#...arguably

[mars-gallavanger]

In High School

[mayihavethisdanse]

Someone: this character is hot

Me: okay but does he suffer crushing self-loathing and despair after having his entire worldview upended by vicious irony, or is he just like, regular hot

[stealingpotatoes]

Sometimes you just need to badly draw Ophelia on things you probably weren’t meant to draw Ophelia on, like online age-guessing things and ms paint, bc she’s living in your head rent free

[zmediaoutlet]

kinktober day eighteen

Prompt: Glory hole (x)

The place was grimy and slimy and had a real funky smell, honestly, and that was just the parking lot. If that and the suspiciously blank facade wasn’t enough to put a man off, John didn’t think the interior would really phase them. Like most of these highway “adult” stores, it wasn’t so much for adults as it was for skuzzy, furtive men. A lot of truck drivers, a lot of dudes who didn’t look like they maybe did so well with the ladies in town and were trying their luck with the celluloid kind. Not a few clean cut guys, though, either, which always made John smile. Like that old joke, about how Baptists never recognize each other in the liquor store. He didn’t judge, though, much. Plenty for a man to feel lonely about, and he’d bought his share of magazines to help him through harder nights.

The glossies weren’t why he came to these places, though. Way more often than not, the proprietor tended to know something about something. Here, on a stretch of highway outside of an easy to forget town in Ohio, Martell who ran the place was also a decent small arms dealer, and his cousin ran a pawn that dealt in all sorts of silver, and both of them kept their ear to the ground and could be counted upon for decent rumors of the sort John trafficked in. John tended to stop by, anytime he and his boys were out in this part of the country. He always needed more silver bullets. The hints of sulfur were a bonus.

At the counter, Martell was helping a customer of the more normal kind, and had a line two deep of nervous guys in too-big coats; John held back. He looked at a rack of magazines: big-breasted women, big-dicked men. Not really worth all the glossy excitement of the text.

“Hey, buddy,” he heard, and turned with his eyebrows already raised. Not a lot of good came with that phrase. A man, maybe John’s age, clearly a few drinks in, smiling loopy. “You here for the ride?”

“The ride,” John said. He wondered if he was going to sock this guy one. Martell might not be happy about that.

Guy jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Don’t even gotta pay,” he said. “Marty up there covered the fee! Though tips are appreciated.” He made quotes in the air, licked his lips. “Worth a look, buddy.”

John stared as the guy weaved his way out the door, and looked at the big wooden partition. Martell had done under the table deals with him back there before; he didn’t realize it was now the entertainment section. He glanced up front, where Martell was still busy, and shrugged. Plenty of time.

The partition had been turned into a little hallway, with cheap siding and a screen. Around the corner, a pop-up room like John remembered, now with a hole cut in the door, and scribbled above it in sharpie: FREE FOR FIFTEEN MINUTES. SLIDE TIPS UNDER DOOR. 

“Never understood what was so glorious about these things,” John said, out loud, and there was a thump against the door. He grinned. “Didn’t mean to scare you. That a girl back there? Or a guy?”

Silence. Well, fair enough. Most men would probably go limp at the idea. “Guess that means I won’t get a name either, huh,” he said, and then knocked gentle against the cheap wood. “Just kiddin’. Hope you’re not trying to feed yourself like this, though. Martell better be paying you good.” No answer, again, and John did wonder. Didn’t seem like Martell’s type of business. But, then again, whether it was or not, and whoever this was or not, that wasn’t any of John’s. Beyond: “Hey, there,” he said, quieter. “Serious. You being made to? Knock one time for yes, two for no.” Silence, and he put his hand against the door. “I got a gun, and there’s those who are scared of me. I can get you out, if you need it.”

A pause, and two soft knocks. John nodded. This wasn’t really his type of thing, but the free did make him wonder. If it was the girl--or boy’s--kink, maybe. Just wanting it, and wanting it quiet and dark and easy, no strings. That, now. His gut felt warm, just thinking about it. That, he could see. “Hope it’s good,” he said, and ran his thumb against the hole. Cut smooth, and covered up in a thick layer of packing tape, so there’d be no abrading. He leaned his temple against the door, talking low. “That what you like? No one seeing? Just using you?”

A single knock, coming a little faster this time. He smiled, and pushed two fingers through the hole. “Show me,” he said, firm, and got a puff of warm moist breath before soft, puffy lips closed around his fingertips, and a slick push of hot mouth sucked him in, down to the knuckles before they were stopped by the door. A tiny moan, more felt in the vibration than even heard, and the mouth dragged back, and pushed down again, fucking itself on him. “Good,” John said, and got the tiniest scrape of teeth before there was another moan, louder this time, and a knock against the door. His dick was taking an interest, now, and he wondered--maybe--

“John-boy!” came Martell’s call, back behind the partition. “Store’s empty. Unless you’re jerkin’ off back there, come and let’s make a deal.”

“Ah,” John said, and took his fingers back. “Duty calls.” He actually was a little disappointed, but it was for the best. His fingers gleamed, in the dim light--he wanted to stick them in his mouth, just to see, but better sense prevailed and he wiped them on his hip instead. He stuck a five under the door, anyway. “You have a good night, now,” he said, and went out to get his bullets, and to hear about a very interesting potential hunt with a wraith.

When he came back to the motel, Sam was watching TV, surly, alone. “Where’s your brother?” John said, and Sam rolled his eyes--it was like at fourteen he’d decided to take it as his mission to roll his eyes as much as possible--and said, “Out, I think he said there was some girl he wanted to meet.”

John snorted. Well, Dean was responsible. “Pack up,” he said, in a tone that brooked no argument. “We’re leaving in the morning.” Sam sighed, ridiculous, and John ignored it. When Dean got back, maybe they’d have another conversation about how a kid was meant to behave.

fin.

[zmediaoutlet]

october for the latest fanfic meme you reblogged

woooo, thanks bud:

october: name the darkest or angstiest fic you have written and/or posted?

Oof. I think I’ll go for this one:

Succor, in which Dean comes and takes care of his dad.

I mean, let’s look at the first line: There were four dead girls in that pit, tonight. John’s trying not to think about it. When has that ever, ever worked.

Angst city. Dark? Hard to say. I feel like I wouldn’t count most of my fics as ‘dark,’ although the Dean/Bela fic is edging right up to that. Even here, even with John letting this happen, I don’t know if it’s dark, except inasmuch as a son is initiating sex with his dad in a clumsy attempt to make a bad day better. That’s pretty fucked. Except--is it? That’s the thing I like about this series--no one involved is monstrous, there’s no deliberate pain being caused, there’s no cruelty, except that cruelty we do to each other unintentionally. This is just a really, really screwed up family, trying its best. Angst city.

[divinedxll]

lost my place on the dash fuck my dumb baka life

[quasistartitties]

pacing around as the angel-maid works whistling alouette