#Somft post

[cryptidsport]

I was like hey Why do this suspicious package by my door smell of pungent slime ?

alas it was the Thang

[the-unabridged-version-of-myself]

Soft ZoSan Soft ZoSan Soft ZoSan Soft ZoSan

Soft ZoSan Soft ZoSan Soft ZoSan Soft ZoSan

Soft ZoSan Soft ZoSan Soft ZoSan Soft ZoSan

Soft ZoSan Soft ZoSan Soft ZoSan Soft ZoSan

Soft ZoSan Soft ZoSan Soft ZoSan Soft ZoSan

Soft ZoSan Soft ZoSan Soft ZoSan Soft ZoSan

Soft ZoSan Soft ZoSan Soft ZoSan Soft ZoSan

[demodoggonetired]

It's a quiet night in with just the two of them - Wayne having already left for work. A gentle drizzle has settled over the trailer park.

Eddie's hunched over at his desk with the old table lamp on, painting his latest miniature for the upcoming campaign. Steve's perched on the bed right near him, using that same lamp light to read one of Wayne's magazines. A tape randomly picked from their collection plays in the background.

There's a quiet 'clink' as Eddie rinses his brush in the paint-water cup (newly labeled after one to many mix-ups). The brush is dried then slotted into the cracked mug holding the rest of his painting tool hoard.

He pauses to stretch out his back from its scrunched position, scars giving a minor twinge at the action. Then reaches for his small, detailing brush.

Only, it's not where he put it last.

It's not on the pallet. Didn't slip under the paper towel. Sitting in the paintbrush mug? Nope. Roll onto the floor? No dice. (Well actually, many dice. Including the d8 he lost last week, he should remember to grab that later (he won't)).

It's as he's pulling his head back out from under the desk that he notices it.

The subtle, upturned pinch at the corner of Steve's mouth.

Like he's fighting not to smile. Trying to act like he hasn't noticed Eddie's obvious searching.

"Steve?"

"Mhm?" The thief doesn't even deign to look up from the magazine.

"Have you seen my small detail brush? Bright red handle?”

"Nope."

Right, of course. Because the hand Steve wasn't using to hold his magazine just happened to be tucked behind his back, out of sight.

Clearly this called for drastic measures.

Without giving the other a chance to react, Eddie lurches forward to push his boyfriend back onto the bed, simultaneously planting himself atop Steve's legs.

"You sure about that one, loverboy?"

Steve crinkles his nose with a slight blush at the pet name. Then reaches up with the hand that previously held the magazine (that has now ended up in the abyss of the floor, sorry Wayne).

Eddie stills, curious to see how Steve will defend himself, as the hand continues up... and plucks the missing paintbrush from behind Eddie's ear. Where Eddie had earlier, unthinkingly stashed it.

Steve's face breaks out into a grin at Eddie's affronted noise.

"What do you have to say for yourself now, Eds? Accusing your boyfriend of such a heinous crime?"

Eddie hums, rolling the now reclaimed brush in his fingers, staring down at the boy beneath him. His sure-fire grin. Eyes crinkled in mirth. How the soft lamp light and dappled moonlight played across his features.

He leans down, hovering over the other.

"I say that I'd forgive you anyway. How could I not, with such a pretty face like that."

They meet in a gentle kiss. No rush as they simply enjoy the other's company. Warm in the knowledge there's nowhere else they need to be tonight. The tape clicks as it finishes and the rain becomes their only background noise. They seperate.

"Mmgood. Cause I did steal your paint tube."

[caressthosecheekbones]

"You’re such a good girl, bro." "The Fuck did you just call me?"

The absolute fury in Nick's eyes is certainly a surprise. Taylor has to swallow hard as he raises both hands in a calming gesture.

"Heyy, Nicky- Nick! Calm the F down, I just meant it as a-" "You know, Taylor, I was bullied in school because of-" he averts his eyes, his unrealistically pretty lips thinning in repressed anger. Taylor can see the hurt in every fibre of Nick's being right now. It's actually a bit insane that he's such a good actor in front of a camera. Or maybe Taylor is just one of the very few, very lucky people...

"I'm sorry, I really am. I didn't mean to insinuate you're not a man. To me. Or to anyone. In general, I mean." he scoots closer on the couch, his left hand finger-crawling over to where Nick has thrown his head back against the cushion. His eyes are closed.

Those beautiful, unendingly sad eyes.

"Please, forgive me." Taylor's voice is very low and quiet. He's unable to look away from the obvious devastation of the other man. The little beauty mark twitching in unhappiness.

"I'm very- this is a difficult thing for me." Nick admits and turns his face towards Taylor, so open and vulnerable. He doesn't have to explain anything, Taylor can read it in the twitch of his brow, the tension in the corner of his eyes.

His fingertip reaches Nick's cheek, pokes it once, softly.

"I'm sorry. C'mere." Nick sinks sidewards into his arms before he's even finished the sentence. They both sigh in sync.

"I'm not angry." a mumble against Taylor's collarbone as he tightens the hug around the other man's shoulders.

"I know. Just *disappointed*, right?" he chuckles, in an attempt to lift the mood.

Nick huffs the tiniest laugh, the warm air making Taylor's skin tingle. He hopes Nick can't hear his heartbeat picking up under his cheek.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Happy New Year. (wtf just happened 😅) This is obviously based on this post I just reblogged. I'm daring to tag a few potentially interested parties.

@mossy-fae @royal-chandler @anti-homophobia-cheese @mylucayathoughts @lfg1986-2

[massgrav]

I'll take care of you, even if you hate it.

.

[abrahamvanhelsings]

i think edward little would be great at emails actually. i think he'd love having to opportunity to think abt what he needs to say and formulate it well and concisely. i think he'd write perfectly ok emails, to the point but polite enough not to be blunt. in normal circumstances he'd receive normal emails and write normal replies and it would be fine. the problem in terror is that he keeps getting increasingly upsetting emails from his boss and they're all no-reply

[missingmelody]

A soft hug

[lavenoon]

Sharing the blanket <3

@naffeclipse I continue keeping the bounty hunter out of trouble by sleeping on him and I will not apologize

*self insert is not a girl (he/ she)

og detective au by sunnys-aesthetic!

[misscammiedawn]

Gonna take my anxious girlfriend who knows coding and find her in a very stressed mood and do an overload induction and convince her roll around to the max integer of relaxation and then describe it to her as a stack overflow error and let her go excessively deep in an infinite recursion of relaxation.

[threestripeslider]

oc lore through shenanigans bc who tf cares that Sophie will tell you the pythagoras theorem is about squares, she can infodump you about plants that will kill a man in under three minutes

[eirianerisdar]

Every time I see a picture of gif of Charlos doing something cute and/or unhinged I have to remind myself that these are the same two drivers people are constantly fighting about online like??? I kinda think they really like being teammates??? Your blorbo doesn’t want to be saved!!!

I know right?? Every time the two of them get within six feet of each other they’re like fwen? Fwen? FWEN!!

[kowtownart]

Might be a little hard to see in some places, but here's a little wip for y'all!

[accio-victuuri]

yibo gege and kids 🥺🥺🥺

[detnoto]

keese

[countthelions]

Iskall creating sugar plum fairy flowers in Vault Hunters for Stress bc she was having a bad day and tried cheering her up

[quinn-borel]

Putting a blanket on them while they are quick asleep on the couch

He trudged through the streets of Ishgard on his way home, admiring the beauty that was his city yet at the same time feeling absolutely defeated by the way his prior meeting came to an end.  They had spent hours behind closed doors debating on the next steps taken forward in the rebuilding of their beloved nation, to which little to no ground had been covered once again as both the House of Lords and Commons agreed upon very little.  The Lord Speaker, Aymeric, tried his damndest to see to it that both houses were well spoken for when it came to Ishgardian affairs.  However, equalizing power between those who held it for so long and those who had never tasted it before was simpler on paper than it was in practice.

The meeting ended with a vote, to which the tallies would be read at the following meeting the next day–he had hoped it wouldn’t end in a tie, as it so commonly did.  He knew well that building the republic would take time, more time than he probably had left in him.  Yet he had hoped that, at the very least, something would be agreed upon during his tenure to get their fair nation moving forward again.  He had to keep faith in his fellow Ishgardian—he was not the only one who wanted to see change in the city.  Surely, others felt the same love for his nation as he did.

“I think you made a bold point in your ending remarks this evening.” Artoirel pointed out as they came to the crossroads in the Pillars, one way leading to Fortemps Manor while the other would eventually lead to the Borel Estate.  Aymeric glanced at his friend for a moment before bringing his attention to the dimly-lit streets ahead,

“Is it not the truth?  Are we to move forward while constantly being at odds with one another?  I think not…”

“I can only hope that my fellow lords agreed to the proposal from the commons this evening.” Artoirel sighed softly, “I feel as if I’m at odds with my own house, if I’m being honest.  It begs the question if I am the only one willing to reach my hand across the table towards the House of Commons.”

“I am all the same frustrated.  However, it is a boon to us that at the moment that we are free from the worry of anything currently threatening our nation.  We can strictly focus on our populace.”

“How is she, by the way?” Artoirel asked, “I don’t think I’ve personally seen her since our last dinner party a few moons ago.”

“Busy.” Aymeric simply replied, “’Twould seem that saving the star didn’t satiate her need for adventure.  She’s been away in Mor Dhona assisting in some research related to the Twelve.”

“It seems you both have found free time to be that of a luxury again.”

Aymeric winced slightly at Artoirel’s painful observation.  But he was right, ever since their honeymoon ended he and Quinn had barely a moment to spare for one another.  Even if she chose to stay in the locale, his work hours far exceeded that of the common man.  He would rather she keep herself busy than sit in their home waiting for him all night.  

“You would be correct in that assumption.” Aymeric said dryly, “But, we each have our own duties to attend to.  Now, if you will excuse me, Lord Artoirel.”

“Until next time.” Artoirel gave the Lord Speaker a nod and proceeded down the opposite path, to which Aymeric went his own separate way to his abode.  While he stayed vigilant as he roamed the streets at night, he couldn’t help but to linger on the thought of seeing his beloved Quinn–his wife of few moons, but his lover of many prior.  They spent years penning letters to one another as she made her journey around the star, so what difference did it make now that they were wedded?  She would eventually make her way back home as she always did, and he would happily greet her just as he always did.  He silently prayed that one day he would join her, but not before he saw the change he wished to see in Ishgard.  While he loved Quinn, he loved his nation just as much…

Aymeric opened the door to his estate, allowing the warmth of the manor to rid him of the chill in his bones.  It was then that he noticed a familiar pair of boots in the entryway–too small for him to wear, and nearly worn down to the soles.  The boots of a well-seasoned adventurer.

“Quinn?” he asked with hope upon his breath.  

There was no answer.        

Perhaps she left them behind and he hadn’t noticed.  Again, feeling defeated, the lord made his way to the main sitting room to relax before heading to bed.  He would have, however, if the couch had not been occupied.

There she lay, curled up and sound asleep as if she had been waiting there for him all night.  His cat sat on one of the other chairs in the room, glaring at the woman for taking her favorite spot.  Aymeric glanced between the two of them with a warm smile on his face,

“…’Tis nice to have both of you here waiting for me.”

Quinn didn’t budge, but that was fine–she was there, and he wouldn’t dare disturb her sleep.  He could easily take his tea in another chair and wait for her to awaken, which is what he had planned to do.  With a soft chuckle, Aymeric reached for the decorative blanket upon the sofa and pulled it over his wife, pressing his lips to the top of her head as he did so.  

“Sleep well, my dear.  And welcome home.”