#hib-series

[leafsbabe]

how Justin Herbert is like in bed

what Justin Herbert is like in bed:

- if you want your gentleman to be gentle Justin is the perfect fit

- and if you prefer them to not be gentle he can do that too

- to a certain extent

- he likes knowing that you feel good

- so if you want him to be rougher he’ll be rougher

- Justin is a romantic at heart but he also aims to please

- he’s very vocal in bed which is surprising

- but you’ll never have to guess if he’s having a great time

- his neighbors hate him

- doesn’t get too freaky when it comes to positions

- he’s a lil old fashioned, likes it when he can see your face

- it just makes him feel good to see you enjoy the things he does

- speaking of things he does

- that man could spend hours between your thighs

- that’s not even oral anymore that’s straight up worship

- never leaves a lot of love bites in visible places

- but he can actually mark you up down there and nobody will know except you and him

- loves seeing you squirm the next day because you’re still sensitive

- sometimes he’ll just rest his head on your thigh and watch you work around his fingers

- Justin would fill you up so nicely if you’ll allow him

- goes slow at first to let you adjust and get used to the feeling of him inside you

- but after that he’ll have you sobbing into your pillow

- maybe he’ll pull out, maybe he won’t

- he won’t :)

- good dick, good cuddles

- probably has some sports drink around to rehydrate after

his dick:

- very much above average

- surprisingly soft curls but he keeps them trimmed

- deliciously pink

the experience:

9.5/10

[phagodyke]

its actually nuts how missing a single vaccination has shaped my entire fucking life. like not only would I not be deaf if I had gotten it on time but I probs wouldn't have adhd either 🫣

[sonicasura]

SonicAsura's Doodles #69

(This doodle is old, like drawn last year and I forgot to post it.)

This is Vola Atmos, my first official Spectrobes OC and her partner Aze the Azenor. A kind upbeat survivor turned drifter after her home planet Fons was overrun by Krawl. Vola's survival came from discovering and accidentally activating the "Grand Odyssey". A mysterious ancient ship that seems to be made with the purpose of storing and awakening Spectrobe fossils.

She would soon awakens her partner from his Azepod fossil into the child form Azeko. Aze is a hyper and cuddly Fire Element Spectrobe that hates being left alone for too long. Both form an unshakable as they drift from planet to planet.

It doesn't take long for a sudden attack from the Krawl to knock her ship off course towards a wormhole. Vola being forced to take shelter in an emergency pod as she'll soon crash-land into a different universe.

I'll be writing her in my stories soon but here's a little constant. Aze will always evolve into Azenor after the Grand Odyssey crashes. Vola is a big rookie when it comes to caring for Spectrobes.

One such universe being Monkey King: Hero Is Back before the events of the movie. Crash course? Mount Huaguo so Sun Wukong and his people are in for an otherworldly surprise. This leads to Vola being put under his custody alongside Aze later evolves.

She's definitely going to be a apart of the Journey To The West. How? That's for me to know and you guys to find out. Just know Vola ain't gonna take anyone's shit while Sun Wukong is going to get cuddled by a 9 ft long Spectrobe.

(This Monkey King ends up getting a new shackle in exchange for resurrecting Liu Er after you beat his game's DLC. So he's bound to go on the journey and this is that version's equivalent to the circlet.

Design wise, I practically threw some of the canon design out for Aze's Adult form and put my own as there weren't any good renders. Vola's species is naturally very tall so she stands under 7'2 in height. My scaling just sucks.)

That's it for now! Until next time folks, I'll see you back on our journey to the west. Here's Azeko and Azenor!

[whumpchester]

Sam!whump wincest fic recs

Only fics with less than 10k hits. All are rated M-E and bottom!Sam unless mentioned otherwise. Check the archive warnings.

❤️ = my favorites

Rampant by puckity (6.1k words) ❤️

What happened to Sam between Alvin Jenkins’ disappearance and Dean’s arrival is the stuff of nightmares, and it haunts both him and Dean long after Hibbing has left their rearview mirror. / One of my favorite Sam whump fics, trauma/dissociation/nightmares, coda to 1.15 The Benders

Dirty Words by angelszn (1k words) ❤️

Sam, wanting to be loved, gets on his knees for Dean. / Another favorite. It's short but so thick with atmosphere. And hot.

in plain sight by autumncolour (2.9k words) ❤️

The video is sent anonymously. It works its way through the bowels of the FBI and lands in Agent Henriksen’s inbox at 3:15 PM one Friday afternoon. It’s accompanied by a note: Aren’t these the boys you’ve been tracking? Maybe don’t watch right after lunch; it’s not pretty. / My fav serial killer Winchester fic!

Put Up Wet by ani_coolgirl (1.6k words) ❤️

Sometimes, Sam doesn't want to be anything more than something to be used. Dean indulges him. / Not necessarily "dark" like the others, but I still feel like it fits here considering it's about Sam's lack of bodily autonomy. From authors notes: "Sam copes with his lack of personhood by making himself a cum rag for his brother."

Consequentialism and Deontology by Dyed_Red (15.2k words, series of 2 works)

Consisting of Lesser Evils, a 5.01 coda to when Meg and her demons come to Sam, Dean and Bobbys motel room. Bad-guys-made-them-do-it rape but it's so much more than that.

And its second part/sequel Mean Ends ❤️ from Sam's POV in the aftermath, with some of the best prose and inner dialogue re:Sam I've seen in fic.

Lovedrunk by TheQuietWings (1k words)

This is how Dean loves Sam best, sloppy drunk and needy. / Dean justifying/deluding himself that raping Sam is just him "looking after Sam/big brother taking care of Sammy"

to hell and back by unhappy_ghost (6.3k words)

The Mark is changing Dean. It's turning him into something he's not. That's what Sam tells himself. / MoC Dean. Very angsty and hot and with amazing Sam characterisation. Read til the end!

trapped in the Garden by apex__predator (3.3k words)

It's been a week since Sam got his soul back. When Dean slips into his bed, desperate for what they had before the Cage, Sam lets him have it. He thought it'd be easier to give him what he wants than to explain- and it was, until it all becomes too much and he shuts down during sex. / Rape/Cage memories and dissociation during sex

Hold Me Close (Don't Let Me Go) by themegalosaurus (2.1k words)

It’s like living in the shadow of a dam. The town will flood eventually. Sam just doesn’t know when. / Bottom Dean (implied switching), Sam dissociating post-soullessness

Colder Bodies by angelszn (560 words)

Missouri feels sick to her stomach thinking about what those sweet boys have become. Or, worse still, what those seemingly-sweet boys already were when they came into her house so long ago. How they hid it so well that even she couldn’t see it. / I read this without reading the tags first bc I already liked the author and like. After I finished and the realization hit me– Whew. I recommend reading it like that if you're not easily triggered.

[doctorbitchcrxft]

The Benders | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: people are crazy, canon violence, canon gore

Word Count: 2370

A/N: I'm scheduling two of these today since this one's so short!! The Benders episode makes me really uncomfortable, tbh, so I kinda sped through it... lol

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

You and the boys sniffed out a case in Hibbing, Minnesota. A child had watched a neighbor get dragged under his car. When you spoke to the young boy, his mother didn’t seem to believe him at all. You decided to head to a bar to collect your thoughts and grab a beer. 

You and Dean played darts while Sam explained to you that his dad had earmarked this area due to the insane number of disappearances in this area. In the midst of his explanation, you realized you needed to change your tampon and hadn’t brought any into the bar with you.

“Dean, keys?” you asked.

He tossed them at you. "Why, you stealin' my car?"

“Gotta go get some girl stuff,” you responded.

“Gross. Don’t wanna know.” You knew he was kidding by the smirk on his face.

You scoffed. “It’s not gross, it’s natural! Asshole.” You shoved his shoulder playfully and headed out of the bar. On your way out, you heard a noise and stopped. You turned over your shoulder to the other cars lining the gravel parking lot, feeling uneasy. You pushed through it, deciding that it wouldn’t take you longer than two seconds to get back inside after you’d grabbed your products. 

You turned at another sound, hurrying over to the Impala. You reached into the trunk and grabbed what you needed. Before you could even turn back around, you were lying on the gravel out cold.

***

The next thing you knew, you jerked up in a metal cage covered with hay at the bottom. Your hair felt a mess, and the back of your head was tender from your fall. You looked to your left and noticed the guy you’d originally come to investigate the disappearance of asleep in the cage next to you. You scrambled to your feet, trying to kick the cage door open. Nothing was working.

Stirring in the cage next to you caught your attention. “You’re alive! You okay?” you asked.

Mr. Jenkins groaned. “Does it look like I’m doin’ okay?”

You stretched your neck. “Touché. Where are we?’

“I don’t know. The country, I think. Smells like the country,” the man responded.

“You’re Alvin Jenkins, aren’t you?”

He nodded.

“I was lookin’ for you,” you told him.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded.

“Well, no offense, but this is a piss-poor rescue.”

You kept up your plucky attitude in spite of the sinking feeling in your stomach. “Well, my friends are out there right now, too. They’re lookin’ for us. So—”

“So, they’re not gonna find us. We’re in the middle of nowhere.” He nodded at the door of the building you were in. “Waiting for them to come back and do god-knows-what to us.”

“What are they? Have you seen them?” you asked.

He looked at you confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Whatever’s got us, what’d they look like?”

“See for yourself,” he said.

At that moment, the door opened and two men wearing black hats and coats walked in. One walked over to Alvin’s cage and kicked the side of it. Alvin moved back into the corner, yelling at them not to touch him as they entered the cage. Instead of doing anything to him, they just left a plate of food on the floor and left.

“I’ll be damned,” you said more to yourself than your fellow kidnappee. “They’re just people.”

Alvin looked at you like you were stupid. “Yeah. What’d you expect?”

You paused a moment. “How often do they feed you?”

“Once a day. And they use that thing over there to open the cage.” The man pointed at a panel on a post a few feet away.

“And that’s the only time you see ‘em?”

He shrugged. “So far. But I’m waitin’.”

“Waitin’ for what?”

“Ned Beatty time.”

“That's fucking gross, dude.”

“What do you think they want, then?”

You began trying to climb the walls of your cage to grab a long metal wire stretching from the top of the pole next to you to the ground. You got hold of it and began pulling down the wire. “Depends on who they are.”

“They’re a bunch of psycho hillbilly rednecks, if you ask me. Lookin’ for love in all the wrong places.”

You continued to pull on the wire, doing your best to hold yourself up, and it gradually began to detach from the pole.

***

Hours had gone by. You were still trying to pull the wire off; climbing back up and continuously slipping down the cage’s metal bars.

“Why don’t you give it up, sweetheart, there’s no way out,” Alvin told you.

“Don’t call me that!” You used your anger and frustration to finally tear the wire down. A piece of metal fell with it. “It’s a bracket.”

Alvin scoffed. “Well, thank God, a bracket. Now we’ve got ‘em, huh?” 

His cage suddenly swung open on its own. He scrambled out of it. “Maybe you knocked somethin’ loose.”

Your heart rate began to pick up. “I think you should get back in there, Jenkins. This isn’t right.”

“Don’t you wanna get out of here?” 

“Of course, I do. But that was too easy.” Your mind was going a million miles per minute.

“Look, I’m gonna get out of here, and I’m gonna send help, okay, don’t worry,” he assured you, turning for the door.

“I’m serious, dude! This might be a trap!”

“Bye, sweetheart.” He pushed the door open and left. 

“Jenkins!” you called. “Alvin! Dude! Come back!”

Moments later, Alvin’s former cage slammed shut. 

You shivered on the floor, hugging your knees to your chest in the center of the cage. You began to count the minutes going by. You counted all the way up to twenty minutes before you heard a distant scream from a voice that sounded a lot like Alvin.

Not even an hour later, another woman was dragged unconscious into another cage next to you. You watched her carefully until she woke up.

“You alright?” you asked her once she’d gotten a glimpse of her surroundings.

She turned her head to you. “Are you (Y/N) (Y/L/N)?”

You furrowed your eyebrows at her. “Yeah…?”

“Your friends are looking for you.”

You laughed, relieved. “Thank god. Where are they?

“I, uh, I cuffed ‘em to my car,” the woman explained.

You sighed. 

Moments later, the door of the barn burst open. You couldn’t see who the figures were, but you backed up into the corner of your cage. Finally, Dean’s face came into view.

“(Y/N)?” 

You scrambled to your feet and grabbed onto the bars in front of him. “Dean!”

“Are you hurt?” Sam asked, looking you over.

You shook your head.

“Damn, it’s good to see you," Dean breathed out.

You smiled at him and ignored the way your heart fluttered in your chest.

“How did you get out of the cuffs?” the woman in the other cage asked.

The older brother turned toward her. “Oh, I know a trick or two. Alright. These locks look like they’re gonna be a bitch.” 

“Try that box over there,” you suggested, pointing to the control panel.

“Have you seen ‘em?”

“Yeah, dude, they’re just people.”

“And they jumped you? Must be gettin’ a little rusty there, sweetheart.” 

“Shut up, asshole.”

Sam walked over to the control panel and started trying different buttons. “What do they want?” 

You shrugged. “I don’t know. They let Jenkins go, but that was some sort of trap. It doesn’t make any sense to me.”

“Well, that’s the point. You know, with our usual playmates, there’s rules, there’s patterns. But with people, they’re just crazy,” Dean responded. He was still sizing up your cage, occasionally looking to the door to see if they’d been followed.

“See anything else out there?” you asked.

“Uh, he has about a dozen junked cars hidden out back. Plates from all over, so I’m thinkin’ when they take someone, they take their car, too.”

“Did you see a black Mustang out there? About ten years old?” the woman in the other cage asked.

“Yeah, actually, I did.”

She seemed sad.

“Your brother’s?” Sam asked her, looking upset when she nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“Let’s get you guys out of here, then we’ll take care of those bastards,” Dean jumped back in. “This thing takes a key. Key?”

You shook your head, and the brothers set off to find it.

“Guys?”

They turned back to you. 

“Be careful.”

Dean nodded and left with Sam.

***

You abandoned your jacket and looked over to the woman in the cage next to you. “You hurt? Your face is all scratched.”

She shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”

“I’m (Y/N), by the way.”

“Kathleen.”

“I’d shake your hand, but, uh—”

She laughed at your joke. 

“How’d you meet the guys?” you questioned after a moment’s silence.

“They came runnin’ up into my station. The pretty boy nicked an ID off another cop and was raving about some girl he needed to find. That was kinda my first hint that he wasn’t really a cop.”

Your stomach did a somersault. “He seemed worried about me?”

“Yeah, he did.”

“Huh.” A silence settled over the two of you before you spoke again. “You said you had a brother?”

Kathleen nodded. “Riley. Disappeared about ten years ago. I’ve been looking for him ever since.”

“I’m sorry,” you told her.

She didn’t answer. The two of you sat in silence again for quite some time until the door reopened. You could tell it wasn’t the two brothers, though. This man was wearing a hat and a puffer vest and inserted the key into the panel.

‘Fuck,’ you thought and grabbed at the bracket that had fallen to the ground. The door to your cage unlocked and you backed up against the far wall.

The man in the cap opened the door and aimed his gun straight at you. You threw the bracket at his gun, knocking it off-kilter, and used that opportunity to lunge at the man. You tackled him to the floor and began fighting with him for his gun. Shots rang out three times as he attempted to shoot you in the midst of the struggle.

“You son of a bitch, let go!” you screamed. You twisted your body to where your foot was on his throat and leveraged yourself that way. You pushed your foot in one direction and pulled the gun in the other, finally managing to get the gun away from him. You hit him with the but of the shotgun thrice in the head, knocking him out cold. You tried to fire the gun at him, but it didn’t work

“Fuck.”

You quickly took the key from the man on the floor and unlocked Kathleen’s cage. She helped you drag the unconscious man into the cage and relock him inside. You then smashed the control panel with the gun to disable it and keep the man locked inside. 

You heard footsteps approaching the barn and ducked behind a bale of hay. You hadn’t been able to see where Kathleen had gone, and held your breath when you heard the door open.

“Lee!”

‘Oh, that was his name.’

“Where are ya? Lee!” A rough voice called again. “Damn it, Jared, get the lights!” 

The barn stayed dark despite the switch you could hear being flipped.

“They must have blown the fuse,” a second male voice said.

You could hear the men running in separate directions; one clambering up the ladder and the other going in the opposite direction of your hiding place. You suddenly heard Kathleen grunting and fighting one of the men before hearing a gun cock.

“Hey!” you called, jumping up from your hiding spot. You ducked quickly when the man fighting Kathleen turned to shoot you. A voice behind you groaned in pain after you’d ducked and you ran over to Kathleen and the man she was fighting. You jumped on his back and began strangling him in the crook of your elbow. Kathleen wrestled the gun away from him while he fumbled through fighting you. 

“(Y/N), drop!” Kathleen told you, and you listened just before she hit the man with the but of the shotgun. He collapsed to the ground and the two of you turned your attention to the older man on the floor behind you. 

You dragged the man over to Kathleen’s cage and locked him inside. Out of breath from lugging his heavy body, you turned back to Kathleen who was aiming her gun at the older man on the ground.

“I’ll watch this one. You go ahead.” 

You stared at her, motionless.

“Go ahead,” she urged you.

You sprinted out of the barn, trying to make sense of your surroundings. You found nothing but trees, dirt, and old cars. “Motherfucker.” You then heard a snapping twig coming from the woods before you.

“Hey!” you yelled. “Come out, motherfucker!”

“Whoa, whoa, (Y/N), calm down,” Dean told you, appearing with Sam from behind you.

You breathed a sigh of relief. “Dean!” You threw yourself into his arms and squeezed tightly. He hesitated for a moment, but hugged you back strongly. You reveled in the feeling of his touch before forcing yourself to break away. You turned to Sam and hugged him, thanking the boys for coming to find you.

A gunshot sounded before Kathleen emerged from the barn. “Where’s the girl?”

“Locked her in a closet,” Dean chuckled. “What about the dad?”

“Shot. Trying to escape.” She looked uncomfortable, but you took her word for it.

Later after you’d said your goodbyes to Kathleen, the three of you were walking back to the police station to get the car.

Sam walked a little in front of you and Dean.

“Never do that again,” the older brother told you.

“Do what?”

Dean muttered, “Go missin’ like that.”

“Aw, look at you.” You playfully pinched his cheek. “You were worried about me.”

“All I’m sayin’ is, you vanish like that again, I’m not lookin’ for ya,” he grumbled.

You rolled your eyes. “Sure, you won’t.”

“I’m not.”

You giggled. “So, you got sidelined by a thirteen-year-old girl, huh?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Just sayin’, gettin’ rusty there, sweetheart.”

“Shut up.”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @davina-clairee @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @stephshaww @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @here-for-the-extravaganza @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @rei0812 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm

[newkatzkafe2023]

@lara-legomonkiekid

What if Monkey King's started to Ignore (Tall Monkey)Y/N on purpose and Y/N know It and Try to take Advantage of It and start to Tease Wukong?(Like start to Kiss hiss neck,Flirt,etc...)(What if Y/N do that In front of the others?)

Bold of you to assume that We would let Wukong ignore us🤭🤭🤭🤭

(Lmk Wukong) He was stuck in his monkey king series marathon, and you wanted cuddles from him. You tried a few ways to get his attention, like making loud noises, send him a bunch of text and even put some baby monkeys on him. Unfortunately, you got nothing and began to growl at him, then an idea came, and you licked and kissed his neck. Which made him drop his chips and purr you nibble on his shoulders and stick your hands down his pants making him moan.

HE was sure paying attention to you now🤤

(MKR Wukong) You were immediately annoyed with his bratty behavior. He was brooding because his master had punished him over his violent behavior again, but between you and me, it could have been a lot worse. Wukong would grumbled and growl and refused to look at you, this pissed you off and you spun him around and kissed his chest and neck. He gasped and chirp in shocked as he didn't expect this behavior from you, but didn't do anything to stop you.

(NR Wukong) Pfffff this is gonna be too easy🙄, getting this man's attention is like getting a drunk to go to the bar. He was doing something with his motorcycle and a good few hours, and you wanted him to join you on the couch, but he was stuck in his project. You called out to him a bunch of times, and he was like, "Give me a minute," but he didn't come to you once, so you went for the nuclear option. You literally flash your breast at him, showing your lace bra and all, and this Definitely caught his attention as he was staring and forgot that he was still walking and walked into a pipe🤭. Thankfully all he did was shake it off and rub back to you Happily giving you his attention.

(HIB Wukong) He's being all grumpy and stuff as usual and didn't want anybody bothering him 🙄. You pouted immediately since he didn't want to talk to you either, but worry not for you have methods on getting what you want from him. You love to sneak up on him and surprise him with a hug from behind, you also love to get to know his muscles from back to front as you rub them Carefully and tenderly. Finally you sneak around and land a sweet kiss on his lips, and it's not long before that sweet kiss becomes a hot make out and mating session but at least he's back to paying attention to you.

(Netflix Wukong) Pfffff like this little boy can ever ignore you, This is gonna be too easy. Wukong is well.....I'm trying to think if a nice way of saying attention whore😒😒😒. If he's gonna ignore you, You're gonna have to do something that really pissed him off and he doesn't want to bother humoring you with his attention🙄. But do not threat my dear it's easy to win him back, with a few flirts and chin scratches and finally a big kiss on the lips. He would be purring and blushing with heart eyes, even his tail would bend into a heart wanting more of your attention.

FEEL FREE TO REBLOG🫂

[yet-another-deanw-girl]

Chapter 6: A Girl Stuck in a Bunker

||The Prophecy Series||

She knew for 15 years that this day would come. She knew her destiny had already been written. That her death had been foretold.

She knew she would have to stop him. She knew she would have to kill him. And she thought she was prepared for all of it. But the day she met him she realized how wrong she was…

Set in Season 10

Pairing: MoC!Dean x Female!OC

Warnings: the usual SPN, language, miner injury

Episode mapping: This chapter takes place during several episodes - episode 5 of season 10 "Fan Fiction", episode 6 of season 10 "Ask Jeeves", episode 7 of season 10 "Girls, Girls, Girls", episode 8 of season 10 "Hibbing 911"

Note: The events of this story are following season 10 of Supernatural and are taking place between October 2014 and July 2015. I tried to make sure that all the references to weapons, tech, etc. are accurate with the time period.

AN: This is my first time writing a fanfic but the story has been in my head for too long and it just needed to get out. I hope you like it.

AN: English is not my first language, I apologize for any mistakes.

After a half an hour argument between Dean and Sam, a couple days after we first met, I was allowed to have my phone and my laptop back. 

Another five days after that, I was granted permission to take some adapters, cables and tools from my car but Sam was with me the entire time. 

After two weeks living together in the bunker, Sam accepted the fact that he cannot follow me everywhere and watch my every move.

He is still barely talking to me and throws me measuring looks every time we pass each other in the hallway.

Created with Microsoft Designer

The boys are on a hunt, some drama teacher went missing after rehearsal, and I'm buried in cables, gears and tools. I had connected to the bunker's mainframe and am trying to figure out what is wrong with it. The poor thing has not been upgraded since the 1940s. So… I took the drastic decision to make some improvements while I'm searching for the main problem. This is exactly how I ended up tangled in an inferno of wires. And this is how the boys find me when they come back from the case. "Wow… Is that what you did when we were gone? Are you sure you know what you are doing?" "Yes, I'm sure…" I pick my head from under the counter. "Oh my God! And those glasses! You are trying to check all the nerdy boxes or something?" "Glasses or no glasses, I can still…" I start with a cold tone but when I look at Dean, I see the sneer on his face "Oh! You think you're funny?" "I know for a fact that I am!" "You are not." I say but the smile on my face contradicts my words. "How was the case?" "It was… strange… even for us."

I'm laughing uncontrollably after Dean finished telling me about the case. Yes… I'm laughing with the man I'm going to kill… My attempts to keep him away are not going as well as expected. "There are books about you! And they did their own interpretation of your lives!? In a musical!? I… I can't… That's the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. I'll have to check those books…" "Don't you even dare!" I return my focus to my work but I keep randomly bursting into laughter in the next few hours.  This is hilarious!  Books and musicals!  I'll definitely have to find those books.  That's an interesting concept, a prophet turned author.  Did some person like this Chuck, have also written my prophecy? And if so, did they know more about how I am supposed to stop the unstoppable Knight of Hell? But even if they did… this was at least 15 years ago… and since there can be only one prophet at a time… and the boys know at least two… Another dead end…

"What the hell?" I hear Dean yelling from the kitchen. I rush through the maze of hallways and almost bump into Sam on the kitchen's doorway. "Dean? What's going on?" Sam asks. "What's going on?! What the hell is this!" He points to the countertop.

Image from Pinterest

"An espresso machine, obviously." I answer and roll my eyes with annoyance.  He scared the shit out of me!  And for what!?  He is such a drama queen.  "I can no longer drink this vomit you Americans call coffee." "But…" "I'm not forcing you to use it! Yours is still there. You can keep using it. But I can't." I turn around and head to the door.  I see Sam trying to contain his smile. He is really enjoying this situation but will never show it in front of me. "How did this appear here?" He asks instead. "Online shopping, Sam… Don't worry. I ordered just a coffee machine… No weapons… I promise…" "You ordered it here!?" "I picked it up from the delivery center in town… I'm not stupid! I know how to keep a bunker a secret, remember?"

My schedule is an infinite loop of little to no sleep, coffee in large doses, coding, debugging and searching through every corner of the bunker's system I can think about, more coffee and pizza.  And then again.  And again.  The boys had been on a couple of hunts, but the way they are searching for cases is inefficient. They go through the internet and local news sites for unusual occurrences. I thought all the bunkers have a notification system… But maybe this one is too old for that… Maybe I should write them an algorithm for this.

I notice Sam is carefully watching Dean. Again. He started to do that after their last case.  Something had happened that made Sam worried.  But he will never tell me.  All I know is that it was a case involving a shifter.  It sounded like an Agatha Christie novel. The maid turns out to be the daughter of the late rich lady and a shifter. And was planning to kill all her greedy family members. She had tricked the boys by giving them fake silverware and they were not able to identify her as the shifter until much later.  "That's why I'm always wearing my rings." I told Dean while sitting on the couch. "This one is silver, the other one - iron, and this one - steel." But something else had happened on that case that makes Sam worry about Dean. "There is still time. At least 5 months. Maybe more." I say to Sam when we happened to be in the kitchen at the same time. "I'm not going to let you kill him. I'll find another way." Is the only thing he says to me and walks out of the room. "Do you honestly believe that I want to do it?" I mutter to myself.

"Em, we are going." Dean shouts.  The boys were digging through the Men of Letters archive for the past 4 days.  When they are in the bunker, I spend a lot of time with Dean. Sometimes just sitting in the library, other times he stays with me for hours in the mainframe room, exchanging stories and talking about old cases.  And here they are going again on a hunt.  I have left the bunker a couple of times to go to town for supplies or for the next package of equipment or gear for the bunker's upgrade but for the most time I was stuck in here.

"Ok, sit here. Easy, be careful."  The boys are back. I walk in the library and see Sam sitting on the edge of the table, an arrow sticking from his right shoulder. "What happened?" "It was an accident. We were at this sheriff's retreat and there was a weapons exhibit. One of the deputies didn't know how to handle a crossbow." Dean answers me. Sam is ignoring me, like usual. "Need help with it?" "I don't need and I don't want your help." Sam declares. I'm going to leave the room and leave them to handle it themselves when I see Dean preparing to try and break the arrow. "Stop!" I yell before he can cause irreversible damage to his brother's shoulder. "It looks like you don't have an idea how to handle an arrow too..." I try to wipe my hands clean of all the grime while I walk to them. My efforts are in vain so I grab some medical gloves from the first aid kit. "I said, I do not want your help." Sam tries to protest. "Oh my god! I don't care! Now shut up!" I cut him off, frustrated. He is so unbelievably stubborn! "It's an arrow made of carbon. Unless you have a flex or a wire cutter, you are not going to break it!" I explain, seeing their confusion. "Dean, move aside! And give me your belt." "If you want me naked, you just have to say so." Dean retorts playfully. "Really?" I look at him and roll my eyes. Those boys are dancing on my nerves today. "Now! The belt!" While Dean is unbuckling his belt I start to unroll the tail of the carbon arrow. When Dean gives me his belt I make Sam bite on it.  "I'm not..." He tries to protest again but I just tilt my head to the side and look at him with a 'oh, you are' look. I had enough with his attitude for today. He seems to understand because he just does as I had told him. The younger Winchester is too tall and I can not pull out the arrow from this angle so I climb on the table. "Are you ready, big guy?" I ask Sam. He stiffens but I don't wait for his answer before swiftly pulling the arrow out. He grunts and clenches his teeth. "Затова беше коланът." I whisper. *That's what the belt was for.* I climb down from the table and see that Dean is staring at me with wide eyes. I take Sam's left hand and make him put pressure on the wound. "Now, you can treat it like a bullet wound. You know what to do with this, right?" Dean just nods, still staring at me.  I ignore him, remove the gloves and go to the kitchen to make myself a coffee. "And make sure he puts it in a sling!" I yell.

Created with Microsoft Designer

I make Sam sit on the edge of the table. We had been injured too many times but an arrow, that is something new. "What happened?" Em enters the library. "It was an accident. We were at this sheriff's retreat and there was a weapons exhibit. One of the deputies didn't know how to handle a crossbow." I explain. "Need help with it?" "I don't need and I don't want your help." Sam's distrust and animosity towards her hadn't changed with the past few weeks. It was not like him at all. I'm preparing to break the tail of the arrow like I have seen in the movies but I freeze when I hear a sharp "Stop!" Emilia is strolling through the room towards us. "It looks like you don't have an idea how to handle an arrow too..." She fails to wipe her hands in her jeans so she grabs some gloves from the first aid kit.  She is covered in grime and dust, her hair in the usual braid, her glasses perched on her nose. The bunker's mainframe must have not been cleaned like… ever. I realize she has been stuck in that small room for more than a month now. "I said, I do not want your help." Sam repeats again. "Oh my god! I don't care! Now shut up!"  This woman definitely has some sass in her, when she is not trying to hold back and act like a soldier. This is the first time I have seen her snap like that.  "It's an arrow made of carbon. Unless you have a flex or a wire cutter, you are not going to break it!" I never in a million years imagined that someone talking about power tools would turn me on so badly! "Dean, move aside! And give me your belt." "If you want me naked, you just have to say so." I retort but I'm surprised by her taking charge of the situation like that. "Really?" She glares at me through her glasses. "Now! The belt!" I just shrug and give her the belt. She unscrews the tail of the arrow. Hm, so that's how it's done? Then she makes Sam bite the belt. "I'm not.." Sam starts to protest but obviously the look on Emilia's face makes him shut up. The look on his face is one of fury.  The next second she climbs on the table which makes my jaw drop. Her left knee is on Sam's right side, her right knee… between my brother's legs. She is practically straddling his leg. Sam visibly stiffens and stares at me over her shoulder in shock. The look on my face mirrors his. "Are you ready, big guy?" Em acks and I arch my brow. Before Sam can even react, she jerks the arrow from his shoulder. Sam grunts and Em mutters something before hopping down from the table. She grabs Sam's other hand and makes him put pressure on his shoulder then she turns to me. The shock and disbelief on my face must be obvious but she completely ignores it. "Now, you can treat it like a bullet wound. You know what to do with this, right?" I nod and she turns around and leaves the room tossing the medical gloves in the bin next to the door. "And make sure he puts it in a sling!" She yells from the hallway. "Did she… Did she just climbed on you, straddled you and called you a 'big guy'?"  Sam chokes.  "Well…" I look at the doorway where she had disappeared. "She is hot when she is bossy."

Chapter 7: The Fates >>

||The Prophecy Series||

[gabessquishytum]

people keep sending in vampire aus and I Cannot Resist

so there is this terrible, terrible YA series called House of Night about an academy for teenagers that were Marked and are turning into vampyres(that's how the authors chose to write it, okay), who are also refered to as the children of Nyx

(tw a little gore and minor character death)

please imagine Surly Teenager Morpheus, freshly Marked, rolling up to the House of Night in London and already Hating Everything.

The Director Dealer's Choice, but why not make it Lucifer? gives him the rundown of how everything works before explaining that every fledgling vamypr gets assigned a mentor

in walks Hob Gadling, who among all those other supernaturally good-looking vampyres looks like Just A DudeTM. He even says "Hey, you already look the part! You're way ahead of me there."

Morpheus doesn't say anything. Partly because he is still grumpy. Partly because Hob Gadling seems strangely familiar.

they leave on their tour of the school which is filled to the brim with stray cats btw. one of them hurls itself into Hob's arms and Hib barely reacts, only curling his arms around it and petting between its ears. "Meet Daniel", Hob says, "He comes and goes as he pleases, but he's friendly."

Morpheus stared into the cat's green eyes, wondering if he'll get scratched if he tried anything, but Daniel lets himself be petted and even purrs for a good minute before running away as sudden as he came

they finish the tour, Morpheus meets his roommate and slowly he settles into his new routine of night classes and trying to get along with a slew of new acquaintaces

there's a few awkward moments during Hob's lessons- like the time he spoke about meeting famous vampyre poet shakespeare and the words "it wasn't like that" sat on the tip of Morpheus' tongue until he nearly bit through his cheek, or when Hob read them a passage from the Canterbury Tales in Middle English and it felt more familiar than the modern one

things are good until a few weeks in, one of Morpheus' classmates' body rejects the change

in the middle of class, they start coughing up blood. it starts pouring from their nose, their eyes, even their ears

they collapse and the teachers have to carry them to the infirmary

it's a harsh reminder that as much as Morpheus has been getting used to this new life, it could end just as quickly

but the worst part?

their blood smelled amazing

vampyres drink blood, that's a fact

but developing a taste for it is something that happens in the third to fourth year. not barely three months in

understandably, Morpheus freaks out. and because he is Morpheus he Does Not Talk About It

not talking about it doesn't help with the hunger though

which may be why the next time someone's body rejects the change, he hides in a janitor's closet

his heart pounds in his chest. the mark on his forehead burns. his stomach is tied in knots

there's scratching at the door- one of the cats- before there are footsteps

"what is it, Daniel?" an all too familiar voice asks

there's nothing Morpheus wants less than to face Hob right now, not when his mentor has been trying his best to get Morpheus to open up, make friends among his classmates, he'll fit right in!

before Morpheus can try and get himself together the door opens and he finds himself staring up into the unfairly handsome face of Hob and a lap full of Cat

"Oh, love", Hob says and folds down next to him

Morpheus should bristle. stand up and leave with his head held high because he is a Son Of Night and is Completely Fine

instead he leans into the embrace Hob offers him, taking in greedy pulls of his scent (sunshine and grassy hills, the musk of an old forest. "not ancient greece", he'd said that first day, "but i like to think 600 years is still quite a respectable age")

Hob nudges him until Morpheus sits between his legs and pulls up the sleeve of his shirt

again, Morpheus should bristle, should fight the arms wrapping around him, that's his teacher for fuck's sake

but he's just so hungry that he lets Hob press a wrist to his mouth and drinks

Oh yeah that’s hot, kinda love the idea of an eldritch teacher/student relationship??

Morpheus being such a precocious little vampire baby who already craves blood, of course he needs a little extra care and attention from his teacher, right? And yeah, Hob starts to pay just a little closer attention - checks in with Morpheus, even comes to see him in his room. He’s coaching Morpheus through the first stages of consuming blood, making sure he isn’t going hungry. Truth is, nothing has tasted as good for Morpheus as Hob did that very first time in the closet. He’s craving blood and specifically he’s craving Hob.

He’s developing quite an embarrassing crush on Hob. And Hob, well… he’s trying to be a good mentor. He’s concerned by Morpheus’s rapid development. And there’s something about the young student that seems kind of familiar to him. When they talk together it’s like they have a history, and it feels weird but… comfortable. Not to mention, Hob got genuinely and uncomfortably turned on that night when Morpheus drank from his wrist. It felt like something hot and powerful was tingling through his entire body, and he’s never ever felt that way before.

Then there’s the time when Hob finds himself really incredibly hungry, he was dumb and skipped a meal. Morpheus doesn’t hesitate: he crawls right into Hob’s lap and tells him to shut up and drink. He can take it. And Hob knows that he shouldn’t take advantage, but he never claimed to be a good man. It feels… so. Good. Like coming home. Holding Morpheus and drinking from him greedily. Like they’ve… done it before. Hmm.

In any case, as much as Hob tries to hold himself back, it’s probably only a matter of time before the mentor/mentee develops into something. A lot more.

[shivroy]

I'm sorry for barging in, but this guy from a danish tv-series is what I imagine Hibbs would look like irl

THIS DELIGHTS ME SO MUCH i am beaming you pure love ❤️ genuinely adore this interpretation especially his nose and chin, those are SO hibs (+ look mattmac-adjacent. which is what hibby is)

my personal contribution is chris farley but none of these are exact likenesses of course... but farley is damn close tbh in a lot of ways

also other ppl have sent me messages contributing john early and philip seymour hoffman to the mix and hibernian is not remotely as attractive as hoffman but he's not meant to be. also hibs has early & hoffman's exact hair color so that's great to have visuals for

[nsomniacsdream]

I think part of what made me "like this" is my mom letting me watch the war of the world series (1988-1990). It's really fucked up, but also really badly written. So imagine the war of the world aliens attacked, lost, but went into hibernation instead of dying. Radiation kills the germs that killed them in the first place and now they go inside human bodies to try to take over the earth again. Kind of a the thing/alien symbiote kind of thing.

Our hero is a scientist trying to find evidence of alien life (like dude. Aliens very notably attacked earth 40 years ago, everyone knows there is alien life, but the show never acknowledges this) who teams up with a lady scientist, a biologist? I dunno. I'm rewatching but it's really bad quality. It was a late 80s TV series on fox, so you know what I'm talking about. I loved aliens and sci-fi as a kid so I begged my mom until she let me watch it. The aliens have these 3 fingered hands that reach out of your belly button to infect or kill people. And there was an episode with a pregnant lady (I still have nightmares sometimes). If you like old sci-fi and bad acting, I suggest giving it a watch.

There's a lot of discourse about its rating, that they were putting something that in a movie would be rated r and putting it on a major network as a pg 13 or whatever.

[pb-dot]

Happy STS! Today, I'm pulling away from characters (finally 🤭) and asking about influences. Who are your literary influences? Can you see specific influences coming through in some of your specific works?

Happy STS to you too tori! I feel like I'm pretty active in how I let my influences inspire me, and that what I'm looking for changes depending on the project, so I'm going to talk a bit about what works and authors influence my two main WIPs

The Clockwork Boy

My main source of inspiration for this one is the Teixcalaan series by Arkady Martine. I deeply admire the mix of big ideas politics and neurotic gay drama, and I try to make my own version of the same with TCB. There's also a touch of Madeline Miller in it for the same reason I think, and although I don't think I get to that level, I also find myself shaped in how I communicate worldbuilding to the way China Mieville does it.

His Impossible Brushstrokes

I feel like there's not quite enough queer horror in the world, at least not that pushes the precise right buttons for me, which is part of the reason I'm writing HIB, there are, however, a few works I find myself returning to when it comes to talking about what stories makes this story tick. One big one, honestly, is Dracula, the first act in particular. There's also the writings of Thomas Olde Heuvelt, especially the gay gothic story about love, loss, trauma, and one fucked up evil mountain, Echo. The works of T. Kingfisher also very much dictates how I deal with the unknown and incomprehensible, and although I've only read one of hers, I think it's safe to say Haley Piper has forever changed how I tie together themes of queerness and horror.

[leafsbabe]

how Thomas Bordeleau is like in bed

what Thomas Bordeleau is like in bed:

- Thomas is horny

- the end

- no but seriously there are times where it seems like he is insatiable

- he just wants you all the time

- Thomas absolutely loves it when you tell him what to do

- doesn't matter if you're begging for his cock or ordering him to eat you out

- he loves hearing that you want him

- deep down Thomas is a gentleman so he obviously reciprocate when you give him head

- he'll stay between your thighs for ages

- just enjoying himself

- making you come on his tongue, then sucking hickeys into your inner thighs, then making you come on his tongue again

- run your fingers through his hair and tug on it

- unless you shut him up he's going to be loud

- all his neighbors hate him

- but he's not afraid to let the world know how good you feel

- doesn't quite know what he wants

- because he wants to show you off but at the same time he can be really possessive

- sometimes gives you really dark love bites right on your neck where everybody can see them

- doesn't even apologizes when they're super hard to cover up

- he just can't help himself

- Thomas just really loves it when you ride him

- put your tits in his face and just go wild

- just take what you need from him

- and after you come he can pull out, flip you around, and come across your body

- he just likes to claim you in any way he can

- in any way you'll allow him

his dick:

- nice and thick

- very suckable

the experience:

9.5/10

[scotianostra]

30th November 1872 saw the worlds first official football international.

“The laws of the Association game are exceedingly simple, numbering only 12, as against some 40 in the Rugby code,” wrote the Scotsman. “One of the principal differences consists in the entire prohibition of the use of the hands, except by the goalkeeper for the protection of his goal, thus making the skillful and always pleasing ‘dribble’ one of the best points of the game. A goal is scored when it is kicked under the tape, the ball not being allowed to be carried, thrown, or knocked in. Hacking, tripping, holding or charging an adversary from behind are among things forbidden. Such are some of the differences of the two styles of play, and it will readily be admitted that the Association game is one which will commend itself to players who dread the harder work of the Rugby mode.”

It says a lot about the status of association football in Scotland in the 1870s that the country’s biggest daily paper was among several publications which felt the need to explain the rules in their report on what is now accepted as the first full international. As England prepared for their 1,000th game against Moldova on Thursday, very little – not even the rules – remains unchanged from that day in November 1872 when their XI faced Scotland’s at the West of Scotland Cricket Ground in Glasgow.

There was not even a Scottish FA, still four months away from creation, so it is just as well that, as the Scotsman also said, “the task of selecting the Scotch team was an easy one, seeing that only about 10 clubs play the game in Scotland”. Of those there was only one of any note – Queen’s Park provided most of the squad, with two players coming from a smaller Glasgow side, Granville, and two more traveling north from South Norwood. Glasgow Rangers had been formed earlier that year but there was no Celtic, no Hearts or Hibs, and Aberdeen’s first game was more than three decades away.

The attention and excitement generated by these early internationals transformed the sport. The first of them attracted what the Scotsman proclaimed “the largest assemblage seen at any football match in Scotland”. They estimated the number of people present at 4,000 – “including a good number of ladies” (entry cost a shilling, but was free for women). There was no official figure, but the Greenock Telegraph guessed at 2,500 while the Field described a “muster of spectators vastly in excess of anything usually witnessed, the numbers gradually increasing until it was computed that upwards of five thousand were present”. Gate receipts suggest the lowest estimate was closest to the truth.

Interest in the game was not exactly universal: it says a lot about the status of association football in England in the 1870s that the Guardian’s match report ran to 124 words and after setting the scene and detailing the composition of the teams, the section that actually described the match read, in its entirety, as follows: “The game, which occupied an hour and a half, was vigorously contested, and when time was called the umpires ruled that the match was drawn.” The same page featured a significantly longer report on the Birmingham Cattle Show (“the twenty-fourth annual show of fat cattle, sheep, pigs, roots, corn and implements”). The Times dedicated most of a page to the cattle, and completely ignored the football.

One of the most curious things about the first international is that it was actually the sixth. The previous five had been played at the Kennington Oval in London, and though the Football Association tried to tempt the best players down from Scotland – Charles Alcock, their honorary secretary and captain of England in these early games, wrote a series of letters to Scottish newspapers, inviting “any Scotch player desirous of contending” – those who ended up representing Scotland were largely based in London. The Scotland side for the very first of these games, played in March 1870, included two sitting MPs, both of whom represented English constituencies. The Scotsman railed against “the assumption of a few men in London to represent Scotland”, and they were not alone.

After the second match in November 1870, a letter was published in the Scotsman calling on Scottish clubs to start providing a proper selection, as “we can scarcely close our eyes to the fact that the contest was at the best between the picked eleven of all England clubs and the best eleven Scotch players who happen to be resident in the metropolis”. Alcock responded, insisting that “the right to play was open to every Scotchman” and that if not enough were involved “the fault lies on the heads of the players of the north”.

Whoever was to blame, the lack of actual Scottish Scots tainted the early games and has led to their retrospective relegation to the status of glorified friendly; the Scotsman later described these matches as “partaking somewhat of an international character”. Then in March 1872, Queen’s Park traveled to London for a much-hyped FA Cup semi-final against Alcock’s club side, Wanderers, which proved that proper internationals would be both possible and popular (even if the Scottish side, having secured a goalless draw, could not afford to stay in London for a replay and withdrew from the competition). A couple of their players stayed behind after that match for discussions about a possible Glasgow game and in October 1872 the FA officially decided to abandon the biannual London fixtures in favor of annual games at alternating venues, with Scotland hosting the first.

The match itself finished goalless, though the quality of play was widely praised. “It was allowed to be the best game ever seen in Scotland,” gushed the Aberdeen Press and Journal. Scotland had the advantage of the slope in the first half, and with most of the team being club teammates started the game strongly. Though England threatened on several occasions, the closest either side came to a goal in the opening period was in its final moments, when a shot from Scotland’s Robert Leckie was tipped just over the tape (crossbars were not yet a thing), with much of the crowd cheering in the belief that it had gone in (nets were also not yet a thing).

England grew into the game and with the slope in their favour dominated the second half, with Charles Chenery and Arnold Kirke Smith both hitting a post. The England captain, Cuthbert Ottaway, “astonished spectators by some very pretty dribbling”, and nobody seemed to care particularly about the lack of goals. “The result was received with rapturous applause by the spectators and the cheers proposed by each XI for their antagonists were continued by the onlookers until the last member of the two sides had disappeared,” wrote the Field. “The match was in every sense a signal success, as the play was throughout as spirited and a pleasant as can possibly be imagined.”

There have now been 115 international matches between England and Scotland, and only three more goalless draws; the next came in 1970, and the latest was in June last year at the delayed UEFA Euro 2020 finals, whe Scotland hammered them 0-0. 

Back to the victorian era and the idea of internationals quickly caught on – within six years games were attracting 15,000 people to the original Hampden Park; by the middle of the 1890s 57,000 people were crowding into Parkhead. The attendance of 149,415 for the Scotland v England match of 1937 at Hampden Park is still a European record, and given the nature of stadia nowadays it is not likely to be beaten.

Had we not had the World Cup being played during our winter I think that there would have been a match between the two countries, however it was recently announced  that a friendly game is to be played on 12th September 2023 to commemorate the 150th anniversary of the first official international fixture between Scotland and England, to take place at Hampden Park.

[iknow-becauseiwasthere]

SPN Season 10 diary

- Jensen is amazing and stronger actor than Jared but demon Sam > Demon Dean

- So does human blood cure demons?

- still love Fan Faction and Ask Jeeves though on rewatch it’s an awkward placement. Like why is Dean ok as a human for a bit before the mark takes over again? I find the whole mark mythology confusing

- fuck yeah Rowena and every time she says “The Winchesters” with an eye roll

- Hibbing 911! Needed episode but hard to watch Jody be annoyed with Donna. Fuck Donna’s ex

- idk why but I love Claire even when she’s an angsty kid

- breaking out Metatron was extremely stupid

- I do like No Place Like Home. I love the boys with Charlie. One of the few friendships where they always have respect and no backstabbing

- i feel like Cain should have been harder to kill?

- lol to casually watching the video of the soldiers last mission in an outdoor restaurant area. That might be the most unrealistic plot-line of the whole series.

- just a lot of meh episodes I honestly don’t remember that well after rewatching

- 10x19 The Werther Project slaps

- 10x20 Angel Heart has me worked up!!! Did Claire’s mom need to die RIGHT IN FRONT OF HER? I get she needed to go to Jody’s but fuck man that girl has been through it and if anyone deserves to have a parent it’s her (like Amara bring her mom back instead of Mary)

- The Styne Family subplot wasn’t great but was also so brief it’s really pointless (a common thread of the last few seasons)

- RIP Charlie you did not deserve that

- RIP Death you did not deserve that

- Ready for the Darkness. Still like the last few seasons but more for their random episodes than the overall plot. Excited for more coherence in these last seasons.

[redeyedroid]

Scots generally don't go much for cricket. Which I find odd, considering how consistently terrible England have been for most of my life. If there's one thing that brings the people of Scotland together, it's England losing at sport.

Cricket's eccentric as hell; the objectives often incomprehensible and bizarre, even to people who follow the game; it's impenetrable terminology has multiple ways of labeling the same things; the simple idea of who is winning and who is losing may be undiscernable for days; it can go on for five days and still end in a draw and they only decided to end matches like that because once, decades ago, a test match went on so long one team risked missing their boat back home; a series of five or more matches can go on for months; people are forced to keep playing long after the result has been decided; bowling and batting require completely different skills and techniques, yet some players master both; it's greatest trophy, The Ashes, is only contested by two nations and is, essentially, a self-deprecating shitpost; and one of the greatest memes of all time originates from a dropped catch in 2019.

But, because the people of India, Pakistan, Bangladesh and Sri Lanka love it like nothing else, it is the second most popular sport in the world. And I love it, too. Be it Mitchell Starc clean bowling Rory Burns with the first ball of the 2021/22 Ashes, beginning a series of quite staggering English ineptitude; or Virat Kohli, the greatest batter of this generation, hitting back-to-back sixes off Haris Rauf in front of 95,000 people at the Melbourne Cricket Ground while leading India to an extraordinary win against Pakistan at the 2022 T20 World Cup, cricket offers dramatic moments of brilliance with a regularity other sports struggle to match.

If you want an idea of exactly how popular cricket is in India, Kohli has 60 million more instagram followers than Brady, Serena and LeBron combined. His is the 16th most followed account in the world. The only sports stars with larger followings are Messi and Ronaldo. Like the greatest players in any sport, time appears to slow down around him when he's at his best, his balance and timing perfect as he makes an almost impossible task look like the easiest thing in the world (batters have a fraction of a second to react to a ball being bowled at them. Against the fastest bowlers, they might not even be able to see the ball at all, instead relying on triggers and clues and experience to hit it.)

I picked up a love for cricket from my dad, who himself picked it up one rainy summer afternoon (what do you think happens in summer in Scotland?) when he was young and there were only two TV channels. He loves the great West Indian team of the 1970s and 80s like no other. They're probably his favourite thing in sporting history. A found love, rather than the familial support for Hibs he inherited from his father.

(For that, I'd recommend the excellent documentary, Fire In Babylon. No knowledge is needed, beyond that in cricket, unlike baseball, there is no restriction against a bowler aiming at the batter's body. And the West Indian team had a succession of players who bowled at the speed of light and terrorised batters across the world. They also had, in Gordon Greenidge and Viv Richards, the two great batters of the - possibly any - era).

I missed much of their quarter century of dominance, being too young or not actually alive, but I do remember their last great bowlers, Courtney Walsh and Curtley Ambrose, while the great Trinidadian, Brian Lara, twice set records for the highest individual score in test cricket, first scoring 375, then an unbeaten 400, a record that still stands today and which may now never be bettered. Of course, both those scores came against England.

There was a lot of listening to cricket on the radio, driving places when we were on holiday in the summer. It was a summer sport then, coverage only following teams when they came to England. In the winter, when England went away, we got little, for this was the age before wall-to-wall sports TV.

For instance, I remember bits of Australia's 1993 Ashes rampage coinciding with daytrips along Hadrian's Wall, among other places, but I have no memory of the following, equally one-sided series in Australia in 1994/95.

Not that test cricket is at all rampageous, containing, as it does, breaks for lunch and tea, and even at it's most fast paced only has a ball bowled every 45 seconds or so, this being repeated about 500 times a day, with maybe 1 in 4 actually being scored from. You can miss great chunks of matches only to find nothing has fundamentally changed when you return. One man dressed in white hurls a small red ball at another, who most often declines the opportunity to hit it as it whizzes past. It is often as close to being a day-long nap as any sport can be.

Today, like football, the sport is played everywhere, all the time. The South Asian nations have spread it across the world, far beyond the borders of the British imperial possessions where the colonial administrators introduced it. Wherever there is a strong community of people from the subcontinent, cricket will be found and while there are less than a dozen full members of the ICC, there are now lots of associate members all competing against each other (the USA is the 18th-ranked men's ODI team, for example). There's almost always something to watch somewhere.

Powered by TV money (rights for the Indian Premier league are, on a per-game basis, now the second most expensive sporting event in the world, after the NFL) the compressed, high-scoring excitement of T20 has become the most popular format of cricket, which is bad for me. Because my preference is for the full-fat, slow-motion weirdness of a test match. It's what I grew up with and in my mind, the game is not for the swift. There's a reason they're called tests. The game should be an examination of technique and concentration and endurance that lasts for ages and ends with two poor bastards trying to scratch out a draw by batting for a day and a half because their side trails by 450 runs and the other 9 players on their team are idiots who got out in ridiculous ways. And then, after they inevitably fail, they do it again a week later. And maybe they lose horribly two more times and their team finds itself 3-0 down with two matches to play, but those matches still get played, even though they won't change the result of the series, because that's also part of the test. Or maybe it rains all summer and no matches are played, because the English, with maniac optimism, like to invent games that cannot be played if it's raining (see also: tennis).

I recognise that this is churlish of me. The women's game, like in so many other sports a niche afterthought, is being supercharged by an influx of cash from India, as the men's IPL has this year expanded into a women's tournament. The TV rights for this sold for £95m, the 5 franchises sold for half a billion. The top players - most players, probably - will make more from it than they do for the rest of the year. T20 is an extraordinary boost for the women's game, where tests are rarely played.

This is A Very Good Thing, but I'll always prefer tests.

Only three nations now have the economic power and talent pool to devote equal attention to all three formats of the game. Only England, India and Australia still play full test series against each other. The rest now play two- or maybe three-match series and only occasionally. The form the future of the game will take is in doubt. The West Indies might fracture amidst a proliferation of T20 franchise leagues, their players - naturally and understandably - touring the world and playing in half-a-dozen dozen leagues, their talents auctioned and drafted and paid far more than they get from tests.

But today I'm going to ignore the question marks about cricket's future and the maybe slow death of anything other than T20. Because today, one of the last remaining marquee matchups begins. Tomorrow, the women's T20 World Cup starts in South Africa. In a couple of months I will consume as much of the two IPLs as I can. In the summer, England will host Ashes series for both men and women that promise much. Australia's men currently holds the ridiculous little urn and are the top ranked side. England's men are actually very good right now and have many fine and likeable players, and a part of me finds that very irritating. Either or neither could win. For the other, England's women are also good, but Australia's are much gooder (for real. Ellyse Perry should be counted among the greatest female sports stars of all time. A world class bowler and batter, she has represented Australia at World Cups in both cricket and football).

All that is for tomorrow and beyond. Today, Australia's men begin a 4-match test series in India. India will probably win. It is incredibly hard to win anywhere as a touring team because weather and pitches vary a great deal from country to country and strongly favour the home team, no matter how lowly they are ranked. The West Indies comfortably beat England last year, and Australia struggled to a draw in Sri Lanka. And of all the places to tour, India is the hardest place to win of all. A series win in India is a rare and treasured thing.

The problem with touring India are the pitches. They are slow and dusty and - like most subcontinental tracks - favour the arcane arts of spin bowling, where a bowler uses his fingers or wrist to put spin on the ball in the hope that when it hits the pitch it grips and it's trajectory changes, deceiving the batter. Pitches are prepared to take advantage of this and push India's home field advantage as much as possible. Teams who play warm-up matches before tests in the hope of acclimatising will find placid, grassy pitches that offer not a hint of the demonic conditions the test series will likely bring. Cricket has never been a gentleman's game.

Australia have one, very very good spin bowler in Nathan Lyon and a number who are either untested or not good. They are likely to suffer against Indian batters who have known how to play spin since picking up a bat. India have Ravichandran Ashwin, also a very very good spinner, but in Ravindra Jadeja, Axar Patel and Kuldeep Yadav they have several who are merely very good and likely to prosper against Australian batters who are less good away from Australia (Jadeja, injured for most of the last 6 months is arguably the best all-rounder in men's cricket today. A prodigiously talented bowler and batter, he is also among the best fielders in the men's game).

Australia have barely toured anywhere since the pandemic began, but their team has played very well at home and their glitchy batting goblins Marnus Labuschagne and Steve Smith are incredibly good. I have hope they make the series competitive (though for me, their approaches to batting are too angularly idiosyncratic compared to the gloriously pure techniques of Kohli and Babar Azam of Pakistan). But I also hope that Kohli finds form and has a series for the ages.

The man's due.

PS Old Deadspin did a decent primer on cricket years ago and you can still read it, if you don't mind giving the site clicks...

[newkatzkafe2023]

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