#but if you think my welsh is bad | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys · 1 year

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So this is a weird ask but I figured an Actual Welsh Person would be the person to go to, and you've been pretty gung-ho about the language thing. So I hope I'm not bothering you with this.

Is there a cultural consensus on foreigners learning Welsh? I'm American and I don't have a single shred of Welsh ancestry. My family is historically German, and we've been here since the English Colony days, so it honestly seems really weird even to try to claim some tie to German heritage.

Anyway, my point is, I have absolutely zero legitimate claim to the Welsh language. I don't plan to travel to Wales in the foreseeable future. I have no reason to learn Welsh except that it sounds pretty and I enjoy a challenge.

Putting aside the issue of "lmao it's gonna be stupid difficult to learn an endangered language if you don't have anyone to speak it with" (I have a loose plan for dealing with that, and the experience of learning two languages to "can read most novels without needing the dictionary" level without anyone to speak them with in person already) entirely, do you reckon it's okay for me to study Welsh? I know Americans are really, really bad about just kinda assuming the whole world belongs to us, and I'm trying not to do that here. Especially because Welsh IS endangered.

I imagine your average Welsh person probably doesn't care what some random American does. But like, for people who care about the language...Would it be considered disrespectful or overstepping for me to study it? I don't expect you to speak for the entire country, of course, but I respect your opinion and I feel like you'd have a grasp on what the general feeling towards a foreigner like me might be.

Thanks for your time.

I honestly, truly, do not understand how the discussion around cultural appropriation has been twisted in the cultural zeitgeist to such an extent that people now feel anxiety about learning other languages.

This is not a personal attack on you, Anon - the gods only know that you clearly care and want to do the right thing, and that's beautiful and wonderful and also I will come back to extolling your personal virtues at the end of this post, so stay tuned. But I do want to take a moment here to talk about the broader issue at play, which I have seen echoed multiple times elsewhere, because fuck me what are we doing to ourselves.

Learn. Languages.

That is what languages are for! To be used for communication. If you don't learn languages, you are forcing everyone else to use yours. How have we somehow, as a culture, twisted that into being the less selfish option? How have we done that? I posted my favourite Welsh idiom recently, and someone reblogged it and wrote in the tags that they loved the idiom and would start using it, but they would do so in English because their "Welsh pronunciation would make their Welsh grandmother spin in her grave."

What kind of mental gymnastics is that?

How the fuck do you twist it so badly that you think taking a Welsh idiom for your own and exclusively using it in English is less offensive than saying it in Welsh but maybe a bit wrong? I've literally had people proclaim to me that they're learning Welsh on Duolingo but they never speak it because they're too self-conscious, and they tell me this not to highlight a massive flaw in themselves that they need to work on, but as though I'm supposed to pat them on the head and thank them for... still making me speak English to them.

There was that post where a Deaf blogger received an anonymous ask saying learning sign language is cultural appropriation, as though Deaf people haven't been calling for Sign to be taught in schools. As though a Deaf person being entirely isolated in everyday hearing society unless they have an interpreter with them is less offensive than a hearing person being able to use BSL.

Like, these are not sacred or religious languages. The purpose of Welsh or BSL or what have you is not to perform the Eleusinian mysteries. It's a living everyday language, same as English -

Except it's not the same as English. As Anon here so rightly points out, Welsh is endangered. That means we are desperate for people to learn it. That's how it will survive. That's how we reversed it from 'dying language' to 'living language', in fact - we managed to get lots of people to learn it. You know what is a threat, though? People not learning it because, like poor Anon here, they've been somehow convinced by Western society that you're only allowed to learn languages if you personally have a historic or cultural connection to them that you can prove via six forms of ID and a letter of recommendation from a druid. Or people never using it because they're too embarrassed to try and risk losing face by getting it wrong, or maybe sounding a bit silly, and thus forcing us to use English anyway. Those are threats.

Anon. Listen to me, feel the sincerity of my words: we adore you. We adore you. You cannot imagine how appreciated it is when someone learns Welsh. You cannot imagine how touched we are that you wanted to, that you tried, that you respected us enough and considered us valid enough that you made the effort. Our closest neighbours are the very people who are still trying to stamp out Welsh to this very day. Do you know the number 1 reaction I get, by a country mile, when I tell English people that I speak Welsh? It's some variant on a scoff, and the sentiment "Why? What's the point? Bit useless, isn't it?"

By a country mile. That's the reaction I expect, and brace for, and is overwhelmingly what I get.

So when someone who isn't Welsh actually chooses to learn Welsh?

Imagine what that feels like! To go from not-even-hidden disgust, from outright mockery and often active suppression campaigns, to a foreigner earnestly telling me that they love and respect my language so much they're trying to learn it. Imagine how that feels.

Please learn Welsh. Please learn it. We will love you for it. We will build you a statue. We will bake little Welshcakes with your face on in icing sugar. We will write you poems in complex rhyme. We'll name an Eisteddfod prize after you. We'll name at least, like, three sheep after you. Thank you, thank you so much for even wanting to learn. You're a delight and a marvel and a wonder. Your hair looks great today, as it does all days. You're a strong, independent human being of immense wisdom and compassion. If this were a Welsh myth you'd be a wise salmon the heroes came to for advice. What a fantastic human.

The welcome awaits if you choose to learn

#linguistics #asks #long post

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prismatic-bell · 9 days

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Not to be that goy, but my web browser skills are non existant, and you have been a vital resource for learning about jewish perspectives for me. (Ie. If this ask is too much to deal with. I get it. Ignore it and/or tell me to fuck off)

It has been nightmarishly difficult to differentiate between non antisemitic palestinian advocacy and antisemitc palestinian advocacy. So for the most part my involvement has been, i do not have the spoons for this so im staying out of it and unfollowing and blocking anyone being a blatant asshole about it.

Is the boycott of eurovision one of the less antisemitic parts of the pro-palestine movement or am i going to be treating this as yet another dog whistle?

Dogwhistle.

1) claim #1: Israel should not be allowed to perform because it’s committing genocide. Aside from the fact that quite a few experts have said IT ISN’T: let’s remove every country that’s committed genocide since 1901–

….oh. Well, that’s embarrassing. (And I missed Sweden and its attempts to get rid of the Sámi, so it’s even worse than that graphic makes it look.) Maybe just the ones doing it right now, which is surely just Israel—

…..or not.

Clearly, it’s not actually about genocide.

2) claim #2: Israel should not be able to participate because it isn’t in Europe. There is a small amount of merit in this—except that nobody is calling for Australia, Azerbaijan, or Armenia to be removed on the same grounds. Incidentally, if we’re going based entirely on geographic location, there are two other countries that ought to get the boot by virtue of being at least partly over the Europe-Asia border.

So it’s not actually about location.

3) claim #3: Israel shouldn’t be able to participate because it’s a colony. I’m going to say something controversial: most of Israel is not, because you can’t colonize a place you’re indigenous to, HOWEVER, because the West Bank was intended to be specifically a Palestinian state, I think the settlements there could count as colonization. Okay, I’ll give you that one. Surely the protestors are calling for the removal of all countries that currently have colonial holdings—

….oh.

Special shoutout to the UK, by the way, which IS a colony. The Welsh, Cornish, (some) Irish, and Scottish people are under English rule, and the English have very cleverly put it into their own laws that none of those countries can declare independence unless England says it’s okay.

(Also, I feel like if you’re going to yell about colonization and Eurovision, maybe we should discuss how all Eurovision entries must be in English.)

So it’s not really about colonization.

Claim #4: Israel is trying to sneak propaganda in with its song, so it shouldn’t be allowed to participate.

This one is so fucking stupid I’m just going to say “judge for yourself.”

youtube

Yes, it’s about the grief of 10/7. But if you didn’t know that, you WOULDN’T know it, and grief is not political.

So it’s not really about politics or propaganda.

And finally,

Claim #5: Israel shouldn’t be allowed to participate because it’s an ethnostate and those are bad.

So first, Israel is not an ethnostate. Only 73% of its population are Jews; over a quarter belong to other ethnicities. But sure, I’ll play: every country with a population that’s 74% or more from one ethnicity is now disinvited from Eurovision!

….oh.

Also, wanna know why Poland is crossed off in red? Because it’s 98% one ethnicity. Now THAT is an ethnostate.

But this one is getting warmer, because….

It’s not about genocide, or colonialism, or politics…but it is about how many Jews there are.

It’s antisemitism, plain and simple.

#you ask nina answers #Nina blogs antisemitism

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gwydion-aacblog · 10 months

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This is so random but your name kinda sounds like a fantasy animal. Like it would have a rabbit body and head but bird legs and wings and maybe some scales somewhere, and it would be green and have flowers growing out of its fur. Does any of that make sense to you because my 3am thoughts usually don't make much sense

name is real welsh name . not fantasy . but would be surprise , how many people use welsh names and words and sounds because think more mystical magic , then not respect real welsh things and people . think can blame tolkien for this . ( seem did respect real welsh , but , not everyone follow that . )

which is to say , please not say things like this . welsh real language not just fantasy thing , not more " badass " ( another thing someone once say ) . just normal name , from another culture another language .

not know specific words … but welsh people face lots hurt and oppress because , not english and not want give in to be english . people who call welsh ugly bad language and people who treat welsh as special magic fantasy language , both sides on same coin … that not see as real language speak by real people .

not bad see language as pretty thing and want appreciate , but please remember very real , and , celtic languages have very hard history .

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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 3 months

Text

Before You Go

Pairing: Dean Winchester x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: Reader is a grad student in college trying to work hard for her degree, but a certain green eyed stranger keeps showing up and turns her life upside down. Will she push him away? Or will she finally realize that he’s not going anywhere? (I’m so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Tropes: Angst, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Age Difference (Reader is early to mid-20's and Dean is probably early 30's)

Word Count: 5.5K (I have an addiction don't judge me)

Warnings: Some swearing (once or twice), mentions of sex (not explicit at all), implied sex, self-deprecating thoughts (Dean), Dean might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. I’m not going to lie, this one is a little self-indulgent. This is only my second supernatural fic, so please be gentle. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Masterlist

Part 2

********************************************

"Did you understand anything from that lecture?" Tim asks nudging your shoulder.

The sour smell of beer and sweat fades in and out of your nose as you make your way to the Science building through the mass of students on the way to the football game. It was a Thursday night, Thursday night for everyone else meant tailgating, cheap beer, and face paint, but Thursday night for you meant four hours in the anatomy lab surrounded by the oppressive smell of formaldehyde and bent over a table examining the internal intricacies of the human body.

It wasn’t unwelcome, you knew what you signed up for when you decided to go to medical school, but you still wished that the lab was earlier in the day instead of at 6 pm.

The air is filled with the dull throb of energy, pulsing with the music from speakers all over campus, and through the throngs of people that pass you on the way to the stadium. The buzz of excitement in the air vibrated through your nerve endings. If you paid attention to how well the football team was doing, you would have known that tonight was the championship, but the closest you got to pigskin was the bag of pork rinds in your backpack and the occasional football player that asked you for help finding research materials during your shifts at the library.

"Nope." You reply jostling past a group of guys toting a giant stuffed pig wearing jersey of the school’s rival while they catcall some girls up ahead dressed from head to toe in bright red.

"Then why did you keep nodding?"

"Because Professor Drake was staring right at me!"

"You didn't have to make eye contact."

"It's a little late for that don't you think?" You smile up at him. He's taller than you, with dark hair falling forward into his glasses and a lean build. "But it's alright, I'll just binge watch YouTube videos."

Tim laughs adjusting his backpack over his shoulder. You had been lab partners since your first year, randomly assigned and forced to collaborate, but after many late night study sessions and mental breakdowns, Tim was one of your only friends.

“You seem to spend a lot of time on YouTube." He smiles.

"It's free education."

"Seems ridiculous to pay all this money just to learn it on YouTube."

"If YouTube handed out degrees for watching videos I’d be a doctor by now. I’d probably also have a degree in culinary arts.” You look down to check the watch on your wrist. You were both running late for lab. Dr. Welsh hated it when students were late, in fact, he was notorious for locking the door. Each week there was always some poor soul that banged on the door for entry, but Dr. Welsh knew no mercy. One time, you witnessed another student attempt to sneak in through the window an hour late. Dr. Welsh made them go back out the way they came, despite the lab being on the third floor.

At least the student brought a ladder with him.

“Culinary arts?”

“I like pie. Plus baking helps me cope with my stress.” You knock into his shoulder to shut him up. “What? You don’t watch anything weird on YouTube?”

“I usually start watching videos to understand the lectures and suddenly it’s been 7 hours, it’s 3 am and I’m watching a timelapse of metal rusting.”

“We’ve all been there buddy.”

"Hey doll-face!" You hear from somewhere behind you, but you ignore it, believing it to be another group of guys who splash beer over the sidewalk.

You glance down at your watch again.

"We're not going to be late." Jake says sensing your anxiety. "We've got 5 minutes."

"Early is on time, on time is late, late is inexcusable." You sing-song.

"Dr. Welsh embroider that on a pillow for you?"

"No it’s just-"

Someone grabs your backpack and pulls you back a step. What the- You whirl around prepared to cuss out a drunken frat boy, but you weren't expecting Dean Winchester.

"Dean." You say in surprise.

He looks better than you remember. Dean's wearing a red flannel covered by a black jacket, his hair tousled just the right amount to look effortless, his green eyes crinkled around the edges as his mouth pulls into a smile that makes your knees weak.

Your relationship, if you could even call it that, began your first week of classes, two years ago. You had just moved into your apartment and met your new roommate, but instead of going out to the new student mixer with her, you decided to stay in and unpack. It was past midnight when you heard a commotion in the apartment next door and when you opened your front door to investigate, you found Dean in the hallway leaning against the wall. His clothes were torn, he had a knife in his hand, blood was soaked through the front of his shirt, but when his eyes met yours, you weren't afraid. He looked so broken, so small that you had to help him. So you pulled him into your apartment and stitched him up the best you could, while he tried to lie about how it happened and explain why he looked like he'd been through a blender. Dean had never been good at lying to you, not even then. He was also the biggest baby you had ever met when it came to wound care.

In the months that followed Dean continued to show up, each time with injuries less and less life threatening asking you to help him, until one day he showed up perfectly fine and continued to show up. You would spend every minute together for a few days and then he would leave like nothing happened, only to show up again in a few weeks and it would start all over again. Sometimes you thought that he wanted more than just a few days together, but then he would just leave, not giving you any other explanation. You hadn't expected to fall for him as hard as you did, but each time he left it broke you. You found yourself hoping each day that he would show up, only to be disappointed when he didn't. Days would drag by fading into shades of gray until finally Dean would show up and everything went back to color, only to sink back into monochrome when he left. The last time you had seen him was a month ago, when you told him that you couldn't do this anymore and told him not to come back.

But now he was here, again.

"Hey Doll-face." Dean smiles wider.

You try to ignore how your heart stutters in your chest when he smiles at you.

"Do you know this guy?" Tim asks you taking a step forward to put himself between Dean and you.

Dean's eyes trace Tim, smile slipping into confident smirk as he sizes him up. He opens his mouth, but you interrupt whatever thought was about to come out.

"Unfortunately I do." You sigh. "Tim can you give us a minute."

"Sure. But-"

"I know." You say, understanding that he was going to remind you what time it was. "We won't be late."

"I'll be over there." Tim puts a healthy distance between the two of you, far enough to give you space, but close enough that he can see you.

Dean is still smirking at him. "Boyfriend?" His eyes flit to yours, amused.

"Lab partner." You adjust your grip on your backpack unsure what to do.

I said everything I needed to say the last time. I thought that was it. Did he think I didn't mean it?

You think about the last time he was here, when you told him that you couldn't do this anymore and when he finally left, how you skipped all your classes and stayed in bed for two days clutching a pillow to your chest and wishing that it was him. It had felt like the end. The end of whatever the hell this had been. Sometimes you wished that you had defined it the first time you slept together, wished that you had told him you didn't do that ever, that you didn't just sleep with people without feelings because you knew sooner or later it would end up like this.

Then again you knew that you always had feelings for him, since the moment you locked eyes with his the night you met.

"He’s cute. If you’re into that geeky kind of thing. Though you could always date Sam-"

"What are you doing here?"

"I was in the neighborhood. Plus I didn’t want to miss the big game.” Dean's eyes flit to the mass of people swarming around you, shouting and singing as they stumble down the cracked pavement. The dark shadows of the buildings stretch long over campus, illuminated by the lamplights that line the sidewalks.

"You should have called"

"I did. You never pick up" He arches a perfect eyebrow.

"Most would take that as a hint"

"Well Sweetheart given my profession you not picking up made me worry."

By now you knew exactly what he did. Despite Dean not acting like he wanted a relationship, when all was quiet and it was just the two of you laying in bed he confided in you, told you things about his life that made you hold him close and wish that you could make him forget all about it. You loved those soft moments with Dean, when it felt like more and you could imagine that Dean wanted to be as wrapped up in you as you were in him.

Your heart clenches in your chest as you try to forget it all, forget the day he walked into your life, and forget how much you like him.

"I can’t do this with you right now, I’ve got a lab in 3 minutes." You turn towards where Tim is standing, prepared to leave.

"Come on you can blow off one lab.” Dean grabs your backpack turning you back to face him. “We can go to the big game. You know I can’t say no to free beer-“ The look in his eyes is joking.

He doesn't understand.

You shake him off. "No I can't Dean. This is important to me. This is my life. I can't drop everything just because you show up out of the blue."

"It wouldn't be out of the blue if you picked up your phone." His smile dips into an attractive pout that makes it very difficult to think.

"Dean why are you here?"

"I told you, I was in the neighborhood-"

"We talked about this. I can't do this anymore."

"I remember you talking about it."

"Yes and I remember you leaving." You snap as the memory of the last time you saw him rises in the back of your throat. You think about the days that followed, when you couldn't focus and flunked a test.

"Y/n-“ Dean sighs.

"Look, I like spending time with you, but I can't keep doing this to myself. You show up, we spend every second together for days, and then you leave. It would be one thing if we were trying to do long distance, but we’re not. All I get is radio silence for weeks and then you show up all over again like nothing happened, expecting to pick up right where we left off, and the cycle begins all over again."

"I don't go radio silent for weeks. It’s you that doesn’t pick up your phone or text me back.”

"Yes you do and I can't do it. I won't do it. Because every time you leave I wonder if it's the last time I'll ever see you and-" You take in a breath to stop the ball of emotion that lodges itself in your throat. "It does something to me. And I'm not saying that what you do is any less important than what I'm trying to accomplish here. I’m not telling you to stop hunting. But this is my life Dean, my future. And I don’t want to put that in jeopardy because you show up every few weeks when you’re feeling restless. I want more than a few days every few weeks. I want more and I'm worth more. And if you can't give that to me that's fine, but please stop coming around and so I can find someone else who can."

The expression on Dean's face shifts, it's no longer the playful smirk or attractive pout, it almost looks heartbroken.

But that can't be right. Dean doesn't see me that way.

You look at where Tim is waiting for you to avoid Dean's gaze. He’s looking down at the watch on his wrist and you can feel his apprehension.

"I've got to get to my lab." You turn away from Dean, but stop halfway to Tim. "It was good to see you Dean. I wish you the best."

As Tim and you begin to walk away, you can feel Dean's eyes on you the whole way up the stairs into the science building, but you refuse to turn back.

"Are you okay?" Tim whispers.

"I will be. Let's just go before Dr. Welsh locks the door." You mutter while pushing down the guilt that rose when you thought of how Dean looked when you walked away.

********************************************

Despite Dr. Welsh’s attempts to lock the door, you were far too angry with Dean to let another man stand in your way, so when you and Tim arrived to lab 10 seconds before the clock struck 6, you shoved your boot in the door before Dr. Welsh could shut it. And by some miracle he let you in. Maybe it was the murder in your eyes.

Tim had been stunned, you were usually more reserved, not quick tempered. But everything that happened with Dean rubbed you the wrong way.

You couldn’t decide if you liked him or hated him. Right now the hate was winning.

How dare he? You thought to yourself, hand clenching on the scalpel so tightly that Tim backed up. How dare he just show up again after I told him not to?

“Y/n, are you okay?” Tim had asked.

“I’m fine. Don’t I look fine?” You’d snapped at him.

Even Dr. Welsh had given you a wide berth through lab.

After you cleaned up everything it was 10:26 pm, which meant you had a little time before your late shift in the library.

“Did you want to go see if that shawarma food truck is still parked around the corner?” Tim asks hesitantly.

“No. I’m just gonna go to the library and study before my shift.” You mumble, shouldering your backpack and ignoring the urge to think about Dean.

Hopefully he took the hint and he’s gone. The thought brought a prick of guilt. Would that be the last time I ever saw him? Would those be the last words I ever said to him? You fight the urge to call him, to apologize, because the one thing you had wanted to say was that you liked him and you didn’t want him to go, you wanted him to stay in your life permanently. Sure long distance was hard, but for him it would be worth it.

“Oh.” Tim pauses for a minute. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Huh?”

“Well that Dean guy. You seemed kinda upset.”

“I was- am. But it’s okay, give me a few hours I’ll be over it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Sure.”

“Make sure to send the link to that Timelapse of metal rusting.” You try to smile, but the joke falls flat.

“Okay.” Tim watches you go.

The library was only a 9 minute walk from the science building, but it still felt too long. You longed to be lost in your notes, to think of anything else other than Dean, but you couldn’t.

Why did he have to come back? Why couldn’t he have just let it lie? I was doing better- You think about the weeks that followed his last visit, a haze of homework, tests, and work. Well, I was doing okay.

The thrum of music is still in the air, but now less people pass you as you walk down the sidewalk, and the ones that do are holding hands and laughing. Your thoughts shift to Dean again.

I like him, but I have to get over him because it’s not going anywhere. You think about the first time you slept together. Maybe this is my fault, maybe I should have defined this from the beginning. I mean, I know the kind of person he is… That thought makes you pause. Sure the first few times you’d patched his wounds Dean was sexy and flirty, but all the times that followed he seemed, sweet, charming. It wasn’t that you spent every moment in bed, he had taken you out to dinner at the diner down the street, fought with you over the last slice of pie, took you to a bar for drinks where he shamelessly beat you at pool, other times he waited for you to be done with your classes to make sure that you didn't have to walk home alone at night. You remember how mad he had been when you told him you did that, but gas was so expensive and it was easier to walk the four blocks.

Someone grabs your arm from behind, pulling you out of your memories, and you finally snap. Using the only self defense move you knew, besides S-I-N-G from Miss Congeniality, you knock off the hand and flip the offender over your shoulder prepared to spray them in the face with the mace in your pocket.

But then you realize who it is.

Dean frowns up at you from the ground. “When I taught you that, I didn’t expect you to use it on me.”

“Just be happy that I didn’t pepper spray you.” Your eyes narrow.

Maybe I should. It would make me feel better.

“Would have been the highlight of my night.” He stands up from the ground brushing off the front of his clothes with a pointed look.

“Dean what are you still doing here?”

“I want to talk.”

“I’ve said all I need to.”

“But I haven’t.”

“I don’t care. You’ve heard what I need to say and I’m sick of you not listening.”

“Y/n-“

“Fine, I’ll say it one more time, but listen this time. I've never, never depended on anyone else in my life. It's been me, me for a long time.” You poke your finger into his chest to emphasize your point. “Then you just sauntered in and changed everything. You made me care about you, worry about you, and you made me depend on you showing up in my life. Every time you leave it breaks me. Every time I’m in a funk for days. The last time you left, I cried for two days and I didn’t go to any of my classes! I'm trying to be serious about my life. And I can't do that if you show up every few weeks and make me expect something and then leave a few days later and I'm devastated.”

Dean’s eyes widen in surprise. “I didn’t know that.”

“I have to get over you Dean, and I can't do that if you keep showing up. So please just go.” You turn away from him.

His hand comes down on your arm again to turn you back to him. “I don’t want you to get over me.”

“What?”

“Do you think I like leaving you? Do you really think it’s that easy for me?” He looks hurt.

“It certainly seems to be when you walk out after a few days with a smile like it means nothing! Like I mean nothing-“ You fight the tears that burn against your eyes. You wanted to be something for him just as much as he was something for you, but you were afraid. You hadn’t depended on anyone since you graduated and moved away from home. You weren’t used to needing someone in your life this much.

"You mean everything!” Dean shouts grabbing your shoulders. “It’s me that means nothing."

You blink your eyes for a second, not comprehending what he’s trying to say. "Dean what are you talking about?"

"I didn't think you wanted that-" He looks down.

Your eyes trace the slump in his shoulders, the frown on his handsome face, and the way he won’t meet your gaze.

What is he talking about?

You try to think of a time that you’d seen him look so vulnerable, but the only time you imagine was the night you met.

"Wanted what?"

"Me.” Dean’s voice is a whisper.

"I'm confused."

His eyebrows are furrowed, lips pressed into a tight line. “I’m nothing like you.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“You’re a little younger than me and you’re smart and you’ve got this bright future ahead of you. You don’t need someone like me dragging you down-“

“Someone like you? Dragging me down? Dean what are you talking about?" You can't comprehend what he's saying. You reach up to cup his cheeks, but Dean pulls back from you, glancing away.

“I didn’t go to a fancy college, I barely finished high school. I’ve spent most of my life in motel rooms committing credit card fraud and trying not to die. And then I met you. You’re funny and caring and so smart, and I just thought that you would like it more if I came by every once in a while to relieve some tension. I didn’t think that you would want me to stay.”

He didn’t think that I would want him? That can't be right. Dean is so confident usually. You search his face and see the genuine vulnerability behind his green eyes.

“Are you serious?” You ask him.

He doesn’t say anything.

“Dean, you are smart-“

“Not the same way you are”

“Dean.” You can’t help but take his hand. Dean’s green eyes focus on yours for a second, wide and open. “You don’t have to go to college to be smart. You’re resourceful and you know more about supernatural creatures than anyone else. Even the top scientists and doctors in the world don’t believe in them and they went to stuffy old colleges and fight with one another over who’s smarter. I don’t care that you didn’t go to a fancy college. What you do is important, probably more important than what I’m going to do. You protect people, you’ve saved the world more than once, and sure maybe it’s not glamorous to some people but it is to me.”

His eyes widen in surprise.

“Have you thought that maybe I like spending time with you because you’re so different than the people I see everyday?” You ask him softly, squeezing his hand.

“No.” Dean mutters.

“I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth, I don’t have lavish wealthy parents bankrolling me. My dad is a mechanic. I work two jobs and send him money so I don’t have to worry about him. Sometimes I feel like a fraud. But when you show up I don’t feel like a freak. With you I feel like I don’t have to pretend, I can just be me. And I like you, a lot. This has never just been about relieving tension or sex for me. Ever. I mean it’s nice-“

“Just nice?” Dean raises an eyebrow.

You flush bright red. “I like spending time with you without that too. All the times we spent laying in bed or went to a bar or went to get food, and we talked were equally as wonderful for me. I like talking with you. I like hearing about your life. I just assumed that you had someone in every state that you visit when you’re feeling restless and that you didn’t want a relationship.”

“There’s no one else. Hasn’t been since I met you.”

Deans eyes lock with yours as you comprehend what he just confessed.

“Really?” Your voice is only a whisper.

“Fuck I’m not good at this romantic comedy shit-“ He mutters to himself shaking his head. “I like you too. I wish that I could be here all the time. I hate leaving you. It’s too quiet. When I’m not here all I do is think about you, what you’re doing, how your day was.”

Your entire body explodes with his words, heart beating so fast you think it’ll grow wings and take flight.

“When I was younger I used to laugh at Sam because he wanted a normal life, but with you I understand. You’re so different than anyone I’ve ever met and it hurts me when I’m away from you.” Dean continues with a soft smile that makes you lose all feeling in your legs.

He takes your other hand. “I understand that what you’re doing is important and I’m not asking you to quit school. All I’m asking is that you give me a chance. I want to make this work. I know that long distance isn’t easy, but I want to try.” His eyes search yours, begging for a answer, but you can barely breathe let alone speak. You watch his face fall as he takes your silence as your answer. “But I understand if you don’t want to, because you are worth more. You’re worth more than a few days, than a phone call or a text. You deserve someone who can be here with you all the time. You’re worth more than what I can give you. And you shouldn’t have to settle-“

You grab the front of his flannel because you can’t think of anything to say and pull him down to you for a kiss. Pins and needles trace down your spine as his soft lips move against yours. He smiles against your mouth, folding you into him, his large hand on the small of your back just under your backpack causing warmth to shoot down your spine. You lose yourself in the way his body fits around yours

“I’m not settling.” Your hands cup his cheeks as you look deep into his eyes. “I never want you to feel that way, because you are worth a hundred of any man I have ever met in my life. And if it’s my cross to bear to make you understand that every day of my life, then so be it. Because I would be lucky to spend any amount of time with you. I don’t want anyone else. I just want you, Dean. I’ve wanted you since the day we met and every day after. And I’m yours as long as you want me.”

Dean’s smile breaks open something in the pit of your stomach and goosebumps scorch across your skin. “I can’t imagine not wanting you.” He presses his forehead against yours.

You stand there with his warm hand pressed into your back trying to think of another time that you felt even a fraction of what you feel for him. You think about your high school boyfriend, about a few of the guys you dated in during your undergrad years, but you come up with nothing. Because you can’t compare him to anyone else you’ve ever met. And it hurt you to think that Dean thought so little of himself in the grand scheme of things.

He leans down to kiss you again, pulling you against his chest so tight that everything blissfully falls away.

“Are you hungry?” He whispers against your lips after a minute.

“Yes, but my shift at the library starts soon. I’m there til 2.” You tighten your hands at the back of his neck, not wanting to let him go.

“Okay. I’ll go with you.”

“Dean it’s okay if you just want to go back to my apartment and sleep. I can give you the key-“ You notice the dark circles under his eyes, but you know that Dean wasn’t one to complain about being tired.

“It’s worth being tired if I get to see you.” Dean smiles. “But I’ll go get us some food, because I’m hungry too.”

“Don’t forget the pie.”

“Have I ever?” He brushes his lips to yours one more time, but you don’t remove your arms from around his neck. “You’re going to have to let me go doll.”

“Just 5 more minutes.”

********************************************

You spend the weekend together in your apartment. All those blissful moments together solidify the thought that this is real, that this time it’s going to be different. Every night going to bed with Dean tucking you against him and waking up every morning with your head on his chest feels like a dream, and you never want to wake. Every kiss and intimate moment between you feels like more, and you have to keep reminding yourself that it isn’t just sex, hasn’t ever been just sex. Dean wants to be there with you all the time, hold you close to him and share things with you. And this time you finally understand that you do help him forget and know that you do bring him as much comfort as he brings you.

When Monday comes and Dean has to go, you try not to think of it as the end.

Dean leans back against the door of the Impala, his hands on your hips, green eyes blazing in the sun, but it’s his eyes that warm you more than the sun’s rays.

"Sweetheart-" Dean begins, sensing what you’re thinking. His thumbs rub smooth circles against waist where your t-shirt rests.

"I know." You press your face into his flannel, inhaling the scent you ascribe to Dean. He smells like oil, leather, and the spicy scent of the soap he uses that tickles your nose.

"Hey." His free hand comes under your chin to raise your gaze back to his. "I promise I'm gonna come back. I promise that we're going to make this work. It’s going to be different.” He cups your cheek, eyes soft and understanding.

“I know, but you’re still leaving.” Your tighten your arms around his chest.

“I wish I didn’t have to. But Sam called, he needs me-“

“I know.” You breathe.

You don’t want Dean to feel any worse than he does about leaving, especially when you remember what he said to you a few days ago, about you deserving more and about how he wished he could be more for you. Deep down you know that both of you are determined to make this work, so you put on a smile.

“It’s okay.” You gently rub his back. “You’ll be back in 2 weeks and I’ll be on spring break in a month.”

“Does that mean I’ll get to see you in a bikini?” Dean grins.

“You’ll have to wait and see.”

“Hmm. Well until I see you-“ He raises his right hand from where it rests on your hip to remove the large silver ring from his finger. "Don't panic, it's not an engagement ring." Dean's smile breaks you a little. "Just me promising that I'll come back, that I'll call and text you so much that you'll be sick of me." He slides the ring onto your thumb, the weight comforting.

"I could never be sick of you."

“Just you wait.” He winks, holding your hand to his chest. “I bet I can prove you wrong.”

“I welcome the challenge.”

The kiss goodbye is bittersweet, but you hold yourself together, refusing to cry as Dean gets into his car and leaves. You watch the Impala disappear around the corner, taking your heart with it, but just as it does your phone rings.

“Hello?”

“I miss you.” Dean’s voice fills the line and this time you can’t stop the tears.

“I miss you too.”

“I promise I’ll be back in two weeks.”

“Okay. Please be careful.” You remember all the stories he's told you over the time you’ve known him, all the horrible things that happened to him and Sam. Sometimes you wish he hadn’t, because you can’t help but worry.

“I’m always careful.” You can hear him rolling his eyes.

“As the person who has spent the past 2 years patching you up, I can say with certainty that you are not always careful.”

“Then I promise to be more careful than usual.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” The wind picks up, pulling your hair from the ponytail at the back of your head.

“I’ll call you when I make it back to the bunker.”

“Good.”

“Bye y/n.”

“Bye Dean.”

Your gaze drops to the heavy ring on your thumb and you hold tight to the hope and belief that this time is different, allowing the memories of the past few days to brush away any doubts that threaten the thought of what the future will bring.

********************************************

Thank you so much for reading! I am considering doing a series with this reader and Dean, but let me know what y’all think!

#spn #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #spnfandom #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural #supernatural fluff #spn fanfiction #dean winchester fic #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfic #soft dean

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olderthannetfic · 4 months

Note

i'm dumb and its actual hard to guess

Haha.

Okay, so... the big issue in minority languages, reviving dying languages, etc. has to do with their draw.

To keep a language vital, you generally need:

monolingual speakers

economic advantage

cultural power

Pick two.

Any language that has its own territory where it is the majority language that is used for business and entertainment and daily life outside of the home does not tend to become endangered. There are plenty of people who only speak that language or who at least preferentially use it and are far more competent in it. They can't and won't run off for other languages at the drop of a hat.

But when you don't have that... boy, you better have a lot going for your language or it's fucked.

People go where the jobs are. If you need English in order to eat, you learn English. Or Mandarin. Or Russian.

Grandma cares deeply about our ethnic heritage and the traditions tied to our ancestral language? Too bad. I'm hungry, the jobs are in a factory in the city, and I need a roof over my head.

My kids want to watch TV. They want pop music and movies and comics. They want to feel cool, not like losers in some dying backwater.

Why the fuck would they care what grandma thinks?

...

Until they hit 40 and they realize their entire heritage just got stolen by the big boys. Who even are they because they're not this majority they tried to join, but they're not the old thing either? Gosh, it might be nice to reclaim their own history, but grandma is gone and so is her language and it's far, far too late.

If you don't have the territory and the economic power, your only other option is coolness.

If you've got some hot culture people love, they'll want to learn your language. Native speakers will take pride in that language and keep using it routinely instead of relegating it to the kitchen and living most of their life in another language. Their kids will grow up wanting to speak it instead of beating a hasty retreat for the nearest source of jobs and blockbuster movies.

This is why you get initiatives to make entertainment media in languages like Irish and Welsh.

When the sheer might of English is right next door, you're not going to beat that in usefulness or economic opportunity, but you just might be able to strike back by making people care.

It is very, very hard to make people care.

So on AO3, which is largely in English, if you want your ASL fic to matter, the last fucking thing you should do is make it available in English. Other languages, even super globally powerful ones, just aren't so common on AO3, so those translations don't really make a difference in this context.

The ASL translation of an English-language AO3 fic is a curiosity.

An ASL original that English speakers cannot access is a middle finger up to language hegemony.

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caineinthecorner · 26 days

Text

Languages (The Others)

★ Based on my language general hcs + the brothers' hcs.

Hi I am sleep deprived. Behold part two of my shitty hc delusions wooooo.

"Caine you missed some" yeah I'm lazy (+ don't know their characterization well enough). If you want to add hcs for the guys I skipped you can but in the meantime I'll go with the basic bitch options

Gentle reminder I make shit up. (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)

★ Solomon.

Okay so like I said with Asmo he knows french (and they're both nasty with it)

Basically he rizzed up Asmo in french

Using the dude he was in based out of he also knows English (native probably), Welsh, German, full-ass Demon Tongue and like some latin for magic bs. Idk

(bcs the guy lived nearby those countries in ye old Europe(tm) and something something immortal so why tf not learn languages while at it)

(also of course he learned demon tongue. He wants to rizz up demons and what better way to do that)

He learned demon tongue from random demons and a lot of trial and error

Plus he knows japanese if we are under the pretense that mc is japanese.

So like Solomon tries to use language rizz to get close to you as the other human student in Devildom. So basically using the Asmo trick with you.

... He's kinda painfully obvious with it

(how tf did Asmodeus fall for this shit?)

If you don't speak any of the languages he is fluent in his ass will ABSOLUTELY pick 'em up and be like "hey I want to learn:)"

He uses language as a tool to get what he wants basically

No wonder him and Asmo get along

If you know a language that is not loquar-translatable and he speaks it as well prepare to get secret-talk'd a lot.

Not having people spying your convos is a incredibly valuable asset in Devildom

Especially since you're around the brothers almost 24/7 and they're fucking VIGILANT

Oh also he 100% knows that Asmo fakes being shit at English.

But he's a simp so 乁⁠(⁠ ⁠•⁠_⁠•⁠ ⁠)⁠ㄏ

★ Luke.

FUNNILY ENOUGH. Two things:

Yes he doesn't need Loquar to communicate with you since he's an angel BUT

For some reason (cough your heritage cough) he keeps messing up in which language speak to you with.

Angel instincts are telling him to just use whatever language with you but the thing is that You Don't Know Whatever Language

Which is odd because that's something he only does with fellow angels????

But you are human so

He doesn't think much of it. He's probably just confused because he's around mean demons! >:T

(His basic subconscious instincts are harder to control since he's low ranking and his Angel brain is going "You = angel = language doesn't matter")

But since he keeps somewhat messing up around you he decides to gesture to hell when talking to you just in case

so you get the gist through his mannerisms in case his words get fucky

His least favorite language ever is Demon Tongue. Even outside of Not Liking Demons he doesn't like how throat-y and intensive it is.

↑ that is a popular Angel opinion btw. Demon Tongue in general is just annoying to use for them and barely any Angels use it outside of in-the-moment communication with Devildom natives.

If you ask him his preferred language he'll say some form of Latin since it's the preferred language of most high ranked angels, as well as Michael's.

But it's actually English.

★ Simeon.

Since he is was a high rank angel, he doesn't mess up what language speak to you with. He has real good control of stuff like that that comes with experience and age.

(in fact he's very confused why Luke keeps messing up so bad around you but doesn't think much of it since Luke is technically still a fledgling)

I already said this but yeah his preferred language is Archaic Latin (shared it with Lucifer pre-fall).

Ever since Lucifer's fall he switched to plain English and that's the answer he'll give you if you ask.

Only Angel that isn't bothered speaking demon tongue and will do so at his own leisure.

If you try to learn the demon language he is unironically so helpful because he isn't a spiteful bitch like Lucifer and actually teaches you shit without throwing you into the wolves

In fact Simeon is amused as hell over the fact that Lucifer is making you learn the hard stuff first. That is so him.

He's like the good cop of the learning dynamic. Cool substitute teacher vibes

Simeon finds accents to be the cutest thing ever since it is an inherently odd concept for someone fluent in Everything Ever

He has (jokingly) cooed over Luci's accent when he speaks Latin nowadays. Lucifer is not at all amused.

★ Barbatos.

He knows every language.

... Yeah that's it that's the list

Look at me dead in the eyes and tell me this motherfucker does not speak Sumerian

Ofc he knows every human language ever. And Devildom's. He knows™.

Funniest thing is that he doesn't even need Loquar to talk to you. He just deadass speaks your language with full fluency and you Never Notice

You only notice one day while having a normal convo with him and then Diavolo walks in speaking full deadass gibberish somehow and you're like ????? and Barbatos says "oh apologies I forgot to apply Loquar to you here you go"

Like deadass he would fuck with you so hard when it comes to languages.

Do not go to this man for language advice he will teach you proper stuff in the most incorrect way possible

(Probably! Or probably not! It depends! On what? Who the fuck knows™!)

He's deadass a roulette of proper, legitimate advice or literal shitposting

He wrote the Voynich manuscript. It was a housekeeping journal he was keeping in a dead Devildom idiom that ended up in the human realm by accident

He didn't retrieve it solely because seeing humans go insane over it was funny as hell and he has a secondary copy anyway. That book has nothing relevant in it besides like two recipes.

He did go to check back on it once to write down a meat pie recipe Diavolo's father liked bcs he didn't have on the copy

Barbatos is the definition of "wtf what language was that" "yes."

He and Lucifer have random days where they just pick a language to speak to each other. It helps to maintain fluency.

Barbatos jumpscared Satan once by going, full ass unprompted mid convo, "Oh right you speak Tagalog."

He knows what languages everyone speaks like a white girl knows zodiac charts

★ Diavolo.

Ok so he probably knows English since it is Solomon's native and humanity's current universal(ish) language

Like of course he wants to communicate with humans! Of course he'll learn their language!!!

Unlike Barbatos and Lucifer who are very impressive Polyglots he's realistic in his language stuff. The more down-to-earth of the three

His English is hilarious

Not particularly because he says things wrong but his accent and tone just makes it sound incredibly funny

He sounds exactly like a dubbed-over superhero doing a friendship monologue At All Times

He is so earnest with it that you don't have the heart to explain why you're laughing

Anyhow fun fact:

Loquar for some reason translates what he says in Demon Tongue the most literal ass sense possible for literally no reason

Which is odd(tm) but mostly just funny as all hell

Everyone has been troubleshooting whatever the fuck happens to Loquar Ad Vos with Diavolo but no idea so far.

The phrase "have you tried unpapplying it and applying it again" has been uttered more than once unironically

The working theory is that since Diavolo is royalty and Loquar Ad Vos was created with the sampling of normal demons it works wrong on him since there's something different(tm)

Reverse engineering the Loquar spell to work on him has been in the works for a while. Loquar is drafted like shit since it is an old human-oriented spell (Basically like spaghetti code needing to be rewritten), so it proves a bit troublesome.

You later find that Diavolo speaks in a very uniquely pronounced manner

↑ Think of it like Devildom royalty has a very distinctive Way Of Speaking. Like an accent but also not. Probably magic related in some way(?)

"do you want to consume nourishment" ← Diavolo's ass getting mistranslated

So yeah Barbatos or Lucifer kinda have to lend a hand when you two communicate.

If you're English speaking then you two kinda communicate that way sometimes. You reassure him on his accent and help him along if he gets anything wrong.

(he's fluent-ish in Japanese as well if we are running in the assumption that the reason why MC's canonically japanese is because they needed someone who A) speaks a language translatable by Loquar Ad Vos B) is also a language Diavolo knows and C) is not of the same social background as Solomon)

He will get so unapologetically excited when you start learning demon tongue. You two can!!! Communicate even more!!!!!

Demons will be genuinely mortified if you gain Diavolo's accent while speaking demon tongue. Why does this random ass human speak like royalty ತ⁠_⁠ತ

Very (un)subtle way to tell everyone that you're besties/partner/whatever of the literal prince of Devildom.

Something something dragon being possessive something

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me! shall we date?#obey me hcs #obey me luke #obey me simeon #obey me barbatos #obey me diavolo #caineshcs

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sylvies-chen · 1 year

Text

ok since the last one blew up I figured I would do this again so

TED LASSO EPISODE 3 THOUGHTS:

diversity win! the silly ridiculous welsh man on your favourite football team is gay!

no but in all seriousness the colin storyline is really interesting, I like that they’re kind of playing this storyline as him not being out to the team and maintaining the sort of heteronormative facade that is expected in the very dude bro culture of football BUT without the internalized homophobia element this time which is normally included. like he doesn’t *seem* to be repulsed by his own sexuality in any way and his boyfriend is more than willing to sit with him for a night pretending to be just friends so I really like that they’re a healthy couple who seem to respect each other’s boundaries with sexuality

I also think ultimately, even if he slips up or is tempted to do something with this information, that TRENT WILL DO THE RIGHT THING IN TRENT WE TRUST

rebecca hinting at her psychic appointment and ted appearing immediately WORK WITH ME HERE SOULMATISM also noticed that thigh touch oop-

roy training jamie??? oh this is going to be comedic GOLD

it’s definitely bad that jamie’s right though. like, actually right about something for once???

zava is a much different kind of diva then expecting, in that he’s not so much a diva as he is a cult leader. uhh…. adorable! 😀

also wait MMM THE PSYCHIC TROPE OMG IMA EAT THAT UP EVERY TIME also guys. guys I can already smell the reactions to the green matchbook thing coming from miles away. we don’t need to worry! the matchbook was literally the first thing she mentioned of many things, it in no way means sambecca is endgame so we can all breathe. the family rebecca is a mother to is the AFC richmond family of course!!! and the shite in nining armour is most likely the guy that the whole of england has been calling names since his arrival, mr ted lasso himself!!

also OOH OMG SHE’S PREDICTING THE WATER SCENE WHERE REBECCA’S GOING TO FALL IN and the way she grabs rebecca’s hands when she says “but you’re safe” calling it now that ted will pull her out and make her feel safe sifjsifkskfkd 🥺

michelle dating her former marriage councillor is all kinds of weird and YES, unethical!! thank you to sassy for pointing that out! we love her for it

final comment: sam’s restaurant seems like SUCH a vibe oh my god I’m so proud of my baby for creating a community out of bits of his culture from his home, trying to bring home to england and celebrate with his richmond family ugh his big heart I can’t 😭

#ted lasso #ted lasso spoilers #tedbecca #rebecca welton #sam obisanya #jamie tartt #zava #colin hughes

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ravi-deactivated · 6 months

Text

𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙖𝙣𝙖 𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨

„Sweet cunt and a sharp tongue, you're a dangerous combo, love.“

featuring: edward kenway

cw: praise, vaginal sex, semi-public i guess

synopsis: owning a tavern in havana means being used to pirates in your every day life, their crude words and behaviour. but you've never met a pirate going this far in attempt to apologize for a crewmate's bad actions.

note: „fy nghariad“ is a welsh phrase meaning „my love“ or „my sweetheart“ which i thought would be nice to include, but please tell me if i used it incorrectly, that would be kinda embarassing lol

18+ content - MDNI

───────────────────

Havana is always warm, always welcoming and soft, with sunlight flooding through streets of beige and gold, full of laughter and peaceful existence.

Even at night, it feels like the warmth wraps around people like a soft coat, summer air resting between the buildings and mingling with the scent of the sea, darkness enlightened by warm lanterns and candles. The sound of joyful music, shanties and drunken laughter has become the soundtrack of your nights as bartender in the tavern and restaurant which are owned by your father, and you like to say that Havana is a place of joy, no matter the time of day.

You've done this job since your teenage years, are used to bar fights and lusting gazes resting on you, know how to handle men who try to let their hands wander, think they can whistle at you or spit out crude and naughty things.

Most of them know that it will only get them a ban from the house, or in worst case, a beating from your main visitors or an arrest by the guards, but sometimes, there still are idiots who try it, out of pure stupidity and falsely placed ego.

Citizens of Havana adore your tavern as a centre of the city, they know how to behave and have their fun in peace, but the pirates docking on the shore are a different story.

You can see it in their gazes, in the way they talk, the way they stride through the streets like they own them and the houses forming them, that they're looking for provocation, hungry for a fight.

Thankfully, most of them are more of an inconvience and not an actual threat, and you know how to handle them, know that a tavern is a pirate's favourite place, which gives you a slight advantage against them, even if it's just out of their sympathy for the rum you pour them.

It doesn't diminish your dislike for them, despite them being your costumers.

Pirates are a disease, you've always been told. And yet, you can't help but feel a thrill in your veins, feel your heart leap and your legs trembling when a strong hand grabs your chin from behind, gently, sensually lifts your head.

The soft light filling the dim walls of the empty, closed tavern flickers in your vision, soft tears of passion melting it to a blur along with the dark of the late night and a breathed, blissful sigh leaves your lips, forced out of you by the way the body of the man behind you rocks once more against you.

Pirates are the worst of the worst, you learned early in your life. And Edward Kenway is so good at being a pirate, at getting what he wants, that he might be something even worse, armed with those mischievous eyes, his charming smirk and skilled fingers.

You did not question the leathern bracers wrapped around his lower arms, the hidden blades you saw shimmering in the dim light when you served him and his men, and you didn't question the hooded robe hanging over the back of his chair, could only focus on the white lace-up shirt on his body, the cleavage that slightly revealed the tattoos spreading over his chest.

It was no surprise and nothing new when one of his men hit on you, spitting rude words from a drunk tongue in an attempt to seduce you. What did surprise you was how fast Adéwalé grabbed him by the scruff like a puppy to kick him out of the tavern, and the way Edward apologized to you, genuinely and gentle.

Most men did not act like this when they came to drink in your tavern, only laughed when their comrades harrassed a girl. It did not fit your world view, disturbed the evil picture you carried of pirates all these years of your life.

You couldn't help but smile at the way Edward looked at you, a mixture of apologetic and enthrilled, felt your breath hitch when he asked you what he could offer to beg your forgiveness.

The way his hands are now roaming your body, his husked breaths against your ear and his body pressed against yours is not what you had in mind at first, but you'll gladly take it as a form of apology.

He lets out a groan as he fills you, slides into you like you are made for him, slicked walls hugging his cock, clenching around his girth.

He fills you just right, hits spots you have never felt, makes you see stars despite the roof above both of your heads.

„What do you say, sweetheart? Think this'll make up for the inconvience?“ he husks against your ear, sends a new shiver down your spine that ends up right inside the heat pooling in your lower stomach, and you lightly lean your head back, feel the stubble of his beard brushing your ear.

Just when you're about to answer, he hits you with another thrust from behind, knocks the air out of you with the sheer depth of his movements.

You need a second to catch your breath, collect yourself, before a little smirk spreads on your lips.

„Thought a world-class-pirate would have more to offer“, you respond, with a low, seducing voice, a tone that lures him in, makes his breath hitch lightly, bearly hearable if he wasn't so close to your ear.

He's so close even that you think you can feel the way an amused smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, and you shudder again when his breath fans your cheek.

„Sly little thing, aren't ya?“

Before you can answer in an even brattier tone than before, you feel how he slightly pushes you down, makes you lean further forward until you're forced to hold onto the bar, driven further and further into the wood by his harsh thrusts.

He quickens his pace, makes you whine and moan with the way he fills you, tip kissing your womb, his slight curve brushing your sweet spots just right.

„Sweet cunt and a sharp tongue, you're a dangerous combo, love.“

His words and the deep tone of his voice only make you arch more in his grasp, make you hold onto the bar with one hand, while the other carries your balance on its wooden surface.

You feel your own arousal run down your thighs, feel yourself getting higher and higher on the wet sounds echoing through the room whenever he enters your aching cunt, your brain spinning around mixed feelings of confusion and arousal.

He's a pirate, a well wanted one as well, and yet you can not help but love the way he grabs you, the way he fucks you, the way he makes you feel.

When he leans over your back, one hand placed next to your body, the other one on your hip to hold you steady, you somehow forget how much his head is worth, how dangerous his hands should feel on your body.

It feels strange, but a spark of sympathy arises within you when he leans in further, buries you in his shadow as he pushes a soft kiss against the back of your neck, drowns you in the illusion of intimacy when he gently closes his teeth around the shell of your ear.

Edward doesn't seem like other pirates, doesn't initiate fights he can not win, doesn't harrass others, doesn't cause unnecessary ruckus to prove his ego. He smells better than most of them, covered in the scent of the sea, of salt and a hint of rum, but with an underlying note of herbs, probably because of salves that are used to treat wounds lingering his body.

And above all, he looks so handsome, a dark angel within a bunch of dirty, fattened and drunk pigs, his cheeky smirk more intoxicating than alcohol or money.

A smirk that is directed at you, resting on you as he observes you, watches you writher and shake beneath his movements. When you catch it from the corner of your eye, it fuels new fire inside of you, and your lips curl sweet and mischievously when you slightly raise your head to respond.

„Maybe you shouldn't provoke my sharp tongue too much then, captain.“

The word does something to him, you can feel it, notice the way he gasps for a second, slows his thrusts for the shortest bit. Then he suddenly slips out of you, both hands grabbing your hips and pulling you up, your back straightening for the shortest second before he turns you around, pulls you in by the waist and leans forward to push his lips against yours, catching you in a heated kiss that steals your breath, makes your knees weak.

You bury your right hand in his blonde hair, hold him close, while your other hand rests on the textile of his shirt, trying to hold onto soft linen while you sigh and feel your legs tremble.

As if he's feeling it, he lightly bends his knees, slides his hands from your hips to the back of your thighs to pick you up, makes you wrap your legs around his waist while your hands cradle his face and you sink further into his kiss, melt against his lips. You hear the rustling of clothes, feel how he picks up your discarded dress from the edge of the bar and spreads it on the counter, adjusting the textile before he sets you down on the wood, just to break from your mouth a few seconds later.

He smirks at your little gasp, licks his lower lip before raising his voice.

„Captain, huh? That a hidden request to join my crew?“

You gasp when you feel his fingers dig into the softness of your thighs, need a second to collect yourself before you scoff at his words, look at him through a glimmer of competition before you breathe out an „In your dreams, pirate.“

He only grins at that, eyes slightly narrowing as they slide down to his hands on your thighs, watches them when he spreads your legs to get new access to your leaking centre, his eyes staring shamelessly at it.

And just when you think to finally have the air to add another snarky comment, he suddenly thrusts back into you, one switft motion with which he fills you to the brim, makes you throw your head back as he falls back into a relentless rhythm, his cock slicking in and out of your warm wetness.

He leans over you again, holding you by the waist as he pounds into you, forcing high pitched moans and whimpers out of your throat that you simply can not hold back.

His thrusts feel so deep, hit you so perfectly and when he grabs one of your legs to raise it to his shoulder, you almost choke on the air in your throat, bliss filling you at the pleasure washing through you by his deepening movements.

You curse out an „Oh god-“ as you throw your head back, hear a breathed laugh from Edward when he grabs you by the hips again, adjusts your body on the textile of your dress, pulls you in to take his hard thrusts.

Another whimper leaves you as he partially folds you in half, sass and mockery leaving your body with each new thrust, slowly melting in the heat of a building orgasm within your body.

It doesn't help how he reaches out with his hand to search for your clit, forcing a loud moan from your throat when his finger presses against it.

„That it, darling? That the spot?“

Through your panting and heavy breathing, the dizziness in your vision, you see how he smirks at you, pure confidence written in his attractive features and you can only nod, breathe out a „Please-“, a word that only makes his smile widen.

Your lower body tenses, a coil clenching deep within your core, tight enough that it almost hurts.

„Don't hold back. Let me feel you come, fy nghariad.“

His voice slightly falters, breathless because of his own arousal, the tension with which he holds himself back, and his words only add fuel to the fire in your body, make the flames lap higher, reaching your chest, making your heart race.

Whimpers and gasps leave your throat, you tense, feel your thighs shiver, your entire body short-circuiting until eventually, you feel yourself breaking apart, tension and arousal reaching their peak, knocking you into an abyss of white noise, making you cry out in pleasure, your head falling back as arousal floods your veins.

His thrusts never waver, seem to get even harder, fucking you through your orgasm, almost making you pass out with the sheer overstimulation. Your brain turns to mush, simply melts away and when you look up at him, with tear-filled, flickering eyes and your tongue slightly peaking over your lower lip, he takes in a sharp, hissing breath, slipping dangerously close to an orgasm just by your gaze and your walls spasming, clenching and relaxing around him.

His hand trembles a little as he trails it further up your body, fondling your chest for a second and making you whine out at the soft feeling, before his fingers graze your neck, eventually rest on your cheek.

He spreads his thumb, runs it over the corner of your mouth, doesn't expect the way you push out your tongue to taste salt, gunpowder and rum on his skin. Not a second later, you allow his finger to slip into your mouth, relish in the way he draws a sharp breath when you lazily swirl your tongue around it.

The facade in front of his face cracks the slightest bit, and you see how he bites his lower lip, how his brows furrow a little in what seems to be despair, before he breathes out a „Shit, you're gonna make me cum, sweetheart.“

It's the cue you need and while you whine, shudder beneath each of his thrusts, you at some point slightly bite down into his finger, hard enough to make him jolt, hard enough to break his facade.

He gasps for air, lets out short „Fuck-“, before he holds onto your hip, digging the fingers of his free hand into the skin when he forces himself to pull out, holding you in place as warm, white seed spurts over the skin of your abdomen.

For a few moments, you only look at each other, breathe into the space between both of you, wallowing in the heat of each other's body. Your head is still spinning when Edward slightly leans forward, gently rests his forehead against yours before he lets out a heavy breath.

His eyes are dark and dominant when they dig into yours, captivate you with the slight glimmer within them.

„Aren't you just something else... Maybe I'll pick you up and simply take you with me. Wanna know what else that sweet mouth of yours can do.“

It doesn't matter what you learned your entire life, his words make you giddy and thoughtless, make your heart leap in joy and your lips curl to a smile.

„Careful, Kenway. My lips may seem sweet, but they come with a pair of teeth.“

He lets out a little groan, a sound of playful despair and frustration, before he leans further against your forehead, gently nudges his nose against yours.

„Fucking heavens, you're perfect.“

You smile when he kisses you, wrap your arms around him and become a mess of sweet nothingness beneath his hands when they start roaming your body again, not taking long until you throw your head back once more, sending sighed versions of his name into the warm night.

#assassin's creed #edward kenway #edward kenway x reader #assassin's creed x reader #smut #oh to be one of the girls he's with in the trailers agfhfjsgxhs #assassin's creed black flag

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hesbuckcompton-baby · 10 days

Text

Band of Brothers as Florence + The Machine songs

because i've done them as hozier songs (part 1 // part 2) and Florence is the love of my life

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Richard Winters - Dog Days Are Over

Run fast for your mother, run fast for your father / Run for your children, for your sisters and brothers / Leave all your love and your longing behind / You can't carry it with you if you want to survive

Lewis Nixon - No Choir

But I must confess / I did it all for myself / I gathered you here to hide from some vast unnameable fear / But the loneliness never left me / I always took it with me / But I can put it down in the pleasure of your company

Ronald Speirs - Daffodil

I'm not bad, I'm not good / I drank every sky that I could / Made myself mythical, tried to be real / Saw the future in the face of a / Daffodil

Carwood Lipton - Free

Is this how it is? / Is this how it's always been? / To exist in the face of suffering and death / And somehow still keep singing? / Oh, like Christ up on a cross / Who died for us, who died for what? / Oh, don't you wanna call it off?

Eugene Roe - Wish That You Were Here

And I never minded being on my own / Then something broke in me and I wanted to go home / To be where you are / But even closer to you, you seem so very far

Harry Welsh - Patricia

I drink too much coffee and think of you often / In a city where reality has long been forgotten / And are you afraid? 'Cause I'm terrified / But you remind me that it's such a wonderful thing to love

Buck Compton - Third Eye

You don't have to be a ghost / Here amongst the living / You are flesh and blood / And you deserve to be loved / And you deserve what you are given / And oh, how much? / 'Cause there's a hole where your heart lies / And I can see it with my third eye

#down to do a part 2 of this is people are into it #this got super winnix coded really fast #i'm also incapable of assigning harry a song that isn't harry x kitty coded because. i luv them #band of brothers #florence and the machine #florence + the machine #hbo war #richard winters #dick winters #lewis nixon #ronald speirs #carwood lipton #eugene roe #buck compton #harry welsh

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thegainingdesk · 1 year

Text

Beach Body

Chapter 1

"So she does this every single year for her birthday?" I asked. "What if she wants to do something else?"

"It's a tradition!" Natasha insisted. "It's fun. No, really, it is! Oh, look out for a turning on the left."

"I hate these tiny country roads. And what if it rains one year?" I pointed out.

"It's the start of August, it doesn't rain. There it is, can you see?"

"It can rain in August." I wouldn't let go of this. I turned down the track she'd pointed out.

"There's a pub! We all go to the pub in the village and get pissed instead of having a barbecue on the beach, okay? And it's obviously not going to rain today." Natasha was obviously right about that, bright sunshine illuminating the Welsh countryside around us. "Look, I really don't know what you're worried about."

"I just don't know why I was invited. I've only - there's a car ahead, do you reckon they'll get past if I stop here? - I've only been working with you all for a couple of months, I basically only know you and Jackie." Even I had to admit that I was starting to border on whining at this point.

"But we really like you! And this is a great way to get to know people! Sun, food, a few drinks-"

"I'm driving," I pointed out, interrupting her.

"Well it's bad if you can only have fun if you've gotten drunk," Natasha scolded.

"That's not what I said at-"

"Here! Coming up! Do you see the car park on the left?"

I sighed and parked up, greeting Jackie and a large group of her friends, some familiar, some not. We grabbed various bags of food, drinks and blankets out of the car while we waited for the last few people to arrive. I greeted the few people I knew and introduced myself to some others, promptly forgetting half a dozen names.

Armed with a cool bag of meat slung over one shoulder, and a portable barbecue awkwardly tucked into the crook of my elbow, I joined the line of people making their way across the zigzagging tracks over the dunes leading to the beach. The dunes, while beautiful, were difficult to traverse, and the group split up into small parties, each determined that they'd found the easiest route around or over the steep mounds of sand.

"I'm just saying," I said quietly to Natasha after dropping the barbecue for the third time, looking around to check that Jackie wasn't close enough to hear, "that they are easier beaches to have a barbecue at, y'know."

A loud laugh from behind us, and I turned to see a handsome man I hadn't spoken to yet. "It is a really stupid beach, to be fair," he said, a wide smile on his face.

Jackie's voice came faintly from the next dune over. "What was that?"

"I said it's a fucking stupid beach!" the man called back. He caught my eye, and I must have looked taken aback because he explained: "I'm her brother, I'm allowed to tell her that her annual beach birthday's rubbish." I laughed. "Chris," he stretched a hand out.

I could see the family resemblance to Jackie - the same nose, the same dark blonde hair. Chris immediately put me at ease, with a thick blonde beard framing a constant smile, and deep smile lines around his eyes, despite looking like he was in his early thirties. His handsome face and deep voice set a tingle in my swim shorts.

I took his hand and shook it. "Adam. You must have been doing this your whole life then?"

He laughed loudly. "You'd hope so! No, this is actually a tradition she came up with at about twenty."

"Oh! I sort of assumed it was a childhood thing," I replied.

"That's what she wants you to think. I personally think twenty-eight is a little old to insist on being a special little birthday girl" he shouted this last part across the dunes, and a quiet "fuck off Chris!" came in reply, before he turned to me, and quietly now "but that's just me."

I laughed, his infectious good mood making me forget my earlier reservations about the day. By this point, Natasha was well ahead with some other people from the office and Chris and I were left alone.

"So you work with Jackie?" Chris asked.

"Yeah, just started a few months ago," I replied.

"Enjoying it?"

"Yeah! It's a nice company, people are really friendly." Speaking to Chris, even my boring job was sounding better.

"You're going to have to explain what it is you do, Jackie's never actually been able to make me understand."

"So I'm on the software side, I develop the algorithms that we use to…" I caught myself, realising I was being boring. "I do things with computers that make them make money," I joked.

"Oh my god, I love computers and money!"

"And what about you? What do you do?" I asked.

"Very similar. Computers, money. Sometimes meetings."

"Meetings! Exotic. Is that around Cardiff as well?" I asked.

"Edinburgh." My heart sank, my already slim chances of a date with a handsome, funny man disappearing to nothing. "As much as I think this annual beach birthday is silly, it at least forces me to come back and see everyone."

We walked on for a while, making easy conversation with each other. After a while Chris turned to me. "It's nice to have someone to chat to at this thing. Usually it's just Jackie's work friends talking about office drama and her uni friends talking about decade-old gossip, with me in the middle."

"Surely there's the rest of the family?"

"Nah, she insists on it being young people, but we don't have any cousins, so it ends up just being me. We always do a family thing another night," he shrugged. "Still," he caught my eye and smiled, "I reckon this one will be good."

We heard a small cheer of celebration up ahead as the people in front arrived on the beach, and we sped up, running awkwardly through the sand of the dunes. When we arrived, we dumped our bags in a small pile and helped to spread out the blankets.

I took off my shoes before hesitating, self-conscious of my body. I had a perfectly average body, maybe a little too tall and skinny, but I was always nervous of taking my shirt off in front of other people, lacking the washboard abs and bulging muscles of seemingly all of my friends. I looked around and told myself that no-one would pay me any attention, but I froze, fingers on my top button.

While the other men were wearing swim shorts in various lengths and colours, Chris had stripped off both his fun Hawaiian shirt and particularly short shorts to reveal a pair of bright flowery speedos. His shirt was hiding a subtly chunky body, with a roll of fat sticking out ever so slightly above the colourful lycra, and below, thick legs pooched out ever so slightly where the speedos cut into them. All of this was covered in a veritable pelt of hair, hiding the slight softness of his body.

Chris looked up and caught my eye, and I realised I was staring. I looked away quickly, but could have sworn he gave me a small wink. Emboldened by Chris' confidence and by the lack of notice everyone was paying him, despite the amount of skin he was showing, I unbuttoned my shirt and put it with my shoes.

A while later I walked up to Chris who was manning the various barbecues and settled down next to him. Droplets of salt water still clung to my skin and in my dark chest hair, and I thought the effect was quite sexy, if you ignored all the sand that was sticking to me as well.

"The sea good?" he asked.

"Fucking freezing," I replied.

He smiled and held out a beer to me.

I put up a hand. "Designated driver I'm afraid."

"Fair enough," he pulled the top off and began to drink it himself.

"Are you always in charge of the barbecue?" I asked.

He nodded. "And the beer cooler. It means I get to have more than anyone else without anyone calling me out on it."

I gave a small chuckle. "Good plan," I told him, and took a cheeky look sideways at him. Sure enough, his hairy stomach did look a touch more bloated than it had done earlier. "So your umm…" I cringed at the words even as I formed them, "your girlfriend couldn't make it today?" Smooth Adam. Real smooth.

"Ah, no. My, well my boyfriend had to work." My heart sank. Still, I noticed that his smile shrank ever so slightly when he mentioned his boyfriend.

"Oh! Sorry to assume, I didn't mean to-" I flustered.

"No! No, it's fine really. It happens. Do you? Have a boyfriend?" He held my eyes. "Or girlfriend? Or boyfriend?" His smile was growing again.

"Nope. Single. I broke up with my last boyfriend a while ago." I stressed the word boyfriend more than I meant to. Despite the 400 miles we lived apart, and his boyfriend, I still felt the need to make sure he knew I was gay as well.

"Oh I'm sorry," Chris said.

"Not at all, it was a while ago," I smiled at him. "Just, you know, enjoying being single."

"Yeah, I miss it a little sometimes," Chris said, and I detected an ever so slight sadness in his voice, but he quickly covered it up with his usual, unchanging smile. My heart leapt a little. He was probably just making small talk, sympathising with the lonely singleton, but a boy could dream, couldn't he?

Chris offered me a chicken drumstick. "Have you tried these? They've got like a Korean marinade thing, they're gorgeous. It's like bitter and sweet at the same time. I've had about ten."

I reached over and took it from him, taking a small bite. It was good, and I duly gave a small hum in agreement, but I wouldn't say they were exceptional. Chris picked up on my silence and laughed. "It's probably just me," he told me. "Jackie's always said I'm like a labrador when it comes to food. Food motivated." He beamed at me and picked up another chicken leg, his eyes closing in bliss as he chewed.

I readjusted my shorts ever so slightly. My attraction to Chris was growing as I got to know him - his constant cheerfulness, his small jokes, the way he didn't seem to care what anyone thought about him.

Later that day, I drove back in silence, Natasha passed out after a day of gin in the sun. I couldn't wipe the smile off my face, as I thought back to the day I'd spent mainly with Chris. Despite all the reasons I could never realistically go out with him, I was utterly besotted by the man. I found myself surprised that I was already looking forward to Jackie's 29th.

Chapter 2

"Adam!" Chris called, almost as soon as I'd come from behind the last dune before the beach. "Great to see you!"

I grinned, a little embarrassed. I'd never be able to be so open about being so excited to see someone, but then that's exactly what attracted me to him last year. Paul, a friend from the office, gave me a confused glance which I purposefully ignored. "Hey," I greeted Chris, "looking good man!"

This, I thought to myself, was very true. He was wearing the same flowery speedo as last year, but it now looked positively painted on. He'd clearly put on some weight, last year's roll of flab turning into a sack of fat, suspended above the tight swimwear. His thighs had faint criss-crosses around the tops, not quite hidden by the thick hair there, and his chest now stood ever so slightly forward and down - he didn't quite have moobs, but there were certainly small pockets of fat that weren't there last year. He'd shaved his beard down to stubble, showing just a hint of a double chin forming below his jawline. While I'd never particularly gone in for the overly-ripped, action-man physique, I was still surprised by how much I enjoyed the changes to Chris' body.

I followed Chris back to where some barbecues were already set up. "Got a beer for me in one of those boxes?"

He passed one over. "Not driving this year?"

I nodded over to Natasha, who had a small crowd around her cooing over a small bump at her midriff. "Natasha's pregnant so she's not drinking anyway."

"Handy!" He clinked his bottle against mine and took a swig. I took my shirt off and was pleased to see Chris' eyes rake up and down my body, taking it in. "Sun's out, guns out, eh? You're looking fit!"

I smiled at the compliment and thanked him. I'd taken advantage of the company gym a fair amount over the past year, and for the first time ever I felt like my body could be described by more adjectives than just 'lanky'. I gave a small, joking flex, quietly proud of my beach body and was surprised when Chris reached out and gave my bicep a squeeze. "Looking good," he repeated.

We caught up for a while, taking advantage of being in charge of guarding the beer coolers, Chris eating seemingly almost constantly. While I'd thought back again and again to last year, I'd forgotten just how easy Chris was to talk to, and how much I enjoyed his company.

A few beers in, my courage picked up. "Boyfriend not here again?" I asked bluntly.

He looked confused. "Boyfriend? What do you- oh, John? God, you've got a good memory. No, he cheated on me, I found out around Christmas-ish."

"Oh god, I'm sorry. What an arsehole." I clapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, fuck him, y'know."

He laughed at this. "Fuck him! Funnily enough, that's what my mate Sarah did." He laughed again, clearly unbothered.

"Hey! Bisexual affair though! Very modern, very progressive," I joked

He nodded, still laughing, and I watched intently as his paunch shook. "That is a big comfort to me, that at least he cheated on me in a diverse way." His smile grew lopsided as he looked at me, and he shuffled a touch closer to me. "And you? Got a boyfriend on the scene?" He'd lowered his voice now.

"Umm, nope. No. No boyfriend. Some tinder dates, you know but umm," I looked down at his lips. "Single. You know. Available. For stuff."

He nodded and looked around at what everyone else was doing. "The dunes are lovely. To walk around. And stuff. If you wanted to-"

"I want to. Yep. Absolutely. Lovely dunes." I nodded furiously, the sudden movement making me feel more drunk. "The ecosystems and the, uh, crescent shapes."

"Fucking love an ecosystem," Chris said, standing up while he fished out another couple of beers to take with us and quickly grabbed one last hot dog to take with him.

We ran up the closest dune, laughing, and practically fell down the other side. Chris grabbed my hand and led me a bit further on, before pulling me towards him and kissing me, having to reach up slightly to account for the several inches of height difference between us. I melted into him, my shoulders immediately releasing tension I didn't know I was holding, and I ran my fingers through his hair.

The combination of beers, sun and arousal made us act like schoolboys having their first kiss. We stumbled again and again as we continued to walk through the dunes, not paying enough to where we were going, our hands grabbing at each other's bodies the whole way, and giggling breathlessly.

Chris' hand moved down to my swim shorts, and he pulled away slightly, his tongue briefly coming out to wet his lips as his hand rested on my straining cock. "Enjoying yourself I see?"

"Very much so," I replied, pulling him closer to kiss him again. My own hand moved down to his own crotch and I cupped his bulge through his speedos, running my fingers along his length before grasping his hard cock through the lycra. He exhaled shakily and I felt his body tense slightly as I stroked him, grabbing at the fat at his sides as I did so, kissing him deeply the entire time.

Chris stepped back and pulled me down onto the steep sand with him, grabbing my own cock beneath my shorts and began pumping his hand slowly. I pushed him back and pulled down his speedos and my shorts around our thighs. I sat up and straddled him before I grabbed both our cocks in one hand, my long fingers struggling around them both, and began stroking us off together. Chris gave a breathless laugh and laid back, his eyes rolling up into his head in pleasure. I kept my eyes open, watching the shaking of his beef with each small twitch of his body. Chris began to gently girate his hips and I sped my hand up, the fingers of my other hand probing into his flesh, the fat pooling up around them. I heard Chris' breath catch and I relaxed my body, letting my own climax come, so that we both sprayed thick jets of cum up his body at the same time.

I rolled off him and lay next to him, both of us catching our breath. He shifted his weight, rolling over slightly to kiss me. "That", he whispered, "was really fucking hot."

I laughed and nodded. "You know, I really feel like we haven't explored these dunes very much yet."

He took on a faux serious expression and nodded. "I personally don't feel I've seen enough of the unique flora and fauna endemic to Welsh dune ecosystems." He stood up, struggling to pull his too tight swimsuit back up his thighs, and I followed suit, my own swimsuit coming up easily. "There's a sort of cove-y inlet-y thing, that way," he said, pointing, "that's pretty secluded. We could clean ourselves up and explore a little more." He spread his arms out and motioned down at his sticky torso before wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Sounds perfect," I agreed, taking his hand.

A couple of hours later, we stumbled back onto the beach, Chris making a beeline for the barbecue. Thankfully, someone had taken over his duties so there was plenty of food for him to grab. My friend Paul sauntered over and raised an eyebrow suggestively. "You look like you've had a good time."

"We just went for a walk. It's very beautiful around here," I protested.

"Very beautiful," Paul nodded, his voice thick with sarcasm. "I wouldn't have had you down as a chubby chaser."

"What? I'm not a chub- nothing happened! And he's not chubby! That's very rude. And nothing happened anyway!" I could hear my voice go up too high as I blatantly lied.

"No, no, absolutely, I believe you," Paul said. "Your shorts are on backwards by the way."

I felt my face go even redder, if that was possible. I was saved from my embarrassment by Chris returning with a beer for me, and we moved towards the sea for a swim.

"Listen, I know you'll be going back to Edinburgh, but if you're around this week for a drink or something…" I suggested, once we were in the cold water.

The smile on Chris' face completely faded for the first time since I'd met him, not even a joking undertone left. "I'm going back tomorrow morning. 6 am flight."

I forced a smile. "Yeah, of course! That's fine, of course. You'd have wanted to spend time with your family anyway."

"No, no, I'd love to, I would. I really would." Chris looked genuinely sorry. "It just didn't work out. I'm sorry."

Later on, I sat in the back of Natasha's car, exhausted from a mixture of alcohol, food, sun and sex. Natasha was explaining to Annie in the front seat about how she'd actually had so much more fun while not drinking, and she was so embarrassed for all of us, convincing no-one, when Paul leaned over from the other side of the back seat.

"He seemed nice", he offered.

"Yeah, nice," I replied distantly.

"You guys going to see each other again?" he asked.

I shook my head. "He lives in Edinburgh."

"Shit, I'm sorry. Will he be there next year do you reckon?"

I gave a small smile. "Yeah, next year maybe."

Chapter 3

I got to the beach first, the usual work group trailing behind me. I was desperately trying to seem cool and calm, but I knew I was failing miserably. I looked around for Chris but couldn't see him anywhere.

"Jackie! Hey! Happy Birthday! Thirty! The big one!" I ignored her angry reply about how she didn't want to be thirty yet. "Yep. Uh-huh. Absolutely. Got to hate the linear flow of time. Anyway, Chris not here yet? He usually comes to this, right? Can't miss the big day!"

"Oh, do you two know each other? Yeah, he's going to be late, he was visiting our grandma so he's coming all the way from St Davids," she said the name of it like a joke, and I duly laughed, never quite getting the hang of Jackie. Me and Chris had texted a few times in the past year, but I'd been too nervous to ask him directly about coming to his sister's birthday, so I was relieved to hear he was coming.

An hour and a half and a few beers later, I heard a wolf-whistle behind me. "You've joined the speedo club I see!" I turned around to see Chris approaching me, fat jiggling with each heavy footstep. I'd been inspired by his confidence and my own improving physique to opt for something skimpier this time, and was happy to see that he hadn't worn anything less revealing.

It was clear that last year's weight gain wasn't a one-off. While before, he might be able to get away with being charitably called stout or burly, he was downright fat now. His gut was now a heavy, near-perfect sphere, bulging out to the sides and slightly sagging down in front of him, with genuine tits, round, plump sacks of flesh that sat on top of his belly. His always present smile now pushed two chubby cheeks out like a hamster, and he'd regrown his beard, much thicker than before, in a clear and futile attempt to cover a rounding jawline.

I matched his beaming smile and walked towards him, grabbing a beer and a burger on the way for him. I handed them over and slapped a hand onto his gut, emboldened by the few drinks I'd had while waiting. "You've got some new speedos yourself I see," I said quietly.

He twisted and pulled his gut out of the way to look, before looking back at me. "Ah, yeah, the other ones," he looked away sheepishly, "don't really fit anymore."

I bit my lip. "I'm sure they don't," I said jokingly. He smiled nervously back at me.

"Listen, I'm going to have a swim, grab some food. I'll talk to you later, alright." I watched him walk away, deflated. Did he regret last year? Or maybe something had happened, to make him so frosty? A new boyfriend maybe?

I sat and drank on a large rock, until he walked over to me and sat down next to me. Despite my nervousness, I thrilled at the thick fat on his sides brushing against my arm.

"I've been thinking about you, this year," he said finally. I looked over, heart rising.

"Me too," I replied with a smile.

His face broke into its usual grin. "Good. Good. I was a bit nervous, since you didn't text or anything. I wasn't really sure if you'd come."

"I thought the same, honestly," I confessed.

"And then," he continued, "I arrived and saw you looking really fucking good," he reached over and squeezed my strong thigh, "and I thought maybe I'd gotten too fat for you." His face had become bright red as he said this.

I laughed at him. "I like it. Really. It works for you. You carry it really well." I reached out and squeezed his own thick thigh, the fat feeling like butter beneath the skin.

"So you're into fat guys, hey?" He was still smiling, but looked a little embarrassed.

I shook my head. "Not really. I'm into you though."

His smile grew even wider. "I'm into you too." He reached out and held my hand. "I tried to diet for a bit," he confessed after a while.

"I can't imagine you dieting. You're way too confident. Like, you don't care what people think. It's sexy," I told him

"Well it turns out I'm not very good at it. I didn't actually lose any weight. But, y'know, I had the thought. Downloaded an app and everything."

"What was the app?" I asked, quietly laughing.

He shrugged. "It counted calories, told me when I was being a fat arse. Turns out I was probably supposed to do something with that information."

"Probably," I agreed.

Eventually, I realised his cheeks weren't getting any less red. "You're burning," I said, jumping up, "I'll go get some sun cream."

"I'm fine! I'm fine, really, I don't burn" he grabbed my hand to pull me back down but I pulled away.

"You're bright red. I'll get you some food and beer while I grab it," I promised. He relented, pleased that eating and drinking would now be involved.

I came back with my hands full, and passed everything over. I sat behind him and squirted some sun cream onto his back while he ate, and started rubbing it in wide circles. I relished the feel of his soft fat under my fingers, sliding my fingers deep into the crevices and folds of his body, and grabbing thick slabs of beef, all in the name of his skin health. I repeated the process on his front, exploring his soft tits, and hefting his gut up towards his face before letting it go and watching the ripples move through his body. I lingered for far longer than was necessary, tangling my fingers into the hair that covered his body, down from his shoulders, spreading across his torso and arms.

A while later, we both lay sunbathing on the sand, Chris barely moving, while I'd periodically jump up to grab him a snack. I handed him a burger and he propped himself up on his elbows and looked at me. "Listen, I'm not going home for another few days, and I've got a room at the village pub. Did you want to come for dinner? Maybe stay the night?"

"Dinner? You've been eating all day!" I responded.

"I've been snacking all day, I'll need a proper meal," he explained. I could see why he'd put on so much weight.

"That sounds good though, yeah. We need to make sure you don't waste away."

We fell into bed that night, Chris' stomach stretched tight and even rounder than earlier. I pulled off his too small t-shirt, unaccustomed to seeing him in clothes at all. I watched him for a minute or two try to take his shorts off, the button pulled tight by his heavy gut above. I took pity on him and made him suck his gut in, which he managed to, with difficulty, just enough for me to free the button and pull down the zipper, to reveal his aching cock straining against his speedos, still on from earlier.

"There's some condoms and lube in my suitcase," he told me.

"Someone was confident!" I said, but fetched them nonetheless.

He struggled to sit up, his full gut getting in the way, so I pushed him back down. "Don't you worry big guy, I'll do all the work." I sat next to him on the bed and helped him rub his gut, filled with a day's worth of barbecue and beer, and topped off with a heavy dinner, including dessert. He groaned, and I kissed him deeply. I pulled off his speedos, and his dick sprung up, slapping against his distended belly, smearing it with a spot of pre-cum.

We spent the night fucking, being as gentle as possible with Chris' overfull stomach. We spent the next day together as well, lounging on the beach, and I called in sick to work on Monday so we could spend one last day together. As I got out of Chris' car outside my house, he got out and kissed me, making me promise to stay in touch.

Chapter 4

I walked out onto the beach and made a beeline for Chris, pulling my shirt off as I approached him. He'd continued to gain weight, and his ball gut had expanded out, retaining its spherical shape but sagging down, with a deep cavernous belly button at its centre. Thick love handles sat either side of the giant gut, and above it his ample tits sat thick, beginning to droop ever so slightly towards his sides. His thighs were like tree trunks and were easily larger around than my waist, and between them I could just make out a bright flash of fabric, his speedos almost completely covered up from the front.

"They still make those in that size?" I teased him as I reached him.

"Well I don't think they don't make them too much bigger," he laughed.

"You've got your bags?" I asked.

He nodded. "In Jackie's car. You're not driving anyone back?"

"Nope, free to go as soon as we're done here." I grinned at him, excited about our planned week in Cornwall. "You can have a drink though, if you want, don't worry."

He shook his head. "I'm happy just spending some time with you."

I smiled at him and gave him a kiss. Some work friends looked over curiously, but I saw Paul and Natasha lean over to fill them in on all the gossip.

"We'll be the talk of your office will we?" Chris asked.

"Oh, hardly. It turns out Greg might actually be the father of Natasha's baby, so we'll barely be a blip on their radar."

"Oh my god!" Chris said. "I don't know who any of those people are!"

I laughed and led him over to the barbecue.

As we drove away that evening to my house, I looked over at Chris, as he snored faintly. He'd not had anything to drink, but he'd eaten so much over the course of the day that getting back over the sand dunes had been a genuine issue, and by the time we got back to the car park everyone except Jackie and her fiancé had long gone. Jackie passed over Chris' bags and I put them in the boot while Chris collapsed into the front seat, the car dipping dramatically on that side.

That night lacked the urgency of the other times we'd met, not driven by lust, but rather just enjoying each others' company. We watched a movie while I snuggled into his side, sinking into his soft fat like a pillow. The next morning I made a large breakfast before we set off on our holiday.

Chapter 5

I walked out of the sand dunes and was almost immediately accosted by old colleagues. "How's Edinburgh?" Paul asked.

"Great! Really, really great! The job's basically the same thing, computers, money, meetings, you know," I replied.

"And Chris? How's he?" Natasha asked.

"He's great too, we've settled really well into living together, it just all works."

"Is he coming or…?"

I turned around to look at the dunes. "He's just taken the scenic route, he'll be here in a bit." For the most part I'd gotten used to walking at Chris' slower pace, and kept with him for most of the walk, but had run ahead at the last couple of dunes. Sure enough, after a minute or two he appeared between the bases of two dunes.

He'd put on more weight while we were living together, but he'd slowed down a little recently. Still, he was clearly bigger than the last time we were here, one year ago. While the changes might not be so obvious to a lot of people, just a fat man getting fatter, I noticed them all. His stomach stuck out just that bit more, his sides that much wider, his legs that much softer.

He walked over to me (waddled might be more accurate, I pondered, especially on the soft sand), and gave me a peck on the cheek. We put our bags down a convenient distance to the food, and stripped down to our speedos, Chris' once again new to stretch across his added weight.

"Fancy a swim?" Chris asked me, already walking towards the water.

"Sounds good," I said, quickly catching up to him. "Maybe afterwards we can go for a walk through the dunes?" I raised my eyebrows suggestively.

"Oh fuck off!" Chris said. "I'm not going back through those, I'm knackered after that walk. You're just going to have to wank me off in front of everyone, if it comes to it."

I laughed and kissed him on the cheek, admiring the plush softness. "Well hopefully it won't come to that."

"Why not?" Chris asked, joking. "Do you not think I'm beach body ready?"

#gaining fiction #weight gain #gainer fiction #gainer story #weight gain story #male weight gain #weight gain fiction #wg story #beach body #i wrote this aaaaages ago and decided there were pacing issues #i convinced myself id rewrite it to add another year early on but clearly thats not happening #so im posting it now #enjoy!

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