#just ditties

[archersandsunsets]

and from the outside, it looks like you're tryin' lives on

[become-a-robot]

YOU WHAT

[gallawitchxx]

29 for the kisses, please!

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send me a number & i'll write you a smoocheroo 😚

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#29: ...as a promise

The digital clock on the wall is a goddamn tease.

How is it only three-thirty?

It’s not the worst job in the world, working the reception desk at an auto repair shop. It’s mostly just answering phones and handing out intake forms. Running credit cards upon drop-off and pick-up, and using what little knowledge he has about cars to field basic questions. Ian’s a little surprised that his parole officer had stuck him in a place that was clearly running some kind of illegal chop shop after hours, but whatever.

Southside is as Southside does.

But today has been fucking dragging. A shipping delay had pushed a ton of work back a week or two, so there was only one pick-up on the books, and it had already happened. At nine a.m., right at the beginning of his eight-hour shift. One can only clean a desk so many times before starting to feel a little buzzed off cleaning spray fumes, so for the past couple of hours, Ian’s been supremely bored, his mind bouncing from one topic to another, trying to keep him occupied, but away from the mechanical sounds coming from the belly of the shop.

The ones coming from the only mechanic on duty today—Mickey.

Jesus, Ian’s got it bad for the guy.

Between Mickey’s filthy fucking mouth, greased-up knuckle tattoos, and the way his ass looks in a pair of coveralls, Ian never really stood a chance. But then he had to go and be funny and smart and secretly sweet with the kids who come in with their parents, and in no time at all, Ian was halfway to being fully in love.

The way Mickey looks at him doesn’t help the situation either, nor does the coffee and Kind bar combo he drops at Ian’s desk every shift, which means Mickey heard and remembered an off-the-cuff comment Ian made one morning when discussing break room snacks with the shop owner.

But what’s really making things hard—literally—is what happened the last time he saw Mickey…

A few nights back, a freak downpour had collided with a blocked drainpipe and flooded the shop’s main floor. They’d had to shut the whole place down so that the mechanics could instead work on pumping rainwater back outside where it belonged. When the worst of it was over, Mickey promised to take care of the rest, shooing the other guys out the door and home to their families. Ian, who didn’t have anywhere to be, and was a bit distracted by the way Mickey’s wet tank top was clinging to his cut chest, offered to stay and help finish the job.

Help Mickey out with another job, too...

But that was days ago, and even though Ian’s knees still ache from where he’d knelt on damp concrete, they haven’t talked since. Not even when Mickey had dropped off his breakfast! Ian had been on the phone, the timing of which felt suspect.

By the time four-o-clock crawls around, Ian’s worked up the nerve to go say something. But then the chime on the door alerts him to someone coming in, and before he can even say hello, some asshole is screaming at him about promised timelines and demanding a refund.

Ian puts on his best customer service smile and tries to smooth things out, but it doesn’t work. More yelling ensues.

“Ey, there a problem up here?” Mickey’s voice cuts through the noise.

“Yeah, there is,” spits the douchebag. “My car was supposed to be ready a fucking week ago, and this idiot here can’t seem to make that happen.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Mickey says, taking a step forward. “Imma stop you right there.” He looks at Ian for the first time (since he came down his throat). “Gallagher, can you head to the back and grab me the project file? Should be somewhere on my station.”

Ian blinks. “But the files aren’t—“

“Now, Ian,” Mickey commands, his blue eyes blazing. “Go.”

“Sure thing,” he says, rising from his chair.

The rage-red moron has the nerve to fucking smirk at him, and fuck, Ian doesn’t fight anymore—swore to his court-ordered therapist he was done with that shit—but this asshole just might get him back in the ring. His hands itch as he passes, clenching and un-clenching as his jaw clicks.

Mickey avoids his gaze, which pisses him off even further.

Ian forces himself onto the shop floor, closing the door behind him.

A few minutes later, Mickey joins him. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Ian scans him for signs of a struggle, but he looks good. Great, even, his cheeks pinked. “You?”

“Course. Forget that dick. Caved quick and left. It’s a fuckin’ shipping issue, ain’t got nothin’ to do with you.”

Ian nods, unsure what to do or how to proceed. After a beat, he mutters a weak thanks.

Fuck, it’s awkward.

Then,

“Didn’t know—”

“Listen, man, I—”

They both stop talking, laughing nervously, the tension breaking just enough for some of their natural chemistry to seep back into the situation. Ian’s hands now itch with a wholly new desire to touch and caress instead of maim.

“I coulda handled him, you know,” Ian mutters.

Mickey chuckles. “Don’t doubt that for a second. Thought you were gonna fuckin’ deck that dude.”

“I was—I would have…” Ian shrugs. “But if I went back to prison, we couldn’t finish what we started the other night.”

And well, that gets Mickey’s attention.

“Guess that makes me a hero or somethin’ then, huh?” His voice is like gravel as he steps into Ian’s space.

Ian stares at his mouth. “Or something.”

“Tell ya what…” Mickey stares back. “He comes back, we’ll kick his ass together. Can pin it on me if the pigs show up.”

“Promise?”

Mickey answers with his lips, his teeth, and his sinful fucking tongue.

By the time they leave for the night, their knees have matching bruises.

[paradoxbeta]

i stumbled across the dumbest sounding instrument i think ive ever heard so i made some crap with it

[welcomingdisaster]

on further reflection, as someone with absolutely no brain for maps, timelines, or military strategy, getting into the tolkien fandom was a bold move,

[whatanightmaregrinch]

Hancock x GN!Sole Survivor- far off victories

[omg is this actual words on a page?? Hello babies I’m back!!!]

“Hancock?”

“Hmmm…?” Your hands tightened their grip around his torso, and you pressed your face into his back. His soft raspy chuckle at your insistence had him gently pat your soft hand with his ruined one, and then dragged his fingers across your knuckles lightly. “I love you.” Your voice mumbled softly into his coat, and his heart (or whatever ruinous creature that had become it) twinged. It was easy to be gentle to him in moments like this, but he couldn’t stop his thoughts from wandering from the endearment; his anxiety swirled as he considered the time limit to your love. He was silent a moment too long, and your hands gripped his shirt, hands almost shaking in the moonlight as you took the rejection. You remained steadfast in your hope, that perhaps in a few months, a few years; he might come around to your type of love. From his slouched position, he took an extra long drag of his cigarette, before stabbing it out on the floor next to him. His shaky exhale hit your ears, and your grip tightened on him. The silence between you both was cavernous- wide and unyielding; until the faintest tremors from his rib cage indicated he was crying. Your lips pressed into a thin line, you frowned, and your grasp went from his shirt to the his hand that had long since disappeared from yours. He clenched onto your palm, and neither of you said a word as you coaxed him through it, his exhausted gasps and horrid sniffs as his whole body was rigid. Minutes ticked away until it turned into an hour; and just when you thought you’d done irreparable damage, he started to come down from it all. His crying got louder; but it signified he could breathe enough to let it out now, slowly riding the wave down as the adrenaline surged in him. He turned suddenly in your arms to face you, biting back a wince as his ribs nearly crushed your elbow as he rolled, and he thrust his face into your neck, finding purchase on you in whatever way he could. In this position, you wrapped your arms around him properly, trying to protect him from the misery he was entrenched in.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, hands right on him as he shook his head into your neck; refusing the apology but unable to explain himself just yet. He couldn’t accept your apology; not after you’d been so open and honest with him. He couldn’t help but seek your comfort, your honesty, your warmth. Travelling with you, fighting by your side- it was something he wanted desperately. He wanted you desperately. But the lack of love he’d received up until this point was so low that he felt like an imposter accepting it. He did not deserve it. He could not explain this to you, but he felt like on some level, you had already understood it would be like this. When he had explained to you how he felt in the beginning, and you’d surprised him and told him you wanted something more with him, he’d nearly rejected you. How could you love a face like this? These hands, covered in the blood of people I’d betrayed. His thoughts drifted to you; and how you’d sacrificed so much. Your partner, your family- everything by being thrust forward in time to an almost unrecognisable, hellish sham of what your life used to be. And yet, he could not bring himself to be brave with his feelings the way you could, the way you faced each day with a tired smile, ready to make something anew with everything you had been handed. Perhaps one day, he’d be able to return your mumbled praises, tell you how he saw the stars in your eyes; how each hit of jet he took would bring him nowhere close to the nirvana he experienced with you. One day, but not now.

[dollsome-does-tumblr]

i'm liking more of the latest t. swift the more i listen to it; i think my main problem is i'm like, "i don't WANT to associate this with the complex and agonized web of her love life! i just want to associate the songs with various fictional characters like always!" but it feels like this album aggressively wants you to associate it with the boyfriends and esp. that one dude??? idk?????

[angells-housewife]

Phantom of the Mist and Ditty Nightsong have similar vibes and equally heart wrenching endings. Big question is: is it better to forget a person entirely and not have to live with the heart break but only the feeling that you've lost something or is it better to have had warmth, lost it and have to carry the memory with you?

[focsle]

The only time I wish I had my own unattached house is when I wanna play the concertina at 10:30 pm…

[marksman-ofthe-mist]

Come on, come on - wet your beak!

[gallawitchxx]

gallavich kiss #43 please hehe

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send me a number & i'll write you a smoocheroo 😚

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#43: ...out of greed

Holy fuck.

Mickey Milkovich is in your bed.

If it hadn’t happened to you—if you couldn’t still taste the tang of his spunk in the back of your throat—you might not believe that it happened at all. Most have a better shot at winning the lottery than they do at seeing the business end of the permanently inked vines and chains that intertwine before disappearing beneath the cuff of Mickey’s rolled-up sleeves. In the three years you’ve been harboring a dangerous crush on your best friend and roommate’s brother, you’ve never known anyone who’s made the acquaintance of the huge blue lilies that bloom across his chest, swirling around soft pink nipples.

Until now.

Until you.

Holy fuck!

Mickey Milkovich is in your bed!

The previous night had seemed like any other Friday night: Mandy had insisted on having people over, and you were too impressed by her continual efforts to make friends to put up much of a fuss. Besides, you knew the chances were good that her foul-mouthed doppelgänger would show up before the night was over, a cigarette dangling from his sinful lips.

And you were right—ten minutes after midnight, your Southside Cinderella sauntered through the door and headed straight towards you, plopping his perfect ass down next to you on your ratty couch.

Long night? you’d asked, offering him a sip of your beer.

Your reward was a cock of his expressive brows and the pleasure of watching him swallow. ‘M just gettin’ started, Red.

You didn't expect the nickname, so it hit you square in the gut, which is how you found yourself in the alleyway behind your apartment building, smoking a spliff as Mickey’s greedy gaze roamed your recovering body.

Thanks to school and meds and a pair of lagoon-blue eyes, it’d been a minute since you’d gotten any real action. But historically, you'd been good at picking up what’s put down, and Mickey seemed to be laying his cards on your table, one lick of his slightly chapped lips at a time.

You could have blamed the weed seeping into your system, or maybe it was the primal pulse of the full moon overhead that made your blood sing and your hands itch... Either way, your belly burned too bright to bear, and before you could stop yourself, you shoved a shocked—but smiling—Mickey up against the wall.

Sorry, Mandy, you thought as you looped your fingers underneath her brother's gold chain necklace and pulled his hips flush against yours. The need was just too great, and your willpower was far too compromised to hold back any longer.

Your lips against his could have destroyed whole universes.

Funny thing was, you wouldn’t have cared one bit.

[maybeimissu]

Is it lowkey funny that netflix made joey sing something like the fishmonger's daughter when you compare it to his discography? Yes, absolutely. Is it still a bop that makes me smile like an idiot? Yes, absolutely.

[whiskeyswifty]

tlgad is so fun because she'd been hearing for a while at that point about how she's a great storyteller, or used to be but sacrificed it to the pop gods. where had the quippy bard gone? so she rolled up her sleeves and said "give me five minutes." just delightful!!! she never lost it!!

[seravph]

grammar lessons by a.dp (trans. under the cut)

[ID: a poem in three stanzas, written with black text against a white background. The text reads:

“grammar lessons

he tells me 

your the love of my life

and the first thing my hands do 

is fill him up with warm watery red -

you’re, 

as in 

you are

you are

you are”

End ID.]

[veveisveryuncool]

always thinking forever about the kirby drama cd