#i'm alive bitches

[bam-here]

UPDATE!!

Sorry for being MIA life and shit happens blah blah bs bs, I'm here now tho lol. I have a few requests I need to get to writing so apologies, I haven't forgot about about them. I'm sure many of you get that finding the energy to write and be creative in general takes a lot especially when you don't feel like you have any energy to begin with. I'm doing my best and happy to be back here and see all of you lovely people and your posts.

[spindrifters]

marginalia - chapter 33, a hard muscle to grow

“She’s muggle, you know.” “What?” “Grace Slick,” she says, finishing off a glass of water. “She’s muggle.” “Pull the other one.” “She is! Half the American artists are — more than that, really.” Remus just stares at her, not quite sure enough of her sense of humor yet to tell if this is a joke. She grins and sets her glass down, drawing a leg up to rest her arm on the knee. “Albright and his government would rather die than admit it, but they’ve got a nice piece of business going for themselves, keeping an eye out for talent in the American camps. Lyrics are all heavily censored, of course, but the MACUSA wouldn’t know coded language if it stared them in the face. And it does. D’you really think a pureblood could’ve written Wooden Ships? Hallelujah? The Chain?” “Hang on — Fleetwood Mac?”

[quietsounds]

Greetings,

I'd like to announce the glorious triumph (I have stopped coughing up blood and my kidneys no longer hurt) in the war against Strep Throat the Vicious and Lord Ear Infection of the Influenza Kingdom. I endured (laid on the sofa watching TV and solving sudokus) about three unbearable weeks in combat, I was courageous, incredibly so (I whined so much.) After ten torturous days in battle, my dear friend Penicillin the Brilliant came to my aid, and together we emerge victorious, dripping in the blood of the enemy (the house is a mess, I started consuming too much caffeine again, also if my muscle mass wasn't alarmingly low prior to this it definitely is now.)

[hyacinthsdiamonds]

Fuck anyone who makes jokes about a crash that literally sent a driver to hospital.

Max's crash at Silverstone is the third most severe crash we've had in F1 in the past five years (most severe being Grosjean's in Bahrain 2020, followed by Zhou's in Silverstone 2022).

Additionally, the fact he was sent to the hospital at all is significant as Silverstone has its own medical facility on the grounds. It says everything that even as a precautionary measure, Max (+ Alex & Zhou the following year) was sent to the nearest hospital instead.

Do not for a single second take a driver walking away from a severe crash for granted. Sometimes, the miracles don't happen. Sometimes, a driver doesn't walk away unscathed. You do not want to be watching when the worst-case scenario becomes a real possibility, or worse; a reality.

If the like from Lando's dad is real... I have nothing else to say, from the bottom of my heart; FUCK YOU!

[lambforester]

Ugghhh , fuck , I just realized one thing right now, only when I had already done that art.. im dumb. thumb.. thumb .. Thumb....RRR.... IM TOO LAZY TO REDRAW IT.... whatever😒.

[iamthecomet]

𝙴𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚁𝚘𝚊𝚍

Rating: E Pairing: Dewther Featuring: Blowjobs, hand jobs, a long drive. Roadhead. Word Count: 2.1k Inspired by this post from @dewinabsentia Many thanks to @miasmaghoul, @forlorn-crows and @st-danger for enabling me (like always). Banner by the amazing @forlorn-crows

On AO3 here, or under the cut.

They've been on the road for a while. Long enough that Dew has sunk into the easy monotony of highway driving. One hand on the wheel. The other arm resting in the open window. A cigarette dangling from his fingers. Ash drifting down onto the window controls. He’ll brush them away later. Before they get home and Mountain sees.

The old truck is the only car he's allowed to smoke in, so naturally he has to take full advantage. He takes a long drag. Keeps a cursory eye on the cars in front of him. They’re far enough ahead that he doesn’t really have to think about them. He hates driving near other people, because everyone else is a fucking terrible driver. They don’t pay attention. They go too slow. They tap their brakes on straight flat sections of roads. He wants to be able to relax while he drives–he doesn’t want to have to fight for his life among idiots.

Dew sinks deeper into the seat. He wishes, for the millionth time, that the old truck had cruise control. But it doesn’t. It’s an early 90s relic, with manual crank windows, and heavy doors that stick when you open them. The cloth on the bench seat is soft and warm and riddled with cigarette burns that mostly aren’t Dew’s fault.

It’s a far cry from the modernity of the other cars in Abbey possession. But this one is Dew’s favorite. It struggles to start sometimes, it guzzles gas. But the stereo is new, and loud. And it’s so sturdy Dew’s pretty sure it could survive nuclear war.

He finishes his cigarette. He grinds it out in the ashtray–because it’s old enough to have both an ashtray and a cigarette lighter.

Aether’s across the bench seat from him. Leaning up against the door. Singing along softly to the music as he looks out the window. Watching the trees flicker by. Tensing up every time someone merges onto the highway next to them a little too aggressively.

He’s had his hand on Dew’s thigh for the last twenty miles. Warm and heavy and creeping higher and higher with each exit they pass.

Dew feels free for the first time in months. Away from the Abbey. Just the two of them in an old beat up truck. Traveling a hundred miles north to pick up some artifact Imperator insists they have. Dew feels like he can breathe. No band practice. No Imperator or Copia or Mountain breathing down his neck. No Cirrus telling him to do the dishes. Or Aeon asking to practice. He loves all of them with every bit of his soul.

But Satanas did he need this drive. He’s glad it’s Aether who’s with him. Everyone else feels the need to talk when they’re in a car. To fill silence. To tell Dew every mundane thing about their day, their week, their feelings. And again, he loves them. He loves listening to them talk about literally anything. But also–there’s something about the sound of the wheels on the road, and the music and nothing else.

Aether’s hand slides higher the longer they go. Dragging up Dew’s black jeans. There’s a rip in the upper thigh–just below the pocket–and Dew almost jumps out of his skin when he feels Aether’s fingers dip into it. Just a little. The warm calloused brush of his fingers over soft sensitive skin.

Dew lets his head fall back against the headrest. He laughs to himself. “You bored or something?”

Aether shakes his head, he turns to look at Dew for what feels like the first time since they got on the highway. “Course not. I’m with you.”

“Gross,” Dew rolls his eyes, and Aether laughs at him. That big hand on his thigh squeezes and Dew makes a choked little noise as Aethers’ fingers graze over the the crotch of his jeans, the barest touch along his balls and he’s trying not to shudder.

“I’m driving,” Dew chides.

“Yeah, I know. But I’m not.”

Dew knows he’s in trouble before Aether actually does anything. It’s the weight of his hand on his leg. The glint in those violet eyes that tell Dew it is only going to get worse. And Dew knows he could stop it–he also knows he won’t. He doesn’t want to.

He’ll protest though, just a little. That’s part of the fun, after all. But it isn’t like he’s going to say no to a handjob. Driving is only taking up like 10% of his brain–the other 90 needs something to do.

Aether’s hand slides sideways, into Dew’s lap. Cupping him through his jeans. Dew hisses. His eyes flutter closed just for a second. Breath huffing out in a soft sigh that almost feels like relief.

“Eyes on the road, Dewdrop.”

“Yes, mom.” Dew says, opening his eyes. Trying and failing to regain an ounce of his composure. Aether squeezes and Dew makes a pained gurgling sound and presses his hips up into Aether’s hand.

Aether palms him, stroking and squeezing. Fingers dipping between Dew’s legs to press up against his balls. Dew can practically feel the blood leaving his brain. His pants get tighter, Aether’s squeezes get firmer. He doesn’t have the will to fight the little sighs and whimpers each stroke brings.

“Satanas, Aeth–”

“Just getting started,” Aether mutters, and Dew’s stomach swoops. Either from anticipation or concern. He doesn’t have time to voice it before Aether’s grabbing for his zipper. The rasp of it is drowned out by the music. Aether pops the button on Dew’s jeans. It takes both hands to peel away the tight fabric, and Dew doesn’t help. Just glancing down long enough to watch Aether pull his briefs down until Dew’s cock springs free.

There’s already pre beading at the tip. Aether swipes his thumb through it and Dew shudders, a full body twitch he has no hope of controlling. They’re so lucky the highway is basically deserted. Lucky it’s straight and flat and familiar.

Dew should stop him. That would be safer. He rolls his hips instead. Fucking his cock through Aether’s loose fist.

“Sit back, relax,” Aether coos. And Dew would snap at him if he had any brain cells left to do it. Instead, he listens, as best he can. Eyes on the road. Each slow stroke of Aether’s hand sending little fissures of pleasure up his spine. He tries to keep from rocking his hips up into Aether’s hand–but it’s hard.

It’s good, easy. Not enough to make him cum, but that’s what he wants. A little pleasure to break up the monotony of this drive. He relaxes back into the seat, really relaxes. Fingers loosening on the wheel, body sagging back into the seat as the haze of pleasure settles over him.

“Good?”

Dew nods, hums an affirmative. “Real good.”

Aether lets out a little chuckle, and then, Dew hears his seatbelt click. He jolts, spine going straight. Head whipping over to look at Aether just in time to watch the seatbelt retract back into the door.

“What are you–”

“You’ll see.”

Aether shifts, moves so he’s laying flat against the bench seat. Legs hanging off the edge by the door. One hand resting heavy on Dew’s thigh–the other, still teasing the sticky head of his cock.

Dew’s head spins. It takes too long for real thoughts to catch up to him. Aether drags his thumbnail over the thick vein on the underside of Dew’s cock and Dew chokes. He shakes his head like doing that will make him think more clearly.

It doesn’t work.

“Put your fucking seatbelt on, we’re on the highway,” Dew snaps, the words finally forming.

Aether hums. His breath ghosts out over the head of Dew’s cock. Dew looks down just in time to watch it kick. A blurt of pre, drools down the side. Aether catches it with his tongue.

“Guess you’d better drive careful, then.”

Dew doesn’t think any part of this constitutes driving carefully. He puts his other hand on the wheel. Ten and two. He never drives like this–but he’s pretty sure he’s going to need both hands.

To his credit–Aether starts slow. A chaste kiss to the head, before he starts to really kiss it. Dew can’t help but look down. To watch Aether make out with the head of his cock. Tongue flicking out over the slit. Tongue dragging over the head in the same motions Dew is so used to feeling against his own tongue. Languid and decadent. Aether hums happily as he laps up more pre.

“Eyes on the road, droplet,” Aether mumbles against the sensitive underside of Dew’s cock.

Dew drags his eyes up and away from the scene below him. Back to the road, which is a safer, but much less interesting option. It’s almost worse when he can’t see it. When he doesn’t anticipate Aether’s every move. Each flick of his tongue is a surprise. A new brand of raw pleasure that has his knuckles going white on the steering wheel.

Aether sucks the head into his mouth and Dew jolts. Groaning low and wrecked. Hips bucking up, sliding another inch into the wet heat of Aether’s mouth. His eyes flutter–he manages to keep them open. Mostly by clenching his jaw so hard it actually hurts. He worries, vaguely, about chipping a tooth, but it’s a fleeting thought. Chased out of his brain when Aether takes all of him at once.

Nose pressed into the soft curls at the base of Dew’s cock. Breathing steadily through his nose. Aether groans. Dew feels the vibrations in his bones. When Aether swallows, Dew can’t help but thrust up into his throat a little more. Aether chokes, just a little, just enough to make something traitorous in Dew’s stomach twist.

He wants to pull the car over. He wants to hold Aether’s head down and fuck his throat until tears spill down Aether’s face.

He almost does it when he glances over to see Aether humping the seat. To see him sneak his free hand into his pants so he can grope himself. Humping into his own palm. The sight makes Dew feel like he’s going insane. He wants free hands. He wants to slip his fingers around Aether’s throat and feel the bulge of his cock.

“Fucking gorgeous,” Dew breathes.

Aether pulls off with a gasp. A string of spit connecting his lips to Dew’s ruddy cock. “Watch the road, Dew.”

Dew would rather do anything but. But he does. Pulling his eyes away from Aether’s flushed cheeks and pleasure bright eyes.

“Gonna get you for this,” Dew breathes. Aether chuckles. Kissing the tip again, sloppy.

Aether’s only answer is a little hum before he descends again. Head bobbing in a slow indulgent rhythm. Dew grinds up into his mouth, matches his movements, falling into an easy rhythm that Dew feels like he could ride out forever.

Aether’s free hand dips a little lower. Pets his balls through the tight fabric of his jeans and Dew whimpers. Broken. Desperate. He tries to push his hips into Aether’s hand, and mouth at the same time. It doesn’t work.

”Take em out. Please,” Dew gasps. And Aether reaches into Dew’s pants and frees his balls. Dew groans in relief when he does. He glances down again, just to see Aether roll them in his hand. When he pulls off of Dew’s cock and ducks down to suck one into his mouth, Dew has to look away. He’ll blow right here and now if he has to watch Aether do this. He closes his eyes–just for a second he swears.

“Lucifer, Aether. Your fucking mouth.”

“You wanna cum in it?”

Dew nods. Head tipping back against the headrest. “Yeah. Make me.”

“I will,” Aether promises. Tongue flicking out over the sensitive underside, Dew tries and fails to control the full body twitch it causes.

“Fuck.”

“How much further?”

Dew glances at his phone, propped up on the dash, and the gps app running on it. “Forty five minutes. Make me cum in five and I’ll give you a hand job.”

Aether hums, thoughtful. Dew knows that sound though–it’s the one Aether makes when he made up his mind a long time ago. Dew’s stomach lurches.

“Aeth–”

“Shh, let me savor this. You don’t want me to get bored, do you?”

Dew groans, low and wrecked when Aether takes him all again. He slips one hand off the wheel to lace his fingers in Aether’s hair–just to feel him.

“No,” Dew agrees, voice tense. “Wouldn’t want that. Take your time.”

Aether does. It’s a long drive after all.

[jonathanbyersphd]

Anyways, if they kill Nancy I will consider that a GoT level of bad ending

[kedreeva]

Hey! So I've been following you since you posted a lot about good omens in 2019ish? I remember you talking about wing fics vividly, but I just want to ask:

How are you doing after season 2?

Good! I enjoyed season 2, and I look forward to seeing how things resolve in season 3.

I think there are a lot of folks upset about various things, for various reasons, a lot of which boil down to "the season didn't go how I wanted it to/thought it should go" or "the season didn't end wrapped up neatly like S1 did." Neither of which, imo, are fair judgments of a season that a) isn't that person's story and b) was meant to be a bridge not an ending. Everyone is entitled to their opinions, of course, and to their feelings, but I do wonder how many have taken honest assessment of those feelings and opinions.

In my opinion, it's unfair to claim a story is bad JUST because it didn't do what you wanted it to do. It's not a bad story just because characters didn't act how you predicted or wanted, either. Some of the responses I've seen hinge almost entirely on "but canon didn't do what fanon/I decided is best" usually with the caveat of "before I even saw the season" and that's... ignoble at best. It's fair to criticize poor storytelling, but I feel like you have to have the whole story, or most of it, to do that, and we don't have that. We're actually smack in the middle of the story, by my judgment.

This season was never meant to be The Whole Story, we have known for a long time that there is a season 3 planned (whether or not it's ever able to come to fruition is a separate issue, it has been planned since a long time ago). As such, I don't think it's fair at all to the story to be angry that the season didn't stop at a nice, neat, happily-ever-after, because this isn't the end of the story.

To quote one of my favorite authors, Peter S. Beagle: "Things must happen when it is time for them to happen. Quests may not simply be abandoned; prophecies may not be left to rot like unpicked fruit; unicorns may go unrescued for a very long time, but not forever. The happy ending cannot come in the middle of the story."

They cannot have a happy ending until they've fixed the problems, and even before the end scene there, problems abounded. The unicorns are still unrescued. It's still the middle of the story.

[kennyomegasweave]

"How embarrassing it is that my ring seems to be of very little value and elegance when compared to her own ring."

"Then I'm afraid it must be your duty to find a better ring to replace the one on her finger."

Kuea, get fucked, you utter egg.

Patt, I've always loved you. I understand why you're doing this. It fucking sucks and it's not fair, but I understand why.

[necroticghost]

I'm such a failure, a complete fucking failure

[luckydicekirby]

did not even making it through the first section of listening to queen of the damned before absolutely losing it. hearing a guy say with his human mouth "we will gallop into the world of 'third person'". i promise when people think about how beautiful i am that is ACCURATE. this isn't about me being the JAMES BOND OF VAMPIRES

[kickingthepirate]

me, tapping the mic on a stage: ''elizabeth swann not only was and is the confirmed primary protagonist of the pirates of the caribbean trilogy, but also is an incredible example for female characters to be flawed with complex inner conflicts while still having clear desires and goals; she's morally ambiguous yet simultaneously is a beacon of bravery and hope; in subtext representing an audience of admirers of piracy but also standing out as a believable, organic character with her own evolving relationship to what being a pirate means. She got and still gets unfairly bashed for doing nearly the same things the rest of the male cast does and is constantly demeaned and insulted in the most misogynistic and myopic, bad faith lenses. You may not like her personally, but it's important to consider that her role is factually very important and meaningful to the franchise and to many many fans who felt inspired by her, the truest of pirate kings.''

people start booing me off the stage, I start to step down. Three voices stand out in the crowd while clapping instead, silencing the ruckus made by wide-eyed self-proclaimed 'mega-fans' of the franchise.

everyone turns to see to whom the voices belong to...

gore verbinski, the director, terry rossio and ted elliot, the scriptwriters of the Pirates of the Caribbean trilogy say: ''they're right, you know.''

[matysiameow]

If my future home doesn't look like a doll house I don't want it

[lambforester]

[forest-hashira]

GUYS!!! look at this adorable chibi comm of me and my boys from @fittsythesnail!!! we're so cute i'm gonna cry about it forever 🥺😭💜

[gregoftom]

TO ME, THAT’S CINEMA