ginewhiskey
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Cas is back from the Empty, and Dean knows how to be grateful.
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Bookmarked by ginewhiskey
07 May 2026
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It is close to Christmas, isn’t it. The 22nd? No, that was yesterday. Or…how many hours was he on that first plane? Felt like about an entire day in itself. And then with the layover, which Eames slept through most of. If he left Buenos Aires on the evening of the 23rd, and then with the delay in Atlanta—
And then the door swings open, and Arthur is standing there in a knitted jumper so repulsively festive it makes Eames question his lucidity, looking dour and suspicious and oh, god, it really is Christmas Eve, isn’t it? And Eames is so, so happy to see his angry face. He grins so hard it makes his cheeks hurt.
“Eames?” Arthur says, voice low, like he doesn’t want anyone to overhear him. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Bookmarked by ginewhiskey
13 Apr 2026
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Eames hasn’t spent much of his life thinking about what Arthur gets up to in his free time, but he sincerely doubts it usually involves getting strung up from ceilings by his wrists and electrocuted.
For an incredibly brief but entirely legitimate two seconds, Eames considers burning the images and getting back in bed. However, it would be rude not to do something about Arthur’s predicament and at the end of the day, Eames’ mother never let rudeness slide.
Or guns at the table, but that’s another matter entirely.
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Eames is thirty-six years old.
He has been a dream forger for eleven years.
He has four permanent addresses and lives nowhere.
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A story about wasting time and making up for it again.**
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Bookmarked by ginewhiskey
09 Apr 2026
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Meet me in the hallway (just take the pain away) by orphan_account
Fandoms: The Secret History - Donna Tartt
19 Jan 2025
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There's something about the way the sun makes redheads look entirely ethereal, the edges of their hair glowing golden where the strands meet the sky, that is almost unparalleled in beauty. And if I'd thought that about other redheads I'd known before, Francis made them pale in comparison.
Or,
5 times Richard was confronted with his evolving feelings for Francis Abernathy, and the 1 time he truly accepted them.Bookmarked by ginewhiskey
27 Mar 2026
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The ten days I spend there without Francis are hellish, something out of a bleak, war-torn painting—all grey skies and bloodied, hopeless soldiers. I lay around in his bed, not sleeping until I take a pill or two from his medicine cabinet, and then passing out for five or six uninterrupted hours at a time, waking up in the same position I lay down in with drool all over my face. I flip through the channels on his grainy television and don’t shower or shave or change my pajamas. I snort thin lines of cocaine and regret it every time. I exist off of endless mugs of black tea with sugar and brandy, plus sour olives and tiny pickles and maraschino cherries that I eat straight from their jars, standing in front of the open fridge. Francis never keeps any fucking food in the place.
Bookmarked by ginewhiskey
25 Mar 2026