so obvious on Harry’s face, although only Louis catches it. He smiles and gently squeezes Harry’s hand in his own. The two of them garner some attention of their own, although they’re used to it by now. Even here in such a progressive place, a vampire and witch coupling up is rare.

“Like, sex is a different story,” Teo says. “Obviously, we’ve all fucked a vampire.”

Louis lifts his brows, his lips curling. “Are we just a fetish to you?”

Harry sputters, trying to complete a sip of his martini.

“I mean…” Teo shrugs. “I think most vampires would say fucking a witch is a fetish to them. And listen, I’m trans. I have to deal with men fetishizing me for that too. None of it’s ideal. But when it comes to witches and vampires, it’s like fire and water. Anything beyond a hookup is uncharted territory. And no one ever dares to try.”

“You should,” Louis says. “You’ll have more men to pick from. Ones who aren’t dickheads.”

“Well, if you have a twin brother, send him my way,” says Teo, their gaze lingering on Louis for a second longer than Harry likes.

“We were a bit like that at first, fire and water,” Harry cuts in. “But now, nothing makes more sense than this. We’ve just been told for centuries that witches and vampires can’t get on. And it’s not true.”

“And how long have you been dating?” Kristen asks. “Because if you say it’s only been a month or so, I’ll need more proof than that.”

“It’s been a little over a year officially,” Harry says.

“And also,” Louis says, lifting their joined hands from beneath the table, turning their hands so Harry’s ring catches the scarce light in the room. “We’re engaged.”

“Well, fuck,” Kristen says. And when Louis presses a kiss to Harry’s hand a second later, she adds, “Okay, I’m sold.”

It’s not to say that great love only exists between a vampire and a witch. Harry’s parents had a beautiful marriage, exactly the kind he wanted for himself. And Louis’ mum and Perry love each other deeply.

It’s only to say that great love exists in places some might not think to look. Sometimes it starts between rivals. Sometimes it takes years to flourish. Sometimes it feels like the universe is completely opposed. But sometimes it’s there waiting, in the most uncanny places, if you want it badly enough.

†

Every day in New York, they get up to something new. They tour museums and art galleries, including one where Louis buys him a painting and has it shipped to the estate for safekeeping. They dine at restaurants from Michelin-starred rooftop establishments to hole-in-the-wall haunts. They day drink (and night drink) and nap in parks in between. They make the most of their month-long stay. No, they won’t be relocating but Harry already knows they’ll be back. Often.

That day, after brunch and a bit of shopping, they retire to their rental penthouse to escape an incoming thunderstorm. The day isn’t a loss at all. He found the stick and poke kit he wanted so that Louis could attempt to tattoo him. After an order of sushi and a shared shower, they get started.

“Was nice to see Teo and Kristen again last night,” Harry says, mostly to distract himself from the initial shock of pain. “And all their friends too.”

“Yeah, they’re a fun lot,” Louis says. “Fucking crazy too. Crazier than us when we want to be.”

“I think Teo has a tiny crush on you.”

“Yeah, but it’ll go away.”

“Oh, so you agree?”

“When we hugged, their heart did a bit of a thing. That’s all.” Louis looks at him. “Now yours is too.”

“Do you think they’re attractive?”

Louis exhales a small laugh. “They’re objectively good-looking. Haven’t thought about it beyond that.”

“Everyone has a crush on you. It’s annoying,” Harry says.

“Who’s everyone?”

“In every place we’ve been to, there’s always someone who starts to fancy you a little. Isabelle in Argentina, remember? Damien? I think he was in Peru. Oh, when we went to Italy. The twins we met? Justine and Luca? They were both into you.”

“Isabelle was technically into both of us,” Louis says. “And I’ve got a list of my own, love. You’re just a bit better with names than I am. The girl with the pink hair last night? She couldn’t stop looking at you.”

“Venus?”

“Should’ve remembered that, to be fair. But yes.”

Harry doesn’t remember her looking at him, but maybe that’s the point.

“I don’t mind, so long as none of them get too close,” Louis says. “I know you’re all mine.”

Then he glances at Harry. Harry actually feels his heart skip a beat. Louis smiles and refocuses on his work. He’s tattooing a bird to match the one Harry tattooed on him a year ago. It’s just a simple outline and for his first shot at tattooing, it’s looking quite nice already.

“Does it hurt?” Louis asks.

Harry shrugs. “Not too much. You’re gentler than I am when I tattoo myself,” he says. He watches him wipe blood and ink away. A thought strikes him. “Do you feel thirsty doing that?”

Louis’ hand stills momentarily.

“Just a question,” Harry says tentatively.

“I always feel thirsty around you,” Louis says, his gaze focused intently on the tattoo. “I’ve said so before.”

“But not literally.”

“No, literally.”

“So, even after you’ve fed?”

“I’ve said so before,” Louis says again. “Even when I’ve fed, the thirst is still there. Just…quieter or something.”

“So, if you could keep drinking, you would?”

Louis pauses and looks at him, lifting the needle away from Harry’s skin. “I don’t get the question.”

Harry's senses tingle slightly due to a subtle shift in Louis' mood. He tries to choose his words carefully, but no matter how he twists and shapes the sentences in his head nothing really works.

“I’d never hurt you,” Louis says. “It’s impossible for me to hurt you. Because I love you and you’re my mate. And if something were to happen to you and you weren’t here, I wouldn’t want to be either.”

“I know that,” Harry says quietly. And he should leave it there, but— “I don’t know if that fully answers the question.”

“Have you got infinite blood? ‘Cause that’d be news to me. There’s no universe where if I kept drinking, it wouldn’t kill you, is there? So, no. The answer is fuck no.”

“Why are you getting so angry? It’s just a question.”

“Why are you asking me if I want to drain you of blood?” Louis fires back.

“It’s not like it’d kill me, Louis. I’d come back.”

Louis blinks. “What?”

“I can’t die. We’ve established that.”

“But you did die!” Louis says. His voice breaks. His jaw locks. Willow finally appears in the room and curls herself around Louis’ ankle. After a breath, Louis tries again. “Your heart stopped for long enough that you were dead. I know it.”

“Yes, but I came back,” Harry says.

“But you still died, yeah? Whether you came back or not, you’d be dead. So, no, I don’t want to fucking kill you. I don’t think about it. I don’t want to think about it.”

“Okay.”

“Now, explain to me why it sounds like you want me to?” And when Harry doesn’t immediately refute that, Louis’ eyes go wide. He puts the needle down on the sterile tray beside them with the small ink pots and stained tissues. “Are you actually serious right now?”

Harry just wants to be honest. Because truthfully, he never considered these thoughts so egregious, but he also never dared to share them with Louis either. Now, that he mostly has, it feels deceitful to not come out with all of it. And he’s also learned that it’s better to expose the whole truth as uncomfortable and as painful as it may be. Better to do that than spend an eternity keeping this to himself.

“Before, when I thought I’d die from the curse, I thought about it,” Harry says. “But only ‘cause I feel safest with you, and it seemed like the most ideal way to go if I had to go at all.”

Louis laughs. Actually cackles. And stands. “Good thing you didn’t think to ask. I would’ve assumed you’d gone completely insane.” He yanks his latex glove off and tosses it onto the coffee table.

“Where are you going?”

“I need a drink,” Louis says, strolling off towards the kitchen.

Harry puts his face in his palms for a moment. They bicker on occasion, solely because they’re both stubborn, highly opinionated people. But he can’t remember the last time either of them was genuinely cross with the other. He feels Louis’ cloying anger even when they’re in separate rooms.

Willow lingers in the corridor, visibly uncertain about who needs the most comfort. Mentally, Harry sends her to Louis. He could use a drink himself. He loiters there on the couch for a minute or two longer, waiting for Louis to come back. And when he doesn’t, Harry sighs and goes after him.

In the kitchen, Louis has a beer open in front of him while he taps away furiously at his phone.

“Will you please relax?” Harry asks. 

“No, I don’t think so,” Louis says. “Here we are having a nice night and you reveal you’ve got a death kink or whatever it is.”

“I haven’t got a death kink,” Harry says. “For fuck’s sake…”

Louis sets his phone down. “When you had that thought back then, did you also consider what it’d be like for me? To watch you slip away? To be the cause of that?”

“I did, actually. Which is why I didn’t bring it up back then. I knew you wouldn’t do it.”

“Because I can’t.”

“Fine. But you clearly don’t know how it feels for me either. On the receiving end of things. It’s like…euphoric. It feels like I could just sink into it and stay there forever. And I’m sorry if that worries you or whatever. I’m not saying I want to die. I’m not saying I want you to kill me. I’m saying when you feed, if there was a way to feel the way I feel infinitely, I wouldn’t be opposed to it. I’m just saying I’ve thought about it. That’s all.”

“But that’s impossible. Without me killing you.”

“Yes, you’ve said. I get it.”

“I could never.”

“You said that too,” Harry says. “There’s the blood curse anyway, so—”

“Even without the blood curse…never.”

“Okay,” Harry says. “I’m sorry I mentioned it at all, alright? Can you finish my tattoo, please? Before you get drunk?”

Louis rolls his eyes and has another swig of his beer.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says again. “Come on, Lou, please?”

Louis looks at him, his eyes slightly narrowed as he thinks. With a shake of his head and a sigh, he says, “Yeah, alright,” and starts back to the living room. Quietly he puts his glove back on and sterilises the needle. Then he starts on the tattoo again.

Harry pushes his fingers through Louis’ fringe. “Are you cross with me?”

“No,” Louis says. “Just let me concentrate. Or I’ll tattoo a penis here and be done with it.”

“I don’t mind a penis, though, do I?”

“A lopsided one,” Louis clarifies. “With very hairy wrinkly balls.”

Harry laughs and relaxes his arm. “Such an arsehole.”

“I can add one of those too.”

When they laugh, the tiny hint of tension left between them is hardly of any consequence at all. And later, when they crawl into bed, Louis draws him into his arm like always. Harry traces his collarbone with his fingertip while listening to Willow scurrying about on the floor. For a cat who can phase silently through the air, she’s making plenty of noise with every move. When she darts up onto the bed and then immediately flings herself to the floor, Louis laughs.

“You wouldn’t think a familiar would get the Zoomies, would you?” Harry says.

“She’s just like any cat, I guess,” Louis says.

“I don’t think she’d like that,” Harry says. “I think she considers herself a very unique, one-of-a-kind cat.”

“Makes sense, considering who she’s bound to.”

“Are you saying I think too highly of myself?”

“No,” Louis says. “You should think highly of yourself. And you’re definitely one of a kind.”

Harry smiles. “So are you. There could never be anyone like you.”

Louis turns and presses a kiss on Harry’s forehead. Harry nestles more comfortably into Louis’ side, his eyes slipping shut.

“I’m sorry I lost it a bit earlier,” Louis says quietly.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t share things with me. Even something like that.”

“I don’t. But if it’s something you’re uncomfortable with, I should be more careful. And I will be.”

Then there’s silence and more inexplicable tension. Harry suddenly feels less sleepy than he did seconds ago. He lifts his head off Louis’ shoulder and looks at him.

“It’s impossible for me to do it, I mean that,” Louis says, meeting his gaze.

“I know, Louis,” Harry says. “And I’m not asking you to.”

“But I am who I am,” Louis goes on. “Or what I am. So it’d be a lie to say I haven’t thought about it.”

Harry hesitates. “About draining…”

Louis pinches his eyelids. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Okay. How would you put it then?”

“There’ve been times after I’ve fed, especially…if we’re fucking at the same time, when I want to drink again or I want to keep drinking, even though I know… And there was a time when I was drunk and it was a little hard to stop.”

As he speaks, he doesn’t look at Harry. As if he’s ashamed. Harry reclines again and takes Louis’ face between his palms.

“Look at me. That’s alright,” Harry says. “I love you. I love how much you want me.”

Louis winces at that. “That makes it sound more innocent than it is.”

“Whatever. I won’t lie and say it’s not…sort of exciting? And like…It’s not that much different from when you choke me a little, is it?”

“It’s completely different.”

“Not to me. Not completely. You say you wouldn’t hurt me but spanking hurts,” Harry says with a laugh. “And I like it.”

“Also, different.”

“If you say so,” Harry says. “I know that for you it’s something you have to control. For me, I know you’re in control, so I don’t worry. I just let go. And it feels nice to let go. I know you’ve got me.”

“I do,” Louis says. “Always.”

“You’re getting enough to drink, though, yeah? Like that’s not the reason you want to keep going, is it?”

“Trust me, it’s not. I get enough,” Louis says.

“You’re just greedy then.”

“I’m a vampire,” Louis says. “Greed is what we’re all about.”

“You’re not like most vampires, though.”

“Maybe not, but there are things that are just biological. Like my bond with you. Can’t do anything about that. And no matter what, if you say something like you said today, offering yourself up like that, there’s a part of me, even if it’s small, that wants to take you up on it. And just…devour you.”

Harry looks at his mouth. “And I’m meant to be afraid of that?”

“Maybe,” Louis says. “Not of me, but the general idea of a vampire wanting you in that way, yeah.”

“You’re the only vampire that matters.”

Louis grins, his ego visibly stroked. Harry can’t take his eyes off of him.

“If it were any other vampire, I’d never say the things I said today. It’s only because it’s you. I trust you. Completely.”

Louis looks at him. He takes Harry’s hand and presses a quick kiss to his palm. “I can’t do it, though.”

“I know,” Harry says. “I thought I lost you that day too, you know? I felt like I couldn’t breathe. And like the world was closing in on me or something. So, I know what it’s like. And I’d never want you to have to go through that again.”

Louis nods. “Me neither.”

Harry looks at his mouth again. “But I think you should feed,” he says. “Right now.”

Louis lifts his brows. With a small exhale, he says, “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Literally the opposite. I’m offering you a late-night snack.”

Louis laughs. “You’re definitely that,” he says. He licks his lips. Then, after a second, he leans in and kisses Harry slowly, capturing his jaw between his fingers and his thumb. He kisses him for so long Harry nearly forgets what they were talking about at all. He’s hypnotized by Louis’ tongue against his own. He’s lulled by the comfort of their bodies close.

Their lives are not perfect because no one’s is. They still have occasional worries, especially when they have to decide which parties and gatherings to attend back home when everywhere they go, they’re a topic of discussion or gossip. Returning to Ravenoir even for short periods is often stressful. And like earlier has proven, they can still misunderstand each other.

Life might not be perfect but being with Louis is. There’s nothing questionable or unsatisfactory about this kiss or the way Louis holds him. There’s nothing as sublime as the moment he pulls away suddenly, holds Harry’s jaw firmly and sinks into his jugular.

Harry shudders and digs his fingers into Louis’ bicep. The burst of pain is quickly washed over with warmth that floods his whole body. His head feels light and airy as if he’s floating on a cloud. Weightless and worriless with nothing to fear. With Louis’ need so evident and certain and all-encompassing.

Louis pulls away with a deep breath and kisses him again. Now that Harry can move, he moves with purpose, shoving Louis' pyjamas down past his waist, wrestling with his own.

“Thought I was only getting a late-night snack,” Louis says.

“It’s more like a late-night buffet,” Harry says. “All you can eat.”

Louis laughs as he sinks down Harry’s body, leaving kisses all along his chest and abs. “Mm, I do like the sound of that,” he says.

Harry will have to blame it on all the pent-up tension, good and bad, but when Louis deepthroats his cock, he thinks he could come with just another second more of that pressure. Then Louis pulls off, smiling as if he knows it, and licks a few times along the length of his cock instead. Because as he’s clarified thoroughly today, Louis is a vampire. Vampires like to toy with and tease their prey. And Harry knows Louis doesn’t think of him as prey, but sometimes Harry feels like he is. And he doesn’t mind at all.

The truth is that Harry would bare every part of himself to Louis without hesitation or fear. He would accept whatever Louis wanted to give or take from him. Maybe if it were another vampire, that sort of thinking would be insane. But it’s solely this vampire who matters. No other would do.

He often likes to hold Louis atop him after they’ve come to prolong the closeness. He likes the weight of him. He likes running his fingers through his hair until Louis drifts off. "Louis?"

"Hm?"

“It’s not difficult, is it? Feeling thirsty all the time?” Harry asks quietly. Because the thought is on his mind and if he doesn’t ask, he’ll just stay awake worrying about it.

“No,” Louis says sleepily. “Not at all."

"You're sure?"

"I promise," Louis says. He draws a breath. "Thirst is tied to emotion. Like lust and love… And you’re a triple threat, that’s all. You’re hot. You taste incredible. Can’t help that. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Harry smiles. "Makes sense..." He listens to Louis’ breathing evening out. He feels his limbs loosening further. “Wait, what’s the third thing?”

“What?”

“You said triple threat.”

“Oh,” Louis says. “You’re hot. You taste incredible.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you fishing for compliments?”

“Just tell me,” Harry pleads.

“You’re the love of my life, Harry,” Louis says. “I reckon that’s the biggest one of all.”

It’s not the first time Louis has said so, but it’s also impossible to get used to something like that. Hearing the person he loves most affirm the inverse is true will never cease to amaze him. So, he feels his eyes prickle slightly, but he doesn’t actually burst into tears or anything. He simply wraps his arms more tightly around his fiance. “And you’re mine.”

“I know,” Louis says. “Can I sleep now, babe?”

“Yeah. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Good night.”

“Night,” Louis says.

“I love you so much.”

“Harry.”

“Okay. Sleep well.”

“You too,” Louis says. And then after a second, he whispers, “I love you.”

Willow hops up onto the bed in the midst of their laughter at which point, they mutually decide to turn their love on her. Because great love is also infinite, which means there’s plenty to spare.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

thoughts on harmione as a romantic ship?

Hi 👋

As with all ship stuff, ship whatever, have fun, these are just my own very subjective opinions.

I assume you meant Harmony, as in Harry x Hermione and that's what I'm answering about here. And my subjective opinion is that I don't see it working. Like, I think Harry is gay, but let's say he's bi and explore this possibility.

The reason I'm saying I don't see it is because Harry and Hermione’s friendship feels less close to me than Ron & Harry or Ron & Hermione. Like, this is the pair with the weakest connection in the trio for me. Ron is Harry's best friend and Hermione's best friend, but Harry and Hermione aren't each other's best friends. I mean, there's a reason Harry had to save Ron from the lake and not Hermione in GoF.

Harry and Hermione don't really communicate in the same way and without the troll in first year and the "forged in fire" element of their friendship, Harry would probably dislike Hermione. Like, he does in first year, and I truly think without the troll to give them that push, Harry wouldn't have befriended Hermione.

To me, the part that shows it the most in the books is in book 7 when Ron leaves. In the movies they got cute scenes together, in the books, they're both depressed and barely talk to each other. Ron is the connecting tissue between Harry and Hermione and without him, their friendship is stilted and awkward.

Harry jumped down from his own bed, keeping his eyes averted from Ron’s. Hermione, who was already busy in the kitchen, did not wish Harry good morning, but turned her face away quickly as he went by

[...]

They were spending many evenings in near silence

(DH)

You see it in book 4 as well when Ron leaves for a bit, Harry and Hermione don't get along all that well without Ron in the middle:

“...I only know about them because I’ve been doing O.W.L. practice papers. . . .” “Hermione,” Harry said, through gritted teeth, “will you shut up for a bit, please? I’m trying to concentrate.”

[...]

“Hermione — I need you to help me.” “What d’you think I’ve been trying to do, Harry?” she whispered back, her eyes round with anxiety over the top of the quivering Flutterby Bush she was pruning

(GoF)

I mentioned above that Harry and Hermione don't communicate the same. Well, they don't.

Hermione loves very verbose conversations and arguments like she has with Ron. That's her fun when it comes to conversation. Harry, on the other hand, is more inclined to witty bitty remarks and fewer words. Harry often asks Hermione to shut up or he just tones out Ron and Hermione's banter.

They don't get along with each other's emotions. Like, Hermione forgets how angry Harry is, and when he does get angry at her or anyone, she doesn't know how to handle him at all and outright fears him a little:

“WHO HAD TO GET PAST DRAGONS AND SPHINXES AND EVERY OTHER FOUL THING LAST YEAR? WHO SAW HIM COME BACK? WHO HAD TO ESCAPE FROM HIM? ME!” Ron was standing there with his mouth half-open, clearly stunned and at a loss for anything to say, while Hermione looked on the verge of tears.

(OotP) - and there are more examples of this here.

Harry knows to recognize when Hermione is sad or upset, but he doesn't actually know what to do with it or how to comfort her and just wishes someone else would do it or that she won't mention it so he won't have to comfort her.

She threw herself into a chair, curled up, and started to cry. Harry felt dazed. He stooped, picked up the Horcrux, and placed it around his own neck. He dragged blankets off Ron’s bunk and threw them over Hermione

(DH)

“Oh, hello, Harry,” she said in a brittle voice. “I was just practicing.” “Yeah . . . they’re — er — really good. . . .” said Harry. He had no idea what to say to her. He was just wondering whether there was any chance that she had not noticed Ron, that she had merely left the room because the party was a little too rowdy, when she said, in an unnaturally high-pitched voice, “Ron seems to be enjoying the celebrations.” “Er . . . does he?” said Harry.

(HBP)

And if we go deeper into their personalities, they are antithetical to each other on the basis of their very worldview. Harry doesn't trust in authority. He believes in keeping things to himself and hates orders so much that he is naturally resistant to the imperius curse. Hermione, on the other hand, tends to trust authority more. She's a bootlicker. She likes it when teachers and people she believes have authority over her like her and praise her achievements. While Harry could do with more praise, he doesn't need it the same way because in his mind, just because someone is a teacher and supposedly above him in some hierarchy doesn't mean that they're better or deserving of the position.

(Hermione learns to be a bit more like this later on, but still, in book 7, she's always the one arguing they should listen to Dumbledore's wishes for them when Harry and Ron doubt. More on this here)

I just think that as a couple, they'd annoy each other much more than as friends. Like, it's telling that when they're living just the two of them in a tent for a while, they barely even talk, and when they do, they mostly just upset each other more, so they choose to spend the evenings in mostly silence.

Obviously, you could write anything to be compelling, and I have nothing against anyone who ships Harry nad Hermione togather, but this isn't a pairing I like personally or see happening.

[landwriter]

I WANT LIGHTHOUSES SNIPPETS I AM FERAL FOR LIGHTHOUSES SNIPPETS JFC xo @hardly-an-escape

Then it is feralness you shall receive!! And I notice you said SNIPPETS plural so have a small bouquet of feral moments in this fic, in increasing length and feralness: Hob needing to borrow Dream's shower, accidentally cumming to the thought of your friend's smile, and wanting so bad it hurts your chest

(some NSFW under the cut)

Hob comes out of the shower shirtless with a towel around his neck. His hair is curling wet around his face. He did a poor job of drying himself. There’s beads of water caught like dew in his chest hair. A stray rivulet of water is running lower, down his furred belly. He’s dripping a puddle on the hardwood floor, and still glowing a little with exercise. Dream is certain he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

“Hey, thanks, man. I’ll get outta your hair now,” he says, unaware of the fact Dream is vividly imagining kneeling before him and following that rivulet of water with his tongue. He opens his mouth to speak.

“Naw,” says Matthew, as if Hob had been talking to him. “Stay for dinner and beer.”

Hob looks at Dream. He swallows heavily. “Yes,” he croaks. “Stay.”

Hob lights up. “Well, alright.”

“Right on,” says Matthew.

---

After kicking Hob out, he jacks off with an arm thrown over his face, because he doesn’t want to see anything else. Doesn’t want to be in this room or this life, a coward’s life, a greedy life, hungering after his friend.

If Hob ever saw it, he’d run.

Dream tries to exorcise the buzzing lust, curled sideways on his bed like a parenthesis and fucking into his fist, not taking his time with it like he normally does. He doesn’t want to take himself apart. He wants to tear himself apart. Wants this monstrous black hunger climbing up the inside of his ribs to be satisfied as quick as possible, so he can look Hob in the eye and talk to him without biting his tongue.

He thinks of good fucks he’s had, moments and pieces from them, stitched all together. It does nothing. It’s like purgatory. Limbo. Even as he twists his hand around his prick, crooks a leg and presses up on his hole with fingers, he’s blind with need and he still can’t fucking cum. He groans in frustration and squeezes his eyes shut, thinks of guys fucking him rough, hands ‘round his hips leaving bruises, pretty twinks with big eyes kneeling for him, the bar smell of leather and poppers and piss, hot tongue and spit on his hole, the warmth of another body, of bodies, of beckoning glances and smiles, of one smile, Hob’s smile, his easy grin, clear as day, the heat of him, the brush of his skin, his hands, restless and warm and big, with hair dusting the knuckles, fidgeting with a pencil, stroking the neck of a bottle, holding a cigarette—him him him—smiling and saying us poor fuckers.

And he comes back to himself a moment later, panting. He rolls away from the mess he made across his sheets to stare at the ceiling, limbs loose and soul damned.

He shouldn’t have waited. Should’ve climbed into Hob’s fucking lap instead of the chair next to him that first day, should’ve made a scene, should’ve known. Hob deserves someone who would see him straightaway for the marvel he is, and he didn’t. Didn’t see him until Hob had already seen someone else here.

He wouldn’t regret it with Hob.

---

He’s drank too much. He’s drank too much and this was stupid idea, actually, to bring Dream here. To sit next to him and hear fierce poetry about gay love, and desire, and touch. They’re across from each other now, and still it feels too close. Feels dangerous. He hasn’t been this sort of drunk since leaving home. The kind where he wants so badly it physically hurts. Like kneeling on broken concrete. Like a pulse. His hands itch. He needs a fuck, a fight, anything at all. Anything to stop him from quoting Shakespeare and staring too long at Dream’s lips and thinking of all the lines he heard tonight, coiled around his heart and throat, mocking him.

“I’ll wait,” he says, standing so hard on the knife edge of truth and discretion he thinks he won’t be able to walk away from this, or walk ever again after it. “I’d wait a hundred years for, for him. However long it takes.”

“You’re too loyal, Hob.” Dream looks disappointed with him. He wonders if it’s obvious, how fucked he is right now. He wonders if his want is rolling off of him, like fog, if Dream sees it. Or feels it, clinging to his skin, damp. If he’s repulsed. He doesn’t want to be pitied. Not by Dream. Not for this. There’s nothing wrong, being loyal. Nothing wrong waiting.

“Maybe. Maybe I am.” Hob’s eyes feel wet. He thinks about being a little kid and picking sea glass from the beaches of Sausalito, before they moved to Fort Wayne. He thinks about how the colours got dull by the time he was home, and how he’d put the soft-edged pebble of glass in his mouth, suck the salt off it, just to see it shining and transluscent again. Green, and clear, and amber, and sometimes, rarely, blue.

His head is swimming. Not swimming, no. Drowning. He’s a bad friend. He doesn’t want to be rescued. He wants to pull Dream down with him. Dream’s own lines rise up in his mouth like bile. He leans forward, defiant.

“Yeah. Maybe I’ll, maybe I’ll save every breath in my lungs for him.”

“Don’t,” says Dream, jaw tight. “Don’t do that. Don’t take that from me.”

Hob hears the warning in his voice and wants to dash himself on it, wants to crash up on the rocks of the awful island Dream has made of himself if it means he’ll finally look at Hob with that white-hot attention he reserves for his secret love. “Why not,” he hears himself flatly say.

“I mean it, Hob.” Oh, he’s angry, now. Anger is a kind of heat. Maybe it’s the best he’ll get.

“Why not?” he repeats. He fumbles out a cigarette, lights it. He’ll play Dream’s mystery man for him. “C’mon, huh?” He takes a shaky drag and laughs, and raises his chin. “Why not? Why don’t you take something from me, then, and we’ll call it even?”

Dream, unblinking, sets his glass down on the table with a sharp thunk. A stupid little thrill races through Hob.

Shit, maybe he’ll deck me, if I’m lucky.

Instead, Dream reaches out and pulls the cigarette from his lips and puts it between his own. Hob sways forward. Dream takes a long drag and tilts his head back to blow the smoke past Hob. His throat is pale. Like the fucking moon. His eyes haven’t left Hob’s. Sharp wet seaglass. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he thinks. Dream drops the cigarette in the ashtray between them and leans forward too. His voice is rough. “Like that?”

Hob is dizzy. His chest feels like it’s on fire. Like he’s been running miles too long, too hard. His lips are stuck parted. Soft. Fucked with wanting as the rest of him. He’d buried too much, and it filled him up, it’s all of him now, singing through every fibre of his body. “No,” he says, quiet. “More.” Dream shouldn’t be able to hear it in the noise of the bar. Hob can hardly hear himself over his pulse pounding in his ears, and maybe Dream doesn’t hear him at all, maybe he’s staring so hard at Hob’s mouth that he can just see the shape of the words. His lungs are going to burst.

Dream’s eyes flick back up to look at him. Not sea glass, no, the sea itself, all sunlit bright and unsecretly hungry. Looking at him, really looking at him.

“Who are you waiting for, Hob?” he asks.

Hob exhales.

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 10/29/2024

new boot goofin. also a great book for the cowboyblogger crew and TWO cat photos

listening

afterimage by JUSTICE and Rimon was on a spotify autogenerated dance playlist and it is So soothing to my brain. sometimes described as heavy metal disco, it itches the same brain scratch as daft punk's interstella 5555. comforting and familiar road trip music where the road trips are in spaceships with a sort of clunky engine thrumming away in the background. you know that extremely early ass o clock in the morning road trip feel where it's very pale and a little misty out and you're only sort of awake? i feel like this is a very different kind of road trip music animal than than late-night road trip music. it's pulling you out the door. it's for beginnings, not for very tired almost-ends.

-

reading

thank you mackie. very reading heavy week. im tryign to redirect myself into library books instead of election doomscrolling and im trying to read more physical books bc i have a tremendous pile of shit i genuinely do want to read and almost none of it is on my phone. first we'll talk about Navigational Entanglements by Aliette de Bodard, from randomly perusing the library stacks. really really really fucking loved this one.

Award-winning author of The Red Scholar’s Wake Aliette de Bodard comes for your heart with a compelling tale of love, duty, and found-family in an exciting new space opera that brings xianxia-style martial arts to the stars. Jockeying navigator clans guide spaceships through the Hollows: an area of space populated by the mysterious but deadly creatures known as Tanglers. When a Tangler escapes the Hollows for the first time in living memory, each clan must send a representative to help capture it—but the mission may be doomed and the hearts of two clan juniors may be in danger too.

first off: this isn't fucking found family. this is a group of coworkers. tor dot com loves to slap found family on anything gay.

politics is about control and inter-group dynamic politics are also about control. and grappling for control in your life when you grow up in a Young Leadership program. i really liked this, one of the least annoying examples of someone getting overstimulated and needing to lie down in a dark quiet room and how hanging out with some people does not impair rest and hanging out with some people is extremely extremely draining. the love interest is what if lee van cleef was a young vietnamese woman in the far future who can navigate faster than light travel.

very snappy little 160-pg novella that does not overstay its welcome. packs a genuinely surprising amount of worldbuilding and character work into its pages: i have a lot of trouble with ensemble casts post-Covid and keeping everyone straight (especially in hard copy form where I can’t easily search a book) but everyone is a fully formed person here and i had no trouble keeping everyone straight in my head. i will be asking my siblings to acquire a physical copy for me for christmas. i love a fucked up political mystery with spacewalks and space monsters.

the lead, nhi, reminded me a lot of friends at the table's brnine, a self-sacrificing perfectionist fish. hope that's useful information to all three of you i have bullied into listening to fatt

The Shabti by Megaera C. Lorenz. this finally came off my holds, hat tip to i think someone else's tuesdaypost? cannot immediately locate it. holler if it was you.

Can you flimflam a ghost? It’s 1934. Former medium Dashiel Quicke travels the country debunking spiritualism and false mediums while struggling to stay ahead of his ex-business partner and lover who wants him back at any cost. During a demonstration at a college campus, Dashiel meets Hermann Goschalk, an Egyptologist who’s convinced that he has a genuine haunted artifact on his hands. Certain there is a rational explanation for whatever is going on with Hermann’s relics, Dashiel would rather skip town, but soon finds himself falling for Hermann. He agrees to take a look after all and learns that something is haunting Hermann’s office indeed. Faced with a real ghost Dashiel is terrified, but when the haunting takes a dangerous turn, he must use the tools of the shady trade he left behind to communicate with this otherworldly spirit before his past closes in.

this keeps getting reviewed as cozy horror, which i do not agree with bc i hate the term and believe it oxymoronic. it is a fairly straightforward romance with paranormal shit happening in the foreground. a period piece not particularly for the folx end of the fag/folx gay book spectrum-- they happen to be gay but there's a lot of other shit happening. not a spicy romance as the tiktok girlies say. it is a period book that sort of elides over the worst parts of the 30s? eg there is no on-page or overt racism or antisemitism that the characters have to Confront. one of the lead's neighbors is a black nurse trying to start a NAACP chapter, but she's so fully fleshed out and such an enjoyable character it doesn't feel like the book is looking for moral points from modern readers. i also liked the general slow-build of the book and their relationship — i have no complaints about the intensity or pace of their relationship.

the one ding i have is that it is perhaps a touch too enthusiastic about period slang. it's fine when the two leads are talking to each other, especially bc their word choice is a large way they show their personality, but when there are more than two people in a scene it can grate a little for me. i do think the dialogue is generally the strong suit here, and the author particularly excels at two-person back and forths, so it’s not a frequent complaint.

i liked the contrast of the scam medium with the academic egyptologist, since many egyptologists were also scams. the scenes with the spirit are genuinely eerie, which is a very good contrast with the fairly straightforward, often sparse narration.

grudging respect for keeping a joke simmering on the back burner for four hundred pages before deploying it. this was a well-paced read i have no major complaints about.

i have to spin this book around in my brain and get a physical copy and flip back and forth and lot and make notes to myself in a separate notebook before i talk about this one here i think. same brain itch as a canticle for leibowitz.

i also read a bunch of comics but this section is already long enough goodbye

-

watching

the first episode of the currently airing penguin tv show! at my bestie's house bc she has an hbo max subscription from something, unfortunately it is an emotionally fraught very tense show and we're kind of full up on those so i will have to finish this on my own. at no point did i say to myself "whoa that's colin farrell". both the prosthetic and accent work are off the charts.

i do Not like a piece of media about the mob. i will stomach it for batman. it's really wild how the accents they've chosen for gotham and her suburbs make me so so so weirdly homesick. one of the locations is an early McMansion and my bestie and i said almost simultaneously "are we in fucking Cherry Hill???" a jersey noveau riche town infested with notable McMansions.

i am constantly chasing the high of s1 black sails where everyone is frantically scheming and falling all over them fucking selves. this gets pretty close! it's big budget prestige tv with the storytelling chops to match so far. one of my favorite comic runs is The Long Halloween, partially about the fortunes of the Maroni and Falcone crime families of Gotham. this is loosely following that, but deviates enough to surprise me, which i enjoy. there have been enough faithful adaptations of that comic run imo.

optimistic about the rest of the season! i have such low expectations for batman media that it's refreshing to get like a genuinely good pilot episode out of the franchise.

-

playing

i have Got to find a new game to play that i already own. genshin is such a good podcast game but i need Something New. surely the 576047357649857689 games across five libraries will save me.

-

making

so many things happened this week. cat neuter and constipation episode. helped take apart and put back together a children's' room. lot of running around.

crunchy! i almost left these docs at goodwill bc i don't have a super high opinion of the company or the quality of the boots. i have heard my ENTIRE life about how long-lasting they are and how people have had the same boots for years but i completely shredded a pair during eight months in 2019. like the soles were worn almost completely smooth to the point they were a slipping hazard, half the eyelets were broken, and the leather was genuinely disintegrating. that was one of the busiest and most active periods of my life (classes at other campuses both semesters, a summer in new hampshire, the beginning of the makerspace) but i did expect them to hold up a little better or a little longer. they only got to experience about a month and a half of salt at the beginning and were regularly cleaned. yes i did buy them straight from the company.

anyway. these extremely ugly docs industrials had almost all their tread and magically fit me. like the rest of me, my feet are large and wide and difficult to fit. they are by Far the ugliest shoes i have ever owned. however. they will be the boots i will wear for when i need to be okay about potentially destroying my footwear.

hit em with some saddle soap and polished the toes, i seem to be flat out of leather conditioner so i was only able to hit the heels and one tongue. the laces are in the warsh.

they're real leather and were twelve dollars and miraculously fit me. you know that quote about americans being temporarily embarrassed millionaires? i still, in many ways, think of myself as a temporarily embarrassed abled person. i am slowly giving up on the idea of another remote job, bc they seem to all be fake, and going harder on city and county jobs. while i would rather wear my beloved CAT steel toes with the nice padded cuffs any day of the week, maybe these will be good for tromping around somewhere inspecting something. would Love a weights and measures inspection job if their office would return my polite messages.

also ruby goes home tonight! goodbye ruby!

[fxdizz-y]

PiTY Party

A/N ; i saw this little trope with a loser character and i GOT to write it! english isn't my first language so PLEASE bear with me :( SYNOPSIS; Your father decided to take you to a little social gathering with all his fellow alumni, little did you know that certain someone has their eyes on you.

c/w; IT'S LOWKEY BADLY WRITTEN!! eventual smut, age gap, bondage, sex, breathplay, anal, m!sub to m!dom, throatpie, creampie, praise kinks, degradation, sex against the wall, bending over the sink, mirror sex, 'sir' kinks, kinda gay, brat taming, lowkey daddy issues hitting hard, hatefuck turns into love making, threats, s&m, overstimulation, breeding kink, destruction

"Son, we're here." Your father's voice shook you awaked, as your eyelashes fluttered open. Your neck felt sore from the uncomfortable sleeping position as you sat up on the passenger seat, a light groaned escaped your lips when you felt the kink in your neck.

Your hand reached up to rubbed your eye tiredly, before looking out the window. The large familiar cabin was glowing dimly, lighting up the otherwise dark forest.

You can hear laughters and lights conversation sparks from the inside and a small, bubbling anxiety soon start to set in your stomach. God you hated social events.

Your father decided to hosted a little party, to celebrated his promotions or something like that. However, instead of renting a place, he decided to host it at the family's summer cabin. You at first didn't want to go, but your mother too press you on about it, telling you that it might be a good opportunity to have some connections for the future. And your father were practically sulking when you rejected him once.

Not wanting to upset your father furthermore however, you unwillingly stepped out of the vehicle, the cool night air hit you in the face making you scrunch up your nose a bit.

Your father gave you a firm pat on your back as he lightly chuckled, motioning for you to come inside. You took a deep breath before obliged his wish. When you step inside, the anxiety only worsens when you suddenly was bombared with questions and greetings.

You felt small, absoloutly wanting to crawl into a hole and never surface again. However, just as you were about to excuse yourself, your oh ever so loving father just dive right in and dragged you away from the attention.

That's when he introduced you to one of his older colleagues, the man who seems to be in one of his rather late 30s, his brown locks was messy and unkept, as his eyebags look rather dark and heavy, you could almost feel sorry for him. He also wore a large bandage on the side of his cheek, just right at the corner of his mouth. He seems to be twitching anxiously, as his head and hands kept jerking slightly.

You smiled at him, just a soft, simple smile as your father introduced you both to each other. Apparently, they've known each other since high school, as your father had lightly 'teased' or 'joked' with him in the past. But you weren't dumb, you knew what you father did. You shook your head lightly when he wasn't looking and shoot Toby an apologetic look. And he swore he saw an angel. His breath hitched as he shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to hide his shaking hands.

When your father left you both alone to talk, the tension thickens. Toby doesn't know what to do, he have the same social skills of a rock. He just stand there, fidgeting his hands in the pocket, picking the skins off of his fingernails. But after a few seconds, which felt like an enternity, a soft, angelic voice broke him out of the trance he was in.

It was just a simple, awkward "Hi" from you. It sounded so innocent. So pure.. So, so, so sweet.

He needs to ruin you.

"..Nice weather we're having." You tried to strike some small talk with him, as much as you hate to socialize, you know that you had to. Or risk kissing those opportunity good bye.

You shifted your weight to your other foot, and looked at Toby, straight into his pretty, brown eyes. He just nodded. Fucking nodded. Oh well, you tried. You thought to yourself sarcastically.

But before you could leave, Toby spoke up. "So you're... (F/N)'s son..?" He asked, clearly also hating the socializing as much as you.

You nodded, feeling slightly at ease. "Yea, yes I am sir." You replied, standing up a bit more straight and offered him a friendly smile.

Everything seems to stilled for a brief second. You had no idea what you just awoken in him when you call him 'sir'. He could feel his cock twitched in his pants as he muttered a cursed under his breath, as he cough into his fist, trying to play it off.

But how could he? You're such a pretty little thing. Standing there and look up at him with your big, adorable eyes. Unaware of the danger you've just caused. Such a pretty, precious little thing. It's almost impossible to believed that you're the son of the man Toby absoloutly despise. The thought alone made him laughed bitterly.

And the way you tilted your head when he took too long to answered almost made him lost it right then and there. God you were so... delicated. Your lips, hair... everything about you is driving him to the edge. The way your white suit seems to hug your figured make him want to rip it off you. He couldn't helped but trailed his eyes along your curves, and almost groaned at the thought of biting into your soft fleshed, marking you with his bites and bruises.

He felt his pants grow dangerously tight before he quickly excuse himself to the bathroom, leaving you there, confused.

Toby found himself in the bathroom, panting heavily and he thanked whatever existed that the music was so fucking loud, same with the people chatters.

His dick was throbbing in his pants when he freed it with his hand and groaned a bit, clenching his teeth together. He was average in girth, but was slightly big in lenght. Being around 7 or so inches. The color was adorable, the tip being a cute pink color.

He leaned against the sink and scowled, a bit frustrated that he got hard because of his old bully's son.

... His SON.

He suddenly felt a shifted in his mood as a cocky grinned made it way to his face, a dry laughed errupted from his throat as he leaned back, slowly smeering his tip with the precum. God he felt filthy.

He almost felt sorry for you, you weren't even there when things happened. Yet you got your little dense self in the drama, unknowingly. He almost purred at the thought. He wants to wreck you infront of your father.

His eyes wandered to the hampered before he reach into it, seeing a sweater with your name neatly written on the back of the collar. He bring it to his face and give it a big whiff, his face grows redder by the second as sweats starts to form on his body.

His hand started to move again, stroking his shaft as he moaned into your sweater, muffling it.

He fist his cock into his hand in a quick pace, not even bothering to use his spit as lubricant. He kept thinking about you, and imagine you in all sorted of positions. How would your expressions looks like if he drill his cock deep inside you? What sinful sound would you make? God he needed you.

And as if God heard his prayer, the doorknob rattled a bit before opened. He didn't even heard you coming inside until you gasped, startled and is absoloutly flustered at the sight.

He fucking came in surprised. His load shoot into your sweater as he look at you, slightly embarrassed from getting caught. He dropped your sweater on the sink and reached out to you, he expected you to turn away, but instead a flustered smile crept onto your features.

"I.." Toby began, but it seems like his word got caught in his throat. And to his surprised once again, an angelic chuckled escaped through your teeth, and his dick began to throbbed again. You closed the door behind you and lock it with a clicked.

"W- what are you-" He got cut off by you pressing your lips against him, and it didn't take him long to practically melted into the kiss. His hand that was around his dick let go and he slowly slid his big hands down your thighs. He grabbed your ass and hoisted you up, one of his knees between your legs to keep you steady as your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him into a deeper kiss.

He gasped sharply into the kiss when your leg jerked up and grind into his crotch, making his knees almost gave out.

You KNEW he was inexperienced, and that thought alone make all the blood rushing straight to your throbbing dick. The thought of being his first was alluring. You slowly grow impatient before you shift around in your place, and successfully have Toby on his knees. He look up at you with a flushed expression and seems to be slightly puzzled at the sudden position changed. It didn't take long for him to caught on however when your hand slowly grip the root of his hair in a firm grip. He quickly fumbled with his hand to unzip your zipper and your cock sprint out. He swallow thickly and look up at you, and you just scoffed at the sight. He looks so fucking pathethic and eager on his knees. His face was red, and sweat was coating his forehead and running down his chin.

You nodded at him with a raised brow, and he quickly got to work. He slowly swirled his tongue around your tip, making your legs feel like jello. He savoured the taste, licking up any precum that was beaded on the slit of your dick. You buckle up your hips imaptiently, but his rough hands held your inner thighs in place. You let out a low moan as he continue to lick and suck on your pulsating dick, before he finally take the whole thing in his mouth. You grunt a bit, the grip on his hair tightens as you tried not to snap your hips upward into his mouth. He was taking all of this painfully slow, and he knows it.

After all the teasing, you couldn't held it in anymore as you shoved his head down on your dick, not giving the slightest fuck when he gagged a bit. The gagging actually sent a vibration down your dick making you moan a bit louder, as you gently facefuck him. Your mouth start to whispered filthy praises and degrading stuff to him.

"G-god- so fucking warm.." You mumbled, loud enough for Toby to hear and his dick twitched. "Y-you're so pathethic" Scowling down at him, you fuck yourself into his mouth a bit rougher. "Getting o-off.. at one of your colleagues p-ah...arty? To his son nonetheless?" Toby's dick throbs with every words falling out of your mouth as you began to rambles while being deep inside his mouth, drilling your hips against his face.

He let out a few groans and whimpers of his own as he work his tongue around your shaft, greedily sucking you up and desperated to pleased you as you start to pick up the pace, brutally snapping your hips up and grinding in his face before you released deep inside his throat, moaning loudly as your legs began to trembled. He drinks every bit of you up, letting you ride through the orgasm.

After you slowly came down from your high, you pull out of him with a wet pop, whining a bit at the lost of the warmth in his mouth.

To your surprised, it didn't take long for Toby to hook his arms under your legs and stand up, making your head and back hit the wall as you let out a gasped. It's as if he did a whole 180 on his attitude.

He have a cocky smirk displayed mischeviously on his lips as press himself closer to you, grinding his pelvis into yours as he drawled out a groan. He can't take it anymore.

One of his free hand reached up and grabbed his tie, tying your hands together tightly, surely to leave a bruise.

His cold, rough hands travel down to your ass and give it a firm squeeze before his right hand travel up to the inner of your thighs and teasing your aching hole with one finger, making you whine as you squirm around a bit, glaring up at him.

He cooed at your expression and leans down, gently nibbling your neck and whispered in your ears. "Y- You're so..so pretty when yo- you're acting tough." He grins before sucking the skin of your neck, leaving a deep, dark purple mark.

You were still squirming against him and it only get him more riled up as you were practically grinding into his hips. He flipped you over so your back was against his chest and you were bending over the sink. He grab your jaw with his right hand to force you to look in the mirror. He wore a cunning grin as he shoves his middle and ring fingers into your mouth while keeping the hand firmly on your jaw. Drools were dripping down your chin as you gagged around his digits, tears starts to formed in the corner of your eyes. The actions only make him grin wider, as he bend down against you, your ass were right up against his cock.

"You see that camera?"

He asked smugly, before turning your head to look at the phone that was set neatly on a flower plant, making your eyes widen and your cheeks flushed with humilation.

"Do you want your daddy to see how much of a Hure his sonne really is, huh.."

He whispered lowly as he began to nibble your ear. You could only feel your dick start to erected again shamefully as you shook your head rapidly, in an almost pleading way.

"Then suck."

He barked orders at you and you began to swirl your tongue around his digit, sucking his fingers.

"Good, good.. little whore."

He grins and lick up your tears and kiss your cheek, before his other hand went up and grab your throat, holding your head in place and his now wet fingers travelled down to your ass, as he push one digit in and start to stretch you out. That delicious heat began to form in the pit of your stomach again as you gasped and whined at the touch, fueling Toby's egos even more.

"Such an adorable sound..."

He whispered, pumping his digit in and out of your wet hole before adding another one, leaning down and keep nibbling and sucking on your skins, leaving dark purple marks scattered around your neck while your shoulders were adorned with his bites.

"I can't wait to ruin you."

He scowled, as his finger went into a scissoring motion, stretching you out and shivers at the warmth, his dick was twitching and throbbing, begging to be inside of you.

The knot in your stomach tightens up as you scrunch up your face, clenching your jaws tightly. However, it earned a tight squeeze to your throat and you yelped, your eyes widened, He chuckled at your expression and tilt your head up to make you gaze at your reflection in the mirror.

"Eyes up, doll.."

He breathly says before he continue to pump his fingers into you, and added the 3rd finger.

You immediatly whines at the digits being brutally pumping in and out of you, your tongue hanging out of your mouth.

He snickered slightly at the sight before pulling his hand out, making you grunt slightly at the loss.

But it was quicly replace by a shocked yelped when you felt the tip of his dick rubbing against your hole as he pistoned himself and, without warning, snapped his hips forward, moaning loudly into your ears as he bottomed you out. Despite prepping you, nothing could have prepare you as his cock stretch you out delicously, and you could swear you felt his cock deep inside your stomach.

"S-so fuc-fuckin-g.. sh-shit- tight, tight, tight-"

He rambled into your shoulders, completely lost himself into you for a split second.

"-'m gonn- gonna mol- mold my dick into you..g-gonna ruin you for e-everyone else.."

He didn't let you adjust before he slam into you at a brutal speed, your lewd moans that would put a pornstar to shame filled and echoed around the bathroom, mixing with the sounds of skin slapping and a few moan and grunts from Toby himself.

"I'm gonna fuckin' breed this schöner b-junge.."

He mumbled to himself and you felt yourself clenching around his lenght, causing him to cursed in german harshly, his grip against your throat tightens. You managed to choke out a small "S-sir-!" but that only make his grip on you tightens more, slamming his pelvis into you and groaning loudly.

"S-scheiße- cal- call me that again-"

He ordered, grinding his dick into your ass and thrust into you harshly, making you cried out.

"S-fuck- Sir- Pl-pleas-"

Tears streams down your cheeks as he pounce into you, not showing any signs of stopping soon.

Black dots started to invade your visions as your air supply was cut off. But just right when you were about to pass out, he relaxed his grip, causing you to gasped sharply, inhaling that sweet, sweet air into your lungs.

"That- that's it, breathe.. Gut so.."

You felt the knot in your stomach tightens again as he burried balls deep into you, rubbing anf reaching all of your sweet spots you didn't even know were possible.

"Oh, m-meine liebe.. you're being- being such a good obedient little slut"

And you were being forced to watch as he fucking you silly was all so fucking lewd.

He let out a shout as he twitched, feeling himself close as his head jerk to the side, before his dick twitch deep inside of you and he came undone. You were quick to follow as you cum onto the cold marbled sink, letting out heavy pants as your half lidded, glossy eyes glance up at the camera.

[jrooc]

✨WEEKLY TAG WEDNESDAY✨

Thank you @energievie for the fun game. And @creepkinginc for the tag.

A little game for you today: imagine you're friends with both Ian and Mickey (I'm talking hanging out at their apartment, going out for drinks, the whole nine yards). Which one of them would you take with you for the following activities and why? No cheating 😅 Only of them because I promise you the other won't get upset.

But first...

Name: Jess

Age: A Nosho and a half

Location: Toronto, Canada

And now, for the activities:

Fishing: Mickey - 'Cause neither of us would give a fuck and would just skip to the drinking-on-a-boat part

Rom-com marathon in the park: Ian! Omg we'd get snacks and cuddle under a blanket and both identify with the awkward leading actor who can't play it cool and gossip about Mickey.

Clubbing: definitely Ian - I'm with Evie here. He'd be so much fun and great to look at.

Wine tasting: Mickey. Oh heck yes. We'd start out pretending to be serious. Swilling and sniffing and describing the tasting notes as 'fruity as all fuck' and 'I'm not fuckin' gay enough to drink wine that sweet' and then drink all the wine 'til we were giggling and facetiming Ian from the back of the wine tour mini bus.

Escape room: Mickey - I'm stealing Evie's answer here cause 1000% this: I mean, the guy escaped prison, a simple room would be no match for him.

A day at the spa: Ohhh this is a tough one 'cause both. But I guess I'll choose Mickey 'cause it'd be funny as fuck watching his reactions as they explain everything to him and you know he'd love a good pampering

Office Christmas party: Mickey - We both say inappropriate things but would make it fun so people would forgive us and just come sneak drinks with us from the bar.

Darts competition: Mickey. You know he'd be proficient at bar sports. He was playing darts and shooting guns before he was 10

Treasure hunt: Ian - Mickey would get frustrated and give up. Ian would work through the clues meticulously and be ultra-competitive.

Assembling IKEA furniture: Ian - Mickey would def not have the patience for this but Nosho's answer was funnier. And real.

Tags below the cut. Or here, have some early halloween candy 🍬:

@deedala @too-schoolforcool @thepupperino @runawaybrainsc @mickeysgaymom

@gallavichsuperfan @such-a-barbarian @crestfallercanyon @guinguin1984 @bluelightning00

@blue-disco-lights @spookygingerr @gallapiech @roryonic @spoonfulstar

@ian-galagher @transmurderbug @stocious @sgtmickeyslaughter @whatthebodygraspsnot

@francesrose3 @doshiart @look-i-love-u @rereadanon @palepinkgoat

@suzy-queued @vintagelacerosette @darlingian @samantitheos @sam-loves-seb

@mmmichyyy @annarowyn @look-i-love-u @ms-moonlight-inn @callivich

[dearweirdme]

https://www.tumblr.com/dearweirdme/760787222147547136/httpswwwtumblrcomdearweirdme7606164166353879?source=share

Hi, Korean American anon here so I'm familiar with shipping culture in South Korea (though I don't think what I'm about to say is exclusive to South Korean culture)

I'm catching up but OP is very right about the strange contradiction and it's usually that some shippers feel safe shipping m/m relationships because at heart, they don't believe that their idols can be homosexual/bisexual. Their idols are perfect and, in their opinion, anything outside of heterosexuality is flawed and abnormal...so it's a low risk form of denial over the fact that they might have to one day deal with seeing their faves in a hetero relationship.

So shipping them with a male or group member is a safer way of exploring that fantasy romantic side of their idol, seeing how cute they can be, what they'd look like as their boyfriend etc without any of the risk of having to face their idol being in a real relationship (which according to them is a hetero one) because their homophobia (concious or subconcious) won't allow them to really consider the possibility that their fave might be gay or bi and they also know that companies and artists themselves might be less willing to expose same sex relationships.

So TLDR; it's a low risk deniability and form of mental escapism from facing the reality that they nightshade to watch their idol go through a relationship.

Now in Korea, its the same thing but with a little bit of an added element to it....because fans know that Korean entertainment companies and artists are far more indulgent than western counterparts when it comes to pleasong fans and delivering what they want and protecting them from having to acknowledge that their idols are human beings with their own lives. So with Korean idols and fans, there's also an element of control.

They know that if they ship group members or idols together, companies will often jump on it and use it to foster the parasocial element that is heightend and more greatly exploited in KPOP. That means idols and companies will go to far greater lengths to hide their real relationships and so fans won't have to be exposed to something they don't want to see or acknowledge.

They can make their faves dance to the beat of their drum by shipping them with each other because they genuinely don't believe anything will ever come of it

And the fact is that these fans would react the same way if their idol dated opposite or sex---because shipping them with the same sex is their way of essentially shipping them with nobody (if that makes sense)

Now obviously, I 'ship' Tàekook or I wouldn't be here but it's the fact that Hybe not only haven't exploited their biggest ship for fan engagement and fan interaction but seem to have gone to lengths to cover it that makes me more suspicious as to the reality of it.

But ultimately, homophobics shipping their m/m faves is really just them trying to exert whatever control they can while also holding a belief that they'll never have to face the reality of their ship coming to life.

Hi Korean-American anon!

So good to see you around! As always thanks for your input!

You're responding to this ask:

One of the reason's why I always found the explanation of less Taekook focus from BH being because Tae and Jk weren't close anymore such nonsense, is because it makes no sense from a business perspective. BH could literally make them do content together because people enjoyed it so much. Taekook is the biggest ship, has been for years.. and yet they make none to little use of it.

I've read people (the other side) say Tae and Jk are less interesting to watch... freaking bs.. which is basically proven by AYS where all Jm and Jk do is just eat and talk about how much they love to eat. Tae and Jk are also hilarious, cute, and comforting together. I grant everyone that an AYS from Jk and Tae would gather the same attention as AYS from Jk and Jm.

[littledollll]

Hey there! Can I please request a Larissa x teacher!reader? The reader is like really shy around Larissa. And I mean like Larissa can’t even smile or get one word out without reader blushing and looking for an excuse to run and hide. Reader can’t escape one day though because Larissa asks for a one on one meeting. It starts off with Larissa just asking about reader’s class and then she suddenly asks if she makes them uncomfortable or anything and reader just bursts and goes “you just make me gay panic okay? you’re so pretty, and tall, and your voice is like the most amazing sound ever” like full on just gay blabber. Larissa finds it adorable and asks reader out and kisses them. I just wanted something funny and fluffy with Larissa. Thank you!

How cute

Larissa Weems x Shy!teacher!reader

A/n: this request was so cute!! I’m sorry it’s a little shorter than my usual, I’m trying to get my pile of requests done quickly but still be good and not half assed which means length takes the penalty, also trying not be repetitive in my writing!

Warnings: none, pls tell me if you belive I should add any!

You really didn’t know how to even approach her. If you had questions you’d ask other teachers and avoid Larissa at all costs, the second you met officially for your interview your whole world turned upside down, she was stunning, how she talked and carried herself, the sheer elegance she radiated, how that red lipstick looked on her, how she dressed to compliment her body yet kept it professional. To this day you’re still unsure how you even got through the job interview and became a teacher.

It wasn’t that hard to avoid her, unless of course you had a staff meeting or work events, you clung to the other teachers and avoided contact with Larissa regardless, only speaking when she directly addressed you before running off to find something to do, on the bright side it made you very productive, so when Larissa called you in for a one on one meeting you were confused, had you done something wrong? Regardless you made your way to her office, anxiously toying with the rings on your fingers.

You took a deep breath and knocked, you heard a soft “come in” and stepped into the office. Larissa pointed at one of the arm chairs and you sat down, looking down at your lap and again playing with your rings. Larissa observed you for a second before speaking up. “Don’t worry you’re not in trouble, you’ve actually been one of the most responsible teachers here from the second you started working, I’m impressed.” You stuttered. “Well- um, thank you!” She only nodded in response.

“I just want to know how you’re settling in, how the students are treating you, is Nevermore to your liking?” You were looking anywhere but her way when you spoke. “Oh! Well I like it here a lot actually, the students! They’re great, some trouble makers, you already know that, but just amazing for the most part, very competitive some of them which makes for an entertaining class- and the teachers! Very lovely, ive felt very welcome-“ you cut yourself off before you kept rambling, not noticing the smile on her face at your excitement. “Sorry. I kinda just kept going- um, but- yeah I’d say I’m settling fine.”

“Well I’m glad to see you enjoy it here so much, darling, if you don’t mind, I have a question.” You nodded at her to continue. “Clearly the students and staff aren’t an issue.. I can’t help but notice you seem rather uncomfortable around me, the way you behave around me compared to the others.. do I make you uncomfortable, dear?”

You were shocked, you didn’t want her to think you didn’t like her, or felt uncomfortable with her, so you forced yourself to explain. “I- no, God no! I’m very sorry principal Weems, I don’t- you don’t make me uncomfortable, I have no issues with you, I’m sorry I made you think so-“ “Well clearly there’s something the matter." She just wanted you to explain, making her sound cold.

“I’m gonna regret saying this- okay! From the moment I came here I was absolutely entranced by you, you are simply divine- perfection actually and I do not know how to work around you because it’s all I can think about. You are elegant and kind, beautiful and professional, and I get like horrible gay panic around you!”

You caught your breath. “I know it’s horribly unprofessional. That’s why I avoid you.” Larissa’s smile only grew leaving you confused. “What-“ she came around her desk standing over you. “Darling you are adorable, if you would have just told me sooner.” You furrow your brows. “What exactly are you saying-“ Larissa pulled you into a kiss which you immediately reciprocated, pulling away she cupped your jaw. “I’m saying, are you free for dinner this Friday? And from now on, just call me Larissa.”

[mr111202]

The Strange Parallel Between Mike Wheeler and Disney’s Mulan (The Mike/Disney Parallels 1/2)

Okay, I know what you’re gonna say: “Wait, Mulan’s a Chinese girl from the Hun Dynasty, and Mike’s an American boy from the 1980s. The hell do you mean??” Admittedly, it does sound strange, but stay with me here. I’m not saying that Mike and Mulan are the same person, definitely not. But, they both do have one big similarity in common:

Their self-confidence issues, and the need to protect those who they love.

In the beginning of her movie, Mulan is shown to have some major self-confidence issues. Most prominent with her thinking that she’s brought shame to her family for not being “the perfect daughter” cause she failed to impress the matchmaker.

Like wise, through season four, we can see that Mike is also struggling with his own self-confidence. The most famous example that people like to use is the Van scene before Will whips out his painting. Mike talks about how he feels inadequate and useless when it comes to his relationship with El (“she’s Superman, and I’m Lois Lane. But even that doesn’t work.” To paraphrase). And, if we do take in the aspect of Mike being gay as well, it can also be said that he feels this cause he thinks he’s not “the perfect son” cause he likes boys.

Both characters feel inadequate and feel like as if they constantly let people down.

Then, later on in the Disney movie, Mulan decides to disguise herself as a man to join the army. Not cause she wants to or to prove a point, but cause she doesn’t want her father to get killed in battle. She seems to be the kind to risk her life for those she cares for. She does this again when she saves Shang during the avalanche, despite her bleeding from a stomach wound via Shan-Yu’s sword.

Similarly, Mike has been shown to be the kind of person who will risk his life to keep the people he loves safe. There’s the time in season 1 where he was ready to throw himself off the quarry to save Dustin from Troy. Then there’s the time in season 3 when he took a pipe to Billy’s back during the sauna test to save El. Then, also in that same season at the finale, bro threw his skinny ass body at Billy (who’s jacked and possessed) as a way to keep El safe and buy her time to escape the mall.

With all that said, this is something I personally want in season five. I sincerely doubt that the Duffer Brothers would do this, but a girl can dream.

I want Mike to have his Mulan moment.

Much like how Mulan developed confidence in herself thanks to her experience in the army, I want Mike to be able to grow confidence with himself and be able to accept himself for who he is (that he’s great the way his is, and that being gay and loving Will is okay).

And much like how Mulan was able to use her smarts and wits to defeat Shan-Yu, I would like to see a scene where Mike uses his own smarts and wits to come up with a plan to defeat Vecna, affirming Will’s statement in the van scene that Mike is the “Heart of the Party”. Much like how Mulan is kind of the “Heart of the Army”.

Though admittedly, a little montage or a creative time shot of Mike getting buff wouldn’t be too bad.

[theangelwithawand]

Good Omens Incorrect Quotes 5

Still not mine.

Crowley as Aziraphale: *gets set on fire and screams in agony*

Crowley as Aziraphale: Nah, I’m just kidding. Fire does nothing to me.

Crowley: I'm a firm believer in "if you're going to fail, you might as well fail spectacularly."

Warlock, T-posing in the doorway: Greetings, Nanny.

Crowley, not looking up from their coffee: Good morning, problem child.

Aziraphale: Please say words of encouragement to me so I don’t murder someone right now.

Crowley: There are no books in prison.

Aziraphale: *sighs* Thank you.

Aziraphale: Jesus Saves.

Crowley: Passes to Moses, SCOOOOOORE!

Crowley: Well, if you're not at least a little bit gay for your friends, then what kind of friend are you?

Crowley: If you don't stop talking, I'm going to jump out of that window.

Aziraphale: ...We're on the ground floor.

Crowley: I know but I want a dramatic exit.

Aziraphale: I made this friendship bracelet for you.

Crowley: You know, I’m not really a jewelry person.

Aziraphale: You don’t have to wear…

Crowley: No, I’m gonna wear it forever. Back off.

Crowley: So jellyshish-

Aziraphale, laughing: JELLYSHISH!?

Crowley: You know what I meant!

Crowley: What's gone wrong, Aziraphale?

Aziraphale: Hey! That’s one heck of a thing to say to a person. Just because I’m calling doesn’t mean there’s a crisis.

Crowley: That’s technically true, I suppose. Why are you calling?

Aziraphale: Well... There’s a crisis.

Crowley, hungover: Please tell me I'm imagining that I claimed I was king of the ducks.

Aziraphale: I would, but then I would be lying to the King of All Ducks.

Aziraphale: Crowley? What are you doing here?

Crowley, wearing a hawaiian shirt, sunglasses and holding a gatorade: My best.

Newt: I’m here for the cult stuff.

Shadwell: How did you find us?

Newt: I saw your ad on craigslist.

Aziraphale: I am in charge of this disaster!

Crowley: I have a name, you know.

Crowley, wiping tears from their eyes: If you love someone, set them free. If they come back, it’s meant to be…

Aziraphale: I’m literally just going to the store.

Crowley: I have issues.

Gabriel: Finally, you admit it! The first step to redemption is accept-

Crowley: With you.

Crowley: *on the phone with Anathema* I can’t talk right now, I’m doing hot girl shit.

Anathema: You’re pulling Oreos apart and saving off the frosting to make a mega Oreo, aren’t you.

Crowley: Maybe.

Crowley: Now, the recipe calls for 2 shots of vodka.

Crowley: *upends the bottle*

Aziraphale: Sorry, I'm late to the party. I've been doing things.

Crowley, entering in an unbuttoned shirt: I got caught up doing things too.

Anathema: Wow, Aziraphale was late too! What a coincidence!

Aziraphale: You spent all our money on THIS??

Crowley, putting tiny raincoats on ducklings: They live outside. They need this.

Crowley: Where are you going?

Aziraphale: To get MYSELF a gift cause somebody didn't get me one!

Crowley: I told you I did! Its coming here on Friday!

Anathema, knowing full well that Crowley got Aziraphale an engagement ring: *eating popcorn*

Crowley: The only thing keeping me from running away and hiding from society for the rest of my life is spite. I could disappear forever, but there are some bitches whose downfalls I have yet to witness, and I wanna be around when that happens.

Aziraphale: You’re drunk.

Crowley: Correction: drinking. Present tense. Grammar, Aziraphale.

Aziraphale: Do you see yourself as a glass half-full or glass half-empty kind of person?

Anathema: Half-full, definitely.

Anathema: Half-full and constantly rising.

Anathema: Soon the water will escape its container and consume us all.

Crowley: Okay, but what if we went to dinner not as friends this time?

Aziraphale: AS ENEMIES?!

Crowley: