#i had so many ideas while writing this

[poly-space-nerds]

Finally, after centuries of pining for this dark haired man in front of him, Hob holds Dream in his arms.

Finally, he thinks, as Dream kisses him passionately, hands holding his cheeks close. He opens his mouth, tongues sliding together.

He tastes- He tastes like- What does he taste like? Rain? A forest? An aged book? Blast. How come book characters always know what a person tastes like? See, this was why I was never a poet. It’s okay though. Maybe Shakespeare turned his head but look who’s holding him now? Ha you-

“Have you gotten lost Hob Gadling?” The voice of his stranger gets him out of his thoughts. He’s about to make an excuse when he sees the look on his lover’s face. It’s incredibly soft and fond. The corners of his mouth are lifted almost as if he’s amused by Hob’s daydreaming.

“Oh bugger off.” Hob says as he captures Dreams lips again.

[allatariel]

Sergei absently exchanged the blue marker for another colored marker from the tray, began shading in the sine wave. Orange. In lines like strands of hair. Margo’s hair. The memory of it soft through his fingers, of the scent of her hair, her skin, clean and warm, the sweet, strong smell of the brandy on her lips.

He moved to the negative half cycle, the white of the board again alternating through a fall of orange hair. He wondered when her hair had turned white. Did it happen slowly over the last eight years? Had the long, cold, lonely winters she wasn’t used to, hadn’t, couldn’t have prepared for, slowly leached the color from her hair, from her life? She was not meant for a cage, no matter how gilded.

Automatically, he filled in the last positive half cycle, the orange strands thinning and fading as his mind continued to wander and his pressure against the board slackened. Or had her hair turned white all at once in a shock? Was it upon learning of the bombing? Worry for her colleagues? Aleida? Did she blame herself? Was it something that happened after? Something they’d done to her? He froze. Lefortovo…

“Uh, Mr. Bezukhov?”

Slowly, he blinked, the whiteboard and the classroom refocusing around him.

“Mr. Bezukhov?”

Sergei turned, taking in the students behind their desks, their faces, some smirking, most disinterested, a few studious. Right. He had a class to teach. A life she’d paid for with her own. He owed it to her to live it. This thought had sustained him through the years, kept him moving forward, moving on. It didn’t matter that she was alive. It shouldn’t. It couldn’t. 

“So, as you can see, the current is not always constant.”

[tazmiilly]

[nightmanatee]

anyways it wasn't chibbs decision to make 13->11 eps long season, to switch xmas specials with new year ones, flux production was a NIGHTMARE (also led to chris and jodie declining other offers bc of the contract), he did want to have 3 seasons (and not ,w with exiting in 2022 btw), saturday->sunday timeslot again not his idea, he did want to make spin offs but there was 0 budget for it and he also said he eas reassured by bbc that the show won't end with his last ep.

it was all bbc's decisions.

I know I don't have any nmds/chibnall haters as my followers but i do hope this post may reach them bc there were many things said about him and about half of them: about those particular parts.

[yasmeensh]

Finally got to paint something a little more proper for my project. Paleolithic kids see a dragon come down from the sky 🐉

a few more doodles of my OCs Tam Kujo below >>

drew this one in the span of three days during class time :p. A few lines here and there while I wait for the prof to set up the slides and start the class. Kept going until I felt like not adding anymore.

two more

[xenon-demon]

Something something steddie role swap AU. Steve and Eddie swap places for the final fight against Vecna (because you don’t really need to be able to play the guitar to make a distraction with one, and Steve is already injured while Eddie is Not), things proceed as in canon - the bats get in, Steve is self-sacrificial because that’s the Steve Harrington Agenda™, Steve gets himself killed.

Dustin has to watch his older brother die in his arms. Robin has to come back from a fight that she’s pretty sure they lost to find the other half of her soul is gone. Lucas finds out that not only has he lost Max, but he’s also lost his role model, one of his biggest supporters. Eddie is stuck in a town that’s falling apart, filled with people that hate him, and the only people who will understand are mourning someone Eddie barely knew. Someone whose shoes Eddie is never going to be able to fill, even when he feels like he has to try because that’s what he does; protect his people. And no matter how fucked the circumstances that got them here are, he’s decided these are his people now.

(They have to be, now that not even Uncle Wayne can calm him down when he has the nightmares, seeing Chrissy’s lifeless eyes staring down at him as he hears her bones crunch and twist-)

Eddie can’t breathe with how the gaping absence of Steve Harrington is threatening to swallow him whole. It’s always there, in the way Robin is isolating herself, sleeping over in Steve’s empty house whenever she can, and no one can get her to talk about it. It’s in the way Dustin, overcome with grief, keeps oscillating between blaming Eddie for agreeing to switch places and blaming himself for suggesting it in the first place. It’s in the way Eddie wonders sometimes, as he turns the events of Spring Break over in his mind, if maybe there was something there, or could have been something - and then he’s immediately overcome with guilt, because he’s lusting after a ghost. A ghost of someone he didn’t even know, really, as he’s learning more and more every day about the ways Steve has changed since high school.

So after a few weeks of this, especially with the added stress of Hawkins falling apart at the seams and being constantly invaded by hellbeasts from the gaping portals all over town, Eddie does what he does best.

He runs away.

He doesn’t even think about where he’s going, just puts one foot in front of the other - even as he crosses over a portal into the Upside Down, one near the trailer park, he doesn’t let himself stop and think. If he does that, he’s going to have a panic attack, and having one of those here in Hell is absolutely going to get him killed, the otherworldly hisses and screams echoing around him amongst the trees are a pretty potent reminder-

There’s a snap behind him, sounding way too close for comfort. Eddie spins around, heart racing in his chest, tensed and ready to run if he has to.

There’s nothing there. Nothing living, at least, because Eddie can see a broken branch just dangling down from one of the trees he just walked past. From this far away, it looks like something has pulled down on it, snapping the top part of the branch and leaving it attached at the bottom by just a thin layer of wood. It’s such a tenuous connection that the branch is bobbing slightly under the weight of gravity, and it looks like at some point it might just break under its own weight.

The main problem with this is that it was definitely a whole, intact branch when he first walked past it.

Eddie finds himself taking a few steps forward without really thinking about it. As he gets closer, his heartbeat gets louder and louder until he can hear it pounding in his ears. He feels a deep sense of wrongness here, like something - someone, maybe - is watching him, waiting for some kind of trigger. It crawls up his spine like a spider, making his skin crawl, his shoulders twitching involuntarily.

The feeling only intensifies when he’s within arms reach of the broken branch. It’s like a block of ice gets dropped into his chest, the way he suddenly goes cold; from this distance, he can see the branch is thicker than his upper arm. Whatever it was that did this, it’s stronger than a human, that’s for sure. Eddie feels the sharp buzz of panic begin to settle over his body, is dimly aware of a hysterical noise starting to bubble up within him-

The breath is slammed out of his lungs, too quickly to even scream. At the same time, he feels pain bloom across his upper body from being grabbed by the shoulder and shoved up against the tree. Eddie feels pinpricks of pain all up his back, his thin Iron Maiden t-shirt doing little to protect his skin from the tree bark.

Eddie’s eyes are screwed tight as he waits for the inevitable; he’s seen enough of this place to know he doesn’t want to see whatever it is that’s about to kill him. He feels something sharp scrape against his neck, followed by a pressure along the underside of his jaw, and his last coherent thought is, Jesus Christ, can’t believe I’m leaving Henderson fatherless.

Except... he doesn’t die. Eddie Munson keeps breathing, quick and shallow gasps with his eyes still tightly shut. It doesn’t make any sense, his brain can’t even begin to process what’s happening to him, so after a few seconds - when he’s sure he’s actually still alive, and not just having a delayed reaction to being eaten - Eddie opens his eyes. Immediately he feels like throwing up.

Because there in front of him, mere inches away from his face, face twisted into an utterly chilling smile, is Steve Harrington.

Or at least - something that was Steve Harrington, once upon a time. The creature now in front of Eddie has- christ, where does Eddie even begin. He doesn’t know where to look first, his brain overloading trying to take it all in - Steve has fangs now, that Eddie’s certain of, sharpened canines that jut out under Steve’s top lip and glint whenever lightning crackles overhead. He can see streaks of what looks like dried blood trailing down Steve’s chin from the fangs, following his neck downwards until they’re lost in the ring of scar tissue and dried blood at the base of his neck where he got choked by the demobats.

Most captivating of all, though, are Steve’s eyes. Once he makes eye contact, Eddie can’t bring himself to tear his eyes away. Steve’s eyes have always looked pretty to Eddie, in that strange middle ground where they look brown in some lights and almost green in others, but now they shine with a soft golden glow in the darkness. He’s not quite sure, it’s hard to focus enough to be sure, but Eddie thinks his pupils are no longer human-like, instead vertical slits like a cat’s eye.

Now that Eddie’s made eye contact, out his peripheral vision he sees Steve’s grin grow impossibly wider. At the same time, that pressure around his neck gets worse momentarily as Steve squeezes, oh fuck, he has his hand around Eddie’s throat. That sharp prickling sensation is back again, too, and Christ Almighty he’s pretty sure Steve has fucking claws.

Steve leans in even closer, and Eddie feels his breath fan across his face as he drawls, “Did you miss me too, baby?”

[syn4k]

A 33-year-old woman walks into the forest near midnight during autumn. She is clutching a lantern and covered basket tightly and her poise is tense, but she walks steadily and with clear purpose.

Squinting ahead into a clearing lit by a half-moon, she steps over a log, walks into the deathly quiet clearing, kneels and carefully sets down her lantern outside of a ring of perfectly preserved stumps, and uncovers her basket. From within, she takes out a small slip of paper and a child's toy and places it in the center. On the second finger of her right hand is a ring of some sort of silvery metal which appears unremarkable in the moonlight, but the way in which she takes a deep breath and hesitates before taking it off her finger and adding it to the objects within the ring of stumps indicates that it has clear value to her. She bows her head. She waits.

A gust of wind buffets her short-cropped hair and her cloak. From in front of her, or perhaps behind her, she can hear the rustle of fabric, but she does not look up.

"You come on the night when the souls of the dead are closest to the world of the living," says a husky and raspy voice, deep but still androgynous in a markedly nonhuman way. It is not a question. It is a statement.

The woman nods, still not taking her eyes from the grass crushed underneath her folded legs. "Yes."

"I cannot bring the dead back from their graves, no matter what offerings you give up as payment," says the voice. "And I cannot bring their souls back either for any period of time, mortal."

"I know," says the woman in a low undertone.

"Then why are you here?"

The woman opens her mouth as if to speak, then closes it and glances slightly up. A white cloak, not stirred by the wind blowing around it, meets her. Beside her, her lantern has gone out. Hearing no rebuke, she looks up.

The entity's face is obscured by a deep shadow cast by their hood, which she is glad of. She thinks she can make out the glint of eyes, but she's not sure, and she knows well enough to not pry. She opens her mouth to try again. "Because there is a life that I would like to put to death," she says.

The entity does not move, but it tone shifts to being maybe confused, maybe condescending. "I am not a mercenary. I do not preside over the dead. Your own kind is best for this sort of work. If you are... mourning," it forms the word slowly, as if it's unnatural to its mouth, if it even has a mouth, "then I cannot help you. Our kind do not know death, nor do we touch Her realm."

"Not someone else's life," the woman says, somewhat hastily. "My own." She pauses. "Not wholly, but- you are in the business of acquiring names, yes?"

The entity is silent a moment before responding. "It is not our specialty. We have... cousins who are more closely aligned to that line of work, but it may be done for a price."

"Then I humbly ask a favour of you," says the woman. "My payment is in the circle. Is it enough to have my name replaced?"

The entity turns and kneels, one long, bony arm reaching out to take and inspect the items placed. The hood turns towards her. "Yes, although it is a bit strange."

The woman nods. "Strange, yes, but all very dear to me. The toy belonged to me when I was young. The paper is my proof of birth, and has my given name inscribed on it. The ring..." She chokes up a little, but continues. "The ring is proof of my marriage to my wife of many years."

The entity hums. "Does she know that you are here?"

"She does not."

The entity stands, and beckons the woman to stand as well. She leaves her lantern and the basket on the ground.

"Those who come to replace their names, mortal, and it is very few who end up here on purpose, are often running from their pasts. Has your wife been disloyal to you? Have you been disloyal to her?"

"She has been nothing but loving and faithful my entire life," the woman says, ducking her head to wipe a tear from her eye. "Our child- he is currently asleep in his bed. I do not wish any harm to come to them. But I have been lying to them for years and I cannot face them anymore. My love thought that she married a man. My son knows me only as his father. If I disappear now, they will be hurt and betrayed, but less than if they knew."

The entity considers this for a moment. "What is your given name?"

"Joseph."

"And what do you wish your new name to be?"

"Esmeralda."

"You have clearly put much thought into this, mortal," says the entity. "But know this. When your family means to speak your old name, your new one will drop from their mouth instead, and this will go for everyone who has ever known you. They will know, but they will not know what happened. Are you sure?"

The woman hesitates, then nods. "I love them enough to do this," she says. "I do not want to hurt them."

"You say you love them," says the entity thoughtfully, "and you say they are faithful to you, and yet you are sure that when you receive your new name they will shun you."

"It just is not done," says the woman, slightly desperately. "I'm not sure they'll understand."

The entity tilts its head at her. "If your son came up to you tomorrow and told you that he wanted to change his name as well, would you love him still?"

"Yes," says the woman immediately. "I promised when he was born to love and protect him no matter what, as did my wife. If he were to turn into a mindless monster, I would harbor him still."

The entity nods sagely and bends to take all three items in its hands. It hands the woman's wedding ring back to her. "Then have faith," it says. "Are you sure?"

Joseph nods, tears streaming down her face. "I am terrified. But yes."

The entity looks down at the paper and snaps its fingers over it. The children's toy turns to dust, and the woman chokes back a sob. For a moment, everything is utterly, inexorably still, and then the world breathes again.

"It has been done," says the entity, holding the paper out.

"Thank you," whispers Esmeralda. She takes the paper, notes almost detachedly that her name on it has been changed, almost appearing seared into the paper, and folds it and puts it into her pocket.

"My business is done," says the entity. "Go back to your home."

"What will I tell my wife?" asks the woman.

"I do not know," says the entity. "I cannot predict the future. But you are braver than most. I believe that whatever you say will be right."

The woman nods and bows. When she stands up again, the entity is gone, her lantern is lit again, and there is no indication that any foot has ever touched the grass within the circle. Outside the ring, the imprints where she knelt still lingers.

-<|>-

The next morning, the woman's wife wakes to find herself alone in the bed. She walks into the kitchen, where her wife sits alone at the table, staring into the grain, hands folded as if she is deep in thought.

"You're up early, Esmeralda," she says, then pauses. Esmeralda looks up, face stricken, and the wife sighs and walks over to take her lover's hands. "I am not angry," she says gently. "I would just like to know why, and how."

"I went to the woods last night," says Esmeralda in a low, almost shattered voice. "I made a deal with some... thing to change my name. I gave my birth paper, my wedding ring, my favorite childhood toy, and my old name as payment. It was changed, and I came back here. Alia, I am sorry."

"How long ago did you make up your mind?" asks Alia in a gentle voice.

Esmeralda looks down. "Years ago. I've been lying to you and David this whole time. I- I have been an unfaithful partner." She takes off her ring and places it on the table between her and her wife. "If you want me to leave-"

"No," says Alia gently but firmly, gently sliding the wedding ring back onto Esmeralda's hand. "I promised you when we married that I would love you no matter what you were, and if what you are is a woman, then I will love you like that also."

"How will we tell David?" asks Esmeralda in a low, worried tone.

"I will tell him," says Alia. "You go back to bed. You've been up late, and you look like the rear end of a fireworks cart."

Esmeralda hesitates but smiles, looking up with hope in her eyes. Alia returns the smile and kisses her gently, helping her up. "I'm not kidding. Go."

"Before I go," says Esmeralda, hesitating.

"Do I have to poke you into bed?" asks Alia with an exasperated sigh.

"No, no," says Esmeralda quickly. "I just wanted to tell you that I love you."

Alia smiles and leans over to give her wife a peck on the mouth. "I love you too. Now go before I beat you into there with a broom."

[icewindandboringhorror]

recent lounging babey images

[chirpybirdy]

eugene sledge agrees to be turned into a werewolf so he can fight in ww2

technically sledgefu fic because duh they are adorable

------

It's just as meaningless as it had been when he was declared 4F but changeable. "You're changeable, son. The bite hurts, sure. Any bite would." That bite had hurt, and lasted what seemed like ages. Eugene had gripped the edge of the counter. Determined not to move and he had managed not to move. A woman had bit him. To be quite honest they hadn't needed to assure him that the mask and the pill would prevent her from claiming him. Nice, but unnecessary. It took the first time, so he didn’t have to go through it again. He got the next part done in one try, too.

The boat over had sucked. He couldn’t tell you how many unmated werewolves there were on the damn boat. None of them could, it was unbearable. All of them ready to fight, all of them outnumbered, all of them promised not a pack but one single man. Some guys muttered about biting a nurse and no one took kindly to that. Some guys contemplated biting a sailor, but that was asking for a cage.

Eugene found it easy to listen and let the pity and the self-pity wash over him. His heart murmur was gone. He was decent in hand-to-hand. He would die using his unreal senses to save the life of a man still human.

They are let off on Pavuvu. Told to stay put, but not ordered. Their first order is to claim—and that is a science without exactitude. They enter the camp like two hundred stray dogs freed from the pound at once. They see no difference in the cage or the tents. It is only new scents, and new scents after too long with no new scents. Eugene finds sudden comfort in the men around him. He sticks with them, the crowd of two hundred slimming down at first down to fifty, then to twenty, then to five, and then to three. Roaming in vague directions with more interest in food than anything.

Eugene won’t remember taking control of their direction.

Eugene yanks upwards and Snafu snaps his legs around his hips and Eugene is pissed Snafu thinks he would ever fall.

Pissed as he is, Eugene’s corporal is the one who snarls. "Nobody forced you, Sledgehammer!"

"Yeah?" Eugene grabs his ass. Feels the rough and torn cloth shred under the gentle lacerations of his nails. He will have to get him a new pair. "I fell anyway, didn’t I, Snafu!?"

Dragged back to awareness of the tent he had chosen, Eugene shook his head to clear it—felt like he’d just been given some information that changed everything. His head struggled to accommodate two versions of a man. Two versions, both under his hands. Alright, fine.

He announces to no one, “him.” Eugene had refrained from acting like an animal but it was a matter of time, they had all supposed. He walks in a line so straight a crow would envy it and meets his soldier. Outranks him but they all do. Smells like dead werewolf but they all do. “Hey.“

His corporal, still a lieutenant, smirks, “Hey. Ready to die for me, milk teeth?”

Eugene’s nostrils flare, “As I’ll ever be, I suppose.”

“That right?”

Some wolves get right to it, Eugene learns, and some feel the need to take things somewhere private. It doesn’t mean much to them after the bite; however, the bitten tend to remember and tell the story. In the same way Eugene remembers holding the counter, and the gum that had been stuck under there, Snafu remembers what Eugene did when he claimed him.

Eugene had assumed, when it came down to it, it was meaningless.

[undertale-fic-librarby]

Melatonin

A FluffyNight drabble to celebrate reaching 50 followers on this account. It's pretty short & not beta read, but I think it's alright for being written in one sitting. Happy reading!

Beep! Beep! Beep! The sound of Ccino's alarm forced him awake, pulling him out of the pleasant dreams he had been having. Even now, Ccino could feel them slipping from his skull, leaving him wondering what exactly he had been dreaming about.

The continued beeping of his alarm pulled him from his thoughts & Ccino groaned, pushing his face into his pillow. Blindly reaching for it, Ccino attempted to turn it off without looking, knocking his hand against the other things on the nightstand before finally managing to push the button to silence it.

Blissful quiet filled the room as Ccino felt Nightmare shift next to him. Arms wrapped around him & pulled him close, holding Ccino close to Nightmare. Ccino smiled sleepily, turning on his side so he faced towards the other. He hummed quietly as he observed Nightmare looking back at him with a lidded socket, an annoyed expression on his face.

"Sorry, did I wake you?" Whispering so as to not ruin the atmosphere, Ccino questioned worriedly. Nightmare shook his head & moved slowly, readjusting them both until they were situated comfortably against each other.

Ccino smiled wider & closed his sockets, holding the other in his arms. Together in each other's arms, they both quietly drifted back to sleep.

Bonus scene!

A shrill beeping jolted them both back awake, causing Ccino to jump in Nightmare's arms. Grumbling to himself, he slowly sat up & reached over to the alarm, shutting it off.

Sitting up properly, Ccino stretched his arms above his head & groaned as he heard his joints pop, rubbing the bottom of his sockets with one hand. Picking up his phone & turning it on, his sockets widened in shock as he let out a loud, "Shoot!"

Scrambling & throwing the blanket off of himself, Ccino barely noticed as Nightmare sat up in alarm. "Is everything alright?" Ccino stammered out a reply, mild panic in his voice as he began changing out of his pajamas.

"Everything's fine! We just overslept a bit!" Relaxing slightly, Nightmare observed as Ccino got ready for the day, rushing around quickly so he wouldn't be later than he already was. If he concentrated, he could swear that he heard the meows of hungry cats impatiently calling for their breakfast.

Hastily walking over to Nightmare, having gotten dressed quickly, Ccino leaned over & placed a chaste kiss against his lovers cheek, smiling. "Love you, see you later!" With that he exited the room, leaving Nightmare sitting alone on the bed with only a warm imprint of where Ccino laid as company.

[coffee-at-annies]

what about your favourite player? :p

Jars Jars Jars Jars Jars.

Not to sound insane but he grinned and everything about him was perfect, and I fell in love instantly.

No but seriously I took one look at the eyebrows and the dimples and the baby face sometime circa 2017-2018 and knew that was it for me. That was the one for me. I always like to have a handful of favorites (my personal tier list) of which an important part is goalie, emotional support depth forward, and defenseman. Of my original 3 loves we traded Shears away twice, sold Big Rig back to Dallas for a corn chip I don’t actually remember I’m just bitter, and shoved Mouse Boy in the minors for like two years. It was a rough time.

In the last year or two I’ve done a lot of navel gazing between retirements (cully hags&horny 😭), trades (Shears, Big Rig, Teddy, Jakenbake 💔), free agency, and our old guys getting older that I can’t obfuscate around the fact that Jars is it for me. I love his stupid face, his curls, his perfect eyebrows, his dedication to saying nothing and pretending there isn’t a thought in his head, the fact that he won’t go shirtless in the locker room. Just all of it. I get cuteness aggression thinking about him. I spent so long thinking we weren’t going to re-sign him this time last year that I literally cried when we did and then again at the start of the season and again at the goalie goal and several other points — look I have a lot of intense emotions about Mouse Boy. Say what you want about his play or his injury history, whatever, I don’t care. You cannot change my mind. Mother, I love him.

There are other players I love — Flower and the Core exist in a niche in my heart I can’t quantify nor rank in terms of favorites. However, if I’ve got to be honest, I would probably sell most of the team to Satan for one corn chip if it meant keeping Jars around. I don’t know if I have it in me to follow him to another team but that’s the limit. Everything else is fair game.

[natelia-aldelliz]

Guys... Listen I know I said I'd draw something for valentine's day but I had a bit of a rough week sooooo I'm just going to write it out instead, maybe I'll finish drawing it some day, maybe not. It's behind a show more because it's long.

(also there's talks about having sex but no actual sex, and like, general warnings about Ghost's backstory but it's very vague here).

Soap was hanging around outside, trying to bring himself to do something, anything. But the weather was nice for a February day, and the sun was out, and it was making him feel like a cat basking in the heat.

An arm wrapped itself around his shoulders, a huge body suddenly weighing on him. Ghost.

Soap hummed comfortably. This day was getting better by the minute. Any chill he might have felt from being outside in a tank top out of pure Scottish spite was instantly soothed.

Simon often times saw himself as a cold man, freezing to the touch, hidden behind a layer of ice. A proper little Elsa, Soap almost snorted out loud. The truth was that while yes, his fingers and toes' temperature was sometimes abysmal, especially in bed, the rest of him was the warmest place Johnny had ever been.

"I've got something for you in our room," Ghost whispered against his throat, making Soap shiver.

Simon had begun calling Soap's room theirs a few weeks ago and Johnny couldn't have enough of it. He was so in love it genuinely hurt sometimes to restrain himself from squeezing him to death.

"Is that so?" he purrs, knowing how Ghost likes that. If this day didn't end in sex he'd be very surprised. He'd long learned to recognize when Simon wanted sex and when he didn't, and the way he squeezed his pec in response to his voice was a very easy tell.

But then again Simon was way less subtle than he thought he was.

They made their way back to their room, and there it was, a repurposed shoebox, badly wrapped with cheap wrapping paper. Johnny couldn't be more excited, he had never received any gift from a significant other. To be fair he adored gifting but always felt awkward receiving.

But this was Simon. Something that Simon had chosen to give him.

He sat on the bed, leaving enough space behind him for Ghost to sit there so he could use him as a very comfortable backrest. When he did, he grabbed the gift and began opening it.

He knew that Ghost liked to tear the wrapping paper, liked the sound of it and liked tearing it into the smallest pieces possible after, but he himself loved carefully unwrapping it and folding it flat so he could later maybe do an origami with it or put a piece in his journal. Probably both.

This one was full of tape but he still very much enjoyed himself, considered it a challenge. He enjoyed the chase, wanted to drag it on. Ghost huffed impatiently behind him, a bit tense, probably nervous.

Inside the box was a weird old fashioned clunky thing. It was bright red, looked slightly like binoculars, definitely from the 70's, with a wheel of tiny pictures wedged in the top of it. Memories hit him all at once.

"Oh my god ah remember, my Ma had one of these when ah was a child! My sister and I loved it, it had pretty landscapes in!"

He put it against his eyes, excited to see what this one came with. At his biggest surprise, it was a picture of them. Simon had customised it.

The picture showed the back of himself a bit further away from the camera, pointing at something while in full gear, in a dilapidated town, Ghost's face in the foreground looking at the camera. It looked like Soap was talking to someone, but that person was cut by the framing.

"Wait, ah remember that mission, it's when ah saved Gaz from a landmine just to be shot seconds later," he laughed. "ah spent two fucking weeks in the hospital, ah was miserable. Ye kept joking ah should hiv left Gaz explode while staring at him, he was convinced ye actually wanted him dead!"

Then the next picture was indeed him in his hospital bed, unconscious but the state of his injuries told him he was probably just sleeping at least a few days after his admission, his life no longer in danger. In this one, Ghost was sleeping too, head in his elbow near Soap's head and his other hand holding Soap's hand.

"Who took this one?" Soap asked, moved by the tenderness of Ghost's hold on him in the picture. It would have been right after Johnny had admitted to maybe liking him more than friends, before they were officially dating.

"The hospital one?"

Soap hummed.

"Price did. Said it was for blackmail. Should have seen him, he looked like his child had just married the person of their dreams and had ridden off into a rainbow on a unicorn or some shit. Old man's sentimental as fuck, but I didn't call him on his bullshit, he's already old, that's punishment enough."

Soap giggled in response. The next few pictures were all of them together but each time he was either turning his back or asleep.

"Why the fuck am ah never looking at the camera?" he whined. He wanted some cute couple pictures, dammit!

"Couldn't have you suspecting what I was planning," Simon said, kissing his shoulder soothingly. Only then Soap noticed that he had taken his mask off at some point and turned to ask for a proper kiss, which he immediately got.

"Keep going, there's more pictures," Simon whispered against his lips when he tried to turn around to kiss him some more. His pouting only got him a smirk in response, so he got comfortable again and brought the slide viewer back against his eyes.

He was happy he did. The next picture waiting for him was just Simon in the mirror, almost in full gear, but with one gloveless hand dragging his trousers down so the camera could see the bottom of his stomach, follow along his happy trail and reaching the very top of his pubic hair. The picture cut of his head, but he could see that his mouth was uncovered and he was holding the glove with his teeth.

Soap groaned. "Steaming Jesus, love, you're so hot."

He felt Simon hide his face in the back of his neck, warmer than usual, and chuckled a bit. He loved him so fucking much.

There were four more pictures of Simon, in various suggestive poses and states of undress, some almost showing his cock but never quite committing, making Johnny feel like he was being teased.

He was getting hard though and so ready to be done with the pictures and access the real thing. But Simon was still tense behind him. In fact, he had only gotten tenser and tenser with each click.

Soap was unsure why. They never had a problem with their sexual life, Simon had already changed his mind about having sex after starting and Soap had absolutely no problem with that, was glad to hug him instead and reassure him when he had tried to apologize.

Simon knew that there was no pressure, ever, to have sex. Hell, Johnny would still be happy even if Simon decided that he never wanted to have sex again, and he had made sure to make Simon understand that.

Then he got to the last picture and immediately understood.

It wasn't a picture of either of them, just a little bit of paper, with a few words written in Ghost's awful handwriting.

Just a few words that made Johnny drop the viewer on the covers and turn around to grab Simon's face, worriedly looking in his eyes.

"Are you sure?" he asked, looking for any trace of Simon forcing himself. "Baby, ah'm happy to bottom for the rest of mah life, there's no pressure, okay?"

Simon looked at him with warmth in his eyes and his cheeks completely red, a wrapping bow added on top of his head. "I know," he said simply. "I just want to. I don't want to be haunted by memories anymore. I used to like it, and I want to like it again. With you. Just.... Be gentle, okay?"

Johnny kissed his forehead. "Ah dinnae think ah ken how no tae be gentle with ye, love."

[icewindandboringhorror]

Baby boy brother birthday photos from last year that I just realized I never uploaded!

[cheswirls]

looking @ old fic i started when i was 14/15 is so funny bc im realizing once again why i never mark fics as abandoned even if its been literal years since i've touched them. specifically i was checking docs for stuff i started and either did or didn't post to ffn.

and its like. nothing is bad??? like i can see where my outside-the-box ideal of fic writing comes from. not just fics but writing in general, i'm p sure. even if it's a total cliche plot setup, there are details on each that rly make it stand out like oh yeahhhhhh i did have this great idea once upon a time.

funny too bc was it executed well in prose??? no absolutely not i wrote like shit when i was 15. would i revive an idea one day and revise it to be less cliche or cringy while still keeping the stand-out elements??? yea maybe. i might. everything i'm currently working on that i started from 2021 up to now still holds my supreme interest, but like i'm not gonna say never.

esp since i write fic first and foremost for my own need and specifically what i like to read, it makes it impossible to consider an idea i've thought extensively about "not worth writing anymore". anyway not making this too long i jus found everything interesting to consider

[hella1975]

i can hear the rain on the roof :)

[moe-broey]

Fuck it my brain feels super clogged so I'm posting my agenda with little to no context + one doodle idk if I'll color but I kinda want to but I kinda don't LMFAO

(wips I'm hoping to return to ect ect, just a few snippets from a larger Thing)