Another from the afternoon sketch session. Second of three mains I intend to draw, this Cyg’s been through a lot – nearly five years worth at this point. Nevertheless, he hasn’t given up yet. Keep fighting, kiddo!
Here’s a sneak peek of the next chapter of Take A Stand where Judy goes to war with the Underworld Trio by the amazing @ziegelzeig. This is last chapter before the epilouge. Who will live? Who will die? Find out on Sunday and if you’re not caught up yet here’s a link to Fanfiction.net https://m.fanfiction.net/s/12105029/1/
Imagine Hanzo in his mid twenties and he has spent his entire life being exactly who his father wants him to be. He’s the perfect heir, ruthless and controlled and a brilliant tactical mind that will lead the Shimada clan into the next era. In spite of his progress towards this goal though (or more accurately because this process has made him chip away little pieces of himself, bit by bit), Hanzo is repressed as hell and a little lonely. He has no confidants or friends that wouldn’t report any step out of line back to his father and even his little brother has given up on him.
Then Blackwatch shows up and the Shimada clan, slowly, by inches, starts to lose after generations of weathering any assault against them. At first, Hanzo is determined that the clan will persevere no matter what but as time goes on, he realizes that the only way this will end is with the total extinction of every clan member and so he does what any good General would do and turns himself in in hopes of getting clemency for his men (especially his shit little brother).
Except first, because he knows that Blackwatch will probably dispose of him once they’ve gotten all his information, he gives himself one night to just do something he’s never let himself do before: sleep with a guy. The thing is, Hanzo is gay but his father does not approve of that and Hanzo always knew he’d have to marry some girl for an alliance or deal and so he’s never really pursued this part of himself. But if he’s going to die, he won’t die a virgin so he goes to a bar and tries to find some random stranger to hook up with on his last night of freedom.
Enter McCree, very handsome and cocky and so obviously a Blackwatch agent that he might as well have it tattooed on his forehead as far as Hanzo is concerned. Hanzo intends to ignore him but then he strides right over, heavily accented Japanese and not very well concealed pistol and all, and buys Hanzo a drink and Hanzo decides that maybe this will work. Because this man must know who Hanzo is just as well as Hanzo knows who he is and this way everything will be nice and neat; Just get drunk, screw around and then this guy can take him in. It’s perfect.
What do you think about when you hear the word sex?
For most, I bet it’s the moaning.
The golden lining of waists and hips being mined for the first time.
For some, it might be the kissing.
Their lips softer than the nights before.
Their lips rougher than the nails gripped into your back like #2 pencils finding comfort in old manual sharpeners versus new electronic ones. You have to work for it, right?
Some soft, some rough.
Some sweet good morning,
some angry after an argument.
Some with laughter,
some after tears.
The sweating that gives you the thought
“is this mine or is it hers?”
What is the best part about sex?
I bet most would say, the orgasm.
It is not.
Far from it.
I.) The build up, the foreplay, & the tension.
The selfish and selfless teasing.
The lowkey this is exciting smile.
The faces losing control
of all expression.
The bodies soft movements
gently moving to
where it doesn’t belong
to where you want them.
II.) The aftermath, the cuddle & the nap.
The wave of euphoric desires
long passed and you’ll sleep
as teaspoons and sugar cubes.
Simmering in a new cup of tea;
warm and added milk.
Your relaxed bodies stirring
the feelings of home, safety
and your favorite song,
your bodies at rest
and them in your arms;
all mixed into a warm
cup of tea composed of
wet bedsheets and
not knowing whose
arm is whose and
whose leg was hanging
off the bed because
it was way too hot
and sweaty under
You see, the act of sex.
The in between.
The hair grabbing.
The scratched backs.
The chest needing attention.
The necks because we’re vampires.
The hands not knowing where to feel next.
The tug of war motion.
The cramps from running marathons
while laying down.
The sweat from jogging a bridge in the middle of winter because the fan is on, but it sure feels like summer even if your windows are open and the rain covers the sounds of passion.
The sweat is confusion and peace finding a home on top of your skin.
The giggles because they made a cute mistake and it’s one you could live with.
It’s one that was needed from your long day.
The tears if you’re a first timer.
The warmth of how bodies join together;
your body’s way of holding hands.
Your innocence shaking hands and hugging sin for minutes and lasting up to four hours for some; or the whole day.
However your drive goes.
It’s different for everyone,
women to men,
women to women,
& men to men.
It matters not.
The middle part is not the best.
It is a blur. It is the bottle not the liquor.
It is the pill and not the chemicals inside.
It is the lamp and not the light provided.
It is the candle and not the scent given off.
It is the blue line of college rule paper,
but not the words written by a writer.
It is crucial, but it is also
the part where most get lost in.
I know I did.
They call it lust.
The misplacement of trust
and the lack of communication.
The longing for skin
more than that person’s heart.
It’s more than reaching down their pants
or failing to unhook her bra
because you could never wrap
your head around the mechanics
of such a wonderful invention.
I know some men might read this
and go; god, this guy is soft.
Aight, go ask her right now. Go.
Ask her to name the best part.
It wasn’t how your tongue
could spell the alphabet
backwards, okay that’s
but she’ll always
put foreplay and
cuddling above it.
Well, unless she’s a freak,
but I’m sure they love
the embracing parts too.
Who doesn’t want to feel safe
after being that open?
To truly share yourself with someone
from heart, mind, soul and body;
If you can make them feel safe afterwards,
the orgasms will only be a minor detail
to this perfect painting they call making love.
Sex, cuddling and never unhooking bras, correctly.
“You sound awful!” Keith fired back, and then immediately regretted it. Lance was silent for a grand total of three seconds, and then Keith was forced to move his phone away from his ear as the sheer volume in Lance’s voice threatened to obliterate his eardrums.
CONGRATULATIONS 🎉🎉🎉 you deserve thousands more! About prompt... what do you think of #dron (Draco x Ron)? Bonding over quidditch? 😍
Haba my LOVELY. Thank you so much! You give me life. I have been meaning to write some Dron for weeks, so thanks for kicking my butt into gear and making me do it. This is just the beginning, I believe. 😘💚😁
Draco had not spoken for three weeks, eight days, and four hours. Not ‘had been really quiet’ or ‘had only asked for the salt’. Draco Malfoy had not uttered a single word, to anyone, since the beginning of eighth year. The way he saw it, the quieter he was, the less trouble he caused, and he would survive. He didn’t want to be in the ruined castle, with walls barely held together with construction charms, rubble barely cleared from the gardens, the ghosts of faces everywhere you turned. None of it was exactly helping his inability to move on, to get past the war, to figure out where he went next.
Being silent had its advantages; it was a lesson most people learned when they were five, and one he’d never really grasped. He knew, now, how important just sitting quietly could be. People didn’t see you when you entered a room. They forgot you were there when you didn’t contribute to conversations. And that was powerful and terrifying.
He’d discovered, rather unpleasantly, that he agreed with Gryffindors more often than not. He found out that he really knew next to nothing about the world outside of Hogwarts. He knew more about his classmates in three weeks than he’d learned in six years of shared classes and meals.
Draco had learned that Harry Potter took two sugars in his tea, and was extremely embarrassed about it because Hermione liked to tease him mercilessly.
He had learned that Neville Longbottom was actually extremely bright when people let him finish his sentences, and Draco suspected that he really needed a different set of friends, because that almost never happened.
He’d learned that Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas had been together since sixth year, and that they were both hilarious and kind, and that it was beautiful to watch them be happy.
Unfortunately, he had also discovered that Ron Weasley was exactly the sort of person that he found disturbingly attractive. It was extremely fucking annoying. There was nothing about the loud, abrasive, ginger-headed idiot that should appeal to him, and yet, he found himself uncomfortable in his pants anytime Ron reached above his head to take a pot of a shelf or hefted a large piece of rubble over his shoulder by hand, FOR ABSOLUTELY NO REASON. Weasley took up so much space, the complete antithesis to Draco.
This would have been avoidable and easy to ignore, had Draco not accidentally snorted at a joke Ron Weasley made about the Puddlemere Seeker one evening in their mandatory ‘clean up the castle’ sessions in the Ravenclaw dorm. The snort earned him a sharp, puzzled look, which Draco desperately wanted to wipe off his smug face, either with a fist or with his own lips.
That afternoon, he was sitting in Greenhouse Four, waiting for class to begin, when Weasley appeared, alone and flushed with cold. He sat down directly behind Draco and tapped him hard on the shoulder. Draco whipped around, trying to hide his fear.
“You don’t like McGregor either,” Weasley said gruffly.
Draco shook his head. Draco found he still had no words, and he cocked his head curiously without responding to the half-compliment.
“With Puddlemere playing the way they are, I feel like the Canons might actually have a chance this year,” Weasley continued.
Draco cleared his throat, voice hoarse from disuse, and whispered, “Only if they don’t make a huge mess of everything at mid-season like they always do.”
Ron looked as though he was considering anger, and at the last second, he laughed instead.
“Look. Don’t make me regret telling you this but, there’s a pickup game. On Wednesdays. The pitch is free at eight. No set positions. You should come down,” Ron said in a rush, still smiling. Other students began to arrive, and Draco turned back around, baffled and blushing.
At 7:55 that week, he sighed silently to himself and dragged on his britches, loose because of all the weight he’d lost. He pulled a clean sweep from the Quidditch shed, and reassessed his decision for the fiftieth time, but forced himself to go to the pitch.
The game was exhilarating; he played Beater, the crack of the bat on the Bludger satisfyingly loud and aggressive. Draco let it ring in his ears, grinning like a loon. As the game ended, Weasley flew toward him, holding the quaffle and wearing a lazy grin, hair a disaster from the wind, cheeks flushed from exertion.
“You’re a decent beater,” he said.
“I’m good in every position,” Draco said, winking, and immediately wanting to die in embarrassed shock. What the hell was he doing?
Weasley threw his head back in a full body laugh. “Aha,” he laughed. “There’s Draco Malfoy.”
The air was empty, the bodies below breaking off into groups of laughing students as they returned to the castle. Weasley flew in a lazy arc until he was right in front of him. He extended the quaffle, an oddly shaped and meaning-filled olive branch, and smirked a half smile that made Draco’s mouth go dry.
“Prove it,” he challenged.
When Draco finally took the ball, Weasley instantly sped to the other end of the pitch. It was only then that Draco remembered; Ron’s natural position was Keeper, and Draco was an absolutely terrible Chaser. He laughed to himself but followed anyway. By the time they landed, the sun was sinking below the horizon, and the pitch was completely empty.
“Coming to dinner?” Ron asked innocently.
“No…. I don’t… Um.”
“Yeah I know but I just thought…” Ron broke off, sounding frustrated. “No, um, never mind.”
“Good game?” Draco said quietly, extending a hand.
Ron smirked again, but took the extended limb. “You are so completely weird, Malfoy.”
“You too, Weasley.”
They smiled and headed in different directions.
He played for three weeks. The last game before the snow flew was cold and icy, and everyone played haphazardly, quitting before a clear winner emerged. Draco turned away from the others, who were headed into town for a Butterbeer before the gates locked, and was almost at the castle when he realised he was being followed.
“Why is it you think you get to be silent and aloof? Don’t you think we’d all just rather never speak about normal things, ever again?” Weasley yelled at him, grabbing his shoulder and spinning him around.
Draco inhaled long and loud, trying to steady his nerves. He hadn’t been grabbed like that since living with Death Eaters, and he sort of wanted to cower on the ground.
“I’m just trying to stay out of the way,” he whispered, unsure what Weasley needed to hear. “I’ve done enough.”
“We all did,” Ron said gruffly, seeming to deflate. “We all feel alone, Malfoy. You just… try and keep living. I tried. Harry is trying. Hermione is… Well, trying, I guess, but—“
“I know you aren’t together. That doesn’t mean you are alone,” Draco murmured.
“You don’t know half of what you think you do. It’s honestly always been my problem with you,” Ron said, gripping Draco’s shoulder harder.
Draco would have responded, but instead he was being attacked. The kiss wasn’t really a kiss, per say, so ‘attack’ seemed like the appropriate word. Ron seemed to have a goal, a purpose, and he was going to use every possible means to get there. He bit Draco’s lip and grabbed his neck. He scratched his nails into the flesh he found there, and his inhale dragged air from Draco’s own lungs. Ron was angry, that much was clear, but at whom was harder to sort out. Regardless, Draco decided he was there for whatever was happening. He kissed back, stepped into the taller man’s grasp, pulled his hips together with Ron’s until they ground together and Draco groaned.
“What are you doing,” Draco said against Ron’s lips.
“I have no bloody clue. Just…Puddlemere, and watching you fly, and you’re always fucking watching me, and I just…Please, can we not try and figure me out right now? I’ve been trying for six months, and I haven’t got a clue.”
“You want to come to my room instead?” Draco breathed.
“Yeah,” Ron growled, his breath lifting his own fringe off his reddened face. “Yeah, I do.”
my roommate and bff @political-shitposts‘ friends were here visiting and when we all got drunk for her birthday we played kings. the first person to be in the hot seat had to answer a question from me first, and ME BEING ME, i automatically asked “what’s your favorite star wars movie”. somehow the poor girl didn’t get to answer, because my friends’ other friends started shit by saying “it better not be rogue one that movie sucked” and i flew into a rage, and then it became a star wars brawl.
cut to the next morning, where they are all making breakfast, and im slowly waking up in bed and hear them out in the living room, talking about star wars. i hear them say things like “the force awakens made a new hope better” and “rogue one was one of the worst movies ever”, and i FLY LIKE A BAT OUT OF HELL out of bed and just stand in the door looking like a mess and just blurt out
So as I scrolled through all the challenges I was signed up for (specifically Kat’s challenge), I came up with this idea for a new little short series. Hope y’all enjoy the ride!
A/N: This series takes place in a futuristic version of SPN, where Lucifer (in the president’s body) actually managed to start the next world war. Now it’s 5 years later and the boys are still surviving!
So buckle up, we are in for some turns and surprises in this one (I think..lol)
Prompts: “We always expect trouble. This tends to work out better than never expecting any.” Clariel by Garth Nix – Don’t Stop Me Now by Queen – fic must be set in Post-Apocalpse, Western, or Regency Era
Castiel Novak sat on the bench in the school’s playground. His eyes were glued to a boy standing near the school entrance and looking absolutely lost. Dean Winchester was a new kid and Cas wanted to help him, but he wasn’t sure how. Still, he understood how Dean had to be feeling, so he took a deep breath and made his way over to the other boy.
Dean looked at him questioningly. “Hi?”
“I have a proposal you won’t be able to refuse,” Cas said in a rushed breath. It was a phrase he had heard his mother say on the phone when he had visited her in her office. He was sure it was appropriate for this situation too.
“What?” Dean croaked as his eyebrows shot up.
“Be my friend.”
After one slow blink, Dean frowned. “I thought proposal meant you’re asking someone to marry you.”
“Oh, well it can mean that, but it also means you’re offering something.”
“Huh, I didn’t know that. You’re really smart.”
Cas blushed and looked at his shoes. “I’m not; my mother explained it to me when I asked her about it.”
“I ask my mom a lot of things, but I forget most of it. So you are smart.”
“Thank you, but I think you’re smart too. Your brain is probably just too small, so you can’t remember everything. It will grow, don’t worry,” Cas explained seriously.
Dean nodded thoughtfully, “Thanks… Cas is your name, right?”
“It’s actually Castiel, but only the teachers call me that. You can call me Cas.”
“Great. Look, two swings are free. Let’s go.” Dean grabbed Cas’ hand and pulled him towards the swings.
“Wait, does this mean you’ll be my friend?”
A huge grin broke out on Dean’s face. “Of course I will. It’s an offer, uh, a proposal I can’t refuse.”
10 years old
Cas laughed as Dean made another silly face and, in return, made Dean laugh too. Cas had spent the whole day at Dean’s house because his mother had an important meeting and his babysitter had cancelled, but Cas still wasn’t bored or fed up. They had watched TV, read comic books and played with Dean’s younger brother Sam.
At the moment, they were in Dean’s room where they had tried to play two-player charades, but had soon given up because they couldn’t keep a straight face for long enough.
“I have a proposal you won’t be able to refuse,” Dean answered with a toothy grin.
“What is it?” Cas asked as his lips lifted up in a small smile of his own.
Cas thought about it. He had never slept over in the two years they had been friends, but there was no reason he shouldn’t. And he definitely didn’t want the fun to stop. “I have to ask my mother, though.”
“Yes!” Dean pumped his fist in the air. “She’ll say yes for sure. C’mon, let’s call her, my mom will definitely persuade her.”
Dean dragged him to the kitchen, where his mother Mary was washing dishes.
“Hey, Mom, can Cas stay the night?” Dean jumped excitedly around her.
“Sure, if Naomi agrees.”
“Could you please call her and ask?” Cas questioned, more calmly than Dean, but his excitement was still evident.
A few minutes and one phone call later, Naomi had agreed for Cas to stay overnight and she promised to bring his pajamas and toothbrush. Both of the boys were thrilled that they were allowed to spend more time with each other.
After several hours, both boys were bundled up in Dean’s bed, exhausted but content.
“I’m so glad you’re my best friend,” Dean whispered.
Cas smiled. “I’m glad too, Dean.”
“We’re going to have sleepovers when we’re old too, right?”
“Of course,” Cas said and took hold of Dean’s hand.