#and offered suggestions

[urrone]

wip amnesty - jordan eberle/taylor hall

Full disclosure, I think I've posted this before, but I'm officially posting it again just to get it off my chest and out of my active fics folder. It's never getting finished. At the end I will include my notes for how I would have ended it if I had the willpower to do so. I created this document in the year of our eldritch horror TWO THOUSAND THIRTEEN so that's how long it's been muddling through existence.

--

the new normal

It’s not that Taylor hasn’t heard of Oklahoma before, of course he has, though he doubts he could have ever picked it out on a map of the US. He’s just never, like, had to physically acknowledge its existence with his own presence, and it’s weird. 

“Is it as flat as you thought?” Jeff, the intern the team sent to pick him up at the airport, carefully keeps his hands at 10 and 2 on the wheel. Bringing his truck down from home hadn’t made sense given he’s sure he won’t be here long, but Taylor misses driving already. 

“I didn’t really think about it,�� he says, and that’s definitely true. Foreign places always resemble a slightly different Canada in his mind until he sees them. And it’s not like anywhere in the US is really that different, not like going overseas. 

And honestly, it does kind of remind him of Edmonton, only with fewer trees. 

Jeff laughs when he says it out loud, and starts pointing out landmarks on the way to the apartment Taylor will share with Jordan. He’s never lost this much playing time before, and he isn’t sure if it’s that or seeing Jordan for the first time since April that has him wiping sweat off his palms every five minutes. 

Taylor lets Jeff’s inane chatter ease him all the way to his new front door, on the second floor of a low rise apartment building that Jeff assures him is only a five-to-ten-minute bike ride from the arena. “It doesn’t look like a lot, but there’s some good stuff in Midtown,” Jeff says, gesturing vaguely to the road behind them. 

Taylor doesn’t know how to respond to this but it doesn’t really matter because Jeff’s already gone.

--

“Are you telling me you actually brought your dirty laundry from Canada to wash down here?” Jordan says, looking at the pile of clothes in front of the washer. “You moved down here just so I'd do your laundry again, didn't you?”

Taylor laughs and chucks the socks he'd been wearing on top of the pile. It’s almost a relief to just fall back into chirping each other like they always used to. It helps him talk through the fluttery bits in his stomach. “Yep, it had absolutely nothing to do with finally being able to play again. I got tired of washing my own socks.”

Jordan picks one of the socks up and flicks it back at Taylor's face. “It doesn’t look like you’ve washed a sock since last season.” 

Taylor bats it away, laughing around the new tight feeling that’s taken up residence in his chest. He'd really missed just being in the same room with Jordan, sitting on their mutually owned couch playing xbox, buying groceries they’d forget to eat, watching Jordan sort their dirty laundry.

“Why aren't you holding up your end then?” Jordan asks. He's given up bitching and started dumping the pile of clothes into the washer. “When's the last time you went grocery shopping?”

“Chill out, I just got here.”

“We can't eat at Earl's every day, dude.”

It's weird that he can eat at a place called Earl's in two different countries. Did they run out of restaurant names? The one down here doesn't have the variety of Edmonton’s, but their brisket is delicious, and Taylor doesn't see why they can't eat it every day if they want to. He says as much.

“The nutritionist might object.”

Fair point to Jordan. “Do you think Tubes would let me borrow his car?”

Jordan snorts. “No.”

Taylor flops down on the couch. “Well do you think he'd give me a ride to the grocery store?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“Whether or not he's already going to the store.” Jordan flops down next to him, and it's not their awesome giant wrap around couch that Jordan’s mom bought them when they moved in, so next to him is kind of on top of him given the way that Taylor's sprawled, but Taylor doesn't mind. He likes Jordan's warm weight against him, even though it's kind of hot in their apartment, despite the air conditioning. It's weird that it's 30C in late October anywhere in the world.

“If we had Vespas we could go to the store.”

“How is grocery shopping with a Vespa different than grocery shopping with your bike?”

Taylor tries to shrug but his shoulders are stuck to the leather. “I'd get there faster?”

“Do you even know what a Vespa is?” Jordan nudges Taylor with his foot. “You still wouldn't have anywhere to put the groceries.”

Taylor doesn’t want to admit that no, he still doesn’t know. “I wouldn't get much. It's not like you're going to cook it.”

“Can't fit a lot of coconut water on a Vespa.”

“I could fit enough.” He nudges Jordan back with his knee, since his feet are currently trapped under Jordan's calves.

“Hey, Cheds.” Sometimes Taylor regrets ever telling Jordan about that nickname, but sometimes he likes that Jordan is the only one to use it anymore.

“What?”

Jordan won't make eye contact with him for a minute, which is weird because it's Jordan and Jordan has never been uncomfortable around Taylor, not even when they first met. “I just. I really missed you.”

It's weird to say his heart flips in his chest, because hearts don't actually do that, really, but Taylor might finally know what people mean when they say that, like this sick warm weird feeling right there behind his sternum. It's awesome and terrifying and he doesn’t know what to do with it. 

He waits until it passes and pats Jordan's shoulder, because Jordan's still looking weird. Which, granted, they hardly ever talk about their feelings for things other than food or hockey, but still. “I missed you too, you non.”

Jordan doesn't even smile at that, and Taylor suddenly feels like they're having two different conversations. “No,” Jordan says. “I mean. I missed. Jesus, Taylor, it was like <i>six months</i>.”

“No it wasn't, I was back in Edmonton that whole time. I mean, except for the surgery.”

“Not on the ice.”

“Well no, but—”

“Not over the summer.”

“We never spend the summer together.”

Jordan's looking at him now, but it's with the distinct impression that says Taylor's missing something big, and fuck if Taylor knows what it is. He kind of does though, because even when he'd been out with his ankle his rookie year, they'd still been around, and it hadn't been some planned thing like his shoulder where they knew it'd go through next season. 

The shoulder thing had kind of scared him, and he guesses it must have scared Jordan a bit too. He puts his hand on Jordan's shoulder again, but leaves it there and holds on. “I get it,” he says, even though Jordan's still looking at him like he really doesn't. “I really did miss you too. And playing with you. And winning with you.”

Jordan looks kind of okay with that, and he reaches up to pat Taylor's hand.

“You want to hug it out?” Taylor asks.

Jordan laughs at that and smacks his hand away and things feel normal again, but a different kind of normal. “Fuck you, turn on the TV.”

If this is going to be their new normal, Taylor could be okay with that. 

–

Practice is weird and it isn’t just because he hasn’t actually had a team practice since last season.  Jordan and Ryan have been down for a month already, since before the home opener, and Taylor hates feeling a step behind. He knows some of the guys from training camp last year, but Schultz is new and Ryan follows him around like a duckling. 

He’s also missed out on several months worth of inside jokes, which he hates almost more than feeling winded after sprints. During practice Justin hip checks Jordan and they both say “sauce” and crack up laughing. Taylor doesn’t feel bad at all when they both land on their asses and get yelled at. 

Tubes laughs at Taylor when he mentions the grocery store, but Hamilton takes pity on him. (Taylor hadn't really planned this well and asked in the locker room. If anyone chirps him about it, he's totally throwing Jordan under the bus about the laundry. Cereal is way better than socks.)

“We can go after practice,” Hammy says. “I've gotta go anyway.”

They end up driving way further north than Taylor's been before, he hasn't really made it past 23rd St on his bike, and stopped there because there wasn’t a bike lane. He figures if it isn't in the confines of downtown, he doesn't really need it.

“But you do,” Hammy says. “Because they don't have a Whole Foods down there.” He then spends about fifteen minutes bitching about the grocery store situation in Oklahoma, because apparently the liquor laws in the States are different than Canada, and for some reason that means no good grocery stores exist in this state. “It's a big fucking mess,” Hammy finishes, just as he parks. He catches Taylor giving him whatever look must have been on his face, because really, <i>grocery stores</i>. “What?” Hammy asks.

“I had no idea someone could have so many feelings about grocery stores.”

Hammy just pushes him into a parked car, and they both run when the alarm starts blaring.

–

“Did you know it's not even called KD down here?” Taylor asks, neatly arranging the offensively labeled blue boxes in the cupboard.

“I did, actually,” Jordan says, not even looking up from the TV.

“You could have warned me.”

“I'm sorry, was it a shock to your delicate nature?”

Taylor lobs one of the wet sponges on the sink at Jordan's head, and fuck yeah he's got excellent hand-eye coordination, it hits Jordan right in the ear. Jordan yelps and comes at him, and Taylor barely gets out “I'm sorry, was it a shock to your delicate ear?” before Jordan has him pinned on the kitchen floor, laughing into the tile. 

Taylor gets his hands under him and shoves up. He's got height and weight on Jordan, which has always made wrestling pathetically unmatched, especially when Jordan forgets to do shit like pin his hands. He gets Jordan wedged into the corner between the cabinets and the floor, and even with Jordan squirming and kicking his truly massive thighs around, he can't dislodge Taylor. Taylor is the fucking master of pinning people.

“Say it,” he says. It's unfortunately a little muffled because he's got Jordan's shoulder pinned with his head, and his mouth is full of Jordan' shirt. Still, it's a familiar enough routine by now, and Jordan's face is free and clear.

“No.”

Taylor presses down harder, his feet hooked over Jordan's legs and their arms tangled. It'd be horrible form if either of them had ever actually officially wrestled in any kind of formal manner, but there aren't any rules here. They're touching knee to head and it’s apparently part of the new normal that Taylor notices this time. Notices exactly how they line up, how Jordan's thigh flexes between his, how Jordan's breath pants across Taylor's forehead as he struggles. He doesn't know why he's never thought about this before, how good everything feels. He's missed it. They've had to be too careful about Taylor's shoulder for so long.

“Say it,” he says again, and hopes his voice doesn't sound as wrecked as he feels.

“You're better than me!”

“At what.”

Jordan sags against the floor and Taylor finds himself resisting absolutely nothing, and then they're just two guys, cuddling on the kitchen floor. “At literally everything,” Jordan says.

Taylor lifts his head. “That escalated quickly.”

“Fuck you, don't quote <i>Anchorman</i> at me.”

“Don't say ridiculous shit.”

Jordan shrugs and Taylor feels it with his whole torso and remembers that, oh yeah, he's still basically laying on top of Jordan, and it isn't for wrestling reasons anymore. He gets up and offers a hand to Jordan. “NHL 13?”

He laughs when Jordan slaps his hand away. “I'm gonna kick your ass,” Jordan says, levering himself up against the cabinets.

“Yeah, we'll see.”

–

Taylor's first week playing with the team for real and not just practicing involves a road trip down to Texas. On a bus. Taylor remembers taking buses to games, it honestly hasn't been that long, but the drive from OKC down to Houston is going to be like eight hours. And because he’s who he is he decides to complain about it out loud in the middle of Earl’s. “Welcome to the AHL,” he mutters.

“It's not that bad,” Jordan says.

“You're like a foot shorter than me, of course you don't think it's that bad.”

Jordan flicks a fry at him. Taylor tries unsuccessfully to catch it in his mouth. “I'm like inches shorter than you,” Jordan says. “Very few inches.”

“At least two,” Ryan says helpfully.

Justin nods. “But not more than six.”

“Fuck you both, it's not six inches.”

Taylor flicks a pickle at Jordan. Fries are too precious to waste, and he's really not a fan of pickles. “I can see over your head without even trying. It's enough.”

“You cannot.”

“I can.”

“Prove it.”

“Right now?”

Jordan gets up from their booth and stands next to it, hands on his hips. “Yes, right now.”

“You look stupid.” Taylor looks at Ryan and Justin, but they're both concentrating really hard on eating right now and are exactly no help. “Seriously?”

Justin looks up from his barbecue. “It makes Nugget really uncomfortable when his parents yell at each other,” he says, with a truly impressive deadpan expression. Taylor is forced to begrudgingly admit, only to himself, that Justin could teach lessons.

Taylor sighs heavily and ridiculously and throws his napkin down. “Fine.” He knows he's exaggerated his and Jordan’s height differences. Jordan knows he's exaggerated their height differences. Literally everyone knows he's exaggerated their height differences, and he stands up and his eyes are right on Jordan's forehead and of course he can't see shit over his head and he hates that he had to stand up and leave his barbecue behind. “Whatever, you non. Fine.” He sits back down again. “Two inches. Why were we talking about this again?”

Jordan is insufferably triumphant with his shit-eating grin. “The bus,” Jordan reminds him. “It's not that bad, so quit your fucking whining.”

“Language, Ebby,” Taylor says. “This is a family establishment.”

Jordan kicks him under the table, and it's really fucking hard actually, but then he leaves his leg pressed up against Taylor's until they leave.

–

Taylor shifts around for the millionth time in as many minutes. The bus is too hot and too cold and too cramped and too . . . everything. He's got his iPad out and has Dexter queued up but can't find a good position for the iPad and his legs and his shoulders. Jordan shotgunned the window seat on the way to the bus and at first Taylor thought that the aisle would be awesome, more room for his legs, but then Arco spread out a blanket, grabbed his pillow, and camped out in the aisle. It's a mad genius idea and Taylor wishes he'd thought of it first, but now he's got nowhere for his legs except under the seat in front of him.

“Stop squirming,” Jordan says, shoving at his shoulder. “I can't sleep when you squirm.”

“I can't get comfortable,” Taylor says, shoving back. “This is the worst.”

House kicks his seat. “Tell us again how wonderful the Oilers plane is, seriously.”

Taylor hunches down in his seat. This is the worst, the absolute worst, but he might be down here for the whole season, given the way the negotiations are going, and he doesn't really want to be <i>that guy</i>.

“Here, just.” Jordan starts manhandling him a bit. “Sit up a minute, will you?” Taylor does and Jordan pulls his leg up behind Taylor and Taylor does not at all see how this is going to be comfortable? But then Jordan grabs his shoulders and turns Taylor away from him and pulls his back into Jordan's chest, so Taylor is basically reclining in a Jordan chair. Taylor tries really hard and really unsuccessfully to not think about every point of contact between them. 

He swings his legs up onto the armrest across the aisle, basically right over Arco's head, but he's asleep and Danis is all alone across the aisle and sleeping with his face mashed against the window and obviously not using the arm rest right now.

“Better?” Jordan whispers, and it's right in his ear and that's definitely what makes the goosebumps spread across the back of his neck. He wonders what Jordan will attribute his full body shudder to, but Jordan doesn't actually ask. Also is it better? No. And yes. 

“Yeah,” he says, just as quiet. It really has no business being comfortable, because they're still two tall, muscular dudes shoved into a seat made for people roughly half their size, but somehow it is, and it’s weird that it is. 

Jordan slings his arm over Taylor's shoulder, because it's that or leave it mashed between Taylor and the seat. He can feel when Jordan falls asleep again, because his breath gets deep and even against Taylor's shoulder.

Taylor puts his earbuds in, props the iPad against his knees, and hits play. He’ll deal with how good all of this feels later.

–

It’s Justin’s idea to go see Cloud Atlas. Taylor doesn’t really like going to movie theaters, he gets bored just sitting there trying to follow along with a plot he doesn’t really care about. He relents when Jordan tells him to stop being a non and promises to buy him a popcorn and lemonade, so he gets on his bike and follows them all down the street to the theater. 

Somehow, when they all go to sit down, Taylor ends up on the end of the row next to Justin, and Jordan’s on the other end next to Ryan, and all Taylor has is his watery lemonade. Ryan and Justin do this thing during the previews where they do a thumbs up or down on whether or not they’ll go see the movie. Jordan starts giving his opinion after he sees Ryan and Justin doing it. 

Taylor keeps his thumb down the whole time and eventually Justin stops turning to ask. 

He only makes it thirty-seven minutes into the movie. By the sixth time a new storyline is introduced and he’s leaned over again to Justin to ask if that’s still Tom Hanks under all the makeup and Justin has shushed him yet again, he just gets up and leaves. He waits in the lobby to see if anyone follows him but eventually Taylor has to concede that they might not have even noticed he’d left. Or maybe they just thought he was taking an extended bathroom break.

The lobby of the movie theater is boring and doesn’t have any couches and he’s actually pretty close to home because everything is pretty close to their apartment, so he just leaves.

He bikes around downtown. There’s a little canal area near the theater and a big statue of a covered wagon. He likes the canal. It’s absolutely nothing like the river in Edmonton but whatever, it’s trying. He stops outside Toby Keith’s restaurant to tweet about the movie and laughs at Whits’ response. 

Most of the time he’s not sure if it’s Oklahoma City that he likes or his anonymity. No one recognizes him here. No one stops him on the sidewalk to ask about their Cup chances. No one laments to him about their godawful power play, or how long it’s been since their last playoff run. No one gives him their insider tips or advice on going top shelf or five hole. He hasn’t been this anonymous in a really long time. 

If he’d stopped to think about it, and he never had, obviously, he’d have assumed he’d find it lonely, isolating. The first time he’d left the country, to go someplace that wasn’t the United States, he’d gone all the way to Russia for hockey. They had people to help them around, translators assigned to help them order dinner and find their way to the bathrooms. And, other than thinking they were obnoxious tourists, the Russians hadn’t really cared much about who he was. He keeps thinking about that time, about being in the middle of a crowd of people and completely unable to communicate with any of them unless they spoke English. 

They speak English in Oklahoma but it’s the same feeling, like there’s something lost in translation between him and the people strolling along the canal. 

He’d never been alone in Russia though, Jordan had been with him. He wonders why he feels more alone now, and he kind of hates it. 

As he’s contemplating that feeling, he realizes he’s hit the highway. And because he’s hit the highway, he doesn’t actually know where he is. It should be easy just turn around and go back the way he came, plus all the streets in Oklahoma City are numbered, but he can’t figure it out. He lets Siri direct him back to the apartment.

-

That's where it ends, these are the notes:

Lockout ends and they go back and Taylor is still pissy and doesn’t know why

Jordan confronts him about it

Taylor finally says that OKC was balls but he missed feeling like they were about to start something, like they were removed from their normal lives in a place where anything could happen

Jordan calls him an idiot and kisses him

“It was like. Anything could happen there. We could have just been two normal guys. And it made me think, if we were just two normal guys, what would I do.” 

“But you didn’t do anything.” 

Taylor shrugs. “We still weren’t normal guys, even though it felt like it.” 

“What’s normal? Nothing’s normal. There’s no such thing as normal.” 

“You know what I mean.” 

“So we make a new normal,” Jordan says, and kisses him. 

Okay but now that I’ve been reminded of it I need to add something in there about bonking their heads together as they kiss. 

[moonsun2010]

If there's one thing I've seen over and over again in the Dracula Daily + Re: Dracula fandom, it's the desire for an animated adaptation. Not of media-inspired-by, but of Dracula itself. And so, I've made:

...something that is decidedly not animated.

Yet.

I'm hoping to get Dracula Reanimated (tentative name) in exactly 1 year from now, by the end of DracDaily's 2025 run, perhaps even the beginning of it if I'm really good. But in all honesty, it could take till 2026 given the teeny complication that 1) I've no animation skills whatsoever 2) fulltime job.

So, I hope you'll stay around for the next 2 years at least to see this completed.

In the meanwhile, if you'd like to support a project by actual professionals, try @theholmwoodfoundation . It's a found footage horror fiction podcast by @georgiacooked and @fiotrethewey set in a time long after the events of Dracula, and yet the characters find themselves haunted (literally) by vestiges of the past.

Goodnight, stay safe, and rest well.

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

finally at that age where i'm thinking i should get a tattoo. not bc i feel strongly about it, just seems like a waste not to. i've got so much skin i'm not using

[hailsatanacab]

A Persuasive Argument - dpxdc

"Great!" Danny says, clapping his hands together to get everyone's attention. The dinner table falls silent as everyone looks towards him. It's a full house today and, honestly, Danny's a little nervous. "I'm sure you're all wondering why I gathered you here today."

"It's dinnertime. In our house." Duke mutters, while doing a very bad job of concealing his yawn. He holds his fork poised over the braised beef, but, just like everyone else, still looks towards Danny before tucking in. It's intriguing enough to wait.

"Yeah, no one misses Alfie's dinner." Dick says, with a brilliant smile that Danny can't help but return.

"Precisely! What better time to talk to you all than when you're all actually here!"

"Wait, I thought you came round to work on our English essays?" Tim asks, blinking owlishly.

"I'm afraid I've lured you here under false pretences, Tim."

"This is where I live."

"I would still really appreciate help on that essay though, I mean, what the hell is Hamlet even about? I just don't get that old time-y language, like 'Hark! A ghost hath killed me!' - absolute rubbish, what does that even mean?"

"The ghost never kills anyone in Hamlet, he's there to tell Hamlet that he was murdered. Have you actually read it?"

"No, but it sounds like you have. Tim, I want this guy to help me with my essay instead. I know for a fact that you haven't read Hamlet, either."

"So? We don't need Jason, I've read the Sparknotes."

"Hi Jason, I'm Danny, pleasure to meet you, summarise Hamlet in three sentences or less."

"Am I auditioning to help you write your essays? I can't believe you’ve gone through your whole school life without reading it, it’s good!"

"Hamlet, along with a number of other classics, was banned in our house because it portrayed ghosts as intelligent and sympathetic beings rather than evil, animalistic beasts. I didn’t even get to see The Muppet's Christmas Carol until last year with Tim! It was surprisingly good, and I hate Christmas because everyone always argued and it sucked. But we're getting off topic. I—"

"No, no, please go back to that, because what the fu—"

"Boys, please." Bruce interrupts, looking to the world as if he wants to hang his head in his hands. "Danny, you were about to say something?"

"Oh, yeah, Mr. Wayne! Thanks!"

"Please, call me Bruce."

"Well, that very succinctly brings me to my point, because I'd actually really like to call you dad."

Nobody says a word. Nobody even blinks, all as shocked as the other, watching open-mouthed as Danny pulls his laptop out from beside his chair. Bruce can definitely feel a headache coming on.

"Before you say anything, I've prepared a 69 slide PowerPoint presentation on why you, Bruce Wayne, should adopt me, Danny Last-Name-Pending. Please save your questions, comments, and verdict until the end, thank you."

[ryllen]

and some extra unused stuff while they are in affectionate mood

[thebibliosphere]

Once I get a washer and dryer on the main floor of the house instead of the basement, it's over for you hoes. (The laundry pile, my executive dysfunction, and POTS)

[psymachine]

is he...you know? *lowers voice* catholic?

[befuddled-calico-whump]

thinking about a whumpee on a forced march through rough terrain

hands tied in front of them, on foot while their captors are mounted, sleeping out in the open, forced to beg for adequate food and water

maybe they're barefoot, a captured royal in silken robes

maybe they're in a torn suit or soldier's uniform

maybe they were stripped at the start, increasing the exposure to the elements, the humiliation

are they a terrified mess from the beginning, or do they try to endure with dignity? how long before they're stumbling, barely putting one foot in front of the other? how long before they fall?

[b0tster]

whoda thought having to throw out an entire game story and writing a new one for an already finished game at the 11th hour and 59th minute would be hard lmfao

[jadewritesficshere]

Thinking about Eddie Munson who was complaining to the rest of the band about his shoulders and neck hurting post show. One of them convinces him to go for a massage.

Eddie shows up day of and is told to strip to level of comfort and get under the sheets laying on his back, his masseuse will knock before coming in. Eddie has not an ounce of care or shame, strips completely naked. Scars and tattoos on full display. He climbs between the sheets and waits. After knocking and hearing a "come in", his masseuse enters and-

The most handsome man he's ever seen walks in. A bit of stubble on his defined jaw, soft pale lips Eddie wants to kiss, big brown eyes Eddie wants to get lost in, slutty little waist and an ass Eddie could-

He introduces himself as Steve. Verifies where Eddie had said his tension was on the form he hastily filled out. Then it starts.

And maybe, maybe, Eddie is a bit touch starved. He could have anyone he wants, but they don't want him just his fame. Pushes them all away. Only gets close to his band, but they all are busy and have their own people outside of work.

And Steve is just touching him. Rubbing smooth circles into his temple, down his cheekbones towards his jaw. Pressing on parts of Eddie's face he didn't even realize were tense. It's relaxing.

And Eddie regrets not leaving at least his boxers on to help hide that he's becoming hard. Kind of embarrassing, which makes his dick harder- which, that's a lot to unpack right now-

"Hey, relax man," Steve says, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. Eddie can see Steve's eyes dart towards the obvious situation," It's natural. Happens to the best of us." "Does it happen to you?" Eddie blurts out. Eddie wants to shove his face in one of these soft plush pillows and scream, but Steve just snorts a laugh and shakes his head at him. Doesn't even respond as he continues the massage.

Eddie tries to hold back his groans as Steve turns his head to the side and rubs his neck into his shoulders. He can feel the tension leave his body slowly. Feel the knots in his muscles release.

Eddie can't, however, hold back the noise he makes when Steve grabs a hold of his hair and tugs it. Eddie's eyes pop open and he stares into Steve's face, who has started blushing. Steve just clears his throat and let's Eddie's hair go before continuing the massage.

[cornhighlights]

Make that bunny hop

[sweaty-toothed-mad-woman]

[arrowheadedbitch]

Saw a fic where Denki was really good at chess and it took a few days to kick in but I am OBSESSED with the idea

[pseudophan]

there's been a lot of interest already in the cookbook, a staggering amount actually, which is very exciting!!! because so many people want to get involved though i need to figure out the best way to do this, to avoid repeating dishes and making sure at least the majority of them are actually feasible for dan and phil to make and eat lmao. like do i think they will actually use it.. ehh.. i have my doubts.. but nevertheless we will treat it as if they will, just in case

obviously they have to be relatively easy, that's not to say they all need to be absolute beginner recipes though like lets give them some credit, but at the same time also nothing suuuper complicated

there's also the part where phil hates or can't have like half of all foods, that's another challenge. on that note, does anyone have a comprehensive list of things both of them have said they don't like/can't eat? or even dishes they say they enjoy a lot? phil shouldn't have dairy (though that doesn't necessarily mean zero dairy in any dishes, just maybe let's try to limit it), doesn't like cheese, mushrooms, soup, olives, what else?

anyway my main point i was gonna get to at the start of this post before it got away from me is i think i'll make a google form where you can submit what dish(es) you would like to contribute and then i'll look through them all and figure it out from there. i'm guessing the best way of doing it would be to get everyone to provide multiple options so that if a dish gets repeated a lot we can still try to get as many people as possible involved. whether the final pick is one recipe per person or not remains to be seen, it's hard to tell exactly how many will actually participate in the end

sorry this was supposed to be a short post just going "i'm making a google form", i promise there will be more info and less rambling coming later

[hedgehog-moss]

me sending yet another email to a French public service to ask them why they use so many gratuitous English words in a service that's supposed to be non-discriminatory and accessible to everyone in the country

[royalarchivist]

Federation Rabbit: Good morning, chicos.

Missa: [SCREAMS]

Roier: [Laughs]

Missa: Who are you?

Roier: Hello?

Federation Rabbit: [Gives Missa a yellow flower] 🌻

Roier: Hey, he gave you a flower! Eeeee, I think he likes you! I think he likes you!

Missa: [Insane giggle]

[Full Transcript ↓ ]

—

Roier: Dude, why is this here dude, why is there so much man? [?]

Missa: Who is he?

[The Spanish Federation Rabbit suddenly shows up]

Roier: Ay, pende–

Missa: [?] A la verga– Who are you?! Who—

Federation Rabbit: Good morning, chicos.

Missa: [SCREAMS]

Roier: [Laughs]

Missa: Who are you?

Roier: Hello?

Federation Rabbit: [Gives Missa a yellow flower]

Roier: Hey, he gave you a flower! Eeeee, I think he likes you! I think he likes you!

Missa: [Insane giggle]

Federation Rabbit: How are you?

Roier: Who are you asking, him? Yes, right?

Missa: [In a high-pitched silly voice] I'm fine. I'm Mickey Mouse! [Laughs]

Federation Rabbit: [Turns to Roier] How are you?

Roier: Good, it's going great. And what's up with you? What's up?