#thank you for sending me the prompt!!

[biblically-accurate-dca]

day 16: object head !

[nottsangel]

https://www.tumblr.com/rafesmuse/743661178308427776/rafe-cameron-the-type-of-boyfriend-to-keep-your?source=share

this!!! but you’re Sarah’s best friend. Rafe being a dick constantly finds a way to flash your nudes in front of her. One day she asks when you got that tattoo because she’s never seen it before. You think no one but rafe should be able to see that tattoo, when the realisation hits you turn bright red and you definitely shout at him about it later that night but he’s too busy trying to undress you to listen

link!

omg pls he’s such a fucking dickhead sdjdkdkd like that man does not give a fuck! he’d be with sarah in the house when he ‘accidentally’ drops his wallet with your nudes inside of it and acts like he doesn’t notice so she picks it up for him. “rafe you dropped your wa- what the fuck is this?” “oh whoops, im just so clumsy, aren’t i?” he’d reply sarcastically with a smug smile on his face as he snatches the wallet from sarah’s hand.

“i didn’t know you had a tattoo” sarah would later bluntly say when you’re hanging out together, completely catching you off guard. “what? i- i mean, i do, but how do you kn-“ your eyes instantly widen when the realisation eventually hits.

so later that night, you storm into rafe’s room, shouting, while he just lazily sits on his bed, scrolling on his phone. “RAFE CAMERON, I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD. why the FUCK did sarah see those pictures?!” “jesus, relax baby, it was just an accident, a’ight?” he snaps back as you now sit next to him on the bed, still glaring at him with an infuriated expression. “rafe! those are meant for your eyes only!” he’s too busy now attentively pulling the traps of your top down, not even paying attention to what you’re saying anymore. “yeah yeah, i’ll be more careful next time, got it. now, c’mere and let me make it up to you.”

[wigglebox]

We’re soarin’, flyin’! ☀️🌈

[Instagram prompt: Cas relearning how to fly again with Dean’s help]

[bixels]

Do sunset and twilight have any sort of relationship in your human au? (Your art is so SO BEAUTIFUL by the way, I have spent so much time staring at it. I love your lines and use of color).

Yes.

[triona-tribblescore]

I saw you wanted fluffy suggestions so here ya go:

Baby Mikey blabbering and Donnie responding like it’s a philosophical discussion.

Big! Sweaters! Big fluffy sweaters!

Disaster twins in the get along shirt

Raph and Leo in the get along shirt

Raph napping while Donnie happily rants to him

All boys walking together down an overgrown subway tunnel and relishing in sunlight and plants!(if ya need some background practice)

sooo uhhh, this ask may be four months old BUT! I was saving it for a rainy day and, would you look at that, its raining outside :D

some close-ups :)

[tunastime]

for the comfort prompts, draping a blanket over a sleeping body ^-^ maybe with 2 of our sweetest boys.... xisuma and doc ^-^ OR also maybe with ranchers ^-^

draping a blanket over their sleeping body (923 words) (x)

Xisuma scrubs his eyes. 

There comes a point in every shift that his body starts to give out. A point where, no matter the length of the shift, or how much he'd eaten, or slept, or drank tea, Xisuma felt his body slip away from him and the dull ache of sleep start to root and take hold behind his eyes. It's at this point where respite usually comes, in the form of Cleo or Doc walking through the door. And eventually it will be Cleo, he knows, because Doc's shift neatly aligned with his tonight. So much so he was able to actually get dinner at the same time as him, and Doc was able to kick him under the table over a cup of coffee. The jerk. 

Regardless, he could expect Cleo to wander in when she wished. Joints starting to protest weakly under the stretches he contorts his spine into, Xisuma gathers his belongings, and starts the trek down the levels toward his room.

It's a quiet walk—one he's learned to catalogue his thoughts to, to enjoy as much as the daily chatter of a morning shift beginning, or an afternoon shift ending. This early morning closure means that he'll have the good part of the day to sleep before he's on for another 48 hours. It also means that, for just a few of those hours, he might get to sleep next to his partner, after a few too many nights of just-barely's and near-misses. Xisuma sighs. For a moment, he lingers in the hall, peeking out at the rest of the station through a long, double-paned window, spanning the length of the propelled walkway. As he steps on, leans against the barrier, he watches stars flick idly past him alongside the sprawl of Prometheus. At its heart, where he was headed down to now, were the quarters. And his, along with a select few, got their own atrium view.  

The rest of the walk is similarly quiet, Xisuma's feet working on autopilot as his mind wanders from task to task, correspondence, to shipping requests, to diplomatic communique. He frowns, chewing the inside of his cheek as he waits a beat for the elevator. There had been a recent communique from the Coalition. It wasn't uncommon, but it hadn't happened in, what, two or three years now? Certainly enough time to have forgotten the last time he saw any of the crew on an official basis and certainly long enough to forget just what that little check-up meant. He holds back a particularly violent shiver. It's nothing this time—has to be. Prometheus hadn't done anything new or interesting in months, let alone enough to warrant an investigation. If the Interspace Investigation Coalition needed something from Xisuma, Admiral Void, it was going to take a very special visit and a lot of convincing. Not words on a screen.

By the time the thought passes through his mind, Xisuma is already at his front door. He shakes away the feeling crawling up the base of his spine and taps his keycard, door sliding open at his behest. 

"Doc?" he calls, as he enters. "I'm home."

The front entry is still warmly lit as he toes off his shoes and organizes his coat and bag at the front door. The living room is dark, aside from the faint glow of blue light, as are the desks they share and the kitchenette. Xisuma hums, frown deepening. He makes his way into the living room as he starts unclasping his overcoat, hands fiddling with the zipper behind him.

There, sprawled haphazardly on their small sofa, is Doc. One of his legs bends under the other, his ankle propped on the arm of the couch, socked foot hanging just over the edge. His pajamas are ruffled from moving, rucked up over one side of his ribs where his arm stretches to cover his eyes from the dim, ambient light. Xisuma stifles a snort that then catches the back of his throat. He looks comfortable. To an extent. Enough to fall asleep, at least, and enough to stay that way, even as Xisuma had called out to him and noisily shuffled in. 

X crosses his arms. He has but two options: one which requires him to deal with a sleep-disoriented, disgruntled Doc M now. The other: listening to him complain about tight muscles as he slipped into bed later that morning, seeking out the shape of Xisuma he missed. On one hand, X would get his partner's warmth and weight and grumbled words sooner. On the other... he looks so dang peaceful he'd almost feel bad disturbing him. Xisuma smiles to himself—the image alone of Doc crawling into bed next to him and letting X curl tiredly around him seems wildly comforting. A little selfish, but, really, who could blame him? 

Quietly, Xisuma shuffles over. He lifts the blanket from the back of the couch, ruffling it lightly in his hands as he sets it over Doc's sleeping form the best he can. Shrouded by the multicolored fabric, Doc seems to shrink, just a bit. Clearly cozy and comfortable, his face remains soft, sleep smoothing out the lines of stress on his face. X tucks the blanket carefully around his partner, careful not to jostle him awake as he leans down to press a kiss to his forehead. Upon drawing back, Doc doesn't seem to stir, and Xisuma hums his thanks to no one. He steps back, satisfied with his work, and shuffles off to bed.

[cursedzucchini]

Prompt/idea #6

Y'all what if when Danny's not feeling that good (is very injured/didn't eat anything/sleep deprived) he instead of fainting just... Turns into his 14 yo self.

That wasn't such a problem at the begginjng bc he was short king and well, he didn't change that much.

But now? When he's in college (basically always on the verge of fainting from exhaustion/hunger/dehydration/whatever unholy thing he consumed to stay awake and functioning) in Gotham? When he's 24, and yeah, maybe he didn't grow that much in height, but he lost the baby fat. His face didn't look so hopeful, and innocent and he gained quite few scars.

So yeah, changing into his 14yo self wasn't the greatest by itself. But add the trauma Danny has when looking at himself in the mirror, and overall being in the wrong body (thinking about what younger him didn't know, like u can add angst Abt canon stuff, like Vlad was a fucking creep, pariah dark, or add vivisection and Dani dying or whatever).

So Danny was being extra careful about taking care of himself (he thought, like a liar). And maybe that day he forgot breakfast, lost his pocket money, his card declined, he couldn't sleep because of reccuring nightmares and the only edible (that's questionable tho) thing in his bag was some somehow wrong ectoplasm he stole from some guy few weeks ago (and Danny needed to ask the him where tf did he manage to find such a disgusting ecto. Like not even his parents manage to fuck it up that badly).

So when on his way home, some fucking asshole jumped him, of course he was going to freak the fuck out.

...if knocking the guy out counts as freaking out. And showing some of his more ghostly features out (read show the asshole the indescribable horrors of balancing life and death for eternity and no time at all).

And that somehow tipped Danny over the top. So now he's sitting there, in his now way too big clothes next to the knocked out (hopefully) clown, drawing dumb pictures on his face, waiting for Jazz to pick him up and maybe help him dispose of the body.

(bonus points if the batfam saw this go down and are now so fucking confused how tf did some twink™ knocked out the fucking joker in one punch, and than transformed into a fuckibg child????? B, no, put the adoption papers down-!)

(bonus bonus points if 14 yo Danny looks exactly like 14yo Jason, and they (especially Jason) just see young Jason sitting next to dead? Joker w a crowbar, drawing dicks on his face)

(also the reason why Danny doesn't know who joker is, is bc every time someone started talking Abt joker or the clown he assumed he was something like batman, and wasn't interested in learning anything Abt anything clown themed)

[valeriianz]

Smutty fic idea prompts - 36 is just perfect for Dreamling please?

36: A rolls sleeves up/takes shirt off, revealing body hair to B. B has no idea how to act normal around A anymore.

Hob dresses up as Sexy Santa for a staff party and Dream absolutely loses his cool <3

-----------

These days, Dream finds himself as the newest addition to Johanna Constantine’s friend group. It’s quite nice of her, if not a little presumptuous, to drag him along to nearly every social outing and local music show in order to introduce him to as many people in her network as possible. The only reason they are still friends, Dream and Jo, is the small mercy of her not putting up a fuss when his social battery has been drained and he awkwardly dips out.

The best thing to come out of these adventures, at least, is meeting Hob Gadling.

Hob and Jo go way back, or so she’d announced the first time he and Dream had met. At a bar where the lights were low but Hob’s natural charisma and warm smile had radiated through anyway. They got along immediately, exchanging intellectual conversations where Hob had surprising takes and kept Dream’s interest; kept the dialogue fresh and spontaneous. Dream didn’t even need to contribute much while sharing a space with Hob, he could simply sip on his gin something-or-other and listen as Hob went on passionate rants about revolutions or human invention over the past centuries– each time they met up he’d go down a 100 years. Or complaining about how washed up Shakespeare was (an argument Dream allowed himself to fall into and they’d talked about all night, much to Johanna’s chagrin and massive eye roll, muttering a very clear “nerds” under her breath).

Chemistry aside, Dream also couldn’t deny how… effortlessly attractive Hob was.

Deep brown eyes that seemed to sparkle with barely contained mischief, chocolate dark hair with brush strokes of greys that unfairly complimented his face, and a seemingly permanent five O’clock shadow that Dream never imagined would leave him staring and daydreaming… alas, he’d discovered quite a few new things about himself around Hob.

Like how he’d imagined on more than one occasion, how easily he’d be able to lift Dream, how those broad shoulders and chest, thick biceps that even a cable knit sweater couldn’t hide– might manhandle his own body, lifting and bending him into submission. Dream ached with it; the possibilities. Was dying to kiss Hob’s plush mouth, his gaze fell to it enough, or feel the stubble of Hob’s jaw under his own palm, under his lips, along the inside of Dream’s thighs.

Hob was everything Dream was not; roguish, masculine, and unbearably kind. It was no wonder Dream had developed a crush from their very first meeting.

And maybe Hob was interested too, if you squinted. He always offered Dream a ride home, set his hand on the small of his back, his shoulder, and never seemed to stop smiling in his presence. Dream was never very good at picking up cues though– his prior relationships had been him making the first move, striking immediately at what he wanted, courting in the most by-the-book manner, before he was ultimately either rejected or caught up in a love affair that burned out before the year was up.

He didn’t want to do that with Hob. Dream held back, kept his desires at bay… because he truly enjoyed Hob’s company. It would be devastating if Hob rejected him, or worse, fell into a relationship and then realised Dream was… too much, too fast, too methodical. Dream wasn’t sure he could handle not having Hob in his life now that he’d met him. He was determined to keep him around, even if it meant remaining friends. Dream could work with that, could suffer quietly and go home after a long night of drinking or dancing and being subjected to Hob’s ever-present smile, his unwavering gaze, the warmth his body radiated, even feet apart. Could hold onto those images and sensations and close his eyes, take himself in hand, and work himself to climax in the safe darkness of his own bedroom, clenching his teeth and imagining how it might feel if it were Hob’s hands on him instead.

All of Dream’s self restraint comes crashing down about a week before Christmas, at the staff holiday party Johanna had invited him along to.

Because Hob is sitting on a large red velvet chair at the back of the venue, surrounded by cotton snow and boxed presents, wearing absolutely nothing but a Santa hat, explicitly short red and white trousers, and black boots.

It’s a mockery of what you’d see at perhaps a mall: Santa waiting to greet children and ask what they want for Christmas while his elves putter around and keep order. This is…

Obscene, is what Dream’s brain provides before it completely resets and replaces the word with animal noises.

He’d overheard Hob and Johanna talking about this, how they had a “sexy Santa” every year (because Jo’s office was mostly comprised of women who voted on it every year, vastly sweeping the competition to the point of tradition). And to save on money this year, decided to find a Santa who would do it for free, hence Jo asking Hob to do her a solid.

Dream felt heat rush through his entire body, unable to look away as Jo, Matthew, and him walked out of the foyer and into the thick of the party. Dream heard Johanna speaking, but couldn't decipher her words, his brain wiped clean by the reveal of Hob’s body, something Dream had only imagined in the safety of his own head, and kicked himself over the exclusion of hair.

So much body hair. Thick, dark hairs covered Hob’s chest like a pelt, rolling down his abs and scattered out around his soft belly. It was enough to make Dream’s mouth water, a ringing sound began in his ears, making him dizzy as he forced one foot in front of the other.

Dream had only met Hob a couple months ago, while the weather had just turned cold and they’d both only seen one another buttoned and bundled up in high necklines and long sleeves. To see Hob nearly completely nude was a shock to Dream’s system. And holy shit, Dream wanted. He had to know how those thick hairs felt between his fingers, digging them in while he sat on Hob’s lap, grinding his hips down while his own naked chest slid along Hob’s. What sounds Hob would make while Dream petted and pulled and rubbed his cock along the swell of Hob’s furred stomach.

And then Hob spotted them coming in, his smile dazzling as he stood up and waved.

Giving Dream a fantastic view of his legs, which were just as thick and strong as Dream had fantasised, and just as hairy as his top half. As well as a view of how those pants rode up enough to make Dream question if the man was wearing underwear.

Dream stumbled to the nearest restroom, locking himself in a stall and attempting to breathe and calm his erratic heart beat.

Friend, friend. Hob is your friend. Dream chanted to himself, keeping his hand out of his pants and taking deep breaths as his blood circulation regulated itself. Don’t make it weird.

Dream didn’t know how to socialise on a good day, and how with a half naked Hob in the building– shamelessly on display and humouring drunk female staff as they boldly sat on his knee– Dream felt himself shutting down entirely, spluttering and stumbling over his speech with enough velocity that he feared he'd glitch and spark out, setting the place on fire. Or at the very least, melt into a puddle of goo, the remains of his dignity soaked into the hardwood floor.

Dream tossed back drink after drink, matching Jo’s pace if only to distract his wandering thoughts, losing his jacket somewhere in the scuffle and rolling up the sleeves of his black button down.

Johanna’s laughter snapped Dream back to the present, looking down at the red solo cup in his hand and Jo standing across from him, visibly swaying on that spot. Dream doesn’t remember what he’d said to elicit such a reaction, but felt his lips curl anyway. 

“What’s so funny?”

“You, dreamboat!” Jo’s laughter simmered down to a pleasant chuckle, if not a little devious. “I thought– nah, can’t be. But holy shit, you like Hob, don’t you?”

It took several long, embarrassing seconds to figure out what Jo just asked him. Dream felt warmth spreading up his ears.

“Of course. He’s my friend–”

“Nonono–” Jo stepped into Dream’s space, landing a heavy hand on his bony shoulder. “You like him. I can tell, because you haven’t spoken to him all night.”

Dream swallowed. The alcohol was affecting his brain, sloshing it around and rendering him speechless.

Johanna smirked. “Am I wrong?”

“You’re a menace, Constantine.” Dream said, pushing her hand off him and sliding his gaze sideways to find Hob rubbing the tops of his thighs. It’d been well over an hour since they’d arrived, Dream wondered how long Hob had been sitting there, playing a role he clearly wasn’t enjoying anymore.

Jo inclined her head.

“He likes you too.”

Dream’s head snapped back to meet Jo’s eyes, searching for that tell of humour or sarcasm, and finding none.

She leaned in conspiratorially. “He told me not to tell you. Thinks your eyes are ‘dazzling’ and your hands are pretty–” she makes a face at that one. “And that your hair looks– and I quote– ‘like raven’s feathers’.”

Dream swallows, his throat suddenly dry.

“When did he tell you this?”

Jo huffs a sigh, taking a sip from her beer, her lips making a smacking sound off the bottle’s mouth.

“The night after I introduced you two.”

Dream’s heart flips over at the revelation. 

Johanna winks and shoves at Dream’s shoulder. “Now go say hi before you break his heart.”

Taking Johanna’s advice seems like a death sentence, but Dream is just drunk enough to summon courage, finishing off his drink and setting the empty cup on a random surface, before forcing his shoulders back and finally making his way towards Hob.

The smile that breaks across Hob’s face once he spots Dream is staggering, and it strikes Dream down more so than before, informed with the knowledge that Hob might like him as much as Dream does.

Dream slips his hands into the pockets of his slacks, affecting nonchalance as he finally stands before Hob.

“Hello, Hob.”

“Hey, Dream.” Hob tugs on his ear, looking up at Dream. His entire body seems to relax, even slouching a bit in the chair. “Was surprised to see you here.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I know parties aren’t really your thing.”

Dream hums, his eyes selfishly taking in their fill. This close to Hob, he can catalogue every hair, curve and freckle in greater detail, storing the information away for later.

And with Hob looking up at him, giving the illusion of superior height, an unmistakable flicker of arousal begins low in Dream’s belly. 

“I can be persuaded, from time to time.” Dream smiles, coy. The alcohol gives him a confidence boost and relaxes him further. “I apologise for not visiting you sooner.”

Hob waves it off. “I honestly didn’t expect you to. I know this is… a lot.” He gestures to himself and laughs self-deprecatingly. “I only agreed to be Sexy Santa because I owe Jo a favour.”

“It’s a fetching look on you,” Dream says, flinging himself into the deep end. He bites his bottom lip as Hob actually looks twice up at Dream, his smile falling into something like disbelief.

“O-oh. Really?” Hob laughs, but it’s small, doubtful. Dream will have to remedy that.

Dream takes a long breath, grounding himself, licking his lips before speaking what he’d wanted to say to Hob all night.

“I believe it’s my turn to ask Santa what I want for Christmas?”

The prettiest pink flush rises up Hob’s cheeks. His lips part as his eyes rove across Dream, down and up.

Despite what Johanna said, Dream feels himself shake with nerves as he tips forward, touching the top of Hob’s thigh before slowly lowering himself onto it. His eyes never leave Hob’s as he goes, silently asking for permission and receiving a nod once he’s fully seated.

Hob’s hand instantly curls around Dream’s narrow hips, holding him steady, locking him into place both upon his lap and in his gaze; wide and dark and focused.

Dream crossed one leg over the other, settling his hands on his knees, which inadvertently causes him to sway that much closer to Hob. He can feel the heat of his body, this close. Can smell something sweet and earthy, like sandalwood and pine, mixed in with something tangy that makes Dream’s mouth water. He has to hold back the urge to close the gap between them and shove his face in Hob’s chest, into the crook of his neck, under his armpit and lose his sanity. Abandon all pretence and inhale Hob like a wild animal, scent and mark him with his teeth and tongue and–

Hob swallows. Dream watches the way his Adam’s apple bobs, fascinated.

“Are you messing with me?”

Dream cocks an eyebrow. “You think me capable of jokes?”

Hob laughs, soft, wonderful. “You are. You’re the funniest person I’ve ever met.”

His thumb is pressing into Dream’s side, caressing back and forth, sending spikes of electricity through his veins and heating him up from the inside.

“No one thinks I’m funny,” Dream says matter-of-factly. 

“Well, you make me laugh,” Hob says simply, his other hand coming across Dream’s front to lace his fingers together, forming a snare around Dream that ignites something within him. “You challenge me, keep me on my toes… keep me guessing.”

Dream’s heart beats so hard against his ribs it nearly hurts. He wonders if Hob can hear it, how he makes his blood race a mile a minute. 

“I’m being very serious,” Dream takes a breath. “But if you deny me, I’ll just say I’m drunk.”

Hob laughs again, his hold around Dream tightening and nearly causing Dream’s knee to bump into Hob’s crotch.

“Are you drunk?”

Dream is very aware that they are in the middle of a party, and although the people around them seem to be paying them little attention, it would probably be inappropriate to follow the path enticing him to resituate himself on Hob’s lap to instead straddle him. To grind his barely contained semi against Hob’s flimsy excuse for shorts, while winding his arms around his shoulders and kiss him stupid.

Dream leans forward, brushing his lips along the shell of Hob’s ear and lowers his voice.

“Not enough to not know what I want.”

Hob groans, Dream can feel the vibration in his own chest as he pulls back just enough to see how his eyes have fluttered shut, swallowing again before opening his eyes and focusing on him.

“And what do you want, Dream?”

“Whatever you’ll give me,” Dream wets his lips. His hands venture up, tentatively brushing his knuckles against Hob’s bronze skin, fascinated at how snow-white his own appears against it. His fingers uncurl as he dares himself to properly touch; pushing into the soft flesh at Hob’s sides and drinking in the unmistakable sound of a choked off whine from his friend.

“I’ll take anything, Hob.”

“Holy shit–” Hob whispers, his head lolling back, exposing his throat which Dream violently refuses to latch his mouth on to.

“Okay…” Hob clears his throat, his eyes swinging over to gauge Dream again. His pupils are blown wide, hunger clear in its depths. “Okay.”

He’s looking at Dream’s mouth as he speaks again. “Meet me out back in 10 minutes?”

Dream bites back a smile and nods, his heart soaring as he climbs off Hob.

Johanna gives him a knowing look as Dream stumbles back into the crowd to find his jacket and coat, managing a wave (great, now he owed her a favour as well) before all but running out of the building to make good on his promise to Hob.

Hob makes good on his offer as well; indeed giving Dream everything he’d wanted. All night.

[corffiser]

make me choose @minthara asked: dragon age : origins vs dragon age 2 vs dragon age : inquisition

[benevolenterrancy]

hi! I'm really stuck on Carter lately, if you're still taking requests I'd love something where Carter's working on some kind of chemical experiment where he's not supposed to, and it blows up all over him and Klink.. and Hogan's there like a disappointed father

hogan can forgive questionable chemical experiments, but he draws the line at a bad lie -- carter will have some explaining to do back at the barracks! (...doubly so when lebeau sees what happened to his pot)

[demigod-of-the-agni]

Shameless Koffee with DD/Koffee with Karan ripoff, because that's what Pavitr would have wanted

Send me prompts on what should be discussed in the upcoming interviews with our guests!!

[its-storminghere]

Carcar accidental baby acquisition where Carlos ends up taking in a baby and Oscar is the one to help him out

Okay so this trope can be really hard for me because for the life of me I don’t know how they get that baby but I’m doing this for you!! Sorry it’s actually about a toddler not a baby

Okay so Lando is hosting a big family event not related to F1, maybe his wedding (you can pick your own adventure on this one) Some F1 people are there including Oscar and Carlos but it’s a big group of people. Oscar and Carlos make some small talk at a couple of points but really they’re just mingling and enjoying the afternoon.

The children in lando’s family l o v e Carlos sooo much. He’s just the ideal of what a cool race car driver should be (as opposed to Lando who is just uncle Lando who likes to play video games and play golf with the adults, sorry Lando), but even better than that he’s FUN and he plays GAMES with them and he brings his DOG!! He’s been around enough over the years that the kids are devoted to him and obviously he loves being loved and he loves family

So plot plot plot, dialogue dialogue dialogue, Oscar is chatting with Lando and Carlos is near them getting a toddler game of footie going. Of course all the moms (and some of the dads) are all gooey-eyed about how good carlos is with the kids. Truly my own ovaries are screaming as I write this

And Oscar is seeing this and internally rolling his eyes because ohhh yes isn’t Carlos just the greatest, he’s so perfect with his hair and his driving like an asshole and his sexy voice - He hears enough about that at work, and now that they’ve been running into each other on the track all of his interviews mention Carlos too. But, he thinks, whatever, I’m here to support Lando in this unspecified special event

But then!!! The few security guys Lando hired are telling everyone to get inside because apparently there’s INTRUDERS who broke in that want to cause people harm!!! (Idk man)

So in the shuffle and the chaos one of the little kids attaches herself to Carlos and won’t let go!! Because her parents always told her to stay with trustworthy adults and she trusts Carlos!! He let her play footie even though she’s younger than the other kids!!

And someone the two of them end up with Oscar smushed into a small bathroom. And they’re trying to be quiet but the little girl is scared!! And Carlos sees that and he brushes her hair off her face and hushes her. It can be like a game!! He tells her. We’ll play with Oscar. I have to hide and you have to find me! The little girl’s sniffling stops and she looks up at them. Carlos looks at Oscar like back me up here man.

What’s Oscar gonna do but go along?? So he shows her how to cover her eyes with her hands and they count to 5 very slowly together so Carlos can “hide.” When they open their eyes the little girl immediately starts giggling because look Os-cah!!! Mr. Carlos is right there!! He’s hiding behind the shower curtain!!

And Oscar and Carlos make such a big deal about her winning and they tell her how smart she is. But now the game is over and they still haven’t gotten the ok to leave. So, Oscar says it’s his turn to hide, and while Carlos and the little girl count, he crouches behind Carlos’s broad back. He’s eye level with the hair just curling down Carlos’s muscular neck.

Before he knows it the 5 seconds are up and the little one is looking for him. Carlos looks at her very seriously, points behind himself, and winks. Then he turns and dives onto Oscar, wrapping his arms around Oscar’s torso and pulling him around so the girl can see him. And as Oscar feels Carlos’s big hands holding him, he’s like. Woah. Okay. Maybe Carlos is that great

And then the little girl hides and both guys pretend they can’t find her until they get the okay to go back outside. And they bring the girl back to her parents and she immediately informs them that Mr Carlos and Mr os-cah are her new best friends forever and they all need to have a playdate right now. Oscar is looking over at Carlos and thinking, yeah, maybe the two of us do need to have a playdate

[pixiestickie]

more of bleeding Azul getting beaten up (preferably by his crush Jamil) please. Thank you ‼️‼️

omg no who wrote this ask i would never draw such a thing !!! anyway this is more of an aftermath than a beating itsef but i still hope its good enough ^_^

[incesthemes]

happy wincest wednesday!! i'm curious about what you think might happen to sam and dean's relationship in a world where they never find john in season one (eg. azazel kidnaps him to take him off the chessboard, he dies on an obscure hunt without lining up the clues well enough for s&d to follow him, etcetera). where would that major lingering question leave them? in terms of wincest, do you think john's death was necessary to "allow" them to act on their codependency, or would his absence push them together regardless?

OK please excuse any typos, i AM writing this with a cast on. anyway HAPPY WINCEST WEDNESDAY!!!!! this is such an awesome prompt, you've definitely got me thinking.

based on my understanding of seasons 1-2, john actually serves more to drive sam and dean apart than being them together, mostly in the way he serves as a symbol for sam and dean's fates, which are diametrically opposed. by pursuing john, they are pursuing the fates given to them, and those fates dictate a retelling of cain and abel: dean is supposed to kill sam, who has become a monster. it's only when they abandon john that they can avoid their destinies—which is why, in season 2, dean is successful at avoiding his fate (for the most part, starting from 2.09), but sam is not. sam, rather, is following a path he believes john would have wanted for him by continuing to hunt (he completely made this up in his head which is still so funny to me), but in reality pursuing the hunt continues to push him down the road azazel wanted for him. and this is why, during their "honeymoon" phase circa 2.10 to 2.17 (and ambiguously continued into 2.20), sam is the one driving most of the conflict, while dean takes an emotional, supportive role to reassure sam that he doesn't have to succumb to fate. dean has, in these episodes, fully abandoned his fate, while sam still clings to it and introduces doubt into dean's mind through his own self-assured convictions. and this is paralleled by dean fully abandoning his father and the duty john saddled him with, and by sam wanting to honor his father by continuing to hunt down azazel (and hunt in general).

and we see this in season 1 as well: every time john makes an appearance in some way, it furthers the plot. and the plot is sam's fate (dean's fate isn't truly introduced until season 2, and so dean exists sort of ambiguously and as a result lacks narrative agency throughout season 1; his decisions make no impact on the story and sam alone drives the plot forward). john is a symbol for azazel, functionally speaking, and azazel is a symbol for sam's fate. john is azazel is destiny. thus why sam and john are so deeply paralleled and intertwined: they all come to reflect the same thing. in this way dean is the true outsider to the conflict pertinent to the story, and he's treated as such throughout the first season. he makes his mark instead by parroting john, by becoming his mouthpiece in his absence. his own individuality is constantly pushed to the side and suppressed until 1.18 allows him to finally move forward into some semblance of personhood, which is what he needs in order to finally defy john in 1.20.

i just realized this is a lot of context and not an actual answer lmao but basically all of this to say, i don't actually think john's death was necessary for their codependency. it took root in them around 1.11, long before they actually "found" john in 1.16. and it was 1.18, an episode which had little to do with john directly, which allowed dean to break out of the mold he had forced himself into. the act of choosing each other, specifically over john (who represents fate), is what allows them to achieve codependency. the moment where they choose to exist in a codependent relationship indeed is one where john is still alive, in the season 1 finale. sam chooses dean over john, in doing so abandoning his fate, and they solidify their deeper connection. it is in fact john's death which causes sam to falter in this conviction because of his desire to honor john's memory (again by just making shit up in his head about his father. i love him), and this decision has massive ramifications throughout the rest of the season.

if, instead, they simply lost john and never found him, i think a lot of the john-generated conflict would have been avoided. and john generates a lot of conflict for someone who shows up in just a handful of episodes, because he is a symbol of destiny for both of his children, pressuring them in equal amounts but in completely different ways. without that pressure looming over their heads, i think pretty much all of the conflict in season 2 could have been avoided: sam wouldn't feel the need to keep hunting azazel despite throwing away his fate and likely wouldn't be so resistant to dean's persuasions; dean wouldn't be torn between duty to his father and duty to his brother; john's memory wouldn't have caused the problems it did in the first half of the season (especially 2.02-2.04). assuming the rest of season 1 played out roughly the same even with john's absence, it would stand to reason that they would still choose their codependency, and they would settle into some kind of fucked-up domestic bliss—probably continuing to hunt small-scale until azazel inevitably forced their hand anyway (tenacious bastard). sam giving up on his revenge quest would settle most of the enduring conflicts in season 2, and sam only doesn't do that because of john's death.

of course, this makes the assumption that abandoning john is still their active choice. i think that's a reasonable assumption to make because they had begun the process of extricating themselves from their father way, way before john ever shows up or before the end of the season where they achieve codependency. for dean this looks like rebellion, defiance against the iron grip john has around him. and for sam this looks like forgiveness, which he steadily accomplishes across season 1. by 1.20 they no longer define themselves by john but by each other, and it's a mere two episodes before they make the final plunge into each other. it has little to do with john and much more to do with themselves and their interactions, their natural conflict and their unique resolutions. giving up on finding dad seemed to already be something dean was working towards by the time john showed his face in 1.16 (he was resistant to pursuing john single-mindedly and preferred to focus on the smaller hunts, both out of deference to john and out of his own desire to save people), and sam's gradual forgiveness of john began as early as 1.08. so really it was specifically his absence that allowed them to come together, because the groundwork for their extrication began without john and it bloomed despite john. he is the axis around which they are turned, but it is the process of overcoming him which allows them to choose each other. they replace their father with their brother (and in 2.03 sam even offers to replace john very, very literally, by "filling the hole" john left behind in dean) and this replacement—literally, as their father and the man who raised them, and figuratively, as the symbol for their destinies—is the foundation of their codependency.

at the same time, this doesn't exactly look at the potential conflicts that would arise with john's absence. there would be little plot movement without him there driving them forward; they would remain stagnant, and that stagnation could disallow the blossoming of their codependency through a lack of choices and decisions. it is of course the deliberate choosing of brother over father which inevitably drives them closer—in 1.11 it's sam choosing to save dean instead of finding john; in 1.16 it's dean choosing to send john away instead of braving the world together; in 1.20 it's sam and dean both standing up to john in equal measures; in 1.21-22, it's sam choosing to let azazel escape. without john exerting pressure on them, sam and dean sit comfortably without moving, together but with a marked distance between them. which was exactly meg's plan in 1.16: they weren't moving fast enough for her liking, so she used john as bait (the three of them were mutually bait for each other, rather) to force them to make decisions.

so it's sort of a double-edged sword. they steadily come together and twist themselves around each other without john there to drive them apart, but at the same time it is john's active presence which allows them to take definitive steps toward their desired state of being (codependency). without the pressure john exerts on the narrative, their progress is slow, and they're too nervous to make those drastic leaps from step to step without some external force pitting them against each other. in that way they're a little too comfortable with each other (a lifetime together will do that for you), and they have to be unavoidably forced out of that comfort in order for them to commit to anything. john is both the driving force for their codependency and the wedge hammered between them, which sums up his narrative role so poetically if you ask me.

so like, tldr (seriously), i think if john went missing and they made the active choice to stop looking for him, they still definitely would have the potential to achieve codependency, but it might take them a much longer time to do so, especially with azazel's meddling (because he, of course, wants them to kill each other—that's their destiny after all). without something to rotate around, they risk stagnation, but it would likely be a comfortable stagnation with steady, if slow, progress toward a better, closer relationship. i wouldn't say the end product would ever be healthy though, because it's clear early on that their ideal relationship with each other is that of codependency, and so they are constantly striving for that end goal. and like, thank god for that, idk what i'd do if they were normal about each other 💦

[red-flagging]

💛 seb/lewis :-)

(kiss fic prompts!)

a little epilogue to rabbits are chasing :)

Lewis's flight lands at 8:02PM, which means that by 7:31PM, Seb is parked outside the airport arrivals door, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel and scanning the sky for approaching planes.

It's quite silly, getting here so early, but it's not as if there's much left to do at home. There's roast vegetables waiting in the oven, the cauliflower steaks that he started marinating earlier this morning chilling in the fridge. Mina and Ellie are safely ensconced in their duck coop with the heater turned on for the night. The sheets on the guest bed are freshly washed.

The car parked behind him starts up. Its headlights illuminate Seb's cabin. For a moment, he catches a glimpse of himself, harried and too-bright, in the rearview mirror. He scrubs his hands down his face. Christ. Get it together, Sebastian. He is a full 39 years old. Far too old to be getting the same jitters that he did the first time he invited a girl over at age 17, agonizing about what album to have playing when they came back to his room. Lewis is far too old for Seb to be doing all this. Lewis might not even be gay.

His phone buzzes. Seb nearly jumps out of his seat.

Lewis

just landed

getting my luggage now

hows it so freaking cold here

The inside of the car is already fogging up. When he'd asked Lewis to send dates he could come visit and Lewis had said just so you know the next few months are kind of crazy for me, Seb had expected late fall, maybe the holidays. Not the middle of slush season, when all the roads up the mountain have a 50/50 chance of being so muddy that they're undriveable.

Sebastian

I'm outside, in the blue Infiniti :)

He glances back up at himself in the mirror. The scab from where a wood chip caught the corner of his eyebrow while he was sanding the new planter box is almost healed over. His hair looks as good as it's ever going to. If Lewis asks whether he's been using conditioner, he's fucked.

It shouldn't feel like this. Seb beat Lewis to Senna's record, and Lewis still laughed at all his jokes the next season. Lewis watched Seb DNF twice in five races and still said in the media pen that he was waiting for the day Seb would be back up on the podium with him. When they inevitably auction off Lewis's Le Mans racesuit, it'll have to be with Seb's snot all over the front of it, because Lewis let Seb sob all over him and then laughed as he wiped sweat off of Seb's cheek with the sleeve. After all that – the fact that he's about to be in Seb's house for the next week shouldn't make Seb feel like he's standing in front of Lewis naked, without even the promise of a fast car or a good competition to distract Lewis from looking right at him.

His phone buzzes again.

Lewis

outside i think

Seb peers through the windscreen. Lewis – or rather, the blurry figure lugging a giant suitcase behind him that he assumes is Lewis – waves at him from the sidewalk. Seb flashes his lights at him twice.

The back door opens and Lewis's head, along with a burst of cold night air, pops in. "Hey," he says, a little breathlessly. "I don't think this is going to fit in the back."

It does, eventually, but not without a fight that involves Seb having to climb into the trunk alongside Lewis's suitcase and physically wrestle it into place while Lewis shoves from behind. They're both out of breath by the time they finally climb back in the front and slam the doors shut.

"You know, there are beds at the farm," Seb points out. "You didn't have to pack your own."

Lewis shakes his head, tugging off his gloves. His coat collar is turned up around his neck. He's wearing an an ear warmer headband, held in place by two butterfly pins. Every other bit of uncovered skin is pink, even with the heat in the car up at full blast. Lewis shoves his fingers in front of the vents and sighs with relief, closing his eyes. "Ugh, thank God," he says. He sounds exhausted. "Listen, you're lucky I fit everything into one." It sounds far less like a joke than Seb would hope. The fact that the fondness in Seb's chest still manages to outweigh the exasperation is probably a sign that Seb's beyond salvation.

"Next time I'll bring a trailer so you can fit your bathtub and toilet, too," he says, reaching for the keys. The engine purrs to life as he flicks the lights back on, then leans forward to scrub the worst of the fog off the windscreen. The thermometer on the dash says it's still 3 degrees outside. They might still be able to make it back before the slush freezes over. "Okay," he says, sitting back down and twisting around to reach for his seatbelt. "Ready to go?"

Lewis doesn't say anything. When Seb looks over, he's staring out the front window, playing with one of his rings.

"Lewis?" Seb asks.

Lewis's head jerks around. "Hm?" he says. "Oh. Yeah." He doesn't move to put on his seatbelt.

Seb frowns. Kills the engine so he can properly turn in his seat. "Lewis," he says. "Is everything –"

Lewis leans across the console and kisses him.

It's barely half a second. Seb still hasn't moved by the time Lewis sits back down on his side of the car.

"Uh," Lewis says, after a second. He clears his throat. "Sorry. I just – Shit. Sorry. The whole way over, all I could think about was – I had to get it over with before I chickened out."

He's fiddling with his rings again, but his eyes stay fixed on Seb's. His jaw is set. He still looks half-ready to bolt through the door behind him, out into the night.

"Well, you don't have to make it sound like taking your medicine, Christ," Seb says hoarsely, and drags Lewis back across the console to kiss him properly.

Lewis's lips are still cold. When Seb opens his mouth, Lewis sighs, pressing in closer with a soft sound that makes Seb want to go twenty years back in time and kick himself for not figuring out how to make Lewis make that noise sooner. His hands settle on Seb's wrists, holding him in place. Seb slides his own hands up, cradling the back of Lewis's head, to return the favor.

When he finally pulls away just far enough to catch his breath, Lewis follows him, close enough that their noses bump. His eyes are wide. This close up, Seb can see the dark circles under them more clearly.

He closes his eyes. Lewis is still there when he opens them.

"How long have you been awake?" he asks.

Lewis blinks. "What," he says. "Are you talking about."

"Sleep deprivation," Seb says. His heart is pounding hard enough that he feels it in his throat. "People start to get delirious when they're tired enough –"

"I was awake for 24 hours and I didn't kiss you at the end," Lewis interrupts, his eyes sharp and bright. "I'm not making the same mistake twice."

Seb opens his mouth and nothing comes out. He tries again. Still nothing.

"Fuck," he says, closing his eyes. "Okay. Okay." He drags himself back upright and reaches for the keys. "We can – tomorrow. But we should – you need to shower. And sleep." Lewis's hand settles on his leg. Seb rests his own on top of it; after a second, he squeezes Lewis's fingers gently. Lewis flips his hand over and laces their fingers together.

"Yeah," Lewis says. His thumb traces over Seb's knuckles. "That – tomorrow sounds good."

The slush crackles under the tires when Seb starts to move. Ahead of them, the headlights carve a path through the darkness. Lewis's hand is a solid, steady weight against his leg. "Okay," Seb says, to himself, to both of them, to no one. Lewis hums softly from his side of the car. He squeezes Seb's knee gently.

Seb closes his eyes for a second. "Okay," he says quietly. "Yeah. Let's go home."

[ginumo]

entertaining myself by drawing this little freak of nature. everyone say thank you az for the prompts