Is there a word for that occasional moment of self-awareness when reading smut, like where your brain accidentally takes one step back and you realize you are reading really descriptive pornography in your pajamas, while it’s light outside, with a box of Wheat Thins tucked under your arm?
I’m, uh, asking for a friend.
i feel like there should be a german word for this.
you guys look like a shitty boy band that hasn’t practiced in 15 years
FEATURING the REALLY OLD GUY WITH RETRACTABLE CLAWS
the ANGSTY OLD MAN WITH A METAL ARM
the PATRIOTIC GRANDPA
and the AVERAGE-AGE BOW AND ARROW DUDE
She wanted to do something different that day, something beyond the cooking or the cleaning or even the guard duty. She chose to cancel “story time”, kissed baby Judy on the forehead as if leaving on a three-day run.
In truth, she was just going to the outer yard.
He was waiting when she arrived, already holding out a machete for her.
Covered in dirt and glistened with sweat, he certainly looked the part.
"Farmer Rick, what can I help you with today?"
She laughed at the deadpan look he cast her, and took the blade from his grasp.
"Need to clear this brush out," she sidled up next to him as he motioned to the overgrown thorn bushes. "I wanna build the coop here, close to the pigs but not right up on ‘em."
She nodded, frowned a bit as she lifted the machete to a familiar vine of leaves weaving through the brush.
"We’re going to be covered in rashes by the time we’re done."
Unsheathing his own blade, it was Rick’s turn to chuckle.
"Hey, you volunteered for this, no backing out now."
She waggled her weapon (tool, today it was a tool) at him in mock-warning. “I’ve had poison ivy before. If you’re not allergic, it’s really not that bad.”
Rick paused, lips pursed as he surveyed the vines. His posture grew rigid. (More so than usual.)
Carol couldn’t help it. Grinning wickedly, she threw an arm over his shoulder.
"You’re allergic, aren’t you? That’s why you asked for help, and why you didn’t have Carl do it. Because he could be, too.” He huffed beneath her and pulled away, reaching out to whack away at a bush.
"You volunteered, Carol.” He pointed across the little patch of thorns, the blackberries dead and burnt in the heat. The ivy weaved throughout, as if to dare them to attack it. “Start on that side, and we’ll meet in the middle, okay?”
Giggling to herself still, she tsk’d at him, saw him smile a little even as he set his trademark steely glare on her.
"Oh, I’m on to you, Farmer Rick. You can’t fool me."
“Stop calling me that.”
Manueluv and I are convinced Agent K is Coulson’s father. Hell, MIB is even owned by Marvel.
Welp. Never gonna unsee this.
HEADCANON ACCEPTED SO FAST I THINK I BROKE SOMETHING
Guys - who do you think told Phil all those stories about Cap?
THIS POST IS OVER 2 YEARS OLD AND IT JUST. GOT. BETTER.
GOOD LORD YOU ARE KILLING ME!
Tom Mison a.k.a. hardcore Ichabbie shipper