#Malt Musings

[pine-niidles]

I'd love to hear about OCs 2, 14, and 27!

That's Malte (2), Eclipse (14), and Nebula (27) 💗🖤💜

Malte is I think my newest oc? It's hard to keep track lately. I made him for a dnd based rp my friend is running (though I've been ghosting them the last few months aaaa. I need to find an rp group that's active in a non-us timezone)

He's a dungeon researcher in theory but he's spent the last century or two essentially being a secretary for a local guild. He's the kind of person who needs everything to be organized and set up just right before starting and he's an elf with a bad sense of time so he keeps getting sidetracked from the things he wants to do by the things he feels he needs to do... he was trying to change that habit with this newly discovered dungeon the rp is taking place at but unfortunately for him I ended up not being able to be active for a while. I'm thinking about what reason he has for leaving his dream project for two months but whatever it is I'll find a way to work it into his character arc when my wrists feel better and I can be active again. :>

In my wip folder for Malte I have this chibi and emote I'll finish one day

Eclipse I feel like I've talked a bit about on this account recently? So I won't go too deep into her introduction.

Lately I've been really into characters trapped in situations they have no control over and how they learn to live with and work around said situation.

Eclispe is trapped in a loop of multiple lifetimes that all end the same way - her having to make a choice between saving the world she's grown to love by killing the goddess she used to love or taking the goddess's deal and letting the world crumble away around her to pave the way for a new one. She kills the goddess every time and lives out the rest of her life, only for the cycle to start again in the next one as the goddess's death is always only temporary and as long as she lives she will not let Eclipse die permanently either.

I have a lot of Eclipse in my wip folder but the one I'm most excited about is this comic I want to draw for her sometime this year

Nebula I talked about in the last ask and I don't have any wips I can share of them... so I'll drop another piece of lore:

Nebula frequents the same arcade as Carina and the two of them meet in their civilian identities without realizing who other person is.

Thanks so much for asking! 💖💗💞And that goes to everyone who did send in an ask - it was a lot of fun to ramble about my ocs, thank you for indulging me

[sohannabarberaesque]

I can just imagine this:

Your favourite Hanna-Barbera Funtastics being fond of "old school" malted milks made with a decent scoop or two more of ice cream than other places are willing to use ... and with another scoop of malt powder than normally used.

Not to mention this being a fanfic prompt right here.

[dram-gazette]

Glen Scotia 2022 Seasonal Release - Amontillado Casks — Brian's Malt Musings

Glen Scotia 2022 Seasonal Release – Amontillado Casks — Brian’s Malt Musings

Now on to it’s third year @GlenScotiaMalts’ Seasonal Release continues the theme of age statemented, cask strength, unpeated bottlings.This years has been finished in Amontillado Sherry Casks – let’s see what it’s like…This 2022 release is 95% unpeated and 5% medium peated spirit, matured for 11 – 11½ years in first fill bourbon casks. Parcels… Glen Scotia 2022 Seasonal Release – Amontillado…

[maelove1819]

Harry’s Trip To Fortescue’s || Microfic 1,867 Words

Harry was sure that when he stepped into The Leaky and saw the minister, his wand would be immediately snapped. He was surprised to see that not only was he forgiven, he wasn’t even being punished or made to go back to the Dursleys! He had thanked whatever God out there for that one. Uncle Vernon would beat him into next century if he saw Harry any time soon.

But he couldn’t bring himself to regret his actions. Aunt Marge was talking bad about his mother, the only woman who had ever been kind to him. Showed him unconditional love, gave her life for his. So he would not apologize or be sorry.

The minister had told him that there was a madman after him. A man who was supposed to be his godfather, but had sold his parents out to Voldemort. Which was quite irritating to listen to. If anything, staying in Diagon Alley wouldn’t provide protection. It would just make it easier for him to be kidnapped or killed by the man.

But Harry would take what he was given. He smiled and thanked him. He put his things away and got his homework out. Then with his newfound freedom, he did the thing any thirteen year old would love to do. He went to the Ice Cream Parlor.

Walking in, he was greeted by a middle aged man, with a slight gap in his teeth and straw blonde hair. He wore it up in a ponytail with a hairnet over it. He had kind eyes that bore straight into his soul. Like the man could see exactly what Harry had been through. The man smiled at him anyway.

Harry walked up to the counter, timidly holding his essays and his last few Galleons.

“What can I get for you, Topolino?” He asked as he sat his work down, giving Harry his undivided attention.

“I don’t- I don’t know. I’ve never had ice cream before. I was just hoping for a place to do my homework. I don’t really want to be alone right now. Dudley’s favorite is that rainbow colored one though. It always smelled nice.” Harry started fiddling with his fingers and not looking him in the eye.

The man seemed to ponder Harry for a minute, then he tutted and turned to grab a bowl.

“Alrighty kiddo. Why don’t you just grab a seat, or you could come sit with me behind the counter, and I’ll sow you how to make a chocolate sundae. Would you like that?” He smiled at Harry as the child nodded. Then he sat on a stool and watched as the man made a chocolate sundae.

“My name is Harry.” He picked up a quill to work on his divination essay.

“Mine is Florean Fortescue. It’s nice to meet you.” He scoops a large ball of vanilla ice cream and plopped it in the bowl.

“Nice to meet you too.” Harry responded politely, watching him scoop another.

Harry turns back to his homework, but after a few minutes of staring at the parchment, willing anything to write, he sighs and places his hands above his head, scratching his left pinky.

“Say, why does a child who looks to be thirteen never enter an ice cream parlor before today?” Florean mused as he handed a malt to another customer.

“When I was eleven, I was too busy admiring the fact that I was a wizard to want ice cream. And then when I was twelve I accidentally ended up in Knockturn Alley. Besides the Weasleys were on a time limit. I didn’t want to bother them. I don’t think I had enough for any ice cream after anyway.” Harry places his quill down to watch Florean go back to the sundae.

Florean paused for a second, but then put sprinkles on the ice cream, then chocolate syrup, and a cherry. Then he turned and handed it to Harry.

“Thank you sir, how much do I owe you?” Florean waved him off.

“That’s on the house. I put the sprinkles on before the chocolate sauce. I can’t sell that. Just enjoy it kiddo so you can get your homework done.” Florean walked over to the sink and started washing dishes.

“Thank you sir.” Harry turned back to his parchment, writing only ‘Palm reading is a basic form of fortune telling,’ before giving up and turning back to Florean.

“Do you know who Sirius Black is?” This made Florean drop a cup back in the sink.

“Yes, we used to have interloping friend groups in Hogwarts.” Harry watched him take a few breaths.

“So you went to Hogwarts with my parents?” Harry was just a ball of excitement. No one ever told him much about his parents. Mostly just told him how he was like his father.

“Lily was one of my friends. James and his little group, not so much. They didn’t much care for Slytherins.” Florean waved a soapy hand around.

“You’re a Slytherin?” Harry’s face twisted in a little confusion.

“Yep, was a year above Sirius’ little brother. Was quite close to him and his friends.” Florean sighed as he looked back on his school days.

“Really? Were you and my mother good friends?” Harry walked over to him and picked up the soapy dishes and started rinsing them.

“We weren’t the best of friends, no that title went to Emmeline Vance. A Hufflepuff in our year. But I knew her well enough to tell you that I already see a lot of her in you. My twin sister was a better friend to Lily. I wish she could tell you more.” At his words Harry looked at the man with huge doe eyes.

“Really? Everyone tells me that I have my mother’s eyes. But that’s all they ever say about her. They don’t tell me anything else. Just that she was the smartest witch of her generation.” The boy was practically vibrating, but he still rinsed the dishes.

“Lily was smart, that’s for sure. But the only thing that set her apart from anyone else was her common sense. See, being muggleborn she had an outside look on life most of us didn’t get.

“And you don’t just have Lily’s eyes, you have her mannerisms. She used to bite the end of her quill when thinking. She also had chapped lips from sticking her tongue out when working with her hands. She would also set her hands on top of her head and scratch her left pinky with her right hand. Odd trait, but you have it.”

“Wow… Do you know why everyone says Sirius Black is hunting me?” Florean sighed before answering.

“I don’t believe he’s after you, Topolino. Sirius Black considers the Potters his family. Got disowned and gave up everything for them. He wouldn’t turn them over like that. He’s the most loyal person I’ve ever met. If he’s back, he’s not looking for you.” He places a soapy hand on Harry’s head.

“That’s a relief. You said you were in Slytherin? How come you’re scooping ice cream and not a death eater?” Harry pushes the soapy hand off of his head.

“Slytherins weren’t the only followers of You-Know-Who. I know several Gryffindors who followed him, along with people from the other houses. Regulus Black was one, but he saw through it. He died betraying You-Know-Who. Most of the Slytherins who joined him were forced my parents who went to school with him.”

“But Hagrid told me that there wasn’t a wizard in that house that didn’t go bad, and Malfoy’s a right prat.” Florean scoffed at Harry’s words.

“Hagrid is a bit hypocritical, don’t you think? He was one. A Slytherin, I mean. And that Malfoy fellow, why do you think he’s a right prat?”

“Well, it started in first year, we were getting fitted for our school robes, and he insulted Hagrid. Hagrid saved me from the Dursleys and that hurt. But then on the train he insulted my first ever friend. So when tried to shake my hand, I told him no thanks.” Harry waved his arms around in frustration.

“Ooh, see? I’ve found your problem. There is a lot of undue hate towards impure people in amongst the pure bloods. I’m not saying it’s correct, but he was eleven. He was probably repeating something his father said.

“But you’re true problem is when you turned away his hand. In your culture, it is okay to turn away someone’s hand that you don’t like. But here, you can’t do that. Especially among young heirs. You essentially told him to get out of your face, you’re better than him. Your magical guardian should have taught you customs. Harry, the things you said have me thinking. Did you know you were a wizard before Hogwarts?”

“No sir, Hagrid told me when he came to pick me up to take me to Diagon Alley.” Florean sighed again and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“This is a problem. I’ll take you to Gringotts after I close up shop for the night. When do you have to be back with your guardians?”

“Not until next summer, sir.” This startled Florean. There was no one watching this child while they think a murderer is targeting him?

“So there is no one watching you?”

“No sir, I’m staying at the Leaky.”

Before Florean can respond to that, Xenophilius and Luna Lovegood enter the store. Luna stops to stand beside Harry while Xeno leans in and kisses Florean. Harry stops and stares at them.

“Wait, you can do that?” Harry asks, voice full of confusion.

“Do what?” Florean turned toward Harry once more. Xeno still holding onto his hips.

“Two men can kiss?” Harry looks at Luna, who just nods.

“Two men can do more than just kiss. They can get married too.” Florean and Xeno hold up their green and blue wedding bands.

“And it doesn’t make you a freak?” This makes Florean’s heart stop in his throat.

“Salazar no! Who told you that?” Florean places a hand over his heart.

“Uncle Vernon. He says Wizards and The Gays and cripples are all freaks. He says I’m a freak.” Luna places her hands on Harry’s shoulders, rubbing in small circles.

“Oh dear. Harry, you aren’t a freak. You will never be a freak.” Florean places both his hands on the side of Harry’s face. Rubbing his thumbs over his cheeks.

“But-”

“Harry, our mothers dated for years in Hogwarts. Our mothers aren’t freaks.” Luna states, less dreamily than normal.

“No they aren’t. So it’s not bad if I feel that way?” Luna rubs her nose on his cheek.

“No, that’s perfectly normal.” She turns and spins away. Grabbing Harry’s melting sundae and proceeds to eat it.

“I finished up early at The Quibbler. Do you want me to watch your shop for you? Luna said you needed an extra long lunch break.” Xeno walked over and started washing the dishes. Florean turned back to Harry.

“Okay, Topolino. I am not comfortable leaving you in England’s biggest shopping district by yourself. Would you mind staying with me and my family?” He asks as Harry nods his approval.

Heya! If you made it this far, thank you for reading. This is for you, @yourlocalbadgerscales just like ya asked for. Promised you it’s be done by tonight and I delivered! I might make this my first chapter, but I’m better at typing on a computer than my phone. Also, Tumblr deleted my writing, like three times! So I wrote it on google docs. Anyway, Florean didn’t outright say it, but his Twin sister is Alice. He looks just like Neville. Also, I decided that he was going to take Harry under his wing. We need more Marauders Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and Slytherins (in the marauder’s year) so a Ravenclaw Xeno and a Slytherin Fortescue. I am so excited! Please reblog so this becomes a popular marauders-cannon!

[maximumwobblerbanditdonut]

I HAVE AN obsession with the color green. It’s a color of opposites. Green is life, growth, and health. It’s also sickness, greed, and envy. It’s good and bad at once. And it’s everywhere this afternoon as I sit down with actor, producer, author, and entrepreneur Sam Heughan — most recognized for his starring role in the Scotland-based time travel drama “Outlander.” His shirt bears a green tartan pattern, somewhere between jade and emerald. To my right, the glass bottle of his new gin is a transparent seafoam. Above my head is the leafy expanse of a tree, planted in the courtyard of New York’s Crosby Street Hotel. The gin we sip tastes green: grassy and alpine, fresh as menthol and bright as a sour apple. Most vividly is the green in my mind’s eye: the wet, rich, misty green of Scotland, a place Heughan speaks of with rapture.

Missing home is what drove Heughan to launch his spirits brand Sassenach, after the Scottish Gaelic word for an English person, or rather, an “outsider.” “When I was in London away from home, a jobbing actor, missing Scotland, I remember my first time trying a single malt whisky and I had such an emotional reaction,” he recalls from across the table, his bright blue eyes wide. “It reminded me of Scotland.”

I remark on the gin’s legs, thick and viscous, streaking the sides of my glass. Heughan nods, “I increased the strength. It just gives it a bit more weight. I love a bit of weight on my tongue.” Toasted oats give a creamy feel to the cornucopia of flavors present in the liquid: pine resin, heather, blackberry leaf, blaeberry — and, again, that sour green apple. “There’s no citrus in Scotland. That’s why I chose apples,” Heughan explains. “I remember as a kid, picking them and throwing them at people, eating them, then being really ill because they’re so sour.”

Heughan’s family — his mother, brother, and uncle — still live in Scotland. His uncle used to have a ceilidh band. “[Ceilidh is] a traditional Scottish dance,” he explains. “It’s madness. Everyone’s drinking whisky and the dancers get faster and faster and there are lots of spinning people around.” Heughan listens to a lot of Scottish music. He later sends me a song called “Blackbird” by Martyn Bennett, known for mixing dance tracks with traditional Celtic music. I tear up at its aching slants. “It makes me homesick for a home that’s not mine,” I message him. “That’s Scotland,” he writes back. “It does that to people.”

Sam Heughan Is in Good Spirits Image Float

Heughan was raised by a single mother in the south of Scotland — the rural stretches of Dumfries and Galloway. “Spent a lot of time on my own pretending I was a knight or Robert the Bruce.” The land’s botanicals now flavor his gin. Courtesy of Sam Heughan.

“It’s one foot in the present, one in the past,” muses Heughan about his country, adding a splash of tonic to my gin, whose flavor now reveals a pleasant salinity. “The castles. So many great battles. You

can feel the history. I think that’s what makes it so magical.” This history is inextricably linked to ritual, observed in Scotland to this day. Take Beltane, a pagan ritual beginning serendipitously on Heughan’s birthday, April 30. “You’re supposed to stay up all night and wash your face in the fresh dew when the sun rises, then go to bed and dream of your future spouse,” he describes. “It’s all about rebirth and nature.”

We talk about other parts of the world that have shaped him, as I remark on his fusion accent: a bit Scottish for sure, but mixed with something else, sort of American and British, too. America’s opportunity and diversity captivate Heughan. He came here for the first time at 18, hostel hopping in San Francisco. “I remember looking at the Golden Gate Bridge for hours, playing my cassette of ‘(Sittin’ On) the Dock of the Bay’ by Otis Redding over and over. I was living on $5 burritos — one a day. It’s all I could afford.” He speaks of Hawaii with reverence — the local culture’s connection to wildlife and the sea. He spent time with a fisherman and his family there who taught him the Indigenous way to fish: “Gut it straight away. Take out the heart, say a prayer, and throw it back into the ocean immediately to allow the soul of the fish to live on.” New Zealand also moves him. He was there recently and learned about tā moku, the art of Māori tattooing. “You sit with an artist and tell him your story. He chooses where it goes on your body and makes it there and then. He stuck [the initial sketch] on my left forearm here, and it was all about my mom and my brother and the absence of my father.” He wants to return to New Zealand and get the tattoo next time.

My gin has opened up even more, spreading out into softer, aromatic florals as Heughan uncorks a bottle of his whisky. “People have called you a global heartthrob.” I begin, “Is that a role you’re —”

“Who has?” His eyes grow bigger in feigned shock. (Fun fact: the Sam Heughan fanbase even has their own name — “Heughligans.”)

“Someone I talked to in the subway.”

“Right, right,” he nods gravely, pouring new glasses.

“Do you,” I continue, taking a sip, “feel comfortable in that role?” The whisky tastes like a spicy Werther’s caramel.

“My character is what some people aspire to, and I understand why. He’s this incredible human being who’s just so in love with his wife and does the most romantic things. Selfless. People then think you might be that person. I’m certainly not. But it’s something to aspire to.”

“Are you comfortable,” I press, “being an object of desire?” Heughan shares that in earlier years, he was treated in a way that would no longer be tolerated. “I’d be asked, ‘What’s under your kilt?’ or ‘How do you get your abs?’ I wish I did have abs! We were just in a different industry. I don’t have resentment or a grudge. But I would like to be seen for the work that I do, rather than my looks.”

While he’s still based in Scotland, Heughan also has a house in LA, a city he’s not exactly sold on. He toys with the idea of New York as his next home base. He loves it here. “The cocktail bars. Cycling along the West Side. SoHo. The river. Getting a ferry. I’m so into ferries! I’ll go to Staten Island, then come back again. We got a helicopter the other day back from the Hamptons — I don’t like helicopters. They’re not meant to fly. However, seeing the Statue of Liberty from there, it’s so good. New York could be my city.”

I show Heughan around some local spots that evening. We sit at the bar of Superbueno for mezcal drinks and tacos. The music gets louder and so do the crowds. Mouth full of al pastor, I semi-shout a question in Heughan’s direction, asking if he ever gets overstimulated. “No, not really,” he replies simply, between chewing. At 6 feet, 3 inches, Heughan towers over seemingly everyone. Maybe it’s calmer up there. There’s an overall good-natured quality to him; it’s soothing to be around.

We head to another bar, Mr. Fongs. The air is thick with the smell of trash and rats dart to and fro. A subway thunders overhead as we walk below a bridge in Chinatown. “This is awesome,” Heughan murmurs. We order the bar’s specialty: salty plum old-fashioneds. “I want a place where the second I walk out my door, I’m right in the center of all of it,” he says decidedly, whistling a little at the (notoriously strong) drink. “Right in the middle.”

Heughan is noticeably unadorned. I suggest some rings and an ear piercing for his New York era. A candle light flickers against his cheek, evoking another world — someplace old and rural and rugged. At this moment, I see his character, a fantasy projection of the leading man. But really, we’re just in Chinatown, weighing the pros and cons of earrings on men. “Sadly I don’t think I’m quite cool enough,” he sighs, “to pull that off.” ▪️

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Sophie Mancini is an editor at Departures. Born and raised in New York City, she holds a degree in creative writing from Johns Hopkins University and has a background as a writer in brand and editorial.

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Diana Markosian (born in Moscow, 1989) is a Russian-American photographer of Armenian descent. Her work explores memory and place through a layered, interdisciplinary process that uses photography and video. Her photographs have been published in National Geographic, the New Yorker, and the New York Times.

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Robert Ormerod is a photographer interested in telling stories. He is based in Scotland, working across the U.K. for titles such as National Geographic, The Guardian Saturday magazine, The New York Times, T Magazine, The Wall Street Journal, and Bloomberg Businessweek.

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Tom Craig is a photographer and director whose work has been featured in Vogue, i-D, and Vanity Fair. His work is driven by a desire to tell stories and the urge to travel. His work often blurs the line between fashion photography and straightforward reportage.

**Full article from @departures www.departures.com

[quinloki]

Kinktober 2023 - Day 20

Those moments when it all goes up in... Smoke.

Character: Smoker Reader: gender neutral Reader Warnings: angst, some smooching, completely genderless description of reader and no pronouns used.

Summary: A Thief and a Marine. Romeo and Juliet probably had better odds, but you're not trying to risk 6 peoples lives inside of a week. So maybe it's better to kiss and run. -:- 1585 words

Bondage

You clicked the cuff around his wrist and he snarled, reaching out for you and missing as you clicked the other end of the seastone cuffs to the metal post. Dodging another swing you slipped out of his reach and smirked.

Smoker took a step toward you and his legs buckled. He was down on one knee as the seastone sapped his strength.

“Damn pirate!” He growled, tugging at the binds he had no hope of breaking.

“Not a pirate.” You say for the dozenth time. “Thief. There’s a difference.”

“Law breaker.” He grumbles in response.

You shrug. “You’re a marine, don’t try to be so sanctimonious.” You say looking down at him. “Dogs of the Celestials is all you are, protecting the biggest criminals in this entire world.” You spit onto the ground near him.

“Though, credit where it’s due, as far as marines go, you’re not so bad.” You tilt your head, admiring a physique you’d admired many times before now. You and the white hunter crossed paths with some regularity, but usually you only had to put him on the scent of a pirate crew, and he’d leave you alone.

It was kind of a shame he was a marine, and not a pirate himself. He’s hot when he’s glaring, and the look he’s giving you right now is delicious.

You look around, having been listening out for signs of any other marines. “Gave your crew – er, sorry, squad, the slip it seems.” You crouch down to be more at eye level with him, as he’s worked himself up into enough exhaustion that he’s barely holding himself up. “You really gotta learn to relax when you’re cuffed big guy. It’s no fun to play with someone who can’t even sit up.” You muse.

You reach out and caress his face without really thinking, and you feel his entire body tense. He grabs your wrist with his free hand and starts to bark something, but your grab his wrist back and pull him in.

You hadn’t planned on snogging a marine on the deserted streets of an abandoned town, but that’s where you were. His two cigars were in your free hand, and your tongue was in his mouth. He’d already established you as a criminal, why quibble over something like permission at this point.

He tasted like you expected, smokey, hot, something like malt and spice. He was so red you could feel the heat radiating off his face, and to his credit he only reflexively returned the kiss for a split second before he just seemingly froze.

You leaned back, licking your lips and smiling before you pulled your hand free easily.

You were on your feet quicker than he was back to his senses, and with a click and a tug you had his back to the pole and his other wrist shackled to it. Just regular iron, carrying around too much seastone was a pain. You stuck his jitte in the chains and twisted, pulling the whole set up tight.

Now you had Captain Smoker of the Marines sat on his ass in the street, cuffed and bound against a metal street lamp that had seen better days.

“You know, Smokey, you’re down right tempting like this.” You hum, practically prowling around him. “The things I’d do to you if I was half as terrible as you think I am.”

His heavy boots scraped against the concrete and rubble as he struggled against the chains.

“Oh save your strength you big lug.” You roll your eyes stepping over his legs and sitting on them “I’m good at getting out of shackles and ropes because I’m good at using them.” You explain resting your hands on his knees. “And that seastone’s pretty concentrated, big an’ burly as you are, you’re not going to be able to toss someone like me around."

He shifts underneath you, but your point remains and you hear the soft scrape of metal as he tries to move his arms despite it.

“Now what?” He growls, and you smile.

“Well, now, there’s a few options to be had.” You begin, scooting up just a little bit closer, sitting just above his knees instead of just below. “I could just do what I’ve fantasized about since the first time we ran into one another.” You look pointedly at his crotch for a second before looking back up to his brown eyes. Watching his face go red was an immense delight.

“I could sit here and keep you company until your companions get close.” You continue on, looking around. “There might not be many other actual people around, but it’s getting late, and the beasties will begin to stir. Regardless of what you think, I don’t actually want you maimed or dead.” You assure him, and see something other than a scowl flicker across his face for a moment.

“Or, since you despise me so much, I could just leave you here. Statistically, you should be fine.” You admit, leaning forward a little.

Smoker leans back as much as he can, but he’s not looking away from you. “What?”

“Would you kiss me back if I wasn’t a thief?” You question. Smoker’s body twitches underneath you and he looks at you dumbfounded for a moment.

“What?” He questions incredulously.

“Do you find me attractive, White Hunter?” You question more directly. “Moral implications of my profession aside, am I ugly in a purely objective manner? Ah, objective in, specifically your tastes, not in an objectifying way, before you decide to get pedantic on me.”

“… You’re not ugly.” He says, looking away after a long silence, and you smile.

“That wasn’t my question.” You assert, grabbing his face and pulling his gaze back to yours. “Would you kiss me back if I wasn’t a thief?”

There’s another long silence, and finally he sighs. “Yes.”

You smile, letting his face go and leaning a little closer. “If I stopped being one right now,” you whisper the words, looking at his lips for a moment before you looked into his eyes. “Would you kiss me?”

“I -.”

“Don’t worry about tomorrow.” You interject. “The next minute, the next hour, none of it matters. I’ve given up being a thief, Smoker, will you kiss me?”

“Yes,” he says it so quietly it’s almost hard to hear, need and desire hissed between teeth trying to hold back a word in his soul that fights against his head.

You put your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself, a whisper away from his lips. “Then kiss me.”

Soft, warm, searching lips. The first brush of your lips makes you shiver in a way you’d bottle and hide away from the world if you could. The second connection is hungry, hot, almost desperate. The chains rattle as Smoker reflexively moves to hold you, your hands slipping through his hair as your mouths open and you sink deeper into one another.

A pleased moan bubbles up in your chest and rattles against your bones, and you don’t care if he hears it. You don’t care at this moment if he comes to know just how tangled up in him you are. How much you should be in irons for how bound to him you are.

There hasn’t been the lock made that can hold you, but if Smoker commanded…

You lean back, breathing heavy and listening to the rough breaths coming from him. You kiss his lips softly, once. Twice. You can feel his body tense and you know he’s seen the errant tears slipping down your cheeks.

It feels so good to finally, truly kiss him, but the pleasure is bittersweet.

It’ll never happen again.

“You’re-.” you both start to speak. He stops, you don’t.

“-the one thing I can not steal.” You admit softly. “The one thing I wouldn’t dare.” You let out an exasperated sigh, setting your head on his chest and taking a few deep breaths.

“Damn it all, I wasn’t ever going to say it.” You laugh bitterly. “A marine, after all they’d done to me, and you had to be a marine.”

You put a hand over his mouth before he can say anything, and heaved one last sigh. Looking up, you give him the best smile you can manage, but you know you probably looked wretched.

“I hope whatever you meant to do when you decided to become a marine is something you get to do, and, well, I’m really sorry for this.” You say apologetically, throwing a smoke bomb onto the ground.

The next few actions are just a little too fast for the bewildered captain. Your weight disappears from his hips, there’s slack in the chains, and something in his hands, but he didn’t realize it fast enough to grab your fingers.

It only takes him a few seconds to get free of the cuffs with the keys you left him. The smoke of your device becomes his, and a few seconds after that, the area is clear. It doesn’t matter how far you got, once you’re out of sight it’s almost impossible to find you again without a lucky break.

Thinking back to your words, he wondered if any of his breaks were lucky. The idea that you crossed his path of your own will every single time…

It was his turn to take in a deep breath and let out a long sigh. Lighting a cigar, Smoker wondered bitterly who was actually bound to whom.

[selfproclaimedunicorn]

WIP Wednesday Whenever

Thank you for the tag @murmel-malt 💕

Not working on anything big & I may wind up scrapping this in favor of a different start/idea for the drabble prompt I got sent, but eh, it's all I have atm. Enjoy the first look at Ella's son being an AU version of him lol

Griffith paced, mind addled so that he coursed with the nervous energy that apparently seemed to plague most of the men from his mother’s side of the family. It was as unfair as his current situation. “If you keep that up, you’ll wear a rut into the floor.” Aegon mused as he lifted his glass of brandy, examining the amber liquid in the light streaming through the windows of Thorn Hall’s parlor. He’d made himself quite comfortable, sprawled out on one of the sofas to the point he’d made Griffith’s discarded coat slide off the arm and onto the floor. He stopped and stared at his cousin, eyes wide with indignation and the wild concern that so preoccupied him. Aegon giggled over the rim of his snifter before downing more than was even half appropriate for a single sip. Griffith clenched his fists, every muscle in his hands flexing. “Would it kill you to be serious for five minutes?!” He snapped. Annoyance with his best friend could at least be identified and be used as an easy target to let out the building steam of whatever issue had his stomach in knots.

tagging (if y'all want, obviously): @emilykaldwen, @queen--kenobi, @moris-auri, @corporalicent, & @darkwolf76

[chevvy-yates]

WIP WHENEVER

got taggeg by @ouroboros-hideout. Always a big thanks <3

So, I hopefully go back into taking some pics later, as my pile of exisiting pics I can post nears to zero. But I've have a writing muse since the past three days and it's a little hard to stop it.

So today/tonight I'm going to share some new words i wrote, of course of my main ship Ryder and Thyjs as I do write both.

This is a part where they are already together for a bit and venture further into making out bit by bit.

This is the start of the chapter, where I reused some early oneshot-like text I wrote when I decided for Ryder's fragrance he uses and now I found a way to integrate it into a chapter with them:

Ryder just lit himself a cigarette and empties the last drop of good hop and malt when Thyjs comes back from bringing empty dishes into the kitchen. He places himself right next to Ryder, quickly borrows his cigarette from his mouth, takes a puff and hands it back while Ry puts the bottle onto the table. He leans back and places his right arm around his partner who leans his head onto his shoulder.  “Any wishes on what to watch?” Ry asks him as he inhales the menthol. “Nee. Just zap through.” “Gut.” Ry proceeds to bend forward, so he could drop the ash into the tray, then places the ciggy back to his mouth and grabs the remote control for his big tv screen and just zaps through the programs until they find something that was interesting enough to watch for both. 

They kept watching a documentary about the fourth Corporate War for quite a bit until Thyjs moves for a more comfortable position leaning against Ry and it’s when his nose picks up his partner’s strong perfume scent again that makes him raise his voice after a long while of silence between them. “You know, I realized a while ago, that your perfume has some light yasmine notes.”  At first Ryder blinks a few times with a rather doe look in his so ever intimidating eyes. He didn’t expect that now. “Y-you smelled the different notes of my perfume — when?” He stutters a little, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.  “Every time.” De Wit smirks a bit, his hands slowly stroking up and down his partner’s arm. Ry clears his throat but then asks in a slightly sassy tone as he turns towards him. “Okay, what else do I smell of, hmm? Can’t be only a flower.” And don’t say menthol, he thinks further to himself, lighting another cigarette.  Thyjs can see he’s more than curious about it. He leans forward. “Wait, I’m going to tell you.” Within an eye blink he is super close to him, eyes shut taking in his partner’s scent.

Thyjs had sensed it all: first the green fresh top notes like bergamot, gardenia and artemisia, then the heart notes started distracting him — sandalwood, vetiver and the most mystic of all: patchouli. Not too much but enough to have Thyjs start to think about different things than just chilling next to Ryder. But once when only the base notes were left as it's settled on Ryder's skin for a while, like now, the strong leather woody ember fragrance left eventually comes through, that starts to fuck a little too much with Thyjs' head as he always has Ryder in this godverdomme hot leather harness on mind he saw him wearing once when he went to a rave and Thyjs chose to stay at home, while they were just friends.  “I don’t think I can smell all of it, I’m no expert and it appears to be complex, but the base is really sharp and woody like a thick forest coated by recent rain.” Ryder has to smirk in response because this is exactly why he uses it. Furthermore, Thyjs adds, “But it also comes fully packed with musk and leather.” It causes Ry to shortly look up somewhere else, as he releases some smoke in the air and tries to reminisce about his own perfume he sprays onto himself each day. “I noticed it must be a very powerful, masculine one I would even dare to say is made for corporates only, but we both know you don’t like that much.”

“True.”  “Hoe dan ook, I think it smells very timeless and classy. Suits you well.” Scharfenberg is truly impressed by what a fine nose his boyfriend has and he likes it. “Any more exciting words than just it’s a classic?” Ry wants to know further. He’s really hooked by Thyjs’ description and totally aware that his perfume is not unlike any ordinary perfume. He knows it adds a certain seductiveness to him, making him appear mystic overall. “It makes you smell as sweet as jasmine in the morning but also as spicy as cinnamon as the day goes on with a drop of fresh citrus flavor.” “I like that.” A smirk steals on Ry’s dark lips as he takes another puff of his cigarette. “And it somehow coats you in an entire mysticism, maybe because of the patchouli that unfolds as you are wearing it through the day and a touch of myrrhe adds onto it. And I think I’ve never smelled a perfume that’s so enduring with such excellence.” “Now you start to flatter me,” Ry lets him know after an extended exhale of smoke that shortly cloaked both in a little cloud. “I have to admit, it makes me not only a little crazy for you,” Thyjs confesses while Ry proceeds to stub out his cigarette. "Oh, does it?” He leans back, his gaze fixed on his soldier boy. It’s a look that is able to undress him.  Thyjs gives him a heavy nod, followed by a short “Yes, Sir!” as he is looking intently at the pair of glowing eyes gazing at him so intently, that it makes him bite his bottom lip. “And it is such a sweet temptation I can’t withstand to taste.”

I really love their dynamic. And it's funny to me that Thyjs talks A LOT when he's alone with Ry only. Going to leave out the middle part bc I wanna keep this for when the time comes (which will take like forever and I already see myself adding more and more) as this chapter is faaaar away from the current ones (I have to do CH02 next …) But I also like to share the part of the closing scene:

Ryder gives him another forehead kiss and pushes him softly out of the shower. “Ich bitte darum!” He speaks with a strong tone and turns off the water. “But for now let’s find some rest, hm?” Again Thyjs just nods. He sees a smirk stealing on Ry’s lips. “What else is on your mind?” “The TV is still running. Figured you should go turn it off since you were the last one downstairs. I’ll wait in bed for you to come cuddle.” “On my way, Sir!” Thyjs replies and before Ryder can answer anything to it, he’s gone leaving only a few water droplets in the air Ryder now watches falling down. He lets out a laugh. “Sandevistan — of course.” So much for that he would wait for him in the bed as he already knows it’s Thyjs who will be waiting for him instead, when he leaves the bathroom.

Along the way writing Thyjs I started to like that sometimes he uses his fast ability also in normal life situations. I think it's funny when you tell him something to do and he's like okay and just vanishes to go after it and well, does it a lot faster than you expect it bc people like Ryder living a live without Sandevistan don't think about that this ability can speed up some processes where it is not exactly necessary to wait (I mean he could not boil food faster using Sandevistan, but he could prepare the stuff needed for it faster - stuff like that).

—

tagging the usual folks I guess:

@gloryride, @astarionhistears, @streetkid-named-desire, @dreamskug, @fereldanwench, @aggravateddurian, @kdval, @elvenbeard, @kittenchrissy, @therealnightcity, @shivsghost and @rosapexa + anyone seeing this. no pressure ofc! <3

[summersunrize]

Me and @malt-1 did a one-layer challenge! They use a ridiculous amount of layers when making their coolass art, so I had to show them the art of simplicity…

"This was all SummerSunrize's idea. It was absolute torture but I managed to survive binchesss" -Malt

We both played Outertale (Project Spacetime) by Spacey_432 recently, so we decided on Outertale Sans as our muse!

Please enjoy!

[catwinterberry]

Cedar-sighted, earthen outlook, malt-musing mountain gaze

[twostepstyless]

His Favourite Princess

Fic Advent Calendar Day 9

Advent Calendar Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Author’s Note: Y/N and Harry go for the last of their Christmas shopping. The list of what they have left to buy isn’t too long but they both get swept up buying kids toys and separately they both begin to imagine life buying toys for their own. An ignorant staff member annoys Y/N just a little bit.

As always, likes, reblogs and feedback of any variety is encouraged and always appreciated - G x

Word Count: 1.5k

———

“What’s left on the list?” Harry pulled the car out of the driveway as they made their way on last minute Christmas shopping trip. “I need to get whisky for my Dad, some sweets to go in with m’mum’s and brothers and his girlfriends, we need to get some bits for your mum’s cats, I’ve ordered your gift for your secret Santa with your cousins that should come any day now. Oh, I’ve not got anything for Natalie’s little one yet, he’s really into princesses and animals and anything that sparkles right now. She texted me a picture the other day and he was sat at his little table colouring princess pictures and had tried to stick some glitter on it and had more down him,” Y/N giggled at her best friend’s child in the photo before turning the phone so Harry could see it as they were stopped at a red light.

Harry hummed out a laugh, “he’s so cute,” he cooed before shifting into gear to drive on. 

“He misses you,” Y/N said, tucking her phone away, “said on the phone the other day that Uncle Harry is the best at playing with him, which I beg to differ but still.” 

“Are we not seeing them this year?” Harry mused.

“No,” Y/N mourned, “they couldn’t squeeze in a trip and all the dates we could’ve went to them, they’re busy,” Y/N was gutted she wasn’t seeing her best friend and godson before Christmas, she guesses she’ll just need to post their gifts to them this year. 

“Hm, that’s a shame, we’ll make time in January and go visit, yeah?” Harry reached over to rub her thigh and squeeze her knee in comfort. 

“Really?” 

“Of course, can’t let some other schmuck come in and steal the best play date role,” Harry joked.

“Shit, we need to get something for Ernie from the corner shop too,” Y/N smacked her forehead before reaching for her phone to add it onto her list. 

“No, we don’t,” Harry piped up, slowing the car down as they entered a roundabout. 

“Huh?” 

“I’ve already got Ernie covered, sorted it while I was away.” Harry said, proud of himself for ticking off something on Y/N’s list before it was even on her list. Her eyebrow quirked, a signal for him to explain. “Met this guy when I was away, one of those friends of a friend of a friend of a cousin of a brother of a daughter type situations. Who happened to be a whisky collector, got some malt aged bottle of something from somewhere in Scotland that I’ve heard him mention, probably worth a bit of money but I’d rather he just drank it and enjoyed it. It’s in a box on my side of the walk-in wardrobe. M’surprised you didn’t notice it,” Harry finished. 

“Considering some of your dirty washing is still piled up on your side, m’not surprised at all I didn’t see it,” Y/N teased as Harry pulled into a spot in the car park closest to the shopping area. 

*** 

“Okay, chocolate - tick,” she handed Harry the ridiculously large bag from Hotel Chocolat, “enough cat nip to take down a lion and enough treats to feed every cat in the world 3 times over - sorted,” a large Pets at Home bag was passed to Harry. Granted there was also some extra gifts for their overgrown puppy Vinnie in the bag too. “And you ordered a bottle for m’Dad, yeah?” she double checked.

“I did, I got a bottle of Johnnie Walk-” Harry began. 

“H, baby, is telling me what kind of whisky y’got going to mean anything to me? No, so let’s not bother,” she laughed.

“Fair,” Harry adjusted all the bags he carried. “So… toy shop now?” Harry tried his hardest to hide his excitement, but he really was fizzing over with the idea of getting to pick some toys out. 

“Toy shop,” she nodded. 

*** 

“Fuckin’ hell, bit busy in here innit?” Harry said as they were suddenly surrounded by stressed out adults with trollies piled high as overly cheery Christmas music blasted at an almost deafening level probably doing the opposite of the desired effect of retail therapy music. With everyone seemingly want to be in the large store for the least amount of time as they possibly could

“It’s two and a half weeks until Christmas, lovie, of course it is,” she clutched his hand in hers, scared he was going to get distracted and wander off. If she could put one of those backpacks with the leash attached you put on toddlers with a proclivity for an escaping act, she absolutely would. 

They made haste for the aisle that had the pink, sparkly shelf edging and header cards. “How many bloody princesses are there nowadays?” Harry gaped, overwhelmed by the boxed dolls. 

“Loads, we should watch some of ‘em on Disney+” Y/N said, as she picked up a princess craft set and tucked it under her arm. 

“What about this one, look, y’get three dolls in it,” Harry pointed towards the box. 

“Nah, Snow White’s in it, she’s shit,” Y/N eyed the box, before picking up a three pack with Rapunzel, Mulan and Tiana and shoving that one under her arm instead. 

“What’s wrong with her?” Harry sounded affronted, “she’s got all her seven dwarf mates, hasn’t she?” 

“She’s boring Harry, and frankly an idiot, who eats an apple off a stranger? She got what was coming to her,” Y/N rolled her eyes walking further down the aisle as Harry laughed, picking up the Snow White box for their godson too. 

*** 

As they walked round the shop picking up bits and pieces, they both got lost in their own heads. Seeing various parents and guardians and extended family members walking round with their child’s letters to Santa, written in a wonky script with chunky multicoloured crayons. Maybe one day if their lucky the pair of them would be doing the exact same thing with their own children. Y/N could picture sitting at a table with a child the perfect mixture of her and Harry as they wrote their letter to the big man. She could also picture herself in one of these toy shops a few years down the line, trying to reign him in from buying one of everything for their babies, but knowing he would go home and order a few more bits online anyway. Harry could see it too, pushing their baby round in their pram, too young to realise what was going on anyway but seeing their little eyes widen at all the bright colours and shapes. Y/N getting annoyed at him when he kept putting extra gifts in the trolley when she wasn’t looking but managing to placate her when he explained he was just excited and thanked her for giving him his children and that was the best gift he could ever receive. She would love that line and Harry would know that and use it to his advantage when he needed. 

They would encourage their child to play with whatever toys they wanted, just like Y/N’s godson did, letting them enjoy whatever they wanted. Harry was in bliss in his little dream world in his head and didn’t even notice that Y/N had led him to the checkouts to pay for everything. 

“I’m sure the little girl in your life will love these,” the checkout operator scanned through everything as Y/N began to bag it up.

“Little boy,” Y/N said with an overly friendly smile as popped the box with Snow White in it into the bag. 

“Excuse me?” the person manning the till seemed confused. 

“It’s for our godson,” Harry piped up, with a firm tone in his voice, putting his card in the machine before Y/N could fight him on it. 

“Oh, well, well we have lots of action figures and cars on offer if you would like to see those,” the couple are sure the operator think they are being helpful, but it’s really not landing with the pair. 

“H, how do you feel about toy cars?” Y/N whipped round to Harry as he pushed his PIN in, he knew she was annoyed and angered by the member of staff’s ignorance.  

“Eh, they’re alright, what about you?” Harry asked playing along with Y/N’s game. 

“Love ‘em personally, what about the princesses?” she asked, knowing the staff member was listening in. 

“Well Snow White is my favourite, you?” he smirked, sliding his card back into his wallet, hearing the till begin to make a whirring noise as it prepared the receipt. 

“Not that fussed to be honest,” Y/N shrugged before turning to the operator, “have a nice day,” she smiled, maybe a tiny fraction of her being a little bit patronising. As Harry nodded to the staff member before lifting one of the carrier bags and exiting the shop. 

———

Advent Calendar Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[wishmcker]

does anyone else get curious about odd things for their muses? like, what is your muses coffee order?

i feel like misty would be an iced coffee or an instant coffee person. she practically lives on instant coffee and water but if she were to treat herself on occasion or went to a barista-run establishment, she’d order an iced coffee or the most ridiculously sweet ice cream malt.

nami is an easy one. anything citrusy, particular that of the mikan or tangerine variety, she is sold. i think she would go for a little sweetness too, maybe a little cream and sugar.

artemis is just straight up black coffee. maybe salted caramel with a bit of milk if she is into mixing up a little, but i’d imagine she’s a black coffee with a bit of milk or a tea kind of person.

uraraka i cannot see as a coffee drinker. but she loves a hot cocoa or tea!

[fuzzyhenry]

Doug being a dog

This is Doug, a mid-50s fellow who lives a life of solitude. He spends his days operating heavy machinery at the local salvage yard and his evenings downing canned beers and shouting at his old boxy television. Tonight, he lounges in his ratty wife-beater and faded boxers, a can of malt beer in one hand, the remote in the other.

I phase through the window, unseen and unfelt. I hover above Doug, admiring the sweaty sheen on his brow, the slight redness in his cheeks from the alcohol, the unkempt beard that hides the double chin quite poorly. It's a picture of middle-aged abandon that calls to me more than any other.

In an instant, I swoop down. A jolt goes through Doug. His beer can slips from his hand, spilling lukewarm beer onto the threadbare carpet. He groans, shuddering as his eyes roll back. For a moment, his body tenses, as if in some unseen struggle. Then his eyes flutter closed, his body goes limp, and the once-rowdy man is quiet. He's asleep now, but his body... oh, his body is wide awake.

Now, I'm Doug, or rather, I'm in Doug. The feeling of physicality, of being bound within human flesh once again, is intoxicating. His heart thrums in my - his - chest, a rhythmic symphony that underlines the grandeur of the human experience.

I stretch Doug's arms, chuckling at the not-so-admirable 'beer belly'. I run my hand through his chest hair, coarse and thick. The sensation is magnificently grounding. I flex his leg, feeling the weight and strength of his muscles.

Turning to a dusty mirror hanging skewed on a wall, I admire my new 'self'. Doug's flushed face, his twinkling eyes hidden under bushy eyebrows, the rough beard. I pull up the grubby wife-beater, revealing a furry belly, and let out a hearty laugh. The sound echoes in the small house, a symbol of my delight. "Alright, Doug, let's have some fun now," I murmur, standing up from the recliner. His body's a bit wobbly, a bit unsteady, but that's part of the charm. "He's Doug, huh? What if Doug were a dog?" I muse.

Hauling off his wife-beater and yanking down his boxers, I'm now fully exposed. His body, heavy and moist with sweat, thrums with the exertion of the possession activity. I turn around on the spot, just like a dog would before settling down, and I lower myself onto my haunches.

Now, sitting on the grimy carpet like a loyal pet awaiting his master's command, I throw my head back and unleash a hearty, "Woof!" The sound reverberates through the quiet house, a perfectly surreal backdrop to the silent night beyond the walls.

I hoist a chubby leg up next, just like a dog would, and I start to pantomime licking it. I drag Doug's broad, coarse tongue along the length of the hairy limb, my laughter punctuating each exaggerated lick. The taste of perspiration, mingled with the faint hint of grease and motor oil, is potent. "Oh, we're not done yet," I say, a devious glint in Doug's eye. The house is my stage, and I'm the sole performer in this bizarre, one-man show. I throw my hefty body down on all fours. Doug's knees and palms press into the worn carpet. His hairy back is level, his rear end slightly hoisted - a perfect imitation of a dog on his daily walk. I begin to move, every motion exaggerated. I crawl on all fours, the creaking floorboards under fat, hairy palms and knees adding a rhythm to my movement. Doug’s naked body shuffles around, with his considerable behind swaying with each forward motion. Down the narrow hallway, past the modest kitchen, around the worn-out dining table, and back into the living room. I cover every possible surface, from the front door to the last nook and cranny of his humble dwelling. I even pause occasionally, sniffing the air dramatically, cocking Doug's head as if hearing some distant, dog-like call. I pant heavily, playfully wagging the imaginary tail, my belly jiggling with laughter at the ridiculous spectacle I make. Feeling the heady rush of the bizarre game, I take it a step further. I stumble towards the closed windows, peering out into the quiet neighborhood. Then, lifting my head, I mimic a series of barks, "Woof, woof, woof!" Each sound echoes through the room, a robust confirmation of my playful antics, a middle-aged man masquerading as a suburban canine. After my performance by the window, I saunter towards the kitchen. Noticing the refrigerator, I smile with a devious intent. I throw open the heavy door and the musty aroma of leftovers wafts out. Half-eaten sandwiches, remnants of cold Chinese takeout, a piece of cake - the fridge is a treasure trove. I dive in, literally. I don't bother with hands; I'm a dog, after all. Lowering my face to the plate, I begin to wolf down the food with a voracious appetite. Mouthfuls of sandwich, slurps of noodles, a big bite of the cake - I devour everything directly with his mouth, my laughter muffled by the food. The crumbs scatter on the fridge's shelves and the floor, falling from Doug's scraggly beard and landing on his protruding belly. Doug's heavy-handed chewing and savage eating style mimic that of a hungry animal, making the scene even more hilariously absurd. (part1)

[recitedemise]

you don't have to let go.

PROMPTS FOR TOUCH-STARVED MUSES: still accepting.

"Ha. It's either that or having you as my surprise guest tonight," Gale holds her, "and believe me, there are few things more daunting than denying dear Tara of a proper warning."

This is nice, Gale thinks. Easy and gentle and oh so nice. Somewhere along the way, their mornings with their coffee — parts espresso, parts lungo — had meandered with a fondness into evenings with drinks. He would fashion her a message, half a corpse with the maelstrom of his tiresome day, but entering the bar all a husk of resignation, it'd be her, all smiles, sat patient in the back.

She'd favored whiskey today, the strength of its amber clung to her gums. His words, soft toned, is all single malt themselves, and pulling back, skin tingling, he notes some sherry.

"That isn't to say I wouldn't enjoy your company, of course," Gale quickly amends, Sayuri dappled by the streetlamp or the moonlight or another, "but I hadn't even the time to prepare us a dinner." Egad. "I can't simply expect you to sit there suffering my failures, though meaningful conversation has been said to tide all sorts of appetites. Should that be your hunger, perhaps my pride can be persuaded."

Smiling, it doesn't escape him that their usual goodbye has now landed on lingering.

[cannonfullofcanons]

Mun Comforts

Repost do not reblog!

Comfort food(s): Calamari, garlic cheese bread, oven-baked mac n cheese with rigatoni, all things penne, fried shrimp, proper po' boy sandwiches, ginger snap cookies

Comfort drink(s): Egg nog malts, sarsaparilla, fruit punch

Comfort movie(s): Although I do watch a lot of movies, I'm not sure I have one that exactly qualifies as a comfort movie? But Jurassic Park & Police Academy probably come closest.

Comfort show(s): Star Wars: The Clone Wars (+ sequel animated shows), Jurassic World: Camp Cretaceous, Spider-Man: The Animated Series (1994), Transformers (Generation One & Prime), Robotech, What's New Scooby-Doo?, and Red vs Blue

Comfort clothing: Turtlenecks. The cozier, the better. Also anything fleece.

Comfort song(s): Too many to list, but Five Finger Death Punch's F8 album is one I frequently return to. Plus plenty from Linkin Park and some oldies from Skillet.

Comfort book(s): Gregor the Overlander, Jurassic Park

Comfort game(s): Not exactly what you might traditionally consider comfort games, but they work as such for me. Dragon Age: Origins & Dragon Age II, Professor Layton series, Resident Evil: Outbreak (1 & 2), Resident Evil 4 (2005), Dead Island, Sea of Thieves, Red Dead Redemption (1 & 2), Scooby-Doo: Mystery Mayhem, Dino Crisis, Spider-Man (2000)

Tagged by: Stolen from @mused-like-roses Tagging: You there! With the face!

[bloodsalted]

dean winchester. drinking/alcohol headcanon. part one. (discord prompt from @qapsiel!)

A.) when did your muse first come in contact with it? B.) are they a heavy drinker? Do they know it, or are they in denial? C.) what's their liquor of choice? D.) what would happen if they couldn't get their drinks anymore? (Idk, alcohol magically disappears or they end up somewhere where no booze exists) E.) when did he first start with the heavy stuff like whiskey? and did he like the taste or was he just looking for the effect? F.) do you think he'd ever go to rehab? what would need to happen to make him consider it?

A.) dean started drinking at the age of 8 when he was given his first beer. and he did start stealing Jonh's beers and alcohol after that. not often at first. but then as he got towards his teenage years and puberty began to kick in. that's when the drinking started. mostly hiding it. cause john was pissed every time he caught him drinking. by then, though? dean was getting slowly co-dependent on alcohol and the effects it had on him. it was self-medicating. john sure as hell wasn't going to get either of the boys the mental help they needed. or any sorta medication.

plus, the mental health system back when they were kids wasn't really the greatest anyway. more or less parents had a pull yourself up by your bootstraps mentality when they were normal. much less if you were raised by a father like theirs. i headcanon he hid it from sam as best as he could, too. he wouldn't want Sam lying to cover him and risk him getting in trouble. sam probably knew more than Dean knew he knew, though. cause it's Sam and he's an observant as hell kid.

B.) depends on what's on his mind. he can flip back and forth from a couple of beers to drinking men double his size under the table. dean knows he drinks more than most people. likes to remain blissfully ignorant to how much more. he chooses to think he's in control of himself and his drinking. you would have a hard time convincing him otherwise.

C.) whiskey and beer. single barrel malt whiskey being his favorite. he does enjoy scotch as well. If it is scotch, i'd say he'd probably dig dunglass or imperial the most as they're malts.

D.) he'd probably be a pothead. or at least do edibles. or find another drug. or other unhealthy coping mechanism. not that he doesn't have a few others already. but he's not the greatest at dealing with things. let's be honest.

E.) whiskey came when john left a glass out and he tried a sip. turns out he liked the taste. first one went down with a burn and he blanched a bit at it. second one? he found out that it tasted better than beer and wound up stealing shots of it from john's bottles and replacing the missing levels with water or ginger ale. their father would be too drunk to notice and he got away with it. one time john got suspicious but dean managed to lie his way out of it and a call came in, saved his ass. cause he was starting to waver.

F.) i don't think dean would ever go to rehab. i don't think he could take the group settings or anything like that. he'd end up getting frustrated and walking out in a day or two if someone managed to talk him into it. the only thing that'd make him consider it is if he hurt someone while he was drunk. then he might consider it. and stick to the plan. but would prefer if he could just lock himself up in a room somewhere until he was 'better' and not have people see him as someone who needed fixed.

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