spit bucket

the signs as vintage homestuck Discourse™
  • aries: Will His Name Be Dick (ALT: dirk and jake's matching tattoos)
  • taurus: hussie is a misogynist because caliborn is a misogynist and therefore this entire comic is misogynistic
  • gemini: what if rosemary is actually a kismessitude (ALT: dirk's sexuality)
  • cancer: angry feminist bro strider
  • leo: did hussie use all $2,485,506 of the kickstarter money to buy a grand royal family white horse
  • virgo: EB: i am not a homosexual.
  • libra: dante basco liveblogging the entirety of homestuck while drinking and later becoming a fandom kingpin
  • scorpio: all those cosplayers sitting at the fancy restaurant and spitting in a bucket (ALT: fat vriska & the vriscourse)
  • sagittarius: tentabulges
  • capricorn: PEACHY!!!!!!!! (or "there's nothing wrong with having exclusively white kid headcanons, you racists!")
  • aquarius: is john homophobic for thinking it was gross when jake macked on dirk's decapitated head
  • pisces: cosplayers apparently leaving hotel bathtubs full of crusted dry grey paint and sealing their makeup with hairspray

anonymous asked:

Surely 2011 Homestuck wasn't that bad? I mean, it sounds like a gross exaggeration.

You want to hear how gross of an exaggeration it was? Because my post didn’t even do it justice.

It was March 2011 when the first semblances of Homestuck began to seep through the wood and metal of the convention circuit. The unsuspecting convention goers had absolutely no idea what they were in for as little groups of kids with grey makeup and orange candy corn horns started around the con halls. People were curious, hell I was curious, but that’s all it was. Morbid curiosity.

It was around the time [S] ==> Kanaya Return To The Core was released that people finally hitched on and started getting into it.

And dear god was it hell.

Homestuck completely invaded the convention circuit, bringing in crowds of people ages 11 to 31, and a majority of them were kids. There were meetups every month for every occasion at every place you could imagine. Homestucks started to completely take over convention halls to the point where the dealers room all but emptied out whenever a photoshoot started. Promstuck was established and became a cemented part of convention going. Gamzee’s flooded the con halls at one point after he went crazy and people tried to recreate sopor pies.

People were sitting in bathtubs trying to sharpie dye their skin grey. Karkat cosplayers were having actual literal buckets thrown at their heads. Nicki Minaj’s ‘Turn Me On’ was a national anthem that sparked a music video. Children screaming ‘Fuckass’ in the hallways as they got their unsealed paint all over the walls and floors. There was at least one hundred Dave cosplayers at every photoshoot, and Photoshoots looked like this:

You see that Squarewave in the middle of the group? That’s me controlling the crowd around me. You want another example? Here:

That Kanaya with the cape in the middle is also me. Not good enough for you? How about this:

This was convention Homestuck. This was true nightmare. If you saw a horde of Homestucks coming at you, you fucking ran. There were literally hundreds of Homestucks back in 2011.

A video of a group of cosplayers sitting in a restaraunt, passing around a bucket and spitting in it caused outrage for everyone.

And then there was the tumblr side of it.

AU’s popped up for every conceivable thing. Broadwaystuck, Circusstuck, Dormstuck, Sadstuck, Any fucking thing you could think of, you slapped -stuck onto the end of it and it immediately became a reality. There were countless ask blogs for every character imaginable and the Homestuck Hype was real.

When the Cascade flash aired it crashed Newgrounds for two days.

‘FIRST!’ cosplays were a thing, and if you managed to make one you were heralded as a god. The Alpha Kids came into existence and everyone raced to cosplay them and to see who could name them, who could be them first. Canon urls became sacred and if you had one you were god.

There was a literal fight for the jadeharley url

Updates were daily, multiple times daily. It was the start of Octopimp’s Eridan and Tavros voices, it was how he got popular. Broadwaystuck sweeped tumblr like a plague and the words ‘Let me tell you about Homestuck’ became a threat. It was around the time I formed The Rose Lalonde Homestuck Thesis. Everywhere you looked, there was Homestuck. Hussie’s girlfriend was sending cease and desist’s to fanartists, Whatpumpkin didn’t even have Tshirts on it’s website yet. People kept skipping the Intermission to get to the trolls. And then Cascade happened.

Then the fandom went on Hiatus. A Megapause, if you will.

And then things started calming down. Once 2013 started, it was as if nothing had ever happened. Homestuck was still there, sure, but it was muted. Controlled. Expectant. As if anything that could happen now wasn’t anywhere near as bad as what had already transpired. Now we are but a shadow of the chaos that once was.

2011 Homestuck is not a gross exaggeration my friend. I lived through it. I survived.

It was exactly as bad as it sounds.

The Devil’s Water Pt. I

Originally posted by sceawere

Tommy Shelby x Reader

A/N: YOOOOOOO I’m back!


“That poor man,” Y/N sighed as she helped Harry pick up the carnage that Danny Whiz-Bang left behind after another one of his outbursts the day before. “They need to get him some help.”

“I think he’s past that point, Y/N. The War took the best of us,”

“I can’t imagine what Rosie and the boys go through with him,” Harry grunted.

“We all have our own problems. Hopefully he won’t be back anytime soon. I’m tired of replacing tables and chairs.” Y/N gave the barman a scathing look. “I’m serious,” Y/N left him to sweep and continued cleaning behind the bar.

“You know, a little sympathy goes a long way,” Y/N said, putting clean glasses away.

“Sympathy? In a pub? In Small Heath?” Harry scoffed, “He doesn’t need sympathy,”

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youtube

important things:

  • That horse triptych behind him is RIDICULOUS
  • The concept of a spit bucket is something I never needed to know about
  • “I have strong opinions about what other people should be doing” is my new favorite line
  • “what are you going to be up to andrew?” “WELL!!!!” 
  • he’s really well-spoken here I love it. 
[Ask RPedia] Anxious About My Writing: Help?

Anonymous asked: I know this is normal for writers and that there isn’t a real solution but I’m gonna ask anyway: Any advice on how to stop feeling insecure about what/how I write?

Oh man, this is gonna sound like such an asshole move, but my favorite way to help myself is to write to spite everyone else. Seriously. Write like you hate everyone else in the world. Write like they mean fucking nothing to you. Write because they’re gonna get what you write, and they’re gonna like it, if they know what’s good for them. Write to make that mental editor representing the ‘them’ in your head mad as hell.

It’s always energized me to flippantly declare to myself that if people don’t like something I like, they can go fuck themselves in some fancy new way, because I’m busy writing and I don’t see them getting off their ass! They’re reading anyways ain’t they? Then they god damn don’t have anything better to do than let me shove words, and ideas, and mental pictures into their heads rapidly. Them complaining? Hah, you mean leaving impassioned responses because I hit a nerve. I CONTROL them. 𝕀 𝔸𝕄 𝔸𝕊 𝔸 𝔾𝕆𝔻.

…ahem. There’s other things to think about. I just, really like getting pumped about that concept because getting pumped makes it really awesome. Lemme uh… lemme try talking about … other things… next. Instead of declaring my godhood, wow, that is so ‘famous last words’ material for a character to say.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

i googled mice milking and found out that you can milk snakes... fascinating

Well, yeah… you milk the venom. That’s how we’re able to manufacture antivenom and medicine!

Snakes are reptilian- they can’t produce milk, ergo they have no desire to drink milk. 

It’s surprisingly easy to milk snakes! Once you get past the whole, ‘almost getting bitten’ part lololol. It goes like this: You stretch latex over a jar, and then direct the snake to bite it so that the fangs pierce past the latex and into the jar. From there, the venom glands are massaged until venom is produced and drips down and is collected by the jar. Another way to collect venom is by basically holding the snake over the collecting container and using a weak electrical charge to make the venom glands contract and force venom into the container. Neat!

Milking a snake doesn’t hurt it. The way I understand it, it’s kind of like how we produce saliva? If we spit into a bucket long enough, our mouths eventually go dry and we need some time to replenish our ‘stocks.’ The same goes for a snake. When you milk it, it’s pretty much venomless for the time being, though it’ll naturally occur after a while (time period usually depends by species).

Note: I’m not a snake expert!! I’m just interested in venom and its usage in cancer research! So I’d do some Googling of your own before you cite me in a paper lololol

anonymous asked:

Can I see a very sick and feverish Viktor being doted on by Yuuri? I'd also like at some point for Viktor's solution to the problem of how hot he is to be removing his clothrs

no idea what this is. but in my defense you did ask for naked Viktor, so?? *holds up hands* 

We’re lying on the couch, tangled up with each other and the blankets. It’s sort of become home-base over the last forty-eight hours.

Some show I’ve never heard of is playing in English but I’m not really paying attention. A disgruntled, middle-aged father, his spacey wife, and a couple of rugrats. It’s just background noise, a bit of distraction.

Viktor’s head is resting in my lap and he’s got one arm tucked around my leg. It’s warm and comfortable and wouldn’t be unusual except for the fact that Viktor is running a fever and it’s kicking his ass. He’s been nauseous and achy and miserable for almost two days, now.

I’m beginning to feel the strain. We were up most of last night, camped out on the bathroom floor; Viktor hugging the toilet and me hugging Viktor while he tried his hardest to puke up his stomach lining. He hardly ever gets sick, so when he does everything hits him all at once, like a goddamn freight-train barreling down the tracks at full speed and smashing headlong into a stalled car.

Around seven this morning, Viktor fell asleep against the toilet seat and I decided it was safe to relocate; somewhere a little more - erm - sanitary, (and comfortable - my ass was killing me by that point).

I forced him to drink a little water but I let him pick the movie. Or tried to. He switched absently between channels for a while before complaining about his eyes hurting and, “Yuuri, can you do it, please?”

I was hoping he’d fallen asleep, but he’s started squirming again and from the desperate, spasmodic grip on my thigh and the strained, breathy moans, I know it won’t be long before he needs the bucket. I’ve given up trying to haul him into the bathroom. Ease and efficiency have become my priorities during this sleep-deprived stretch.

I huff out a sympathetic sigh and pet his hair, trying to calm him down. He nuzzles his face into my leg, panting through his nose and swallowing thickly with each exhale.

Shh, you’re all right,” I soothe once the keening starts up again. Viktor stays very still, just breathing those wet, shallow breaths; throat humming with those pitiful, desperate noises, eyes clenched shut and every muscle coiled tight in defense.

“Can you sit up?” I ask him. He gives a tiny shake of his head and swallows down a gurgle that turns into a burp. “Viktor?”

He hiccups; deep and wet and bringing with it a mouthful of whatever’s left in his stomach. He lets go of my leg, finally pushes up on his elbows and gestures frantically for the bucket. I position the container beneath his chin and begin rubbing circles against his back. I’ve done this so many times it’s become routine.

Viktor groans and burps; out loud this time as his shoulders roll forward with a deep gag. I watch as he fights the urge for a moment; he always does. And then a choked noise rumbles in his throat. His cheeks inflate with another belch and a breathless gasp, “Yuuri…”

“I’ve got you,” I reassure. I don’t sound very steady. “I’m here.”

Viktor shudders violently, his upper body rocking forward as he begins to retch. I hear something splash into the bottom of the bucket and close my eyes. He trembles beneath my hands, emptying out his stomach. I feel my chest constrict and my breath hitches in my throat, just like it has every time Viktor’s thrown up. Don’t panic, I remind myself. This will pass. Do not panic. He needs you. Don’t…

And I don’t. I breathe in, breathe out, massage slow circles against his back and wait for the episode to subside. Eventually, Viktor coughs, panting as his limbs quiver, trying to recover from the exertion. He swears under his breath and falls limp against the cushions. I reach for a tissue to wipe his mouth. He’s sweating; damp hair plastered to his forehead and moisture beading over every inch of skin.

His hands travel down to his sweats, tugging clumsily at the loose fabric. With a frustrated moan, he manages to pull them down around his thighs before I can stop him.

“What are you doing?” I ask, trying to ease the pants back up over his bare hips. He lets out a soft moan when my hand brushes over the dip curving just below his abdomen.

Mm…so hot,” he slurs, licking the sweat from his upper lip and clicking his tongue. “Need ‘em off. ’S too hot.”

I abandon the pants and immediately reach up to feel his forehead; he’s burning, worse than before.

“Viktor, you really should try some more medicine. Your fever’s up.”

I can feel a fresh surge of panic threatening to choke me, making it difficult to draw a breath. He’s just so sick and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing…I don’t think I’m helping at all.

Mmmnn,” Viktor groans, tugging at his t-shirt. “Yuuri, help me,” his voice wobbles, sounding very young. “I can’t g-get it off. I can’t…can’t breathe.”

I give up and help him pull his arms out of the damp shirt. He kicks off the sweatpants and now I have a very feverish, very naked boyfriend clinging to me like the last life-vest aboard the sinking Titanic.

I gulp and place a hand against the small of his back while Viktor buries his face in my lap. His skin is warm and slick with sweat, legs intertwining with mine, trapping me against him.

“You’re so good to me, moya lyubov,” he murmurs, nuzzling his nose between my thighs. A buzzy warmth pools in the pit of my stomach and I can’t help it when my fingers stray a little further down, stroking lazily over the smooth arc of his ass. He purrs in appreciation and giggles drunkenly into my shirt. But the moment is obliterated when he starts coughing; thick and congested and painful, bringing up mouthfuls of phlegm that make him gag until he leans over to spit into the bucket.

“Yuuri,” he whimpers, fingers clenching in the fabric of my shirt. “I don’ feel good. ‘M tired of…being like this -” and breaks off into another fit of coughing.

I run my fingers gently through his hair, brushing back the damp bangs and placing a kiss on the top of his head.

“I know you are, love. I’m so sorry.”

I watch his throat bob up and down a few times and prepare to reach for the bucket. He releases a shaky, exhausted sigh and shivers - the involuntary action travels down from his shoulders to the rest of his body like an electric current.

“Viktor?” I keep running my hand through his hair and peer down, trying to catch his eyes. He blinks up at me, tearful and dazed beneath wet lashes. Another shiver crawls down the length of his spine. “Do you want to get back under the covers?”

He sniffs, nods, and snuggles closer as I pull the blankets over the both of us. He wraps his arms around my waist and rests his head just below my chest. I feel my heartbeat accelerate in spite of myself and wonder if he’s listening. He shivers some more and burrows impossibly close.

“I never thought I’d be saying this,” I whisper into his hair. He mumbles a sleepy, “Hmm?” and I feel a smile tugging at my lips.

“You should’ve left your clothes on, Vitya.”

its-a-goddamn-heartbreak  asked:

The gospel choir goes on tour and it's basically Blake and Aiden's first holiday together, just way more hectic and stressful. Anyhow, they're going round so many different places, meeting new people, and one of them gets sick. Turns out there's nothing more grim than being ill on a coach full of people who all think they can sing better than the person next to them and knowing the next stop is in over four hours time.

A/N: This basically became an excuse to write a mixture of sickfic and fluff for these guys, so it’s not quite as extensive as I first envisaged it, but I think it still fits! I really hope you enjoy! 😊


“You go and – hrrrrmmmffll – join in with the rest of them Aiden,” Blake choked out, hugging the bucket that had been, mercifully, emptied at the last stop.

“I’m not going anywhere Blake,” Aiden shook his head vehemently, rubbing his hand across Blake’s shoulders.

A loud burst of voices came from the back of the bus where the rest of the choir was congregated, still in very high spirits from their placing second in the European university choir competition last night. They’d been running on adrenaline since boarding the bus early in the morning to begin their journey back to Britain, and Blake had been dreading it for the past week. Every other bus trip had been two or three hours as they zig-zaggged through continental Europe, and they had been bad enough; this one was seven hours until they could board the ferry to go across the channel.  They had around four hours still to go, and Blake was already in a horrendous state.

Buuuuaarrrrffll…” Blake belched wetly, hanging his head over the rim of the bucket as a tendril of spit dangled from his lips.

“Oh dear,” Aiden soothed gently, pulling a tissue from the drawstring bag he had filled and dubbed ‘Blake’s Motion Sickness Kit’ , and dabbed gently at his boyfriend’s mouth, removing any traces of the ejection of Blake’s stomach contents.

The two of them had only been together for six months, but Aiden already had experience of Blake’s chronic motion sickness. He knew Blake couldn’t do anything about it – and Aiden was training to be a nurse, this didn’t bother him in the slightest. On the contrary, all he wanted to do was look after him and make him feel even one iota better. He knew also, that this was more than Blake’s usual car sickness – there was something paler about his skin, shakier about his grip, and weaker about his resolve.

“You don’t – huuurp – have to look after me…” Blake’s voice was weak and ragged; Aiden could sense that he was mere seconds away from another bout of retching. “I’m – hiiccckk – used to this…”

“Bullshit Blake!” Aiden exclaimed suddenly, and Blake raised his head to look at him. Blake’s skin was the colour of curdled milk and saturated with sweat, his fringe had begun to curl as it stuck to his damp forehead. He looked utterly piteous and Aiden momentarily felt bad for raising his voice at him. “I know you threw up in the hotel before we left this morning, so I know this isn’t just your motion sickness…”

For a few long moments Blake stared at Aiden, almost as though he was looking for any sign of annoyance in Aiden’s face but when he found none his face crumpled: “Mmhmm…” He nodded, his chin wobbling as he tried to hold back a sob – but tears had already begun to roll down his cheeks.

“Oh Blake!” Aiden wrapped around his shoulder and pulled Blake close into him, he could feel Blake trembling as his head rested into Aiden’s chest. “It’ll be okay.”

H’uuuurk!” Blake pulled abruptly away with a deep retch that sounded like he was nearly bringing up his liver. “Rrrrrruuuuuuukk!”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” One of the other tenors, Quentin, came down the aisle of the coach and leant against the back of the seat that Aiden was occupying. “Is he still puking?”

“S – ulp – sorry…” Blake stammered, spitting into the bucket and sounding even more miserable.

“He can’t help it…” Aiden said coldly, surveying Quentin’s haughty expression with some contempt. “He’s not well.” As though to emphasize this, Bake let out an empty belch which reverberated in the bucket; Quentin raised his hand like in surrender.

“I’ll just go back, shall I?” He said lightly, then joked: “I’ll make sure Louise doesn’t hear him!” Louise was one of the altos who’d turned out to be one of the most sensitive, and violent, sympathy pukers any of them had ever come across.

“I’m – uuuurrrh – really sorry…” Blake groaned, resting his head back against the seat and closing his eyes.

“No, sssh – sssh…” Aiden whispered gently, clasping his hand onto Blake’s, which was still gripped on the edge of the bucket and was drenched with sweat. “It’s not your fault… You can’t help being ill…”

“But what if I’ve infected everyone on the bus?” Blake whimpered, shifting around in discomfort in his seat.

“You won’t have,” Aiden reassured, but he couldn’t honestly believe what he was saying. If Blake had picked up some kind of virus, it was highly likely that there would be some transference to the other choir members on the bus.

“It must have been that other pianist…” Blake mumbled, his throat sounding hoarse and sore. “You know, the German one, who puked before they went on… I thought it was just nerves…”

“Blake, listen to me,” he said calmly, “there is no way you could have prevented this, and it is not your fault. Stop worrying about it. Now you need to have another sip of water before you rest.”

Mmmmmn, no…” Blake shook his head without opening his eyes.

“Yes,” Aiden was unscrewing the lid of the water bottle he’d been plying Blake with; he raised the bottle to Blake’s lips, that were cracked and dry. “Just a little bit to try and keep you hydrated…” Blake’s eyes had opened again, he looked exhausted and teary again, but he accepted a few small sips from the bottle. “There you go…” Aiden encouraged. “Now try and see if you can get a wee bit sleep… Come here, rest into me…”

Blake didn’t argue, but snuggled his head close into Aiden’s chest; Aiden secured his arm around Blake’s shoulder and held tight.

This was the first time the two of them had been out of the country together. Aiden had initially thought it might be like a holiday for them, but touring and performances and practicing for the competition that had culminated their trip, had made it considerably less holiday-like that he had thought. He’d already begun thinking about the possibility of suggesting that the two of them go somewhere on holiday, even if it was just a weekend break or something. Although he knew one thing for certain: they would not be going anywhere by bus.

Blake’s breathing had begun to slow, and Aiden felt relief flood through him that Blake was finally getting some rest. He leant his head on top of Blake’s and closed his own eyes. Poor Blake… It was bad enough that he got chronically car sick, let alone adding a bug on top of that.

He couldn’t tell how much time had passed, but he’d definitely dropped off because suddenly Blake was pulling away from him, and he jerked awake. Blake was panting heavily, his grip redoubling on the bucket, and his cheeks had tinged that familiar sallow tinge. Instantly Aiden put his hand to the nape of his boyfriend’s neck and could feel the perspiration gathering there. Blake lurched forward with a burp, then hung over the bucket, groaning weakly.

“It’s alright, you’re okay,” Aiden intoned, “you’re okay Blake…” Blake was trembling visibly, and appearing like he was fighting hard to hold down the water. He let out a weak whimper, swallowing convulsively.

Buuuuuuuuaaarggggglllllluuuuuuuuuurrrrh!” With a forceful heave, Blake brought up all the water that he’d drunk, and it splattered into the bottom of the bucket.

“That’s it… Okay…” Aiden began to rub circles into Blake’s back again.

“Oh god…” Blake moaned, retching weakly again, but bringing up nothing.

“You’re doing really well,” Aiden said, using his free hand to pick up the tissue and wipe Blake’s mouth once again.

“I’m sorry…” Blake repeated.

“Ssssh…” Aiden brushed the curls of Blake’s fringe away from his sticky forehead.

Eventually Blake rested back against the seat, exhausted. After a few long minutes, in which Aiden half thought he’d fallen asleep, Blake opened his eyes and asked in a weak voice:

“How much further do we still have to go?”

“I’m sorry…” Aiden replied, his heart heavy as he looked down at his boyfriend, and knew that they had at least another three and a half hours of torture before they could get off the bus.

Uuuuuuuugggh…” Blake groaned, wriggling in his seat as though trying to find a position that was kinder on his unsettled stomach.

“Ssssh, you just rest back,” Aiden advised, putting his hand gently on Blake’s shoulder and easing him back into the chair, “and I’ll massage your stomach for you.”

Very cautiously Aiden put his hand onto Blake’s stomach, he could feel straight away that it was puffed out further than its usual slim size, and made gentle rubbing motions back and forth. After a few moments of this Bake let out a small moan, and rested his head back in the seat.

“That’s nice…” Blake whispered quietly as Aiden’s hand glided across his skin. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” Aiden answered, “I’ll always look after you.”

dear homestuck fandom: u may have been embarrassing af sometimes but im glad yall never tried to murder someone

id take 10 more videos of homestucks spitting in a bucket in public over a fandom that thinks its ok to attempt murder over fictional characters/ships

Spawning Day: A Peter/Gamora Ficlet

(Slight spoilers for “Guardians of the Galaxy”, but if you haven’t seen it, you deserved to be punished anyway.)

Peter Quill had one serious fucking headache.

“Oh God, kill me,” he mumbled as the thumping in his brain intensified as he tried to move his body parts. To his absolute shock, a flat female voice answered him.

“Sure, but we’re in deep space. How would you prefer that I dispense of your corpse?”

Quill palmed his face, peeping through his fingers to see Gamora sitting across from him, her long legs crossed, staring at him with her usual stoic expression.

“Mornin’, Gamora,” he said through a mouth that felt as dry and sandpaper, and yet the taste on his tongue was nothing as mild. “What the hell happened last night?”

He sniffed as he caught the scent of something vile and glanced down to see a bucket a quarter of the way full with what appeared to be vomit. Charming, even for his living quarters.

“You insisted on hitting every bar in the near quadrant because of some sort of anniversary. You got into a couple fights and then came stumbling back rather inebriated with Rocket, Drax, and Groot. Groot dumped you in here and you proceeded to tell me you were so happy you could puke. And then you did. For about half an hour.”

Quill finally managed to sit up. “Oh, right. Yesterday was my birthday.”

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Can you please write a fic with a really sick Jason with a burpy type stomach bug with Noah taking care of him? Please please please :) your an amazing writer!!

“Are you dead, yet?”

Noah had returned from the kitchen with a bottle of water in one hand and a fresh towel in the other.

Jason groaned miserably and belched into the bucket balanced between his legs.

Sitting up in bed to hover over a mop bucket wasn’t exactly comfortable. But it was preferable to bruising his knees on the cold bathroom floor like he’d been doing for the past three hours.

“Grim Reaper, is that you?” Jason croaked into the container, spitting a watery stream of saliva.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Noah indulged his brother with a sympathetic laugh. “But I brought reinforcements. Think you might be able to keep some of this down?”

In response, Jason released another sour burp into the bucket, panting noisily through his nose as he struggled against the surge of nausea.

“Later it is,” Noah conceded, setting the bottle on the nightstand. He sat down beside his brother and began searching for the remote.

“Stop — moving,” Jason hiccuped. “’S making it worse.”

“Sorry,” Noah cringed. “I thought TV might help distract you.”

Jason pushed up from the bucket, leaning his head back against the wall. His eyes fluttered closed as he inhaled a few steadying breaths.

“I know you’re bored, lobinho,” Jason swallowed, throat working rapidly as the nausea ebbed. “You don’t have to stay here. Your professors are going to miss you.”

“Nice try,” Noah smirked, switching the channel to ESPN. “Get comfy ‘cause you’re stuck with me.”

“Oh, great,” Jason deadpanned.

A commercial for Taco Bell’s newest monstrosity popped up on the screen, oozing chemically engineered cheese and sizzling with glittery GMO’s.

Jason gagged in his mouth and leaned back over the bucket with a low groan.

Noah quickly pushed the power button and patted his brother’s back apologetically.

“Sorry, Jay,” he winced, rubbing between Jason’s shoulder blades.

The motion coaxed up another wet sounding belch. The noise rumbled in Jason’s throat for a moment before he let it roll out into the bucket.

“Fucking — mmph —Taco Bell,” Jason mumbled through a sick hiccup.

Noah’s eyebrows shot up in surprised amusement.

Now who gets to wash who’s mouth out?” he teased.

“Shut up,” Jason slurred weakly. “That’s my — urrp! — one for the week.”

His next hiccup morphed into a much deeper belch. His legs squirmed over the covers as his stomach clenched, forcing up a small mouthful of bile.

“Jesus,” Noah grimaced, rubbing slow circles against his brother’s back. “I’m sorry, Jay.”

Without lifting his head from the bucket, Jason reached over to flick the side of Noah’s head.

“What the hell was that for?” Noah yelped, rubbing at the sore spot.

“You know — exactly what that was — for,” Jason panted.

Another burp gurgled up the back of his throat and he retched. A second later he was rewarded for his efforts by a thick wave of whatever was left in his stomach. The mess splattered loudly against the base of the bucket.

Jason’s muscles shuddered violently as he heaved and belched until there couldn’t possibly be anything left to bring up. The ordeal was intense, with no break to breathe and Noah was afraid his brother might pass out if he didn’t settle down.

“Dude.” Now he had one hand stroking his brother’s back and the other gripped Jason’s upper arm, holding him steady. “You’ve gotta breathe.”

Jason swallowed thickly, burped and made a rude gesture.

“Um, that’s two,” Noah snorted. “You’re really starting to rack ‘em up.”

Jason spat one last time and didn’t so much push away as slump to the side of the bucket. His chest heaved as he caught his breath, muscles limp with exhaustion.

“Water?” Noah offered. Jason waved his hand, gesturing for the bottle.

He sat up to take a few careful sips, swilling the last one around in his mouth and spitting it into the bucket.

“Thanks,” he breathed, muffling a residual burp into his fist.

“I’m gonna go, uh, empty this out,” Noah gingerly picked up the bucket, holding it as far away from his body as possible. “Don’t throw up, okay?”

“Don’t think I have anything left,” Jason slurred, curling up into a ball on the bed.

“Yeah, we’ll see,” Noah retorted, gagging dramatically as the contents in the bucket sloshed.

“Smartass,” Jason mumbled into his pillow, low enough so that his brother wouldn’t hear.

bearlytolerable  asked:

How about El and Krem wandering Val Royeaux doing some wine tasting?

Very appropriate for @dadrunkwriting tonight!

Every so often, Val Royeaux would find itself host to a massive festival celebrating wines from all over Thedas. Canvas stalls were set up with casks and goblets for vendors to hawk their goods, and for a gold each, the people could enjoy a sampling of the most popular flavors for the year. 

Ellana leaned on Krem’s arm heavily, goblet sloshing in her hand as they wandered through the different stalls together, enjoying the breezy afternoon. 

“My favorite part’s the spitting,” Krem joked, taking a swig of his wine and rolling it in his mouth before spitting it into a nearby bucket.

“What spitting?” Ellana slurred. “You’re supposed to spit?”

Krem ground to a halt, turning the Inquisitor to face him. “What do you mean ‘you’re supposed to spit’? El, have you been drinking whole goblets of this stuff?! You’re supposed to taste it and then spit it so you don’t get so drunk!”

“No one told me that,” she whined, pitching forward into his arms and snuggling up against him.

“Alright…let’s get you some water and a nice seat in the shade…” the Tevinter laughed and guided his tipsy girlfriend beneath a brightly colored overhang. He sat her down on a marble bench, letting her press her wine-flushed cheeks against the cool stone while he uncorked his waterskin and held it to her lips. Ellana took a long, grateful drink before curling up to his side. She watched people go by with bleary eyes, glad the day was nice and cool in spite of the bright sun overhead. 

The Val Royeaux market was one of the more diverse sections of the city, especially on a festival day. Music from every culture was played by street performers, accompanied by dancers in elaborate costumes and singers. The bustling activity, the cacophony of noise drove a needle of longing into Ellana’s heart.

“I miss my clan,” she murmured against Krem’s shoulder.

He looked down at her, and ran a hand through her long hair. “I can’t imagine…” he whispered. “I miss my dad every day…but you left a whole family behind.”

They enjoyed each other’s silence for a moment before Ellana stirred again in Krem’s arms. “We should go to Tevinter and find your parents,” she murmured. “We can all go live in the woods with my clan.”

Krem laughed lightly. “I’m sure my father would be glad to, but my mother would never go for it. Maybe…maybe someday.”

Imagine your OTP are actors who play regulars on a TV show. Whenever they are shooting a scene where a character is eating, the actors usually spit out their food into a spit bucket so that they don’t have to eat a lot over several shoots. Character A, however, hates to waste food and eats the entirety of their food between each take. Their co-star Character B is both impressed and enamored by their habit, and they begin to purposefully mess up just to watch Character A stuff themself with food.

After wrapping up each scene, your OTP retires to Character A’s trailer or dressing room, with Character B rubbing their engorged belly and commending them on an amazing performance.

homestuck horror stories ive collected over the years, true or not some of these are awful
  • that girl who took a ridiculously long time in the hotel bathroom before the con only for her roomates to literally kick down the door to find that she tried to bathe herself in grey sharpie ink and it cost her almost a grand for medical expenses and the fact most of the bathroom was stained too
  • smudgy karkat w the yaoi backpack who followed you around @ mall meets and tried to make you kiss them for their otp 
  • ‘’They picked fights like rabid animals and fought to no end to defend their little “Homestuck nation”. They were like a cult, ‘’ im throwing this in as a quote 
  • that person who got a BUCKET thrown at them IRL for saying they didn’t want to be involved with the homestuck fandom online?? this was, to my knowledge, true and completely out of the blue, somebody literally chucked a metal bucket at them while they were walking home
  • that really fucking elitist jake cosplayer who was so pissy about ‘’lower forms of cosplaying’’ that the homestuck-is-a-sin blog literally had to step in and tell him to stop 
  • homestuck-is-a-sin
  • idk how many creepy equius stories ive picked up over the years but believe me there a LOT and all of them follow the plot of ‘’sweaty equius cosplayers trying to run off with nepeta cosplayers half their height’’
  • that was this ONE rumor about a sollux cosplayer being drowned though at this point i think we need to start taking these things w a grain of salt
  • gamzee cosplayers being beaten up (true)
  • gamzee fans being submitted gore/shunned for liking gamzee (@fandom this is fucking true rn you seriously need to stop jfc)
  • somebody drugged a bottle of faygo and tried to pass it round 
  • homestucks fighting hetalians at cons
  • hetalians fighting homestucks at cons
  • THAT ONE YOUTUBE VIDEO WITH THE HOMESTUCKS SPITTING INTO A BUCKET 
  • octopimps entire channel 
  • homestucks getting drunk at cons 
  • homestucks getting banned at cons (that was a good thing)
  • for every creepy equius story there are at least two creepy eridan stories and i do not doubt any of them
  • that athena’s wink thing?? seriously out of order
  • upon further research, ‘’sollux cosplayer drowns hetalians in fountain’’
  • im logging off

feel free to add more so we can bask in this shithole together

question: why,,,,,is fear factor allowed to air,,,,,without a bunch of animal rights people getting involved

my mom is watching it and they’re taking these poor little snakes and holding them entirely in their mouths for like Minutes Long Periods Of Time and then spitting them out into buckets from like a foot up like is this,,,not,,,,,,An Issue what the fuck these poor noodles