#it was really sweet :)

[lonestardust]

i LOVE how this wrapped up without a heavy conversation but simply getting there to the resolution through them being in their element — that neither of them is ready to lose — them being all sweet and silly with each other and tk telling him you don't really have to promise me that, because that's not him forcing carlos to choose between him and the case, but carlos, who witnesses loss on the job everyday, whose time with tk is already limited by the demands and risks of their jobs, is so intentional with it that he sat there trying to make a symbolic gift for time already thinking it's dumb but for tk that's the sweetest thing ever, that's quite literally everything he ever needs and always needed from those he loves.

[whumpster-dumpster]

Whumpee woken from a nap when Caretaker nestles a new little plushie into bed with them as a Get Better Soon Gift ❤️

[aro-throughyourchest]

Clip from Giant Silverfish I haven’t stopped thinking about this

[randomlygenerated33]

I like to think Luke kissing the top of Luke’s head when he’s leaving the club was completely unscripted. Just like “Kay, love you, bye,” and then they just went with it.

[exittotheartscape]

Brought him a bouquet on the first day of spring.

[yourpaceangel]

OH I meant to make a post about this yesterday and then I forgot but I went over to my sister’s house to bring my niece her birthday presents and of course my niece wanted to show me all her new toys and play with them with me. I don’t mind doing this, in fact I actively enjoy playing with her because she’s a good storyteller and I know she loves having someone that will listen to her. Anyway, she brought out some slime and my stomach just straight up DROPPED. Yall I can’t STAND touching slime, like it makes every part of my body want to crawl up inside of itself, I just can’t do it. So I told her I couldn’t touch it and why and she stopped for a second and goes “you can’t touch it?” And I was like “no I can’t touch it, I don’t like the way it feels and it makes me upset to be touched with it.” And she nodded and set down her little jar for a second and was like “hold on” and dug under her bed and pulled out a little plastic horse and handed it to me and says “you can touch it with this!” It kind of rocked me because I mean of course that was a solution, and it was a fantastic one, I just didn’t expect her to understand and offer an alternative way to play so quickly! And it worked great! I didn’t have to touch the slime, and using the little horse was fun to roll and poke it with. We didn’t have to stop playing just because I didn’t like something, she figured out a way to let me play with her anyway. So I guess my thing is like, tell kids exactly why you do or don’t want to do something. You may need to explain it a couple of times, or in a different way, but they get it. And they will find a solution.

[sachermorte]

So I have met at least three of my England kids at the school I'm teaching at this week (and will be at every other week) and I learned this by hearing the most ecstatic and eardrum-bursting "ROLAAAAAAAANDDDDD" I've ever heard in my life and being nearabout knocked to the ground by a tackle hug on the way to one of my classes

[written-inthe-cozmoz]

Orpheus and Eurydice

The Purple Park sits nestled off a side road, a hidden gem waiting to be discovered. Despite its modest size, the park exudes an undeniable charm, with its small playground, a row of swings swaying gently in the breeze, and a bouncing four-person teeter-totter that beckons to be ridden. A small rock wall offers a hint of adventure for young climbers, while the ground, dusted with a blanket of snow, glistens in the sunlight. As we ascend the stairs leading up to the top of the biggest slide, the air fills with the nostalgic melody of my childhood village. Memories come flooding back with each step, evoking carefree days spent frolicking in the park, laughter echoing through the streets, and the warmth of companionship shared with loved ones.

Leaning in close, I cup his face in my hands, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my fingertips. I trace the freckles on his ears and count the colors in his eyes - a sea of blues and greens that never fails to mesmerize me. His curls engulf my fingers and hold me close.

"Mon chéri," I murmur, unable to resist teasing him, "you're so cute when you deal with my shenanigans."

His laughter rings out like music in the quiet of the park, the sound filling the space between us. "I don't think I've ever heard you speak French until now," he says, his cheeks flushing with a rosy hue. “What’s the occasion?”

"I speak French all the time," I insist with a playful grin. "Just not to you."

He chuckles at my teasing, his eyes sparkling with fondness. "And the difference is…?"

"I think in French more than anything. But —oh— when I'm with you, words seem to fail me.” What I long to say hangs on my lips as an unspoken prayer.

He knows the curve of my smile all too well, his gaze searching mine with gentle concern. "What's up? You have something to say.”

On the surface, I am not much of a liar. But beneath the veneer of composure, a sea of emotions churns within me, threatening to spill forth at the slightest sense of vulnerability. "Nothing," I force a smile, the words feeling hollow on my tongue as I desperately try to conceal the tumult raging within. With a trembling hand, I tilt his chin upward, silently pleading for understanding as our eyes lock in a silent exchange. “Let's go eat.”

“I like that idea.” His gaze searches mine for a clue, hungering for an explanation that I can't yet provide. Patient and accepting, yet still yearning for clarity, we dance around the truth, silently grappling with the words we long to utter, while refusing to lie to one another.

Red’s lay hardly five blocks from the park, nestled on the corner of a three-way stop. The colorful lights of a golfing simulator, darts, fake hunting, a duck claw machine, and a pull tab dispenser light up the otherwise dark interior. With my boots clicking against the wood floors, I lean over the bar top to order two sodas: one diet, one regular.

As I glance over at the bartender, a wave of unfamiliarity washes over me. It's been so long since my last visit that I struggle to recall the familiar face that once greeted me with a warm smile and a knowing nod. She would slide a lemonade at me as I tried to crawl to the top of the barstool, only to be helped by Grandpa when I proved to be too short. Despite my best efforts, I realized I couldn't pull my bartender from memory even if I wanted to. Time blurred the details, and I find myself unable to conjure up even a hint of recognition. It's a strange feeling, standing in this familiar place, yet feeling like an imposter in my memory. The thought lingers in the back of my mind, a subtle reminder of the transient nature of familiarity.

He's already settled into a spot at the high-top table, the very one where our intimate connection first bloomed in the bitter month of November. As I approach, the table becomes the battleground for what I cannot say. With each step closer, my heart beats a little faster, the weight of the unspoken words pressing against my chest.

"Let me guess, cheese curds for an appetizer?"

He peers at me over his glasses, his smile lighting up his face. "Of course. Nothing is complete without cheese curds."

As the bartender hurries away with our orders, the noise fades into the background. Our eyes meet, and in that moment, he becomes the sole focus of my attention. It's an intimate connection, just the two of us in the bustling bar, perched at our high-top table with our feet dangling below.

As I allow my gaze to drift away from him, it's drawn to the colorful allure of the duck machine in the corner. Again, our connection blooms in the silence, we know each other all too well. With a small smile, he rises from his seat and retrieves four quarters from his pocket. The next ten minutes are filled with anticipation and excitement as he deftly maneuvers the claw, securing a prize with each attempt. Between each attempt, we snack on cheese curds and fries, random bites of my chicken wrap, and his burger. The machine even grants us an extra round, despite our victories. By the end, we're laughing and hugging, delighted with our haul of nine ducks, some even won in pairs.

As rubber ducks spill from our pockets, we approach the bar once more to settle our bill. His attention is fixed on the bartender, silently willing her to notice us. I've never been fond of conversing with strangers, so he alleviates my burden.

After settling the tab, he gently opens the door, planting a tender kiss on my nose before sliding into the driver's seat of my pickup truck. Navigating unfamiliar streets with ease, he merges onto the highway, a sense of relief washing over him as the open road stretches out before us. Despite the words caught in my throat, I find the courage to break the silence.

“In the myth, Orpheus always turns around. He hears her stumble, scream, cry, or doesn't hear her at all. But he always turns around for his Eurydice. That's what people don't understand; he turns around because he loves her.”

As the car hums along the winding road, the silence stretches between us like an unspoken question, lingering in the air with a tangible weight. The rhythmic beat of the windshield wipers seems to underscore the tension, punctuating the quiet with a steady cadence. Each glance exchanged carries a depth of meaning, eyes lingering a moment too long before darting away. The soft glow of the dashboard lights cast elongated shadows, adding to the sense of intimacy and vulnerability in the confined space of the pickup truck. “He turns around because a trip to the Underworld is meaningless without her at his side. Most people wouldn't go to the underworld to begin with. Even on their way home, knowing she was safe, he needed her at his side.”

“But he kills her. He knowingly kills her doing this. All he had to do was not look at her. He got so close. He lost his patience.”

In my head, I thought about the fact she didn't complain. What would she complain about, other than she had been loved? I don't know why, but I decided to keep that to myself. “Can you truly say you love someone if you wouldn't turn around, just had to be sure they were there? After all that time full of searching and longing for them to come back?”

The response comes slowly, filled with uncertainty. "Well, no. I wouldn't want to risk a life without them after I tried so hard to get them back.”

“Exactly. He loved her so much he just had to be sure that she was there, that he didn't fall for a trick, that he got her back. That’s not a tragedy; that’s love.”

We fall into a contemplative silence, each lost in our thoughts as we stare out at the passing landscape.

“I’d turn around for you, you know,” I murmur, breaking the silence.

He shifts in his seat, avoiding my gaze. "Me too," he replies quietly.

I'm still afraid to say the words.

[moonpaw]

ah man, i haven't checked my ao3 in a while and was greeted with someone commenting on every chapter on feral 😭

[olisephaa]

Honestly, being a nice chatter in League is so funny. I got autofilled into jungle against an enemy team with mastery points in the millions. Died due to invades twice times in the first minute and a half. Wrote "I just wanna play my skin T_T" and overall joked about my complete inability to do ANYTHING that game.

the enemy viego felt so bad for me he promised not to kill me anymore, and at the very end he just stood in front of our open nexus, giving me advice on how jungle works, what to pay attention to etc, wishing me luck and to enjoy the skin. I was truly so pitiful they didn't end the game to give the sad wet little support main in jungle advice. It was absolutely hysterical.

[there-will-be-a-way]

I made it! I'm home!

Part of me says the rehab clinic didn't help at all, but that's not true. I have motivation to get back into healthy habits again (I bought some fruit today to eat a yummy breakfast again!) and am less depressed than before I went to the clinic.

(Also, yes, they diagnosed me with DID. I still don't believe I have it. Or part of me doesn't.)

[littleragondin]

Guns not big enough to rip that shirt off.

[tobivos]

went to the little fabric and haberdashery shop in the town were staying at and i was telling the shop lady how i was born in england and moved to the netherlands when i was four and she was like "im the exact inverse!!!" and we were just like :DDDDDD british/dutch solidarity!!!!!

[mysticfemme]

I wish they would do jellycat build-a-bears. I hate how they look and feel whereas jellycats are cute and fluffy and I just wanna put a stupid scented heart with a wish on it in my jellycat 😭

[rexismycopilot]

hope you’re doing well!

I'm alive!!

I'm doing... okay. I think lexapro is kinda kicking my butt a little bit. That combined with the busiest time for my work just wrapping up has been really kicking me down.

BUT! Guess what I did today?? I opened a WIP AND I WORKED ON IT!!

I can feel the applause now 😂

[bitseventimes]

I'm doing so bad mentally rn but also my cat is sleeping next to me and she's so sweet and cozy under the blankies