wordsyoucantaste

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MY FAVOURITE trope is the 

“leave all your weapons” *takes out far more weapons than expected (or logically able to carry)*

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Fandom: Star Wars (Prequels)

Pairing: None

Notes: this is for an au in which Dooku never leaves the Jedi Order and, for some self indulgent reason, Masters choose padawans at a much earlier age. In this au (and another au I'm working on) Siri Tachi becomes Dooku's third padawan. It started as a crack fic idea, but man oh man Dooku and Siri as a Master Padawan duo is just amazing the more I think about it.

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It only took Qui Gon six weeks to break Dooku.

"It comes from a need to protect them." Dooku did his best to keep his tone formal, detached almost, as if it were just a simple fact and not an observation. He was shielding himself. As if he was the one who needed protection from her.

"Then tell me..." Qui Gon shifted, folding his arms and cocking his head to one side. He let the pause linger, straightening again and turning slightly towards Dooku. "Who is it you'd entrust to protect her?" A knowing smile began to tug on his lips as realization spread across Dooku's face, jaw loosening in the sudden moment.

Dooku, once more, began to crack.

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I know adverbs are Controversial, but “said softly” means something different than “whispered” and this is the hill I will die on.

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Me, trying to explain my obsession with southern gothic and weird alt country: look I don’t know why, but if a song is acoustic, in a minor key, and about murder, god, or america, i just go absolutely batshit

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A snippet of one of my first fics ever written for DC in which I made Bruce casually too soft and Damian too cute sorry (not really)

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All three Harpers give off dumbass bisexual energy and you can’t argue that

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Tim: Love is dead and never existed. All you did was betray me as I lay sick and festering. You are the definition of dread.

Steph: Are you okay?

Tim: Damian stole my fuckign garlic bread

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Some of you have never shipped a rare pair and it shows.

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the fact that the Russian language doesn’t have articles makes me go ??????????????? because in a native English speaker’s head it sounds like a hilarious shitpost type thing

 so when you ask someone “Где водка?” it translates to “where is the vodka?”

 but in my horrible backwards english brain if I don’t see any articles I assume they aren’t there, so yelling “ГДЕ ВОДКА” translates to “WHERE VODKA” like some kind of drunken maniac who you definitely should not give vodka to

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dick grayson: sir, that is my emotional support ginger

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Fandom: DC Comics

Pairing: Jon Kent/Damian Wayne

Notes: apparently I write a lot of JonDami. Do I have any regrets? Absolutely not. This is a bit more on the nsfw side without being explicit. They are aged up though. You've been warned.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Sunlight filters through the soft linen of his curtains, and Jon almost feels like he's back home home, at the farm, with the smell of fresh morning mist lingering in the air, a note of hay and barley lingering. But as he flutters his eyes open softly, just enough to register that it's morning, Jon realizes he's still very much in metropolis. But it doesn't matter to him, not when the sun greets him gently, the warmth that envelopes his body just barely stirring with an annoyed grunt. Damian never was one for the morning in his later years, and Jon finds he can't blame the older boy; running around on rooftops all night would make just about anyone hate waking up before noon.

Still, dark lashes kiss the top of cheekbones as Damian remain in the comforts of sleep, curled in and entangled with Jon's limbs. The heat of skin against skin has Jon nearly humming, his arm draping over Damian's torso but under his arm, hand flat against Damian's back as he softly rubs his thumb in small patterns along Damian's spine. Damian's own hand rests in the subtle curve of Jon's waist, the heat signature leaving Jon with a sense that there might be a hand print left when Damian choses to move. Jon smirks to himself, eyes still sleepy; that's not the only mark Damian will have left of Jon in the last several hours.

He can feel the subtle little bruises that Damian's teeth dared to leave behind on his neck. Can practically feel the way Damian's thumbs once dug into his hips bones, steadying and balancing as they both had grown relentless in their efforts to reach new levels of euphoria. Jon even remembers the way Damian's breath shook in his ear, the way his chose rose and fell as his eyes devoured Jon, watching him collapse and fall entirely apart underneath his partner. It was a memory, Jon realizes, that is both somehow entirely pure and yet, obscenely and pornographically sensual and he makes a mental note to not remember how Damian looked at him like that when around literally anyone else. Jon's sure his face was bright pink from just recalling it right now.

He wonders, momentarily, if Damian will laugh at him for thinking about such things. He didn't care about how many times Damian had him coming, or how good it felt to finally get that kind of relief that his own hands simply couldn't give him. No, Jon wasn't thinking about the dirty little details. He was much more interested in how their breathing had synched up in those moments. How swollen and soft their lips were as they inhaled each other's presence, how no matter how much they tried, they were constantly trying to somehow get closer and closer, as if they they wanted to meld together. How Damian's fingers shot electricity through him, sparking this addictive heat inside Jon's stomach that had him so hungry for more. How Jon's name sounded on Damian's tongue, soft, like a praise. How, when they both had finally spilled over the edge and fell into a shared blissful state, Damian's hand squeezed Jon's hand tighter, in some kind of wordless way as if to say 'I'm not letting go'.

And now, how peaceful Damian looks, vulnerable and trusting, bare body taking shelter in Jon's own shared exposure. How could Jon not reach out and push hair out of such a perfect face, watching it turn towards the warmth of his hand? How could Jon not snuggle in closer, letting Damian's thigh rest between his legs further as he pressed his chest to Damian's, kissing his shoulder softly. Jon wasn't sure what true happiness was. But he had a funny feeling that, for him, it involved exactly this.

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Fandom: DC Comics

Pairing: Jon Kent/Damian Wayne

Notes: This was written based on an AU that was used in an rp setting; Jon is an aspiring musician, and it's capeless (hence the writers block). They had only just met about a few months before this point. It was written as a sort of character study to help me figure Jon out a bit. Anyway, enjoy!

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A frustrated growl escapes his throat and his brows knit together, throwing his pen clear across the room and watching as it shatters against the wall to pieces. He’d been stuck in a hellish state of writer’s block, the once blank page now filled with scribbles of nonsensical make-shift lyrics that were crossed out furiously. Hang in there, his mother would say. Work through it, just write whatever comes to mind. Except the only hanging Jon wanted to do was hang himself from the ceiling fan of his room, working through it no longer an option because the only thing that would come to mind now was images of someone who’d plagued his thoughts way too often these days. Honestly, who the hell can write like this? All dizzy, feeling an impossible weight in the pit of his stomach that elicited such a masochistic need to wallow in the lovesick feeling that took over him in moment like this. “Fuck this...” he said, to no one but the empty confines of his own room, slamming his notebook shut, vowing to either return to the project later or burn it all in a sacrificial bonfire.  At this point, the bonfire sounded more productive.

The melody had come so easily to him. Like it was nothing really. The chords play on repeat in his head, mocking him now because for all the warmth and heart the notes had, he struggled to put the same emotions into words. Something that was almost never a problem for him. But there Jon sits, unable to express properly just how much this horribly exciting feeling had an effect on him. Unable to vent it, to allow any sort of release from the tension of what felt like an unrequited love.

Perhaps unrequited might not be the right word, Jon figures. He recalls the way green eyes would look over him once and then twice, like Damian was devouring him and spitting him back out all at once. Like all the insults and criticism were somehow subtle declarations of affection and yet... the words would still sting. Off-handed comments on his inability to shut the hell up, his simplistic behavior that was unrefined to compared to the grace of Damian Wayne. Still, Jon hopes that this behavior was no different than a bully on the playground unable to express their emotions for whatever reason. And on the one hand, the last thing Jon wanted to do was to potentially reward the idea that being an ass would get Damian somewhere. On the other hand, it was a game he liked to play far too much for personal comfort.  

Kon would tell him the chase is the best part. And Jon couldn’t agree more, thriving in the midst of the teasing and subtle torture, getting high off the tension alone. It wasn’t much, like living on fumes really. But it was enough for him, who had felt so alone for so long now. Yeah he had Kon. But Kon had his own life, and Jon, for as much as he adored his older half-brother, felt like forcing his way into that wasn’t right for him. It wouldn’t cure him of his loneliness, it would only further put it on display. He needed his own life, and he hoped that maybe that would involve Damian.

It does involve Damian. On the surface, it looked like they were just arguing for the sake of arguing. Or at least, that’s what Jon thought. Courtney had said she could practically cut the unresolved sexual tension with a knife. And they had only just met. What would anyone else say? What has anyone else said? His cheeks heated up at the mere idea of it, creeping up around his ears and causing him to shake his head like that would help.

“Seeing you frustrated is oddly satisfying.” A voice cuts out and causes Jon to lose his balance in chair, falling as the legs gave out to the sound of Damian’s laughter. “An absolute mess.” He tacks on at the end, smiling as he leans on the door frame, ankles loosely crossed. Jon scrambles to his feet, frowning deeply.

“Yeah, because having a natural reaction to someone sneaking up on and scaring the shit out of me makes me an absolute mess.” Jon cocked back. “Not everyone is made of stone like you, ya know.” He sits back in his newly upright computer chair, watching as Damian pushes off the frame. “What are you even doing here amongst the peasants, you royal ass.”

“I thought it might be interesting to see what kind of repulsively cliché life you live at home. Honestly, the whole place stinks of Martha Stewart and Pinterest, Kent.” Damian shot effortlessly, knowing he hit his mark when Jon scoffed and rolled his eyes. He stepped forward, thumbing a motion that told Jon to get out of the chair because that’s where he wanted to sit. When Jon wordlessly listened, Damian made an internal note of how easy it was to boss him around.

“Hey, a lot of this stuff belonged to my grandma and grandpa. So go easy, yeah?” Jon only half meant it. He oddly enjoyed being dragged like this. “And anyway, at least my house doesn’t look like it’s from some victorian vampire romance novel. Seriously, your Mansion On The Hill looks like Dracula’s summer getaway house.”

“That was weak, even by your standards.” It wasn’t, Jon had hit the nail on the head, maintaining accuracy within his insult that followed Damian’s own set pattern. He was keeping up. “I’d rather live in Dracula’s castle than on the set of I Love Lucy.”

“What do you want, Damian.” Jon quipped to shut the older boy up.

“I already told you. I wanted to see what humdrum life you live.” I was lonely.

“Oh.” Jon accepted the answer this time, suddenly feeling guilty for assuming Damian had ulterior motives. “Um. I mean, you’re welcome to hang out I guess?” He said, sitting down on his bed finally as Damian had successfully stolen his desk chair.

“I know I am. Your mother seemed intent on keeping me here as long as possible. Not even sundown and already offering to include me in dinner tonight.” Damian watches with extreme amusement as Jon expectedly blushed at that bit of information. “Relax, I said it was a decision you had to make. But it is comforting to know that your mommy already likes me.”

That. That right there is what had Jon in such a tizzy so often as of late. The insult and humiliation laced the subtext of undeniable attraction. Jon felt like Damian was playing with him, like a child pushing around their potatoes on the plate before eating them. “I’m getting a soda.” He blurts, getting up from his spot and not even bothering to wait for Damian or ask if he wanted anything. He needed out of the room, a place away from knowing green eyes that pried and pulled him apart from the inside out.

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Fandom: DC Comics

Pairing: Jon Kent/Damian Wayne

Notes: this is just a random bit I wrote cause the muse struck.

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"Tell me about you..." Jon heaves out clumsily as he kisses Damian's neck to the sound of the older boy's laughter.

"What do you mean, you want my zodiac now Kent?" Damian retorts smoothly, smirking fondly at the brunette who was nearly panting now from Damian's expert fingertips that make his skin tighten with shivers.

"No. I wanna..." He huffs out with a playful laugh, "Wanna know what gets under your skin." He admits honestly, sealing the words with a sincere passion behind his lips. "... What makes you hold your breath." He gives in between deep kisses, hands making a mess of Damian's hair. "What makes you come undone." Adoration drips from his tongue and it's all Damian can think of when his answer falls dumbly from this mouth.

"It's you."

[wordsyoucantaste]

Fandom: DC Comics

Pairing: Jon Kent/Damian Wayne

Notes: Random something because I'm such a sucker for these two

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"Jon" Damian lets out softly, the velvet of his voice enough to get the younger to open his eyes once more. He doesnt know what to say after that, not when hes met with those blue eyes that seem to have an alarming effect on him as of late. Jon nestles in more, the warmth of skin against skin making him hum pleasantly. But Damian still cant find the words. Just says Jons name over like its a praise unto the Gods, wishing he could somehow formulate a way to say what really danced on the edge of his tongue; I love you.