#howl at the moon with me

[puppybrainednick]

You don’t need a Full Moon to howl, you just gotta believe in yourself!!

[popsicle-stick]

will you meet me halfway?

anyway i finished wolf 359 earlier this month and ive been insane ever since so i had to get this out my system. i Care for them so so Deeply

[everye]

happy pride

(full pictures under the cut)

+ uncle iroh is proud of you

[rjshope]

Just Hoseok being so pretty that I forgot how to breathe

for @hvseoks☀

[conditioned-to-obey]

If we aren't taking a walk through the woods at night and howling at the full moon together like a pair of bonded feral dogs, what are we even doing?

[darlinggash]

I AM LOSING MY MIND RN ACTUALLY GOING FERAL

THE WAY HIS HANDS LINGER HOLD ME BACK!!

[wherenymphsroam]

I READ DAD BOD LEON AND LIKE JDFKD imagine praising him and getting him all flustered and needy and just 😭 he is such a hottie I NEED HIM sorry im just a lil feral abt him

GRAHHHH YES !!!!

cw: leon finally in his retirement era ??? (probably not canon but we can only hope), chubby leon, older leon, body worship, very light scent thing, a messy blowjob, he’s insecure at first the poor thing, uhhhh not proofread <3

w/c: 1.5k

like, leon is sooooo relieved when he’s (somehow) allowed to retire. genuinely probably just passes out for a good couple of days, drowsy and catching up on years of sleep he missed for a month or so. takes things day by day, waning contentedly through different hobbies, interests, just trying to like…. find his personality back after basically becoming the governments dog for the most of his adult life.

and some things really like … don’t click at first.

that he’s not nearly as active without the physically demanding day to day. the mission every other month or so that sheds him of all his bodies resources, the ones that basically force upon him that consistently low body fat percentage. sure, he still works out because at this point, it’s weird Not To after putting in so much physical work for so long.

but he’s older now, his metabolism has changed. commercial gyms don’t exactly offer the same amount of intensity that his body is so used to having to work through. and naturally, parts of him grow complacent. he eats more, rightfully so. actually has the time to go out to eat on a consistent basis, and doordash is viewed as a god sent app.

he doesn’t really notice the pounds that have crept up on him until suddenly his favorite pair of jeans doesn’t need a belt to keep them up anymore. it’s when he tucks in his shirt for a more upscale night out that he realizes his button down is more fitted against him than maybe it was the last time he dug out his nicer clothes.

but once he realizes it, he shies away from it, avoids changing in front of mirrors. and when he starts refusing to change in front of you that you notice.

sure, leon was always attractive in your eyes. but it was never the muscles, the trim ‘v’ of his waistline that kept you around. you loved him, genuinely so. and to have him around more often, able to revel in some of the domestic things you couldn’t exactly soak up when he was still an agent? it’s like heaven on earth with him.

so when you notice the slight increase in his weight — the softness that begins to pad his strong biceps when he wraps his arms around you from behind, the extra bit you’re able to hold onto when you hug him — you don’t point it out. it’s welcomed, has you touching him a bit more than maybe necessary nowadays.

the first time he abruptly turns around when you walk in while he was changing, you don’t question it. it’s when he starts to dim the lights before the two of you topple onto the bed in a passionate display that you grow suspicious. your last straw is plucked when he starts coming to bed with a shirt on. an oversized one at that. he had never worn shirts to bed before, always complained about the materials feeling against him becoming irritating throughout the night.

he tries to deny when you first confront him. plays off the way the newfound pliant skin of his sides swells out over the top of his jeans waistband. shakes his head and makes a face at you, even goes so far as to roll his eyes when you reason with him, pointing out his recent ‘preference’ of keeping the lights lower when you fuck.

“I think you’re imagining this, sweetheart. I’m still sexy,” he reasons cheekily, trying to distract you with his cheesy nature.

“I didn’t say you’re not sexy,” you sigh, shaking your head. “You’re definitely still sexy. I’m just saying you look sexy with the extra bit on you,” you hum, leaning against the bedroom door.

it takes Leon a second, trying to allow ‘sexiness’ and ���weight’ to coexist in his head. at least not in terms of himself. he loved women, all shapes and bodies and weights included. it was a no brainer to say that yes, your logic that sexiness could coexist with more weight was correct. but on him…? he’s Leon Kennedy. he’s not fat.

“Nor am I saying you’re fat, not by a long shot,” you continue, knowing all too well what that look on his face meant. the one he wore when he was thinking too hard about something.

he tries not to flinch when your hands reach out, capturing his sides. tries to stifle the sound that wants to escape when he realizes how much more sensitive the skin there is now with the extra weight. but the pounding of his heart and heat emanating off his body tells you all you need to know. so you continue.

you’re unashamed in how you explore how pliant his sides are now, in how you trace along where the firm cut lines of his abs formerly were. gently pinching and filling your fingers with the extra skin that lies over his lower abdomen, flattening your palm over the swell there and letting it fill your palm. his breath hitches, hands twitching at his sides, itching to slide your hands off him. he yearns to step out of your grasp, but knows that’ll be too telling. so he lets you continue, let’s you have your fun.

the button of his jeans pops audibly, and it’s clear that maybe he’s gonna have to let his favorite pair go pretty soon. but that’s okay. it’s obvious how okay it is when you slide his shirt up, up, up and out of the way. when your lips finds his sternum, trailing up and down its length before moving on to his pecs. silently appreciating how they’ve swelled a bit, how the hair that scatters across his skin has seemingly spread more. you tuck your nose in, inhaling him appreciatively when you slide your fingers under the waistband of his jeans, start to shimmy the denim down.

and oh god, you’re slowly lowering yourself, letting your lips ghost over his stomach now. you’ve grown sloppier, greedier in how you lick up the salt of his skin, bite into and suck at the pliant flesh. as if a fever had overcome you.

and really, that’s not all that far fetched of an idea. it was like you were seeing him naked for the first time all over again. except he’s softer, warmer… easier to paw and play with. responsive when your hands knead at his sides, his pecs. breathless and panting when he realizes his nipples are more sensitive for some reason when you drag the pads of your thumbs over them.

he could’ve gone bright pink when you ask him to strip completely. in front of the mirror no less. but he obliges, although begrudgingly. maybe a bit more hesitantly when you roll your desk chair over in front of the floor to ceiling mirror, instructing him to sit down. but that dissolves when you settle on your knees in front of it, as if sweetening the deal.

he doesn’t expect you to be so …. eager when you finally get yours hands on him. but fuck does he look good. softened thighs spread, the perfect mix between strong and soft in front of you. his soft cock, laid oh so prettily between them, ever so full balls nestled there. you really can’t help how quickly you find yourself burying your face into him, breathing him in and mouthing at his thighs.

your hands are greedy, so very greedy in how you grab at him. his thighs, the stomach that’s started to rest on them. his pecs you reach up to paw at when you realize they’ve started to create a crease between his chest and his stomach from below.

and at first, he doesn’t believe you when you tell him he looks even better like this. that if anything, you prefer him like this. doesn’t want to hear it when you try to coax him into repeating affirmations about himself, keeps his eyes off his reflection in the mirror.

but of course, he’s a weak man. you’re sat on your knees between his spread thighs, your ass practically begging to be ogled in those jeans.

and that’s what he focuses on at first. tries not to notice how you have to tilt your head slightly when you take him in your mouth, how you have to hold his tummy when you suck him off to keep it from inhabiting how far down you can get on his length. but as the heat in his body grows, as you get sloppier with spit dribbling down your chin, he has no choice but to look down at you.

and at that point, he can’t find it in him to care about the swell of his lower abdomen. he isn’t very worried about how much more space his thighs take up on the chair when you dip one of his balls into your mouth, licking and warming and soaking them in your feverish attempt to make him feel how sexy he is to you.

but by the time he’s coming ropes onto your pretty face, he finally gives in. finally obliges you fully and admits that maybe… maybe he was still sexy as fuck. maybe he did look better, healthier with the retirement weight on him.

[ancientnames]

NOTE: this is about the most SINISTER song, not your personal favorite!

[s0lairee]

a heart's a heavy burden.

AHAHAHA 😻😻😻😻 SORRY folks mama never taught me to be normal about my interests!!!!! saw howl's moving castle in theatres a while ago and desperatelyyyy needed to draw our (ex) vamp prince!!!!

[vampzv]

Cregan Stark. I love Cregan Stark.

[lillotte17]

The Music Room

SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS‼- Do Not Read unless you have completed the Dread Wolf's Regrets quest!!!!

AN: I have not finished the game, so I don't know if this will actually be part of my canon yet, but the world is currently awful and I...needed to be making something. But as I said: I have NOT finished the game yet, so if you leave a comment (pls and thank) do NOT write anything with spoilers in it!!!

Okay, on with the show!

~

Rill finds Inquisitor Lavellan sitting at the harpsichord in the music room. All of the other rooms at the Lighthouse had seemed barren when they had first started using it as their base, and even this one had apparently been used as some sort of storage space -there was an alarming amount of cheese for some reason- but the quiet here feels different in a way that is hard to quantify. Peaceful, as opposed to desolate. The light pouring through the windows is always bright in here. Always warm. The murals on the walls were still vivid when they came. Colorful and new. The most prominent one bears the symbol of the Inquisition flanked by howling wolves.

The woman contemplating it does not look like the fearsome hero who closed a hole in the sky and stopped the southern half of the world from falling into chaos, though. She looks small. And tired. And sad.

Rill clears her throat, feeling awkward.

“So. Not trying to complain or anything, but when you asked to come here, you did say that you could help by giving us insight into Solas’ history and his way of thinking and… Well. You were pretty quiet in there while we watched those memories.”

“I know,” Aili sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry. I’m just… I knew some of it. Bits of things he told me himself. Things I figured out…afterwards. And I knew there would be more. More I didn’t know. He’s thousands of years old, so I knew that the story of his life would be more than what he had told me, but…”

“It’s a lot.” Rill hums in agreement.

“Bit of an understatement,” Aili snorts. Her gaze drifts down, and she runs her fingers over the instrument in front of her. “…I didn’t even know he played.”

“So, tell me what you do know,” Rill says, casually plopping down onto a nearby crate, “It’s probably more helpful than you think.”

“I know… I know that he hates tea.”

“Right. Noted. Probably shouldn’t offer him any of Lucanis’ coffee either, then.” Rill grins, folding her arms across her chest.

“Probably not,” Aili agrees, returning the smile faintly. “He has a sweet tooth, though. He loves books. Loves learning. And teaching, too. He was always happy to share stories about places he had been, or spirits he had talked to. He paints beautifully. And he sketches, too. He doesn’t laugh very often, but when he does, it’s…”

She trails off, her face creased with grief and faint traces of longing.

“I’m sorry.”  She says again.

Rill shakes her head at the apology but gives her a curious look afterwards.

“You said that Solas was important to you; I’m guessing you didn’t mean that you were just really good friends?”

Aili shrugs.

“I thought that we were…something.” She glances around the room again, eyes landing on the mural of the slain dragon and the mourning wolf above it. “Now I’m not sure if even that was true.”

“Is that something he would lie about?” Rill wonders, her eyebrows ticking upwards, “Because that would be some valuable insight. He doesn’t strike me as the sort to use seduction as a manipulation tactic, but he seems comfortable twisting the truth about everything else, so…”

Aili sits for a moment in silence, frowning in consideration before finally shaking her he in the negative.

“It’s… No.” She fumbles briefly. “I know that given…given everything we’ve seen, it might be hard to believe, but… He has a kind heart. Truly. He wants to do the right thing. He believes in justice, and he wants things to be fair. He wants to help people when he sees them suffering. And he blames himself when he can’t. He just…comes to the wrong conclusions, sometimes, and he struggles to ask for help when he needs it. He… There would be no reason to -no point- in lying about his feelings for me. I was already his friend, and I took his advice seriously. He had my ear and my protection. He wouldn’t get anything out of it unless his intention was to be needlessly cruel, and…he’s not like that. He isn’t.”

“Then why were you doubting that you had something?”

“It’s…complicated.” Aili sighs. “It’s about time, I think. Or at least, part of it is. He feels things deeply. Passionately. Even if you can’t tell which words he’s telling you are true, you can always tell when something matters to him. And this place… Mythal is everywhere. In every mural. In every room. Statues. Paintings. Symbols. Everything is about her. For her. Even now. Even after taking Flemeth’s power and essentially killing her himself. His love for her, whatever shape or form it might have had, has colored every aspect of his life since the beginning of the world. And compared to that…”

She taps a single key on the harpsichord, letting out a high clear note.

“Mythal is the All-Mother. The Protecter. The bright and beguiling moon. And I…I am barely a candle flame.”

“You’re the Inquisitor. The Savior of the South. People still call you the ‘Herald of Andraste.’ You disbanded the Inquisition, and still managed to bring enough people together to hold back the darkspawn hordes while I fight the gods up here in the North. I think you might be selling yourself a bit short.” Rill says with a curl of her lips, trying to be kind.

“There will always be heroes, just as there will always be despots. I’m hardly unique in that respect.” Aili replies, striking another key. “A puny mortal striking back at false gods probably reminded him of his own past. His own struggles. Maybe that was it. Maybe there’s even something about me that made him think of Mythal. I don’t know. I don’t know what he saw in me. Or thought he saw. But look around. There are a few Inquisition symbols in this room, but beyond that… There is no trace of me in this place. Nothing he held onto. Nothing he felt was worth keeping.” 

Rill frowns. Fidgeting with her hands. Itching to pull out a blade to play with, but uncertain if the move would been seen as a threat.

“Sorry.” She offers after a few moments of silence. “I try not to talk to him very often, for obvious reasons. It’s still a bit creepy, if I’m being honest. Even if I did, though, I don’t think his romantic life would be something he’d be keen to tell me about.”

“It’s not your fault,” Aili assures her with a smile that does not reach her eyes, “He wasn’t keen to tell me either.”

“The Fade’s a funny place, though,” Rill says, gesturing at their surroundings, “I’m not always sure which bits of the things we’ve found here are from Solas, and which things we brought along ourselves. Lucanis found a book he used to read as a kid. Harding says she can smell her mom’s cooking sometimes. Neve said she can hear the sea when she wakes up in the mornings. Things like that, you know?”

The Inquisitor nods.

“Not surprising, given the nature of this place and the person who built it.” Aili says. “This was a refuge. For spirits and slaves fleeing tyranny. And for Solas himself, too. It wants to be welcoming. It wants you to feel safe.”

“It was different when we got here, though.” Rill tells her. “Bit empty. Bit sad. Lonely, almost.”

“Sounds like Solas,” Aili sighs, something close to exasperated fondness.

“This room though…” Rill sits up straighter, turning her head to glance at the sunlight painting patterns on the already painted walls. “It was always like this. It may be small and tucked away, but it’s honestly one of my favorite places in the Lighthouse. It’s always a little warmer in here. The sun’s always shining through the windows. The quiet in here feels like…comfort. Like home.”

“I feel like you’re trying to lead me somewhere, but I’m not sure where it is,” Aili chuckles.

“Well, you said it yourself, didn’t you?” Rill grins back at her, “This is the only room with Inquisition symbols in it.”

Aili blinks. Makes a face.

“There are also murals of Mythal in here. Because she’s everywhere.”

It is Rill’s turn to sigh.

“Maybe she is. Maybe he couldn’t escape from her. Maybe he never will. What she did. What she made him do. What was done to her. But the library with all his memories of her is big and dark and gloomy. And the statues of her are stiff and aloof and cold. And the little room upstairs he shoved a cot into to sleep is…just depressing, really.”

 She catches the older woman’s gaze. Holds it.

“It’s called the Lighthouse, but the beacon at the top isn’t where the light is. It’s not in some huge memorial room dedicated to Mythal. It’s here. There’s a chair with your seal on it, almost waiting for you to sit and watch him play. There’s the paintings on the walls. There’s… Look, when did this become me telling you about the Dread Wolf’s heart?”

“I have no idea,” Aili laughs in earnest this time.

“Really though, this is a good room. I like to sit and read by the windows in here sometimes. The light in here always makes be think of summer afternoons. The air has a sweetness to it, too. Something flowery. Heather, maybe. Or Lavender.”

Aili starts, her eyes going wide.

“What’s wrong?” Rill asks.

“You said it smells like lavender in here?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“It’s…the soap I use. For my hair. I always have.”

“Well, there you have it!” Rill grins in triumph. “He kept your memory here. Away from his regrets. Somewhere bright and happy. Well…as happy as Solas gets, anyway. Not too bad for a candle flame, eh?”

Aili laughs again.

“Thank you, Rook.”

[gabrielisdead]

is it weird that I want to be super hairy as a transmasc, people always look at me weird for it, like they say "testosterone will make you soooo hairy, surely you don't want that!" dude I... I want to look like a fucking werewolf

[francesderwent]

I am going to tell you this because it has been huge for me.

I work in a public-facing job. sometimes people like to complain to me. sometimes people like to complain to me for a very, very long time. and for a long time, the best response I could come up with was a quick silent prayer: “help me, Jesus.” or if I wasn't completely overwhelmed in the moment, “help me to see You in this person, Jesus.”

and I did need help, and trying to see Jesus in the person in front of me was what I should have been doing. but the problem with that prayer was that it was often secretly “help me, Jesus (because this person is so incredibly annoying and wrong and I wish they would go away and I can’t take it anymore)” or “help me to see you in this person, Jesus (because I can’t at all because they’re really not acting like You)” or “help me, Jesus (because I am the victim here and You should feel sorry for me because I’m doing everything right”. and don’t get me wrong. those are honest prayers, even psalm-like in their way. but the problem becomes when I’m not really asking for help anymore. I don’t want help to bear it patiently and lovingly. I’m just looking for the correct and justified way to complain. it’s not “help me, Jesus, because everything’s awful and I’m feeling sorry for myself,” it’s really “help me, Jesus, because everything’s awful and I’m feeling sorry for myself.”

a couple weeks ago, for no reason except the grace of God, I switched strategies. now when someone is holding me hostage to their complaints, I just pray: “Jesus, I love you.” just that. there’s no hidden clause that’s bitching and moaning and secret un-Christian judgment. I muster up a tiny act of love that has nothing to do with the person in front of me; I flee from the moment I’m in that’s driving me crazy, and hide in Jesus for a split second. and paradoxically, that makes it much easier to love the person in front of me, and see Jesus in them, and make a genuine offering of my frustration.

[pagannatural]

2.17 Heart

- this episode can’t really be called underrated but it makes me insane in a special and specific way that needs airing

-Dean is cleaning their guns and geeking out about how cool werewolves are, how they haven’t seen one since they were kids, and how good it is to know how to handle the situation, and Sam is teasing him. This callback to their shared childhood is important.

-Dean asks Sam their next step the way a teacher asks their student because Sam is still learning hunting from Dean. Sam answers correctly, looking like he’s trying not to smile and looks down and then up at Dean. He looks like he’s flirting. He loves seeing Dean happy.

- Madison tells the brothers that the victim was the kind of guy to hit on everyone in a five mile radius after a few scotches, you know the type, and Sam at first smiles knowingly. But then he looks over at Dean, who’s smiling his fuck-me smile at Madison, and his face falls. “Yeah, I do, actually,” he says.

Dean’s interest in Madison (and other women in general) really bothers him in this moment.

- Dean tells Madison someone needs to stay with her in case the werewolf shows up. The moment she leaves the room Sam tells Dean “you go, I’ll stay” with this expression that seems very serious, not like he’s just wanting to be the one who spends time with the pretty woman.

They decide to settle this the old fashioned way which is rock-paper-scissors (ro-sham-bo). Another callback to their childhood. Sam wins because Dean always chooses scissors which is honestly fascinating to me— I would have guessed Dean would pick rock because it’s the solid strong masculine option and because Sam would choose paper, but of course Dean chooses the tool, the blades. Sam grasps Dean’s arm after and his hand lingers. Again, he does not seem to have done this out of any interest in Madison, it seems like he just doesn’t want to witness Dean with her.

-This is not the face of a man who likes this woman

It reminds me of how he acted around Sarah In Provenance. He has to perform liking her for Dean, but he never shows any signs of genuine interest. Madison even dumps a basket of delicates onto the table in front of him to fold and he scrunches up his face and moves to the couch.

- Sam observes that Madison is smart and independent and asks her why she was with a stalker, and she answers that it’s not like he introduced himself like Hi I’m possessive and controlling and I like to punch people. She also says he’s wanted by the police, and that she was too insecure to leave until she realized she could take control of her life.

Madison and Sam are set up as direct parallels. She ends up being a monster without even knowing and without intending any harm, which is what Sam fears. Also, the way she’s describing her ex-boyfriend sounds a lot like Dean: possessive, controlling, likes punching people, wanted by the police. I think Dean has a lot of very redeemable qualities and for the most part he treats Sam very kindly, but he is all those things. It’s also how Sam would describe John, who he got away from by taking control of his life. The difference is that Sam actually wants to be with Dean.

- Dean kills the first werewolf in this episode. The werewolf is dying in the street and Dean stands over him and watches him turn back into a scared and confused man right before he dies. Dean obviously doesn’t enjoy seeing a man lose his life, and it complicates his earlier excitement over hunting a werewolf. The grown-up version of this hunt isn’t fun any more.

- Dean can see how Sam cares about Madison because he relates to her, and the way he watches Sam is so tender and protective. When Madison hugs Sam, Dean watches them with such bittersweet understanding

and then excuses himself very obviously so that Sam and Madison can fuck. Which they do. Which is just wild.

Because Sam decides to have sex with the first woman since Jessica because 1) Dean tells him to and 2) he sees this woman as the version of himself that gets to live without becoming a monster

- when Sam knocks frantically on his door, Dean opens up, knowing right away something is wrong and reassuring Sam that they’ll find her. The way that Sam runs straight to Dean’s door when he’s scared and needs help and Dean is right there without another thought is very romantic tropey.

-Sam yells at Dean because Dean’s willing to kill Madison without question but unwilling to kill Sam no matter what he does including murder. Dean looks a little jostled to be confronted by this, but I think to him it’s just so clear that Sam is a special and specific category from the rest of humanity and creation that he doesn’t see or doesn’t care about the hypocrisy. Sam is the center of his universe and his entire system of values. Everyone on earth or in hell is either Sam or Not Sam. It’s funny because Sam is like this about Dean too, but he just accepts it.

-Dean explains the situation to Madison calmly and honestly. It’s the decent thing to do, and also the difficult thing. He’s not cold or numb to the work, but he is able to handle it and keep his head as long as it’s not about Sam.

-Madison asks Sam to be the one to kill her and Dean watches Sam struggle. He’s been watching Sam carefully and protectively this entire episode.

-She uses language so similar to the language Sam uses to beg Dean to kill him—asking for help, saying she wants it to be him who does it, “I’m asking you to save me.” She tries to hand Sam the gun.

Dean gets up at this point and stands behind Madison, his eyes on Sam as he moves, and slowly takes the gun out of her hands. This shifts the focus off Madison and solely onto the brothers for the remainder of the episode.

His eyes stay on Sam’s as he does this, and Sam is somehow looking up at Dean pleadingly. His romantic interest is begging him for help with tears in her eyes in what will be the last moments of her life and Sam is staring at Dean behind her.

The sexual relationship between Sam and Madison is explicitly compared to Dean and Sam’s relationship. It wasn’t necessary for the werewolf character to be a woman who Sam sleeps with—the very first woman that he is with since Jessica. She’s the stand-in for Sam in this case, and Sam is put in Dean’s shoes.

The brothers go into the other room and Dean assures Sam he doesn’t have to do this, that he’ll handle it. He wants to take care of Sam and spare him this, just like he has since they were children, but he can’t this time. Sam feels he has to because she asked him, and asks Dean for the gun.

It’s a very intentional choice that Sam won’t do this for Madison until he has to ask Dean, and that in the end it’s a conversation between the brothers that forms the emotional tension and climax of the episode. Dean did what Sam needed him to do by being the one to give him the choice: let me protect you from this or do it yourself. Before, the choice was more about Madison. Now it’s about Sam and Dean’s relationship.

- Sam looks back at Dean before he walks away, like a frightened child who needs help because he really doesn’t want to do this, but he knows it’s the right thing to do as a hunter. In doing this, Sam has played out the two things from Madison that he wants from Dean, that Dean can never give him— Dean will never let their relationship become physical, and he will never kill Sam.

The camera stays on Dean’s face as the gun goes off and the episode ends. Dean can’t save Sam from this, he can’t protect him from one of the responsibilities that comes with their lives as hunters. He’s terrified that he won’t be able to save Sam at all. The days when he could take care of Sam and shield him are over, and they both have to leave that part of their childhood behind. It’s not that Dean can’t save Sam in the end, because at the end of all of this their love for each other is what saves the world. It’s that their innocence can’t survive what’s coming. They have to grow up and face the realities of their lives. Their incestuous love for each other is one of those realities, but they aren’t there yet.

[palehottubchild]

my arch nemesis is the :) in ao3's you've already left kudos here message i want to kick it in its stupid noseless face its mocking me right here in my own home and I Will Not Accept It

[wildbluesorbit]

Laying in bed thinking about when Jake’s hips and tummy are visible and just slightly pour out the waist of his pants. Also when he’s wearing a short sleeve and his biceps just bulge out from the material of his shirt to say hello. Or when he looks up and you can see his Adams apple bob on that pretty neck of his. Or when he turns to the side and you get a breathtaking sight of his tensed jaw and long prominent nose. Or whEN HE BARK BARK BORK BARK RUFF