#i submit to you no there is not

[thirtysixsavefiles]

For the kiss prompts: Dreamling, 22. ...in a rush of adrenaline

22 - in a rush of adrenaline (Kiss meme prompts)

“How do you have this?” Hob breathes, moving toward the last sword in the rack. It’s a dull, grimy thing, but when his hand closes around the hilt his fingers fit into the grooves worn into the leather as if he’d last held it yesterday and not centuries ago.

“The armory of the Dreaming will hold whatever you like,” Dream says, coat swirling around his legs as he comes up to inspect the sword that Hob has drawn. “Do you miss it?”

“The fighting? Nah,” Hob says immediately, although he doesn’t let go of the sword. “Blood and mud and terror — I’m well out of that. It’s just…” he trails off as he draws the sword a little out of its sheath. It shines; it’s been well cared for, here in the Dreaming.

“Yes?” Dream is watching him intently.

“It’s just —” Hob laughs, shaking his head, resheathing the sword. “It’s just something I was good at, you know?”

The corner of Dream’s mouth twitches up. “Yes,” he agrees. “I do know.” He pauses then, eyes searching the armory. It has an impressive spread, although they are mostly weapons of a type that the waking world has moved on from. Dream moves past Hob, selecting another sword and drawing it out, testing its balance with a practiced ease.

“I didn’t know you used a sword,” Hob says, curious.

“I do not,” Dream says, giving the sword an experimental flip. “But there is a swordswoman sleeping in the highlands who has trained for the blade since she was eight. And I thought that perhaps you might like to — exercise that knowledge.”

“Dream.” Hob can feel the grin pulling at his mouth. “Are you asking me to spar with you?”

Dream sniffs, but there’s an answering curve to his lips. “If you like.”

The training ground outside the castle looks pristine, and Hob is not sure that Dream hasn’t invented it on the spot. It hardly matters though, not with Dream settling into a ready position across from him. Hob sets his own footing, although it soon becomes clear that Dream is waiting for Hob to make the first move.

Very well, then. It’s not like Hob isn’t used to that.

Dream meets Hob’s blade cleanly, the sound of steel against steel ringing out over the courtyard. Dream dances backwards and then forwards again, nearly slipping underneath Hob’s guard, but old reflexes rise from the depths and Hob counters, holding him off. They trade blow for blow, circling each other underneath a high sun and Hob can feel the blood singing in his veins, the sweat collecting at his temples. He is good at this, and even if it’s been some time since he’s called upon these particular skills there is pleasure in exercising them here for low stakes, or maybe no stakes at all.

Well. Hob catches sight of Dream’s grin over a flurry of parried blows and his already labored breath catches. Maybe not no stakes.

Dream circles Hob and Hob circles Dream, blades held at the ready. Hob’s breath is labored but he doesn’t feel the exhaustion that he would were he awake, only the thrill of pushing himself against someone evenly matched. He spares a brief thought of thanks for the sleeping swordswoman, and then Dream is pressing forward again and Hob has to pay attention.

The sun hasn’t moved in the sky but Hob suspects that’s because Dream doesn’t want it to; or maybe it’s because Hob doesn’t want this to end, the push and pull between them that has found outlet here on the training ground. Dream’s blade finds an opening in Hob’s guard and cuts neatly through the seam of his shirt; Hob retaliates by slicing a button from the front of Dream’s coat. Dream’s appreciative smile as he steps back, fingers coming up to touch the damage, warms Hob all the way down to his belly and he allows himself a shaky breath before moving forward.

One strike that Dream parries easily; a second that reverberates between them, and Hob meets Dream’s gaze over their crossed blades. A third, and Dream’s grip suddenly falters, his sword dropping, and Hob presses the advantage —

Dream’s blade goes spinning away and then his hands are spread, unarmed, with Hob’s blade pressed neatly against his throat.

Dream’s throat works and Hob blinks, blood still pounding through his veins and muscles singing with exertion. He lifts his eyes to Dream’s —

And throws his own blade down, stepping forward and fisting his hands in Dream’s coat. Dream’s mouth when it meets his is just as hungry as Hob’s own, and Dream’s hands settle eagerly at his hips, pulling him closer in encouragement that Hob is all too eager to answer. The kiss deepens and Hob grows dizzy with it, but Dream is solid underneath his hands and that’s all that Hob needs, really.

Finally he draws back, although not far; Dream’s arms are still strong around him and Hob has no wish to be anywhere else except right where he is. Maybe Dream can feel that, because his lips are curved in a smile as they brush against Hob’s jaw.

“What happened?” Hob gasps as Dream noses down the line of Hob’s throat. He can’t imagine Dream had given up on purpose —

Dream’s grip tightens on Hob for a moment. “Everyone wakes up eventually,” he says, face tucked against Hob’s neck.

Hob shivers. “Hey, not me,” he promises, sliding his arms around Dream’s shoulders. “I’m already wide awake.”

Dream’s hands flex, and he doesn’t say anything, but Hob grins up into the sky as Dream pulls him close under the Dreaming sun.

[do-you-know-this-queer-character]

Do you know this queer character?

Castiel is Queer and Agender or Genderfluid, and uses varying pronouns based on presentation!

[inkskinned]

the tradwife movement is the same as it has always been - back in the kitchen, back to breeding - it just has better branding.

when i was younger, i hated pink. i was not like other girls. this is now something i'm embarrassed of - this was not me being a "girl's girl."

but it was expressing something many of us felt at the time: i literally wasn't what girlhood was supposed to be. this is a hard thing to explain, but you know when you're not performing girlhood correctly. it isn't as easy as "i liked x when girls liked y" - because there were other girls that liked x, too - but i never figured out exactly the correct way to like x, or to be interested in y.

now there is the divine feminine. this is the same rhetoric it has always been: women are biologically driven to like pink and ribbons and submitting to our husbands.

the problem is that the patriarchy found a better PR team. because yes, actually, i want every woman to have the choice to be a homemaker. i also want her taken seriously for her legitimate home-making labor. i want her to be recognized as also having a job, just unpaid. i want men to have this opportunity, too.

but it is no longer "i made this choice and I love it." instead it is a sixteen-paragraph rant about how selfish it is that my generation isn't having kids. instead it's long videos about how if you feed your children processed foods, you're going to kill them. instead it is "this is what womanhood is supposed to be. i feel bad for any other choices you're making."

the shame spiral is just prettier. it is large houses devoid of personality. it is the implication: if you don't have this, you aren't happy. the solid, everlasting assurance: women are actually supposed to be submitting. this is the default. this is the natural state of things. all other attempts inflict suffering.

but you can no longer say i'm not like other girls. you can no longer reject this image completely. you cannot find it revolting, even if you know that the underbelly is toxic and festering. sure, it is the same repackaged patriarchy. but the internet does not have shades of grey. you should support and reward other women! your disgust is actually internalized misogyny. not because you are seeing a vision of yourself the way they're trying to train you to be. not because you feel her ghost pass within an inch of your earlobe. not because your father will eventually ask you - why can't you be like her?

because they figured out how to make it beautiful: women will sell other women on this idea, and we will find the singular loophole in feminism. sure, she's shaming you in most of her videos. sure, she implies that a different life is obscene. but she just wants you to be happy! you'd be happier if you were listening!

and the whole time you're sitting there thinking: i'd actually just be happier if i had that kind of money.

[keymintt]

as i stand plainly in the shade, unseen

[solarwreathe]

happy 10th birthday to sock opera.

[stil-lindigo]

motherhood.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

[right to left]

finally finished This Wip from Ever ago and so now i ask you ever look into another dudes eyes and suddenly want to do whatever he wants

[mearchy]

Fox's reports are the most sardonic, passive aggressive reports anyone in the Senate Security Office has ever read. But they have to accept them because they are all technically by-the-book correct and unnervingly thorough, and nobody can find fault with them as hard as they try. The less caf he has had, the worse it is. He goes from "As per Coruscant Guard records..." and "As all Senate employees are aware..."

to "As one might be able to assume by means of basic observation and an approximately swamp-rat level of intelligence-" and "To elaborate on that, as one is required by Report Administration Regulation Clause 365:1a to do, despite a statistically proven decline in reading comprehension among government employees-*"

My man is hitting the keys one by one so hard his keypad breaks. He's got reflexive tears of manic rage in his eyes. He's imbuing his incident reports with so much hysteria the next Jedi who comes into contact with them gets a headache. Free him

*he has a source for this, by the way. Fox includes citations in his reports like a maniac. Like Cody. This is because if he has to countenance one more follow-up email than is necessary he will brain himself against the desk. He will commit lobotomy by pencil. Just you try and fucking stop him, Thorn.

[pinkiepig]

Ive been obsessing over this closed species called snugzi that sunny and Jack introduced me to and I’m just running head first into them have sum art and some oc stuff

[cheekinpermission]

"Riddle dressed like Heather Chandler with signature croquet mallet from the cover picture." - idk which of my identities thought about it

Like this?

[incognitopolls]

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

[demonboyhalo]

and ik discovering the fanfic sex pollen effect of the sephora spider sex cream must've been traumatizing but this is much funnier than the lemonade that just kills you

[samstrifee]

kept this on a tab in the corner of my laptop for the entirety of finals week

[dear-ao3]

[asajaley]

Tenmas!!