#lick the tins; can't help falling in love

[augment-techs]

Shy affection prompts: ”I want our kids to have your eyes.” + Javelia plssssssss

What if Amelia and Javi really, really couldn't be responsible people, despite Ollie, and Fern, and Mr. Cranston all telling them over and over again: "Your luck will run out"?

What if Amelia said something romantic in the aftermath of a long night of rolling around without a condom or any other kind of birth control, as a joke, as a thought about the future--but it turned into something like self-fulfilling prophecy?

Javi really didn't mind being the mom, being the one stuck with morning sickness, and body aches, and the birthing process, but it was a little insane how on point Amelia's announcement to the universe turned out to be...

@skyland2703

[punk-chicken-radio]

lick the tins - can't help falling in love

-ax and TOS

[doyourememberrocknrollradio]

Lick The Tins - Can't Help Falling in Love 

[covers-on-spotify]

“Can’t Help Falling in Love”

Original by Elvis Presley

Covered by Lick the Tins

[relax-and-read-on]

You all asked for it....

Primarch, and the shitty gift they ended with

Part 2

Roboute: Lie, cheat, bargain and blackmail his way into getting Perturabo's gift. He WANT fancy new heated public bath, and there is no friends or brother in that fight. Quite happy with himself.

Lion: Got Leman's gift. Imemdiately start eating it with his hands, in front of everyone. A few complain about the strong smell and he growl at them. Literally licking the tin that contained caviar.

Alpharius Omegon: Try to troll Rob by "going" for Pert's gift, but decide to go for Mortarion's one. The want the extremely invasive succulent, for... Completely innocent purpose. Yep. No tomfoolery in the plans.

Rogal: Get Roboute's Mug, and has one big "AH! This is humourous!". Will never use any other mug ever again. Is generously sharing the candies amongst family members.

Perturabo: Kinda super smug that his gift was quite beloved, but try to play it off. As such, he's in a good mood, and "pretend" that he doesn't care that he got Lion's weird taxidermy bird. Actually, he's crazy excited because he think he has a new taxon of bird. No one tell him.

Corvus: Gets Angron punching bag. It's the same size as her. Actually make a VERY comfortable firm body pillow, it will join her nest at once. No one will ever see it again.

Lorgar: After a few people tried Vulkan's hot sauce and almost died, Lorgar tried it, and declare it DELICIOUS. Him and Vulkan are now exchanging cooking tips, or possibly recipe for biological weapons, no one is sure.

Konrad: Get's Lorgar tea set. Ignore the fancy teapot and immediately start munching on the leaves, in spit of Lorgar's warning. 15min later he's high as a kite, star fishing on the carpet with a big dopey smile and giggling about bees. He's having a good time.

Sanguinius: Get Magnus color changing robes! Then has a lot of fun trying to color change his own hair to match. Someone (Horus) ask what color it turm when he's horny, and get a semi-gentle wing slap.

Vulkan: Rogal's screwdriver! Immediately start having fun with it, and is pleased to see a tool that his resistant to his size and strenght. Might try to convince Rogal to make an entire line of tool for him and his sons.

Horus: at first was also going for Pert's gift, but end up abandoning that for Fulgrim's family painting. They are having the party on his ship, in his rooms, and take the time to grind everything to a halt just so that he can hung his new favorite painting in the whole world. Rogal help him gladly.

Mortarion: See Jaghatai's foal start eating Magnus hair, and take it so it's not "corrupted by witchery". The lil animal chew on his cloak instead and fall asleep in his laps. Try hard not to cry at how much he love him.

Jaghatai: Get the edible sexy underwear, and immediately put them on (above his clothes!) Make prolonged eye contact with anyone starring, and declare that if anyone wants a taste, they can. Multiple people are tempted.

Leman: Get Ferrus rock collection, and honestly thought it was rock candy. Crunch one, and wince as it grind against his teeth. Still try a few more, because *maybe* they do have different flavors??? Surprisingly like the ammonite fossil.

Magnus: Get the Twins MLP:FiM dvd set. Way too intrigued by mysterious dvd, he will spend WAY too much time watching the show eventually, and try to decipher it's arcane meaning.

Fulgrim: Bite the bullet, and got Konrad's gift. He wants to encourage him to do more art, and he also recognise the stitching technic used as the one he thought Konrad. So. He can endure the tiny bit of skin still attached to his hair pillow.

Ferrus: Ended up with Corvus gift, the crow kigurumi. It bulge obscenely over his muscles and can't zip up much. Looks quite inappropriate, but he insist on wearing it because it's "comfy as fuck". Fulgrim is fully encouraging him.

Angron: Get Sanguinius pillow. Grumble that it's a shit gift, then actually lay his head on it to see how soft it is. Immediately asleep. The party is very quiet after that, and declared a resounding success.

In the (late!) Spirit of the holidays, I wanted everyone to have a good time, and a gift they enjoy. I wanted to post this around christmas, but hey, life got in the way! So! I hope you all had a happy celebration, filled with the people you love, and that you will all have a year 2024 better than the last.

Again, thank you all for following this silly lil blog!

I have not made made a generic hc post about the primarch in a LONG time. I miss it, and it's good for the warhammer tumblr ecosystem. So, without further waiting....

Primarch, and the absolutely shitty gifts they give each others for a White Elephants gift exchange

Roboute: A classic coffee mug (primarch sized!) Filled with sweets and a indestructible fancy fountain pen. The mug say "World Most Okay Dad" on it, and he joke that it apply to them all.

Lion: a stuffed bird. The number of eyes on it is vaguely unnerving. It's unclear wich way is the head suppose to go, and all agree that it's probably an awful mutant bird. Lion is too proud to admit that it's just a really shotty taxidermy he made himself.

Alpharius Omegon: They give a series of mysterious CD in blank case, wich is a very rare and hard to read format on most ship! It's the entire series of MLP:FiM, famous lost media in the 30th millenium.

Rogal: A thick, sturdy, and perfectly elegant multi bit screwdriver, with extra standard bits put in the handle. Give a proud presentation on it, explaining it's superior design and all it's ergonomic features. It's 45 min long.

Perturabo: it's a coupon that say "one (1) construction from me and my legion, free of complaining. Valid until the 31th millenium." It's the most popular gift of the night.

Corvus: slipper and kigurumi, all crow themed. They are *adorable*. Sadly, the size is a bit tight and vaguely indecent on the more muscular primarch.

Lorgar: a traditional colchian tea set, with hand dried craft teas! The set is beautiful, and the teas prove to be only mildly hallucinogenic.

Konrad: A very, VERY pretty embroidered set of throw pillow! They have delicate pattern of flower and nature imagery... And are made with human hair. Konrad is very proud of himself, and even more of the absolute bloody screaming his gift create when he explain it.

Sanguinius: put out by Konrad's gift, but he also made a pillow, but this one filled with his own feathers. Has surprising property against nightmare.

Vulkan: He was actually sweet, and brought homemade hot sauce, his mother's recipe! The problem is that the stuff is so strong, it's considered a dangerous chemical in most of the galaxy. Can be used as jet fuel.

Horus: Edible sexy underwear. Insist that whoever gets it has to wear it, and jokingly say that, if they are too shy, he can do a demonstration himself.

Mortarion: a succulent growing kit. Even his most dumbasses of brother should be able to keep a succulent alive, right? Doesn't mention that it's an highly invasive species that will colonise the entire ship of his poor victime.

Jaghatai: a foal. Yes, he carry a whole ass live animal to the gift exchange, and keep insisting that it's an appropriate gift. The horse is chewing on Magnus' hair.

Leman: Mad that he didn't think of bringing a puppy, but he has the most amazing looking collection of smoked salmon, caviar and preserved fish to offer.

Magnus: his patience is wearing thin, but he still offer a perfectly beautiful robe, that act as an honest to good mood ring and change color depending on the person's aura.

Fulgrim: A painting of himself! Wich is actually a joke, it's just a thin and hand painted decorative paper covering the true gift: a painting of all their family, together. Get called a try hard.

Ferrus: a collection of very pretty crystals and fossils! Wich he arranged in a chocolate box, and explain that those are his favorite flavors.

Angron: A punching bag that even *he* find durable. He made sure of it, by thoroughly testing it before giving it out, wich explain it's used appearance.

I know exactly who gets what..... Yall want to know in a part 2 ;)?

[chattering-magpie-uk]

Lick The Tins - Can't Help Falling in Love

[bogglebabbles]

What's your favorite dog breed? Your favorite cover song? Your favorite soda?

Thank you, Anon! <3 My favourite dog breed is definitely Bernese Mountain Dogs. They have a lot of potential health problems, so I wouldn’t get another one unless I was in the financial place to be able to care for them properly, but they’re so sweet and goofy, and I really love how they look. I’d wanted one since I was a kid, and after Lux, I’ve just been that much more attached to them.

Favourite cover song is a difficult one to pick aaaaaaaaaa. I really like Hozier’s short cover of ‘Lovers in a Dangerous Time’ by Bruce Cockburn and I wish he’d release a full one. Brandi Carlile’s ‘Hallelujah’ is also shiver-inducing, though, so it’s one or the other depending on the mood I’m in.

I actually very rarely drink soda, and when I do, I usually think to myself that I’d much rather be drinking something else lol. But when I lived in the States, I did like getting either the grapefruit or orange Jarritos from the local international market.

[arianod]

lick the tins - can't help falling in love (12inch version)

[canary3d-obsessed]

omg wait do you have folk playlist recs?

I could make a list...hm, I should do this on Spotify, shouldn’t I? I guess the kids don’t make mix tapes any more. 

[some hours later]

Ta da! here is Canary3d’s Folky Favorites Playlist on Spotify (link). Thanks for the ask, nonny, this was fun!

Description: Celtic, British, and related folk songs, folk rock, and rock with folk elements. Mostly from 1990s or before but with a few newer things.

I would have included Show of Hands’ version of “Flora” (aka The Lily of the West) but it’s not on Spotify. I could have included Pentangle’s version of “A Lyke Wake Dirge” but I slightly prefer the Berninger & Bird version, and it’s too depressing of a song to include twice! But if you’re obsessed with that song, check out Pentangle’s take. 

Does this list have too much Steeleye Span in it? Trick question, no such thing.

In case you don’t want to use Spotify, the full list is after the cut:

John Renbourn’s Ship of Fools: Searching for Lambs Steeleye Span: Twa Corbies Loreena McKennitt: The Old Ways (Live) Thin Lizzy: Whiskey in the Jar Solas: Song of Choice Tannahill Weavers: The Geese in the Bog De Dannann: My Irish Molly-O Roundstone Buskers: The Star of the County Down Silly Wizard: The Queen of Argyll Jethro Tull: The Witch’s Promise Pentangle: A Maid that’s Deep In Love Altan: Drowsy Maggie Fairport Convention: Tam Lin Clancy Brothers & Tommy Makem: The Wild Colonial Boy (Live at Carnegie Hall) The Chieftains & Sting: Mo Ghile Mear Loreena McKennitt: The Lady of Shalott Dropkick Murphys: Rose Tattoo Steeleye Span: Hard Times of Old England Sinead Lohan: Whatever it Takes Kate Bush: Jig of Life Lunasa: Inion Ni Scannlain Traffic: John Barleycorn Must Die Alan Cumming: Mother Glasgow (Live) Blackmore's Night: Under a Violet Moon Show of Hands: The Keys of Canterbury Michael McGoldrick: The Glens of Aherlow Lick the Tins: Can't Help Falling in Love Steeleye Span: The Blackleg Miner Silly Wizard: If I was a Blackbird Solas: The Wind That Shakes the Barley Loreena McKennit: The Bonny Swans Fairport Convention: Matty Gfoves Steeley Span: Black Jack Davy John Renbourn Group: A Maid in Bedlam Karan Casey: Ballad of Accounting Steeley Span: Lowlands of Holland Oysterband: The Early Days of a Better Nation Mediaeval Baebes: Love Me Broughte Flogging Molly: Drunken Lullabies Matt Berninger & Andrew Bird: A Lyke Wake Dirge

[herstarburststories]

Brutal (Dean Winchester x Reader)

✾ A/N: More Dean x reader content, but angst this time! Reposting because I had to edit a few things. Gif's credits on it.  Based on the song ‘from the dining table’.

✾ Summary: Unlike her boyfriend, Dean Winchester, the reader wasn’t raised as a hunter. At first, it seems like a hard but worth it job. Unfortunately, you didn't have in mind how brutal all of it could get.

✾ Words: 3k.

"YOU ARE NOT YOURSELF ANYMORE, DEAN!"

The discussion over a delicate subject at the dining table was blossoming into something bigger. (Y/N) was on her feet, shouting at her boyfriend with a shaking voice; a manner that was very uncommon. You were used to Dean being stubborn, and you were not behind him in this aspect which caused a few disagreements here and there. That certain argument, though, was definitive in every meaning of the word.

"I HAVE ALWAYS MADE IT FUCKING CLEAR WHAT THIS LIFE WAS, (Y/N)!" Dean snapped back, anger dripping from his words like venom. He was hurt. How could you say that he was becoming a cold-hearted person? You, of all people. "IF I DON'T KILL IT, IT KILLS ME! THIS ISN'T AN APPLE PIE LIFE, AND YOU KNEW IT WHEN YOU DECIDED TO STAY HERE!"

"I'M NOT TALKING ABOUT VAMPIRES OR POLTERGEISTS OR WENDIGOS, DEAN! FUCK!" Your usual efficiency with words was starting to tangle with desperation. Dean didn't even see the problem, for God's shake. How could you keep this up? "I'M TALKING ABOUT THE PEOPLE! I SAW YOU KILL FIVE POSSESSED PEOPLE TODAY!"

"DEMONS!" He groaned and slapped the table. You jumped in surprise, making him regret getting out of control and coaxing a softer, calmer tone from his mouth. "I killed demons, not people."

"The demons were possessing them, and you killed them off without any regret. You didn't even take a minute to consider other options."

"What other options?" he questioned, obviously upset. What the hell were you doing? Becoming the devil's advocate all of sudden?

"Using the demon-killing knife to stab a non-vital part of their bodies? Maybe an exorcism?"

"None of those options would end the problem permanently. Do you have any idea how many sons of a bitch came back from hell to get Sam and me? It's them or us, (Y/N). And I will always choose us." Dean was aware that you weren't raised in this life like him and Sam, but this conversation was becoming frustrating and confusing. You were training to be like them. You went to hunts with them. You... You supported him. At least, you did last time he checked. "The human is long gone when they get possessed. Dying is the best thing that could happen to them after that."

You were supposed to be an easy case that turned out to be more complicated than previously expected, what meant both of them staying a little longer in the city, you catching feelings for Dean and vice-versa. After all you had seen, you knew that normal life was a long lost memory that you didn't wish to visit, leave alone live in. Hauntings, traveling across the country, having no banal responsibilities-- that seemed like the kind of dangerous fun you had been looking for your whole life. Then, you came with them. Killing things had never bothered you-- they weren't actually alive, for starts. Until you saw how cold Dean looked when he killed off possessed people-- the humans that were still in there somehow. And he kept doing it as if it were the only option. Of course, this job and violence walked side by side, but not unnecessary lethal choices. Dean certainly shared his portion of brutality, which wasn't tiny, but you would never picture your boyfriend as uncaring. Not until you watched five bodies piled up together, burning. What about the chance that those people should have gotten?

"Are you even listening to yourself, Dean? What if Sam had thought like that when you became a demon!?" Apprehensive, you tried to make him understand what was wrong.

Dean clenched his jaw before his answer came out, "Those are two different things, (Y/N). You know that."

"I..." You flinched, taking a deep breath and letting it out. You shut your eyes before opening them with a determinate glare, locking your gaze with his green one. "I can't. I said I would stand by you through anything, but I can't let this slide. Not like this."

"Because I killed a few demons?" The older Winchester grinned wryly. He was furious, scared by the possibility of you leaving him, and injured by your words. What else could a wounded animal do besides attacking? "I survived, (Y/N). I've killed many others, and I'm not fucking sorry for it. They had it coming. You knew that was my life, and you chose it. What are you going to do now? Play the coward? It's a dirty, fucked up job, but someone has to do it, and you knew that."

Offering a sad smile, you walked towards him and lifted your hand to claim his cheek only for him to pull away from you. Your heart ached, but you needed to do that. Stick to your morals and beliefs.

"I love you." And you did, you truly did. Unfortunately, blood was as normal as water in his mouth, and you couldn't help but remain nauseous after what you tasted. "But there is a better way. Maybe not perfect, but another decision. And if you can't see that, if you can't see why I find it wrong to just rush around with the knife in every situation--" Your voice almost broke. "Goodbye, Dean."

You turned around, passing away from the man you loved before another speech stopped you.

"I bet you regret leaving your home to run away with me now."

You didn't take two seconds to reply, and you desired that he could understand how hard it was for you too. "I would never regret you."

No ray of sunshine licked Dean's face to wake him up. Fortunately for the Winchesters' disorganized sleeping routine, the bunker prevented the sun from invading the window-- a perk of living almost under the land in a bunker.

Instead of a normal reason to emerge from his rest, Dean's eyes fluttered open from an annoying migraine. Perhaps he went a little too hard on the alcohol yesterday, but that was the last thing that mattered. Besides, even if it was an abnormal sensation, he wouldn't trade it for sake of 'drinking like a normal human being', as (Y/N) had teased him so many times before.

(Y/N).

It took two seconds after recovering consciousness to think about you.

“Where are you?” he said in a whisper, playing with himself to the silent walls. Dean laughed with his own brand of self-deprecation-- a learned cruelty to dilute the tug of his emotions before the eldest Winchester had to get up. He knew exactly where you resided and why you were there. He decided against feeding his masochism for once, not glancing at your side of the bed.

To face the light fixtures above him only made his current situation more depressing, just like the hints of paint that (Y/N) had once thrown there. Dean Winchester knew pain like no other; hell, purgatory, an emptied childhood, watching his mother seal a deal with a demon, living with the fact his father had gone to hell to save him, being right in front of Sammy when he died, all the bloody deaths he’d lived through again and again-- the list would go on. He could probably drown in an ocean of his deceased loved ones’ blood and swim there for hours until he reached its edge.

Most of the time, the life of a hunter was synonymous with tragedy.

Therefore, Dean was very experienced when it came to suffering. He even shared a last name with a rifle, for God’s sake. Destruction was stained in his bones. This time, it was a different kind of torment.

His heart had been broken before, sure. He wasn’t in his early twenties, neither was he a saint. Dean was aware that a break in relationships could be devastating.

But again, this time, it was different. (Y/N) had not only broke his heart. You ripped it out and threw it in the trash as you walked out the door without looking back. His trust was in your pockets, and the beliefs clinging to the divine sensation of your touch that left with you.

Dean Winchester was hopeless. Deciding not to mourn for a bit, he closed his eyes from the melancholy. It wasn't a hard job to fall asleep once more. People in his job were always heavy-eyed.

Forty minutes passed by the clock until the Winchester roused again. This moment felt missing without you snuggling up to him or kissing his neck between foolish giggles or even pushing him out of bed when you felt like playing the prankster.

There was no valid reason to remain where he was, glaring at a stupid ceiling that held nothing but an old light you installed together and memories. The yellow and blue paints still held firm where you’d spattered them, jumping in the bed together with your hands drenched in the colors from a gouache paint container just because you’d found the tins somewhere in the bunker. You and Dean became a tangled mess of greens, dirty with paint and kissing. How many sexual encounters happened here, he thought, glaring at this ceiling that looked like three-year-old Sammy’s art project.

The green-eyed man never thought he would feel nostalgic about a stupid ceiling. He had to get out of that room.

Finally raising from the mattress, Dean yawned as he padded towards the kitchen. He didn't mind checking what time it was, knowing he needed an alcoholic getaway. The Winchester sat down, sharing a bottle of Whiskey with his shadow. How distracting it was to make his throat burn when an unpleasant thought attempted to take control of his head.

If he had dared to look through the room, Dean would have noticed the clock's arrow pointing at 10:50 am.

By noon he was already drunk, which took a lot of effort since his tolerance to drinks was a bar high set. Dean groaned, displeased. The buzzy feeling of befuddlement hitting him certainly helped, but he could still affirm that he had never felt less cool. His body was starving for something that wasn't there anymore. Dean's feelings were all over the place, and he didn't have the energy to pick them up at this point.

"I can't believe you are drinking already." Sam sighed, making himself known by Dean in the kitchen. In response, all he got was his brother holding the glass up and drinking all of its bronze liquid. "It's barely noon, Dean. You-- Wait. Are you drunk?"

"Don't start, Sam." He groaned, holding his own cheeks with fingers as his hands slid down to his chin. The gesture was a habit of Dean's when he was fed up with something.

The younger one offered him an indignant glare, which was soon replaced by empathy and sorrow as he watched Dean. His brother was broken. (Y/N) running away from them had really taken him down. Part of Sam was hurt as well-- after all, you were his friend and confidant. But, in all ruthless honesty, he couldn't speak out and point fingers at you on that. Not about the whole situation, at all.

Yet, if Sam was feeling abandoned by his friend, he could only imagine what Dean would be experiencing. You had been a hint of happiness in the middle of misery and combat for Dean. It had been so long since Sammy saw his brother like that, so very long. Suddenly, it disappeared like smoke. And the worst part was that he understood your side. Deep down, the long-haired man knew Dean did, too.

Trying to knock sense back into his brother, or at least a bit of normality, Sam spoke, "You can go out and buy some whiskey. Your bottle was the last one."

"Yeah, right." His voice was impassive, almost serious for such casual conversation. He got up, going to the table to grab Baby's keys.

"Hey, Dean..." Dean turned around to face his brother. Sam’s expression was cautious, voice soft when he continued: "If you want to talk about it, I'm here. It could help."

"I'm pretty sure you heard the screaming yesterday, Sam," Dean replied dryly, an unsettlingly wry smile surfacing. His walls were up. It was an old defense mechanism. "There is nothing to talk about. She left. The sooner we can accept it, the sooner we can move on."

"Move on? You want to move on?" he questioned suspiciously, eyebrows arching to match his inquiry.

Dean didn't answer. He only picked up the keys.

"Dean--"

"Yeah, I think we are out of eggs, too," Dean interrupted. He didn't need to talk about it. Not now. "Whiskey and eggs, got it."

Any other remarks from Sam were ignored as he walked through the door, trotting in direction of his beloved Impala. An old song on one of his cassettes was the soundtrack to his five-minute ride to the nearest store.

Dean went searching for eggs and whiskey, adding a lemon pie that smelled better than himself-- not that it was difficult considering he hadn’t showered since yesterday. The store’s cashier swiped his credit card and offered a polite farewell that was replied with a nod. Everything seemed so normal in the most boring ways.

In the parking lot, a familiar face appeared for the first time in a year. It was Thomas-- a hunter that Dean, you, and Sam had come across during a job in New Mexico.

"Winchester!" The blue-eyed man smiled, making the scar near his lips more evident. Being thrown out of a window left marks sometimes. "It's been too long, dude."

"Cavill." His lips curved into a small smile as he greeted his friend. Laying his green eyes on him, Dean couldn't avoid noticing a familiar shirt. Fuck, he must be hallucinating or thinking too hard about foolish subjects. "Where have you been?"

"Burning bones, decapitating vamps. Same old, same old." Thomas waved his hand, banalizing the supernatural routine as if it were nothing but another Sunday. For them, this was true. "I saw (Y/N) yesterday. She seemed fine. Separate hunts to take different cases?"

His blood burned through an emotional fever in realization. It felt like the boil was intense enough to melt his bones if he remained in front of the other men for too long. Thomas had never been subtle about finding you attractive, and neither was his constant flirting when your cases collided. It didn't help that you and Dean weren't together back then, even though the tension was obvious for anyone. The Winchester gripped his grocery plastic bag harder, offering him a sarcastic smirk.

"Something like that." He reached the car door and pulled out his keys. The familiar red flannel, your meeting with him-- it was so obvious it was basically written all over his face, and sadly, Dean could read it well. Fuck, he wanted to drop his purchases and punch that smile off Thomas’ face. That man probably had more of what was once his. “Gotta go. See you around.”

Sliding in the car to leave this conversation before his treacherous mind could reach more detestable conclusions, Cavill answered, "If you need help, give me a call.''

Dean mumbled something but didn't care enough to give him anything beyond a nod while the Impala finally drove away from Thomas.

At that moment, he wished a bit harder that Ellen was still alive or that another bar like hers existed. The hunters’ bar was full of people who understood that death was a part of the job. Somewhere he could swallow barrels of alcohol, play darts and tell bloody stories about his world-- about the quintessential things he did to get despair out of his system to the point that he felt comfortable on his own skin again.

So, that was it? You didn't just leave him and Sam, but you also accused him with all certainty you had of being a cold killer, and then you slept with the first man who showed up? Who was also a fucking hunter? Why the fuck didn't you tell him how you felt sooner? He wasn't an angel-- he would be even more of an arrogant asshole than he already was if that was the case, but you knew it all along. He didn't deserve anything good in his life. He should've seen it coming.

Dean pursed his lips, deciding for another ride to a normal bar. Home and all the beautiful, tragic ghosts inside could haunt him later.

It didn't take him long to park near an establishment. For once, he noticed the strong grip he held on the steering wheel, knuckles strained whiter than usual. He let out a tired sigh, glaring at the entrance of the place before grabbing his phone.

No calls from you. No text messages from you. Just the feeling of being a thirteen-year-old boy again, just like when he was waiting for Mary to send him a sign that she was all right.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Dean put it back in his pocket and made his way to the bar. No 'welcome' board light was shining yet, and he doubts anyone but he and the owner would be there. Once he got in, two guys were sitting in a table far away, and a girl was entering the bathroom. The bartender stood behind the bar, watching some game on the small television the place provided.

"Whiskey. No ice." His words came out harsher than he expected. The guy didn't seem to notice or care, simply nodding his head and turning around go get his client's order. One more time, Dean took his phone and stared at it. There was nothing but a text from Sammy that he quickly replied to, frowning in disappointment. It was rare for you to be the first one to break after a fight, but that was more than a stupid argument. You had left. You had fucking left. And he was the only one to blame.

Such a miserable routine kept its course. Dean would drink, check his phone, and hurt himself with his own thoughts. The night came with lurking shadows, and he couldn't care less. It seemed like the ghosts had replaced the bunker for his company. He didn't want to believe you would come back because hoping and being destroyed again was too much to bear with right now. Dean couldn't even breathe properly at the thought that he would never, ever see touch you, tease you, or be with you again. You had him wrapped around your finger since the very first day until you cut your hand off and left him. You left. How could you have left? But then, how could you had stayed if you had it all in your mind before?

Someone sat beside him. Still, it didn't catch the Winchester's attention until he heard her voice. For a flash of a second, he thought it was you. Dean looked up instantly, only to find himself incredulous.

The woman in front of him looked so much like you. She could easily be mistaken for your sister. Hair, eyes, voice. Everything but the lips were so similar. The unknown girl kept her gaze on Dean despite his strange reaction to her. Repeating her former words, she asked, "What are you drinking? Seems good."

Yeah, she wasn't (Y/N). You could tell what he was drinking from miles away, just because you knew exactly what he enjoyed. In addition, you’d seen his preferences so much that you’d memorized it all without even trying.

She looked like you, though. A lot. The earlier jealousy mixed with a dangerous quantity of alcohol and anguish made his decision. Move on, just like he told Sam. You didn't call him. You weren't coming back. That was your choice. He had to shut up the little hopes in his mind.

Putting up his best sultry smirk, Dean pushed the glass on the table towards her as he answered: "You tell me."

Two hours later, he was tilting his head to the side, watching the woman in his sheets peacefully taking a nap after a long run. Her hand covered most of her face, pillow carpeted with her messy hair.

"Wake up, (Y--)" Dean restrained himself from finishing that sentence. He almost said your name. It was hard enough to keep the woman's name, which he had forgotten by now, on his tongue during sex-- he wasn't going to give in at the end of it. Clearing his throat, the hunter started waking her up again. He needed to go.

In any other point of his life, he would've considered that night a success. A hot girl was sleeping beside him after he had a great amount of old whiskey. Sammy sent a text about a new case, and he had pie waiting for him in the car. At any other moment, that would be enough to put him in a good mood all day. In any other age, that would be considered a good day. No one died, he had sex and food and was about to hunt a thing and blow whatever it was up.

But you hadn't called.

It was probably a good thing in a messed up way. It was tranquil. There was no arguing, no fighting, no hurting from either side. That kind of hurt was quite similar to being comfortable, in a tremendously distorted way that he didn't wish to feel, like not putting medicine on the wound and just allowing it to heal by itself-- yet, occasionally scratching it. The idea of a comfortable silence was so overrated. Dean would rather be screamed at by (Y/N) by now than whatever this option was.

The woman woke up and left a note with her phone as she abandoned the room. Crumbling the paper, he threw it away and touched his face. A deep breath was taken.

He had work to do.

Maybe one day you'll call me

and tell me that you’re sorry too 

But you never do

[littlelonghairedoutlawllho]

Modern AU. Tinder 'verse. Christine is home from Portugal for Halloween, and she learns something she never knew before about Erik.

Decided to write a fluff fic for my birthday based on one of my favourite songs, ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ by Lick the Tins

[bpdq321]

This version screams Anne and Gilbert! 

[scarlettkat86]

Counting Sheep

**don't read if you don't want fluff/smut, recreational drug use/alcohol**

@naromoreau and @youre-my-boshaw-baby I finally finished this thing.

Liz opened the door to the Spread Eagle, immediately ambushed and bear hugged by Nick. "Goddamn, you beautiful son of a bitch. I ain't never seen anything like that before. Good to have you back in one piece kiddo, I was beginning to worry."

"Glad to be back too Nick, I could really use a stiff drink or 5." Liz groans as she takes a set at the bar.

"Hey, nice to have you back. Anything you want, on the house tonight." says Mary May.

"No need to do that, I'll have a double shot of whiskey, neat."

"I insist, after all you gave us something we never thought we'd never have again, hope."

Amber liquid filled her glass, the rich, smoky undertones working to sooth her aches and pains away. It seemed like everyone had shown up to celebrate taking down the youngest Seed brother.

Looking around, all of her friends looked so happy, and that made her smile. _Like it or not, this was the right thing to do. _

There was only one person she was hoping to see, and would be lying if she said she wasn't disappointed that he wasn't the first one to welcome her back. Loud voices carried from the back corner of the bar.

"Now i'm a gamblin man and I'll bet you a twenty and some uh, some woods porn, that you can't even hit the board Hurkie."

"When the hell did you find woods porn man!? You're on amigo. Hey everybody, watch this!" Liz watched as Hurk chugged an entire bottle of vodka, then started spinning around in circles. A small crowd had formed, rooting him on. This looked like a disaster waiting to happen. Taking another moment to watch Sharky, she smiled sadly. _I should just go drag him back to my place, let him know he's what keeps me going. Probably not gonna get any time with him tonight anyway, too many people, too much noise. _

A huff from her side brought her attention back. "Gross, are you over here eyefuckin Sharky?"

Liz nearly choked on her drink, "What?! I-I, no, the fuck Jess?"

"Hey you're the one too distracted to hear me. Still can't believe yall haven't- never mind, I'd rather not think about it."

"Not my fault your mind is in the gutter."

"Whatever. I'm shit at small talk, but I wanted to say i'm glad you're back. Those Seed fuckers have a way with gettin in your head, be glad you haven't caught Jacob's attention yet."

Liz shook her head and smiled.

Yeah I'd rather not catch any attention, yet here I am...

"Bless your heart. Careful now Jess, that almost sounded like you care. Listen, you're my best friend, but I can see you're itchin to get out of here, so go on, before I change my mind."

That makes Jess snort.

"Asshole. I ain't gotta be told twice, 'sides, I got better shit to do then watch you watch that idiot. Take care Liz, I'll see ya in the Whitetails."

She stared at the empty glass sat on the counter before her. Walking behind the bar, Liz grabs a bottle of North Fork whiskey and heads for the door.

*Sharky's POV

He'd seen her walk through the door. Damn if she wasn't the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen. Not cuz she was beautiful, she is, but cuz he'd been worried sick the last few days of radio silence. He'd been pissed that she didn't take him with her, but it was her call, Nick deserved to help her take down that fuckface more than any one of her friends. Still didn't stop his stomach from twisting in knots every night that passed without a word from them. He wants to go kiss her, hold her, tell her how much he realizes now that he's in love with her. She's got a crowd though, and it's only been a couple months since she'd shown up in his life, unsure of how she'd react to a declaration of love, so he stays rooted in place. He's drinking, placing a bet he's seriously gonna regret if he loses. Glancing over again he sees her heading out the front door. *

Standing at the river's edge just outside of Falls End, Liz felt like she could breathe again. She barely escaped the Spread Eagle, so many thank yous she lost count.

Rummaging through her bag, she was relieved to find the baggie she was searching for. "Deal with the devil ain't so bad when he leaves a little lettuce to get by on." Liz laughs at her dumbass joke.

_Really have jumped from upholding the law to breaking it, guess a little weed is nothing when you think about it. _

Lost in her own thoughts she didn't notice someone had followed her.

Walking up from behind, Sharky grabs Liz by her waist. Startled Liz grabs her knife and yelps in surprise when she realizes who it is. "Fuck, Sharky, don't sneak up on me like that! I could've killed you!!" Taken aback by the knife to his throat Sharky swallows. "Shit, not like you to not notice someone tailing you chicka. You mind uh, putting the knife away because i'm not really into that sorta thing." Putting the knife back in its holster Liz laughs and tries to slow her racing heart. Sharky looks down and presses his lips to hers, soft and sweet. She slowly breaks the kiss and sits down.

"Hell yeah, some grass and party liquor, you tryin to impress me shorty, cuz it's workin."

He laughs and rolls the joint neat, tight as he can and seals it with his tongue.

Once they've smoked the whole thing, Sharky takes her hand in his. "Ya know, i'm glad you're back in one piece, things wouldn't be the same without ya." He wants to say that's an understatement, that he don't think he would be able to go forward without her, but he just stands up and pulls her to her feet, "Now allow me to be the gentleman that I am, and escort you back to the party inside."

"You think you can just, drive me back to my place? I'd rather just have you with me for the night."

"That sounds a million times better than finding out if I still own the only woods porn in all of Hope county. "

Opening the door to her house, Liz heads for the kitchen, she pulls out a metal tin with a few blunts already packed. "Damn johnny law, you been holding out on me!" While Sharky lights one up, she mixing a couple drinks. "I've had a couple bad influences. Now pass it over."

The smoke filled her lungs, slowly turning her limbs to jelly and clearing her mind. Sharky slowly walks to her phone, picking out some music. "Boshaw, I swear I am in no mood for disco music."

"Relax Izzy, I've got something a little different picked out."

A slow sensual beat fills the room, and Sharky looks at her with a hunger in his eyes. He grabs her by the waist and starts to rock her side to side to the beat. The lyrics start and he's singing in her ear, "tonight, I've got nothing on my mind but you..." kissing her lips then down her neck,

"don't you take a bow at the last curtain call.. thinking you're nobody's nothing after all..."

Biting her lip and suppressing a moan, she slides her hands under his hoodie, slowly pulling it off. "Fuck Izzy, i'm tryin to be a gentleman here, but you're makin me hard." He says, voice hoarse and shaky.

"I know. I need you Sharks." she says with a smile, as she turns her back to his chest and grinds into him, slowly moving side to side with the music, discarding her own shirt along the way.

He takes a hold of her full hips, pressing himself against her. With one hand he follows the curve from her hips, over the softness of her stomach and the swell of her breast, finally putting a hand on her throat fingers brushing the side of her jawline. His other hands fingers sliding between her thighs. All she could feel was the heat that spread through her, a half sob of pleasure escaping her lips. It had been a year since she felt a touch not her own.

"Bedroom, now" she whispered to him, discarding her pants along the way.

Sharky pushes her to the bed suddenly and pulls her panties off. The sight of her made his mouth water. Soft dark curls in a neat strip. He blew a hot breath and she gasped. Then his tongue replaced his breath, precise swipes parting her folds and latching onto her clit. She looked down into his eyes, a silent plea to make her cum. He held eye contact and alternated between quick flicks of his tongue and circular motions, sliding a finger inside her core.

"Damn Izzy you taste so good, wanna make you cum."

She was teetering on edge already, each nerve on fire, legs tingling, and just when she thought she would finally find sweet release, he'd pull back and lick up her juices. Sliding two fingers inside easily now, he curled upwards to find her bundle of nerves, and closed his mouth around her clit and sucked. He could feel her beginning to pulse around his fingers, back arching, head flung back, "Look at me Iz, I wanna see you."

That sent her over the edge, locking eyes with him again, she felt pure bliss as she came around his fingers. Lapping up the rest of her juices he moved up her body, stopping to tease each nipple on the way, finally kissing her lips. The taste of herself on his lips sent another wave of pleasure through her body and mind. "I need to feel you Sharky, please.."

The neediness in her voice making him even harder. He unfastened his pants, pulling them off. She felt him spring free, sliding the head of his cock up and down her folds, then lines himself up with her entrance, filling her excruciatingly slow. She's already clenching around him, a perfect fit, slightly thicker than she's used to, but he feels like heaven. He can't hold back and slams in to the hilt, causing them both to moan in sync. Pulling out to thrust back in lazily again and again, Sharky is running his hands down her body, one taking place on her clit.

“I'm not gonna last long babe, fuck. You're so tight and wet." Biting her bottom lip she nods her head, "Me either, just fuck me." She wraps her legs around him, pulling him in closer as he picks up pace. They're both panting, moaning curses, as their bodies match rhythm. She can feel him twitch and knows he's close, so she slides her hand down between their bodies and takes over her clit. He pulls her leg over his shoulder changing angles, hitting that perfect bundle over and over. White hot pleasure tingles every inch of her body, and she's crying out his name like the most beautiful melody ever heard. He's not far behind, pulling out at the last possible second. He growls an almost animalistic sound, hot spurts of his cum coat her inner thigh and stomach. Sharky rolls off her, grabbing a shirt to clean up the mess, then pulls her into his arms, kissing the nape of her neck. "I love you Lizbeth." She's quiet for a minute and he's praying to whatever god, monkey jesus, whatever, that he hasn't fucked this up. Then she's looking up at him, smiling the most brilliant smile, "I love you too Sharks. Always."

[mrshiddleston-uk]

Painting Passion

A @mrshiddleston-uk and @odinsonsobsessed drabble, inspired by Dr Robert Laing and this picture -

You and Tom have just bought your first house together. It needs a lot of work but when you viewed it you both fell in love with it, excited to be able to do it up yourselves and make it your own. One day he comes home from a meeting to find you covered in paint and exhausted.

“I hate painting. Buying this house was a bad idea” You moan.

“It’s ok darling, I’m home now, let me help” Tom reassures you. He picks up a brush and starts slapping the paint on the wall immediately, as you watch cautiously.

“Don’t you think you should get changed out of your suit first?”

“Relax love, I’m not as messy as you” He winks, flicking the paintbrush at you. You gasp as grey paint splatters across your chest. You pick up the other brush and dip it in the pot, holding it towards him.

“You wouldn’t dare!” He laughs

‘Oh wouldn’t I?’ You reply, smiling smugly and flicking your wrist, covering his face with flecks of paint.

“Oh you’re gonna pay for that” Tom growls playfully. You scream as he grabs you and pins you against the wall, holding both your wrists above your head with one hand as his other pulls up your vest top. He snatched the paintbrush out your hands and scrawls a smiley face across your stomach. By now you are screaming and giggling in equal measures, as you notice that during your tussle, some paint has rubbed off you onto Tom’s suit jacket.

“Your suit!” You giggle as he releases your wrists. He glanced at it and shrugs.

“I’ll get it cleaned”

He slides the jacket off and rolls up his sleeves. While his attention is diverted, you dip the brush back into the paint pot and creep towards him. As he finally hears you and looks up, you run a line from his forehead right down his nose. Tom stops and bursts out laughing.

“I can't even take you seriously when you--" You move the bucket forwards, slapping some paint across his chest with a grin.He raises his eyebrows as he inspects the paint dripping from his shirt, then looks up at you squinting his eyes playfully.

“You’re going to pay for that”

He surges forwards before you have a chance to dodge him, and prises the tin out your hand and holds it threateningly above your head. You scream again and try to wriggle out of his grip, causing him to almost lose his hold on it. It tips to one side as it slips from his hand, covering you both. You stare at each other in shock for a moment before you start laughing,

“Look what you’ve done!” He pretends to be mad, but he can’t keep a straight face as you rest your forehead on his shoulder, laughing so hard you can barely breathe.

“Oh, you think this is funny, do you?” Tom scolds, slamming you against the freshly painted wall. Your back sticks to it and you yelp at the feeling against your skin. You compose yourself before studying his paint covered face with a snicker.

"Here, let me help you"

You drag your hands along his face, wiping the excess paint off and sliding them down his arms, covering his forearms with it. Tom glances down at his arms and back up at you as you bite your lip.

“Oh, have I made it worse?" You tease with a giggle. He shakes his head at you with a smile and you know he’s planning something. His hands which by now are also covered in paint, slide under your vest again and come to rest on your breasts, leaving grey handprints.

‘Oooops’ he smiles, smugly. You gasp as his cold, wet fingertips glide across your heated skin from running around and laughing so hard. Your giggles cease when he gives them a squeeze and you scold him,

"T-Tom that's--"

His thumbs brush against your hardened nipples and you lose your train of thought.

“That's um..." You struggle to come up with an actual sentence and all you know is you have to retaliate. He can't win.You reach down between you and gently cup him through his trousers, knowing you will leave an obvious hand mark across the crotch of his suit trousers. You look back up at Tom as he licks his lips and you feel his cock twitch at the contact. You give another gentle squeeze and his breathing hitches.

“Oh dear, Thomas. Looks like these trousers are ruined now. You should probably just take them off”

"You going to help me with that, too?" He chuckles, groaning as you slowly slide your palm upwards, dragging your hand fully across the growing bulge.

“Oh, that's just downright dirty”

His lustful gaze is making your knees weak, as is the teasing he's putting you through.

"I believe you're the one who started it”

He takes hold of the hem of your vest and pulls it up and over your head, the newly exposed skin enabling him to find a part of you that wasn’t covered in paint for him to attach his mouth to.

“I intend to finish it too” He mumbles as he starts to unbuckle his belt. Letting his trousers fall to the floor, he grips your hips and turns you, walking you backwards until you bump into the table. He lifts you up onto it and yanks your sweatpants down as you unbutton his shirt. When you reach the top, you begin to undo his tie, slipping it from his neck and dropping it down next to you. You unbutton the last button at his collar and shove the shirt down his arms. It gets stuck on his forearms from where he rolled it, so he's having to help you with the rest of it, tossing it to the side. You take the opportunity to dip your head and run your tongue along the center of his chest, looking up at him with a mischievous glint in your eyes when you came back up. Tom takes hold of your shoulders and pushes you backwards so that you are laying on the table. As you lower yourself down you knock the paint tin and it tips off the edge, what little paint was left in there spilling all over the dust sheet on the floor and splashing up Tom’s leg but he barely flinches as he leans forwards and takes the waistband of your panties between his teeth and starts to pull them down. You drop your head back and close your eyes, your hands tangling in his hair, spreading more paint through his long curls. Tom takes your panties off the rest of the way with his fingers after he's gone halfway down your thighs. He parts your legs and settles between them, carefully drawing his tongue along your slit. You buck your hips and he draws back, looking up at you with a chuckle,

"If you don't stay still darling, I'll get paint on you and I'll have to stop”

He places his hands on your hips to keep you still and circles your clit with his tongue. You grip his forearms, a moan escaping from your mouth. You find it nearly impossible to hold still, so you gently roll your hips in tune with his tongue. You squeeze his arms once he settles into that perfect rhythm as it brings you closer and closer to the edge. Tom groans against you, when you finally cum, your fingers sinking into his hair. He pulls you back up, sliding his hand around to your back as the other slides up your stomach to cup your breast again. He hold your hips and slides you forwards so you’re perched on the edge of the table, pushing into you slowly. You cling to his shoulders as the stretch of him takes your breath away and he starts to move. Slowly at first but gradually getting faster as he chases his orgasm and his breathing gets heavier, beads of sweat mixed with paint dripping down his forehead. Tom drops the side of his face against yours, moaning into your ear. You want to kiss him so bad but you've got paint all over your face and near your mouth. God, you can't wait until the two of you get to wash all of this paint off. The thought of being able to kiss him then, in the shower, made you grow impatient. Your hand slides up to his cheek to turn his head a little further so you can nibble his earlobe when you realize it was one of the only spots on his side of his face that wasn't covered in paint. You whimper his name into his ear when you're so close, you can almost feel it.

“Oh god, I’m coming” Tom moans, starting to lose his rhythm. He thrusts into you hard, his hips stutter and you feel him spilling inside you, sending you over the edge too as you gasp against each other’s necks.

You don’t move for a few moments as you both catch your breath, until finally you speak,

“I think we need a shower”

Tom hums in agreement before replying, “I think we need some more paint”