#and I won't apologize for it

[an-internet-introvert]

Pretty boy on the piano

[goayda]

Happy Birthday, Izzy

Shameless fluffy fic, because the idea of the crew having a party for Izzy's bday wouldn't leave me alone.

(As usual, set some time after 2x07, Ed is happy being a fisherman somewhere and there was no Zheng fight and no Prince Ricky attack. As usual too, no warnings needed, just a happy time for everybody.)

----

Izzy had been trying to teach Stede again how to correctly read a nautical chart for the last hour (No, Bonnet, it’s not more exciting to simply follow the wind, that gets you wrecked!) when Lucius came in to tell him they needed his help on deck.

“Olu and Pete were trying to fix...  that thing you said, something about the rigging, right? But they’re stuck, I think,” he explained vaguely.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

Izzy stormed out of the captain’s cabin, muttering curses to himself. It wasn’t such a difficult task, he had thought the crew was finally getting the grasp on their jobs, especially Oluwande, but apparently he had been wrong.

When he reached the deck, though, instead of the mess he had been expecting he found himself in front of a very smug and very happy bunch of pirates that cheered loudly at him.

“Surpriiiise!” the whole crew shouted as one.

“Wha-what?”

“Happy birthday, Izzy!” Bonnet yelled behind him and then Izzy finally noticed the decorations.

There were fewer flowers than in the last big event on the Revenge, but there were many colorful decorations everywhere, beautiful paper lanterns ready to be lit when the sun would go down and were those parcels with ribbons on a table actually presents?

“How did you know?” Izzy asked, confused.

He hadn’t said anything about his birthday, in fact he hadn’t even remembered it was that day, except for a vague thought in the morning when he had checked the logs. Birthdays weren’t important for pirates or had never been before he had set foot on that crazy ship full of madmen.

“You told me once, but you were so drunk you probably don’t remember,” Frenchie said with a wink.

“We all agreed we should do something special for our first mate’s birthday this year,” Stede said, looking as excited as a child on Christmas morning. “We have a great party ready for you, Izzy! Ready, people?”

Izzy stood awkwardly while Stede and the crew sang Happy Birthday to him, willing his body not to blush, but probably failing. A birthday party. It was ridiculous, it was a waste and it was the most heartwarming thing that had happened to him in a long time.

The crew started giving him the presents right away and soon his hands were full and he was fighting to the keep himself from tearing up.

First Roach and Fang came up from the galley with snacks and pastries and a big lemon cake.

(I know these are your favorites, little man, I’ve seen you have seconds when you thought nobody was looking.

Yes, boss, and I know you like the little lemon cakes, we used to buy them on shore leave, remember?)

Then Pete and Lucius offered him a big package and Izzy unwrapped it to find a few bottles of good rum.

(I found them in the last raid and we saved them for your birthday, Izzy.

Yes, and I helped wrapping them, you know. It was quite difficult with my wooden finger and all…

You made a lovely bow with that ribbon, babe. It looked great.

Aaaww, thank you, babe.)

Wee John and Frenchie’s present was next, a beautiful dark-blue cloak with embroidered sparrows.

(For night watches, when it gets cold. I hope I got the measures right, Izzy, if not, you let me know and I’ll fix it.

Yeah, and I sewed the sparrows, Izzy. They’re good luck birds, you know? They’ll protect you from evil witches.)

Oluwande, Archie and Jim offered him a smaller package and Izzy found a set of very good quality daggers inside.

(I chose those myself, hombrecito, that’s very good steel. You could stab a thousand men with those!

Or not! Not right now I mean. But we thought you’d like them, Izzy. Happy birthday!

Yeah, I bet you could hide the smallest one somewhere in your unicorn leg and nobody would see it coming, man!)

The presents were very thoughtful and Izzy realized he had only managed to grumble a thank-you every time, but nobody seemed to care. The crew was having fun, laughing and eating while cheering at him to open the next present and when he thought that was the last one, Stede got closer slowly with his hands behind his back.

“Here, this is my present for you, Israel. I hope you like it,” Stede said almost casually, but his face showed how nervous he really was.

Stede offered him a big sword, wrapped with a green silk ribbon and Izzy stared at it open-mouthed. It was… pretty, but it was clearly an ornamental sword, made for show and not for fighting. The blade was too thin and too long and the guard was beautifully crafted, yes, with intertwined steel vines with thorns and leaves that created a sort of cage where your hand was supposed to go. It looked like wielding that sword in a real fight would cause more damage to your hand than any attack from your opponent.

Izzy looked at Stede’s expectant face and then took a deep breath.

“It’s beautiful, Captain, thank you very much. I’ll treasure it.”

There, he thought proudly, he didn’t say he would use it so he wasn’t technically lying.

Stede beamed at him, looking incredibly proud.

“Oh, I also bought you this,” he added then as he offered him a very small package. “Yours seems to be a bit worn-out and they’re always useful.”

A pair of leather gloves, just his size.

“I know you only use one, but well, better have the pair, I thought, just in case.”

“Thank you, Stede,” Izzy said softly.

There was a silence then, but it wasn’t awkward at all. It didn’t last long, though, because soon the crew was loudly demanding cake and the party continued, with cake, drinks and songs long until the moon was up in the sky. And Izzy enjoyed every single moment of it, even if he wasn’t going to admit it out loud. Not yet, at least.

XOX

[danyaselmar]

Crispy critters, first Sechenov and now this rat. Why do I find him attractive? 😩

I was very sad when some chick tossed a little boom boom at this idiot :(

I want him to scold me in German pls 😳

[daisywalletchains]

I'm that embarrassing friend that used to listen to a christian ska band and that's embarrassing because I still like them.

[arandomnomad]

I've used MangaUpdates to keep track of everything I read for 11 years now. I just realized that you can get a "Likes" summary based on your public lists. Here's mine:

[mindsafe]

🍑 : how meticulously does my muse look after their physical appearance? do they spend a lot of time on their hair, makeup, grooming, and clothing? is there a particular reason why they do or don’t? for kenny !

@pontevoix || from [X] || OPEN

🍑 : how meticulously does my muse look after their physical appearance? do they spend a lot of time on their hair, makeup, grooming, and clothing? is there a particular reason why they do or don’t?

as a child, kenny rarely gave thought to his appearance, usually coming home caked in mud, dirt, && kuchel's specialty ❛ cow pies ❜ ( much to the displeasure of his parents ). his hair would be matted && bits of the outside world would cling to him like a second skin. even after he was bathed && sent to bed, the cycle would inevitably repeat itself the next day. kenny was chronically filthy, but in an innocent, endearing, boyish way.

as a violent criminal in the underground, kenny has a reputation to maintain. his outward presentation is a significant part of his bravado. an unkempt appearance draws too much attention from passers-by, && elicits the wrong kind of response from his preferred ❛ prey ❜. similarly, presenting as someone who can afford fancy silks && perfumes is just an open invitation to get robbed, if not worse; he strives for equal parts rugged && charming ― out of necessity && pride.

he has never manscaped && you can't make him

his body is a temple, or something like that. kenny takes his physique very seriously. although he doesn't have a formal workout routine, most of his muscle comes from bar fights, back alley brawls, && arm wrestling matches in the underground.

[furbyhater]

if I'm being honest, my biggest takeaway from my whole gallbladder debacle was that morphine is great actually

[bixels]

tarpit site.

[delphina2k]

ALL OF THE DREAM

HOW DOES IT MEAN

WHEN THE RHYTHM IS GLAD

THERE IS NOTHING TO BE SAD

DANGER AND DANCE

CLAPPING THE HANDS

WHEN WE'RE OUT IN THE SPACE

OF THE

(Please help me make these into stickers I am so excited about this terrible pun 😆)

[valahelart]

(I've never done a comic before but Stolas' line in the trailer was haunting me and I couldn't get this whole thing out of my head 👍)

[gotchibam]

Shiny Masquerain & Shiny Aggron ko-fi doodle for cyrus!

[frenchublog]

🦀x🤖 Part2

[wigglesdtuff]

hee hee

[gellavonhamster]

One Piece Live Action + Tumblr text posts, 1/?

[emchant3d]

It’s the fourth time this week Eddie’s been late without a phone call.

Sure, his job has him working weird hours - Steve gets it. But he also knows his schedule and he knows the days Eddie works at the bar til close and he knows the days he’s supposed to be home before dark, and he hasn’t had a closing shift once this week. 

Yet he came home near ten tonight, and Steve had been worried and nervous and yes, sure, a little - a lot - insecure about it, and maybe he’d lashed out first, or maybe Eddie had, Steve doesn’t know, but he knows they’re standing in the living room shouting at one another and it’s all coming to a head and he can’t stop himself, can’t keep from getting loud and angry and–

"Do you even want to fucking be here?" he yells.

"Not when you're acting like this!" Eddie says, and Steve's throat goes tight like there's a fist wrapped around it. 

Not when he's acting like this, he thinks. Not when he's being too needy. Too pushy. Too demanding.

Something in his brain feels like it rewires. Their relationship flips on its head, and suddenly fear is coiling in Steve's stomach, not anger. 

He'll lose Eddie if he keeps pushing like this. If he demands too much of his time, pulls him away from what he'd rather be doing, makes himself too much work, he'll lose him. Eddie always said he wasn't going anywhere. That he loves Steve, wants to be with him, will never get tired of him. Steve was a fucking idiot to take that at face value.

He feels sick to his stomach. He wants to apologize, wants to tell Eddie to forget all about what he said, wants to show how sorry he is, but between one moment and the next he's feeling like a guest in his own home, and he's very familiar with how it feels to be unwelcome.

So instead he shakes his head. Eddie wants to be left alone, probably. Doesn't want to see Steve when he's mad at him. Doesn't want to deal with him. He'll make himself scarce.

"I'm staying in the guest room tonight," he says stiffly, and turns away, only faltering a little when Eddie mumbles 'what the fuck ever' behind him. He flinches when Eddie slams the front door and closes the spare room so quietly it barely even clicks.

– Eddie gets home late.

Like, late-late. Steve hears the front door open as he's staring at the clock on the bedside table, the bright red numbers burning into his vision. Why did they even put a fucking clock in here, he thinks. It's the guest room. Why did he insist on furnishing this room like someone might live in it? Like this was a home people would be in and out of, like their family would come and stay with them long enough to need an alarm clock on the bedside table?

Desperate, a voice in his head hisses at him, desperate and needy and full of wishful thinking that someone would want to stay around sad little Steve Harrington long enough to need anything--

Eddie's coming down the hallway. He's trying to be quiet, but he forgot to take his shoes off at the door and his Reeboks squeak a little against the hardwood. It's a familiar sound. Comforting, usually. It's how he knows his honey's made it home safe when he's out late, that tell-tale squeak and the little stumbles when he's tipsy and making his way through their home after a long gig.

There was no gig tonight, though, and Eddie's footsteps are steady and even despite the soft sound of rubber on wood. He isn't drunk, Steve doesn't think - and is that better or worse? That he left after a fight and didn't even go somewhere to drink it off. Where has he been, if not their usual bar to think about what they'd spat at one another, trying to think of solutions, of apologies?

And is Steve really owed an apology? He was overbearing. He was pushy. He was demanding and authoritative and too fucking much all over again, and Eddie lashed out in response, and does Steve deserve an apology after all that? He's been going around in circles with himself all evening about it, arguing in his own head, saying yes I deserve one because my feelings were hurt and no I don't deserve one because I lashed out first and how does he answer this for himself? He doesn't know.

He knows he'd do just about anything to make the empty feeling in his chest go away, though. Knows that he'd shove his hurt away and eat his words and apologize to Eddie and never, ever push again if it meant he knew where they stood. If it meant Eddie would forgive him and never storm out like that again, if it meant Steve knew he wouldn't be left alone like this to wonder if Eddie was coming back.

And he feels so dramatic - he can hear Robin's voice already, telling him it was just a fight, that there's no reason to get this worked up about it, but Steve can't help it. Slammed doors and loneliness are the soundtrack to his childhood and he can't help the panic he feels when someone he loves leaves.

"Do you want to be here?" he'd asked, like a fucking idiot, and Eddie hadn't said yes. Steve swallows around the lump that's taken up permanent residence in his throat. Reaches to swipe a hand over his face, rubbed raw, eyes burning with tears he won't let fall because what right does he have to cry? He brought this on himself. He always brings it on himself.

Eddie's feet are still squeaking their way slowly down the hallway, he's trying not to wake Steve - or is he just trying not to be noticed? Impossible, if Eddie Munson is in a room Steve is going to notice, how can he not? He's been yanked into that gravitational pull and there's no escape for him, not anymore, he's a moon circling around the solar system and Eddie is the sun, burning bright and pulling focus and what is Steve to do in the face of that?

He keeps his eyes fixed on the clock. Watches the display change when a minute's passed. Feels his heartbeat stutter when Eddie's shuffling, squeaking steps pause outside the guest room.

They keep a hall light on at night. It's on a dimmer, turned down way low, but neither of them do well with complete darkness. Too many nightmares, too many shadows haunting and hunting the both of them. Steve can see the muted glow of it from beneath the door.

He can also see when Eddie comes to a stop because his feet block that light. Two shadows in the doorframe, obscuring the soft haze of warm orange that creeps in a half-moon over the carpet, and Steve stops breathing. There's a soft shifting noise, fabric over wood, a gentle thunk when Eddie leans against the guest room door, and Steve almost calls out to him. Almost says I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, please don't leave again, please don't leave me, but the words stick in his throat. Ball's in Eddie's court, as it should be when Steve fucked up so bad, when he tried to ruin it all, when he made Eddie so mad that he left when he promised Steve he would never do that. Eddie's a good man. Keeps his word. Steve's the problem, Steve is always the goddamn problem, always will be, ruins and stains everything he fucking touches–

The shadow disappears. Steve squeezes his eyes shut so tight he sees lights popping behind his lids. Those shuffling squeaking steps continue their way down the hall. Steve feels like he's going to throw up but he didn't have dinner so there's nothing in his belly but bile and nothing comes up even though his throat is tight and his stomach is fucking rolling.

The bedroom door - their bedroom door - creaks on its hinges. Steve keeps meaning to put some WD-40 on it but he kind of likes that it makes a noise, that when he's asleep it's just loud enough to wake him halfway and tell him to anticipate the warm wash of tobacco and sandalwood that will cloud him when Eddie slips beneath the covers. Lets him know he's about to be grabbed and groped a little bit, sweet little kisses pressed to his shoulder and neck and jawline until he's got a face tucked into the curve of his throat, until he's giving a sleepy smile and winding his arms around a trim waist and dragging Eddie in close, sputtering and laughing tiredly as wild hair gets in his face and mouth before he falls asleep again, wrapped tight around the love of his life.

None of that tonight, apparently - and he doesn't blame him. No, he hears the bedroom door creak and it feels like a punishment that he deserves and his eyes burn and burn and burn and his face is wet now, he can't help it, and he wipes at it again angrily, takes the soft blanket to his face and why is it so soft why does Steve try so hard when he knows he won't get anything back why does he try to build a home when he's never had one and never will and is going to lose the one he's clawed onto so desperately and tried so hard to keep–

The door creaks again. Steve takes a stuttering breath. Eddie's steps are soft now as they come down the hallway, bare feet on the floor, almost silent as he creeps his way closer. Steve clenches his teeth so hard his jaw aches, anything to hold back the sounds he wants to make - he can't let Eddie hear him. He can't let Eddie know he's crying. That's manipulative, isn't it? Crying in front of the person he hurt? He won't do it, won't be that selfish, but that shadow appears at the base of the door again. Steve can't help the shaky inhale he takes, and it sounds so fucking loud in the quiet of the guest room, choked and echoing. 

"Baby?" Eddie says, voice low and quiet, rapping so gently against the door with one knuckle. "You in there, Stevie?" 

Just the sound of him is enough to send his heart crashing around in his ribcage, fluttering and jumping and making Steve tense. He wants to answer but he can’t get the words to form, his throat feels sealed shut, and he wonders if he should answer even if he were able because what could Eddie possibly have to say right now? It can’t be anything good and Steve doesn’t know if he can take it right now, in this room that makes him feel like a guest in his own home - but isn’t he always a guest? Isn’t that what he’s made to be, a temporary stop in everyone else’s story?

But he’s not ready for Eddie to move past him yet. Not tonight. Let it happen in the morning if it has to happen, let him put this off just a little longer. Just please, not tonight. Not yet.

But Eddie’s never been known for his patience, and the click of the latch has Steve slamming his eyes closed. Too late to roll over and hide his face, but he’s got enough time to duck down and tuck most of his features into a pillow. He tries to let his body relax, to let the tense lines of his muscles uncoil and his shoulders drop and his fists unclench, but he can’t tell if he’s managed it and the ache in his palms from his blunt nails tells him maybe he did, but it won’t help much.

Eddie makes his way across the carpet in silent steps, and the mattress dips with his weight as he sits on the edge of it. Steve’s fingers twitch to reach for him, but he just curls them into the sheets instead and hopes the motion looks absent enough to have happened in his sleep. 

He smells sandalwood and tobacco and feels the warmth from Eddie being so near but it feels like there’s a wall between them, one he can’t cross even if he tries, one he’s barred from so much as touching. 

He works hard to keep his breathing even but it’s hitching now and then despite his best efforts, shaky and too loud in the silent room, but he keeps up the charade even though the end of it all is perched right in front of him. And it’s Eddie who puts an end to it. It was always Eddie who was going to put an end to it.

“I know you’re awake,” he says, and Steve squeezes his eyes tighter like that’ll make it untrue, like he can just drift off in a second if he wills it hard enough. Eddie shifts on the mattress, and Steve curls tighter into himself. “Let’s just hash this out, huh? Get it over with.” Steve bites his tongue so hard he thinks he might taste blood. It’s that simple for Eddie - but it’s always simple, isn’t it? Cut and dry, plain as day, Steve is the only one who can never see it coming, it’s written on the goddamn walls for everyone else.

He risks peeking through his lashes but Eddie’s got his back to him so it doesn’t even matter, not really. Eddie isn’t looking at him and so Steve allows himself to look, takes in the hunch of Eddie’s shoulders, the curve of his spine beneath his thin pajama shirt - he’d changed, when he’d made his way through their creaky bedroom door, took off his clothes and put his pajamas on and kicked off those tennis shoes, they’re probably in a pile at the foot of the bed for Steve to trip over and he will miss tripping over them, he’ll miss it terribly.

He wonders if he’ll need to move. If he’ll have to find a new place and separate out all of their things into his things, if SteveAndEddie’sStuff will become Steve’s stuff and Eddie’s stuff. Or maybe he’ll just start staying in this guest room, maybe that’s why he furnished this room so completely, because somehow he knew he’d end up alone in it.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, and Steve inhales sharply.

“Don’t,” he says, and somehow he keeps his voice steady.

“So you are awake,” Eddie says, and he tries to sound teasing, sound playful, but it drops like a stone in this space between them. No room for levity in the dark cloud Steve’s filled this room with. He wishes he could be easygoing and let go gently, but it’s Eddie - in what world could he take losing him graciously?

“Yeah,” he says, and he stares at Eddie’s back as the other raises his head, but he still doesn’t turn to look at Steve, and he wishes he could at least look him in the face when he rips his heart out of his chest.

part 2

[shalom-iamcominghome]

Basically, most all my posts on this topic can be summed up as:

List of people responsible for antisemitism:

Antisemites

List of people NOT responsible for antisemitism:

Jews