#run on sentences for days

[whitherwanderer]

4 // off the hook

“Well, take it. I don’t have all day, kupo.”

Sawyer was jarred from her momentary fixation on the wax seal as the letter was foisted into her hand. She offered a muted thanks to the postmoogle, whose cap was politely tilted before he fluttered off with his comically large bag in tow. For some reason it occurred to her to check the plaza before she turned to make a swift stride for the privacy of the inn room, and though she didn’t see any overly suspicious onlookers, she felt compelled to hold the letter against her middle, hiding the seal from view.

She’d always dreaded this day. She knew it would only be a matter of time, but as all pasts do, hers was catching up with her in a moment where it had scarcely crossed her mind in moons. Hoping she’d simply mistaken the seal for another, she folded the letter back just enough to peek at it again. Familiar heraldry pressed into blue wax and brushed with gold paint caused the dread in her chest to rise into her throat as bile.

The Supreme Sacred Tribunal of Halonic Inquisitory Doctrine sends its regards.

The door behind her was closed abruptly, and now in the safety of her inn room, she tore through the seal with an urgency that would be unbecoming of her in any other setting, and it was only now that she realized her hands were shaking as she held the letter still enough to skim. Her eyes darted around the page, searching for alarming words or phrases—summons to appear before the Tribunal for inquest or a polite request that she surrender herself for gaol so that they wouldn’t have to send the Inquisition to retrieve her personally.

It was only when she did not see such demands that she finally read the letter in full.

To one Miss Sawyer Reeves, It was in pursuit of Her Holiest Ideals and the preservation of Decency, Justice, and Dignity that the Inquisition didst carry out the will of the Fury to what ends were deemed necessary to protect the Sanctity of Ishgard and her Peoples, but with such Revelations as were made known after the death of His Eminence, Archbishop Thordan VII, Reform and Restitution to what extent we are able have thus become the preeminent duty of The Supreme Sacred Tribunal of Halonic Inquisitory Doctrine and its constituents (henceforth referred to as “The Tribunal”). This correspondence has been sent to all parties of ongoing Investigations, Trials, and Inquisition of claims to Heretical Activity that have yet to be concluded, do not have sufficient evidence of such, or wherein interruptions did not allow the Tribunal to function as an extension of the Fury’s judgment in a fair and impartial Trial or did not allow a challenge to Trial by Combat to conclude with a victor on Record. As such, your challenge to Trial by Combat issued to ███████ ███████ on the grounds that he partook of Heretical Activity has been annulled and the charges leveled against Ser ███████ have been dropped from the Official Record, despite the inconclusive results after your unsanctioned withdrawal from the Tribunal arena. Though we believe your unsanctioned withdrawal to have been born of brazen cowardice and remains a slight against the Fury’s divine will, the Tribunal no longer wields Her judgment in the matter. As such, the trial record has been amended to have no conclusive victor and your criminal history has been expunged in the eyes of the Holy See of Ishgard and all official bodies therein. No further Investigation into your original claim will take place, and your status as a fugitive from the Inquisition has been annulled. Your previous standing as a ward of House Haillenarte has not been reinstated on the grounds that such patronage is only within the purview of the Lord or Lady of the House to grant, and will require correspondence with said Lord or Lady to reclaim. You are free to return to Ishgard without fear of repercussion, however we advise you to be minded of this most benevolent allowance and act with requisite decorum should you choose to return. Fury have Mercy upon your soul. - Auphent Gauvane Clerk of the Supreme Sacred Tribunal of Halonic Inquisitory Doctrine Records Office

Sawyer took a moment to breathe. Then another.

The fluster to get inside the door and the following silence roused curiosity from the raen that resided with her in the inn room, a pair of scaled arms winding around the hyur’s waist. “Hawk?” she called, wary and concerned.

“It’s… a letter from Ishgard. From home,” Sawyer admitted, though she wasn’t prepared for her voice to break over the final word as it did. She drew a shaking breath, then wrapped her arms around Amesha fully. “They’ll allow me to return without consequence. I am a free woman, but…”

“But…?” Amesha prompted her to continue.

Sawyer whispered. “Why am I terrified?”

[welcometogrouchland]

Disgustingly messy and crusty sketch dump but I couldn't get my own terrible theory out of my head and ended up making a bunch of sketches about it. Also at the end a bonus dickbats and Damian doodle bc I was reading an issue of their Batman and Robin run (IDs in Alt)

[waterdroid]

Tactical Breach Wizards is such a GOOD fucking game, man. I thought it was gonna be a fun tactic silly game where you throw people out of windows but then it turns out it has a really interesting political plot about overthrowing fascist theocracies and stopping fucked up magic corporate colonialism??? While keeping the comedic characters balanced with some really good and deep characterization?? And it also integrates the whole "turn-based tactical game where you can rewind time" in a very hard-hitting history moment in which reading the FUCKING GAME IU gave me CHILLS--

so yeah i liked it a normal amount. I recommend it even if you don't really like tactical games-- that's like, my least played type of game and I finished this game no problem!

[beforetimes]

amusing myself with a post-dofp, pre-apocalypse fix-it wherein peter goes back to the x mansion much earlier and gets to help in fixing it up. because, like, as lowkey traumatizing as erik's speech probably was for peter in the moment, i can't imagine he'd want to squander the opportunity to take a look back at these ppeople who had brought him into the fold of this new world they'd introduced him to before anyone else knew about it. i think it's plausible that he didn't go back to the school after that speech because, maybe he wanted to lay low so his little sister and mother wouldn't get dragged into whatever mess he'd been complicit in unleashing on the world. but i don't buy that he wouldn't go back earlier, either, especially with all the time in the world to think [agonize] over these strange people who were like him when he didn't know any mutants before, either.

so! let's say peter goes back to the mansion following erik's news broadcast to keep distance from his family to keep them safe. what next?

well when he gets there, it's obviously a dump compared to what it used to be. charles hasn't bothered to fix it up when he was on a ten year bender and hank was busy keeping charles from self-destructing and logan was there for a day at most

peter, however, is armed with superspeed and is an overzealous teenager who was challenged ("how fast do you really think you can clean all this? what, half a day?" "half a day for one room? you're kidding, man—") and now he has his pride on the line so obviously he commits to clearing out dust to prove he's the best duster to ever step foot in this stupid mansion

and he's maybe, like, halfway through the first room before he's realized what he's been roped into but also he doesn't really care because he's so bored and by now he'd probably have ramsacked a grocery store near home for more food he doesn't need but his heart squeezes a little at thinking like that—thinking about using his powers so openly after seeing this guy threaten to kill the president and now everyone knows about mutants and their only examples are 'terrorist' and 'not terrorist' and he really doesn't want to think about his sweet little sister still small enough to sit in his lap watching him step outside to break the law like that man did and phew why does being associated with this guy he broke out of prison make his chest hurt so much? whatever he'll just ignore that and keep cleaning because if he's cleaning he's not putting his family in danger and who knows maybe other kids will find their way here

and then he imagines little gap-toothed mutants about five or six years old running down the empty halls of this forboding sad mansion and the dark hallways make him feel a little more sick so he runs through and opens every curtain in about two seconds and feels less like throwing up and wow he doesn't think he's ever felt this lopsided in his life

and so peter works through about two floors by the end of the day and crashes in a bed to sleep for five hours before immediately raiding the fridge for about three thousand calories worth of food and makes his way through most of charles' newly restocked perishibles before the man even makes his way into the kitchen looking for some coffee or whatever

and peter isn't really mad but he is feeling a little off-centre about the fact that this was the guy who brought him to the pentagon to break a terrorist out of jail and even though it was really cool and he had so much fun doing it and it was the first time in a while he wasn't bored for an entire day he still feels a bit cheated because he didn't know he was breaking out a terrorist but charles definitely did and he was mad but he kind of didn't care and he left peter with a car to drop off and nothing else even though he dragged peter into this mess and was now pretending nothing happened

so peter leaves the room before charles can blink and spends the next week dodging him and hank is stressed and charles is stressed and the woman from the cia who visits, like, once, can feel it too because peter can tell she's stressed by the look on her face he snags a glance at when he's rooting through her wallet in superspeed and everyone is tense and stressed and peter is kind of regretting this because he could just hide in his basement until he's absolutely sure no one from the pentagon remembers his face and the fbi won't break down his mother's door to take him away from his family

and one night he's really not feeling it so he calls his mom and he doesn't really look at the date but he guesses it's important because the moment the phone picks up and he says "hello?" his mother is just spilling out so many things to him like one secret after the other and peter can usually notice everything because he's always got time to look at the details but everything feels syrupy and goes in one ear and out the other until the next morning when he sits down at the table and is in the same room as charles for the first time in weeks and all he can think is my mom knew someone who could do that

so now he's got this whole mess to think about so he doesn't have any time or energy left to be mad-not-mad at charles and hank which is crazy because he has so much energy all the time and he guesses that the pair of adults are taking their blessings without questioning them because they continue on as normal and peter only gets one day of things being sort of not entirely awful while the news settles in before he opens the door at eleven in the evening and finds magneto from the news on their porch with blood all over his side

and peter kind of blanks out or he stares too long or something because magneto says something and then all of a sudden peter's rushed the two of them down to hank's lab where hank pretends he wasn't listening to black sabbath because he's distinguished or whatever and there's a lot of yelling and panicking and peter stays at the side while charles joins them a few minutes later to talk calmly while everyone yells and eventually no one is yelling and magneto is fixed up and charles is staring and hank is glaring and peter opens his big dumb mouth and trips into the worst situation of his life entirely by accident

which is where he invited magneto to stay until he's feeling better

and everyone looks at him and even he's not sure why he said it because he doesn't know how he feels about magneto because he's been dreaming about having a father for years and years and he always imagined him as a boring old man who wasn't particularly anything special at all and the type of person who would float from city to city just working as a placeholder for a lot of other women instead of specifically screwing over peter's mom

and he didn't think his father would be a terrorist and he doesn't know if he wants to imagine magneto and father in the same sentence but all he's really thinking about is that new animated robin hood thing he saw with his sister and how that marian wondered if robin remembered her and robin wondered if marian remembered him and they were both thinking about each other without knowing it and peter doesn't know if his—magneto—remembered his mother but he can't stop himself from offering anyway

so now after a lot of silent conversation between charles and hank where peter is left out of the loop because his brain makes charles nauseus, magneto is given a room to stay in under the condition he doesn't try to, fucking, blow up the school or whatever the hell he wants to do to make everyone think mutants are evil. peter paraphrases the rules to sound like that in his head because charles is much more formal aloud

and if he thought the stress and regret and everything else that made him want to throw up was bad before, then phew he had no idea what was lying in store with him when it came to magneto because that guy is a perpetual storm cloud over a bright and sunny day no matter what happens, somehow

and peter knows he probably has a tragic backstory because he heard as much from charles late one night when they both couldn't sleep and peter couldn't help but ask what magneto was like when he was younger and charles looked so sad peter almost regretted asking but didn't because curiosity was going to eat him alive before he got a chance to blink

so peter doesn't know all of it but he knows it was bad and magneto is allowed to be upset but also it isn't cool he tried to murder the president and that's the one part that keeps screaming in his head every time he reconciles with the fact that he invited this guy to stay at someone else's mansion when the only reason peter was here was to keep his family and by proxy himself safe from this type of stuff

so he's proven to himself he's the dumbest person alive about three times over and he's still helping with renovations in that stupid mansion and he's wiped at the kitchen table when someone slides a glass of orange juice to him at ten in evening and he looks up and hey it's magneto he knows that guy

and that guy is like, terrifying as fuck so peter kind of chokes on his thanks which makes magneto's eyes look stormy and kind of sad and wow he didn't know that was a thing that could happen he sort of throught terrorists were above feelings especially after attempting to kill presidents

so peter kind of says sorry and magneto says sorry and no one says anything until magneto says its very impressive how much he's been doing to help out around here and peter is like wow really you think so because he still loves praise and people seeing how cool he is and it bugged him the tiniest bit that magneto walked by without saying anything when he broke him out of the pentagon btut he's glad that dusting and sweeping and mopping has impressed this guy so much

and magneto says something about how he's greater than he knows and that his gift is something that no one else possesses or something like that all peter knows is it's verging into territory he doesn't like and he keeps thinking about how much magneto hates humans and he keeps thinking about how his kid sister and mom are humans and he wonders if his dad hated his mom and thats why he left and he zooms upstairs to grab his walkman and put on his headphones before coming back downstairs while magneto's mid sentence to make him go away because peter was here first

magneto kind of blinks and goes blank and peter sort of welcomes it because magneto is frightening when he gets so into this whole mutant supremacy thing he has going on and peter is regretting asking him to come by at all before the guy stiltedly asks what he's listening to, which, like, what?

and peter finds out that magneto has never listened to like, a single band that wasn't playing on a radio he accidentally happened to be in the vicinity of and peter blinks and all of a sudden he's bugging a terrorist who hates humans to listen to his vinyls because he's somehow convinced himself in a moment of hysteria or delusion or psychosis that if he woos magneto with human music he'll decide that he doesn't want every human dead, just the bad ones and peter won't have to try and kill him or something and wow that's a lot to think about because peter doesn't think he'd ever murder someone but his dad murdered a lot of people or tried to and if they're blood related there must be some of that in him or something but thinking about that makes his chest twisty and he's only like eighteen or nineteen so he throws that worry aside but doesn't do too great of a job at it

because he's sitting in his room and they're both listening to queen and peter's mind can't stop going in circles and circles and circles and his mouth is open and he's asking magneto hey do you think you'd kill a human even if you loved them once before he can stop himself and magneto's staring at him and peter's staring at the ceiling and his chest is this tight ball of frizzy hairs of anxiety or something gross that feels like a million pounds

and magneto very slowly says why do you ask before he continues like he's peter and he can't bear to be interrupted and says something or other about how no humans are trustworthy and peter can't shut his dumb mouth so he asks more directly if he's loved a human before

and now magneto's staring and not saying anything and peter's kind of hoping and kind of not hoping that this guy who he's spent the past few weeks bonding with over late nights and vinyls and breakfast-for-dinners will either put the pieces together or say no and prove peter right and peter will make sure he never knows that peter's kid sister and his mother even exist

but magneto surprises him and says he's loved someone once and it would be a lie for him to say he hasn't loved humans when they didn't know what he was and when people found out what he was there was always a problem and that's why humans are a problem

and peter wonders if finding out that someone was pretending to be something theyre not would make magneto as upset as it did humans because he thinks he's going to go insane if he keeps pretending he's not magneto's kid and he's still kind of hoping for magneto to be more outwardly evil about hating his mom and kid sister so peter can just mentally disown him and get this weight off his shoulders

and he keeps waiting and waiting and waiting and magneto doesn't say more and peter doesn't say more but now this thing is sitting in between the two of them and peter's given away more of the game than he wanted on the last day before magneto's supposed to leave because of his fully healed wounds—which he had many of

except when he goes back to down to breakfast the next day he finds a glass of orange juice and a cup of coffee and magneto is sitting at the table reading the newspaper that charles somehow gets delivered here and when peter finishes his glass and has four more magneto tells peter to call him erik

so now it's peter charles hank and erik living here and peter waits and waits and erik doesn't leave and they don't talk but he doesn't leave and peter is still waiting for erik to leave when charles wheels in a few days later and says they're going to go look for students and when erik just hums and says he'll come with peter stares and charles stares and hank stares and no one says anything

and then the days pass and they get a longer and longer list of students and peter's run out of places to clean and erik is still here and they don't talk about it but they listen to vinyls and erik is still here

erik is still here and peter is still here and nothing is really fixed but nothing is broken either and peter is content to sit in this space of being and not being until he's sure that there's more erik in magneto than there is magneto

and erik is still here. and peter is glad. secretly

[pixelizedprince]

A sleepy morning with Bishop and Emmrich; 1.5k

💀💀💀💀

m!elven rook x emmrich (gilf x gilf fans rise up)

fluff w/ angsty past relationships & fade to black shenanigans mentioned

pre-labelled relationship

oc companion mentioned (margaux, bishop's niece)

my old man elf has a big bushy mustache. i'm not sorry.

💀💀💀💀

The simulated mornings in the fade would never get easier on Bishop. The pseudo-sunrise gave no heat, the off-colored glow reminded him more of the coast before a thunderstorm than the golden rays he loved. The elf shrugged his robe closer, trying to keep the warmth of sleep on him as he puttered his way across the courtyard, up floating stone steps towards the kitchen. His mind wandered from the eerie glow of the “sky” to this morning's first few blinks of restless sleep into dim candlelight, supernatural in source as well, but much more welcomed. 

-

Bishop's good eye adjusted quickly, taking in the shadow of the figure he was tangled up with. Sheets wrapped around both their bodies. The taller man still slept, his usually pristine coiffed hair currently soft and natural, gently covering his brows. It took everything in Bishop not to trace over every line, every mark across Emmrich's sleeping face and neck; peppering more kisses like he had mere hours before. He decided against it, the weary mage deserved to sleep like the dead a little while longer. 

Bishop hadn't intended to stay in the Necromancer's chambers that evening, but after encounters with blighted beings the previous day, they had tested the limits of their ragtag guard. Emmrich insisted Bishop use the necromancer's self made disinfectant (a combination of hearth laurel, deep mushrooms, and some kind of enchantment. The smell was a tinge medicinal, sharp with magic, but also earthy); an old Nevarran blend for after working with the undead. The mage requested he personally check that none of their wounds went without care, and Bishop offered the same in turn…. the process had gone much later into the night than intended… 

Now breathing in the remnants of the odd almondy-earthy-magic spiced scent, feeling the warmth of the man beneath him, Bishop's heart fluttered. He was no stranger to the excitement of l̶o̶v̶e̶  companionship, but this was the first time in a long time it made him feel lighter, it was almost dizzying the way Emmrich had enchanted him in such a short time. The elf slowly pulled away and watched Emmrich's chest rise and fall, faintest snore following the rhythm. 

Bishop had been using his chest as a pillow, an intricately stitched pattern of his sleeping gown now temporarily traced over Bishop's cheek. He ran a hand across the delicate indents and grazed the shadow of a beard. Bishop had been too preoccupied with the recent run-ins with darkspawn to care about how his appearance had been the last several days. “Scratchy-” a comment muttered from the quivering lips of the necromancer the night before resurfaced in Bishop's mind and a flush bit his face and ears. He'd have to remember to shave the unwanted stubble this morning, else he'd get an earful from both Emmrich and Margaux about the importance of “self care” again. His niece had been all but too excited to tell the other man all about Bishop's “selfless to a fault” habits - the necromancer instantly joined Margaux in her ongoing battle to get her uncle to take care of himself. Bishop's eye gazed back down to Emmrich, admiring his immaculately thin mustache - a far cry from Bishop's own bushy lip. The candlelight of the study, soft, but enough to see the traces of bruises blooming across his jaw, neck, collarbones - gown hiding even more Bishop knew without a doubt were nested against Emmrich's lily pale skin. He also knew he fared no better. If he was to ask, the marks could be magicked away without a second thought, much like those from the battle the day before were worked out with trained hands. However, a scarf for a few fleeting days to keep the fluttering in his stomach was something the elf was choosing to remain selfish about. It made his chest tight to know without a doubt Emmrich's high collars wouldn’t just be his eccentric fashion choice, but a practical one as well. Echos of desperate pleas reminded Bishop the marks weren't only welcomed but hungrily requested. 

A gnawing feeling in Bishop's mind was trying to signal that this was foolish, that there were more important things at stake and there would be dire consequences for being distracted, but Bishop used a significant amount of energy to tell the wolf to shove it and the thoughts bitterly dispersed. He knew it wasn't all the unwanted passenger taunting those ideas though. Ghosts of his past had trained his heart to be wary. Everything about this c̶o̶u̶r̶t̶s̶h̶i̶p̶  f̶l̶i̶n̶g̶  r̶e̶l̶a̶t̶i̶o̶n̶s̶h̶i̶p̶  connection had felt more real than anything he'd had in years. Bishop had found that Emmrich treated him in a way where the elf felt not just needed but wanted, and not just for the physical advances, but genuine quiet moments of intimacy, lingering glances, actual caring conversations. It didn't seem like this was only a quick fun thing to relieve the stress of their situation. Bishop was damn near as terrified to define this good thing as he was to take down the Gods of his kinship, but gods if he didn't wish to spend not just this moment but tomorrow and the day after that with the man who had allowed him to feel like himself for a few moments. Selfish, his niece demanded he be more selfish, so Bishop leaned in once more and kissed the temple of the resting man. He wanted this to be more, to be his, to be them together with Emmrich. 

The necromancer stirred from the kiss’ touch and his heavily lidded eyes caught Bishop's, a gentle smile instantly rising from his half conscious face. “Good morning my dear.” 

Bishop almost couldn't bear the weight of how those simple words twisted him even more madly i̶n̶ l̶o̶v̶e̶. The elf's own face bloomed into a giant toothy smile, bracing himself once more as he leaned across the bunk, kissing h̶i̶s the mage.

Emmrich leaned up into the kiss, chuckling at the sweet sight of the slightly flushed elf. Through half-lidded eyes, and though his body was still slow from sleep, Emmrich's teasing tone was quick, “It's with a heavy heart that I must rest a while more before I can go another round so early my dear. Though for you I'd try-” their mouths had barely parted when the necromancer sighed his words, reaching a heavily ringed hand to rest on top the one Bishop was leaning down on.

Bishop instantly turned his head and cleared his throat, the thought hadn't not crossed his mind, but it was going to be another long day and they both needed their energy for fighting for now… “As much as we'd both enjoy that-” Bishop linked digits with the hand that had fallen on top of his and pulled the knuckles to his lips, “-we should probably greet the others soon…” he kissed the rings, glittering like stars on Emmrich's hand, gemstones and ornate designs like an entire galaxy, and gave a gentle squeeze to the hand. “Dream a little longer Em. I will go get us some tea and a nibble and be back soon.” 

“A nibble? Why, Bishop, I do believe we had plenty of that last night.” The quirk of Emmrich's lips, framed by his dark mustache and Bishop was undone. The necromancer howled as Bishop pounced down into the crook of Emmrich's neck and rapidly kissed the mage, their laughter combining into a tender song. 

“Wicked,” Bishop tutted, “You are a wicked man Emmrich Volkarin. And I am powerless against your dastardly ways.” Through the laughter and shower of affection, their positions in the bunk had shifted. Bishop found himself now hovering, his face looking down upon the taller man. Calming from his laughing fit, Emmrich now lay flat on his back, Bishop essentially pinning him to the bed. Bishop could feel him taking in the sights, studying the elf like he was a new theory or spell. 

Emmrich looked up at Bishop like he was the universe. Emmrich's hands slid, with all the confidence of reaching for the stars and hoping to come down with one in your fist. The mage's palms found purchase cupping the elf's cheeks, thumbs running across Bishop's greying temples, curved cheeks, across the long scarred gash that ran a good length through his right eye. Emmrich was solving the equations hidden in his freckles, interpreting dreams from each of his wrinkles. Bishop felt like he was drowning, breathless and afraid, to be the subject of such dedicated and wordless admiration. Seemingly satisfied with his research, Emmrich hummed sweetly and closed his eyes once again,  head nestling back onto his silk threaded pillow. “I'd like black tea if it isn't too much trouble, Love.” His words were a whisper. 

Bishop swallowed and finally caught the air his lungs had been screaming for. Like he was freed from the sea’s cold grasp and allowed to gasp for anything other than saltwater. Bishop leaned down and carefully pressed his forehead against Emmrich's, closing his eyes. His hair framed their faces, a curtain of grey and black, a soft night's sky, to capture the moment of intimacy in a perfect bubble. Gods, this could be love, huh?

[neuxue]

me: *slaps roof of sentence* this bad boy can fit so many subordinate clauses in it!

sentence in question: *collapses at the slightest touch like a fucking jenga tower, adverbs clattering down all over the floor, nouns lying broken and bleeding, impaled on verbs they were never meant to touch,*

[starrystevie]

it’s the routine soft intimacies that come with living, breathing, existing with someone for as long as they have.

it's when they hug and steve knows his arms will always find a home around eddie's waist, his face finding solace in the crook of his neck, his lungs full of eddie as he takes in a grounding breath. it's eddie's arms always slung over steve's shoulders when they embrace, pulling him in like he needs him close and they both know it's because he does, his lips pressed to the crown of steve's head as a reminder that he's there.

it's when they want to hold hands and they know each other's tells. they know that steve will bump shoulders then elbows then backs of hands before lacing their fingers together, thumb rubbing wherever it can reach in a steady rhythm. they know that eddie will trail fingertips over the veins in steve's wrist to feel his fluttering heartbeat and then dance his fingers down to clasp around steve's, pulling his arm over his chest so steve can feel him breathing.

it's when they sit in the living room to watch tv and the arm chair is steve's and the couch is eddie's until it's not because suddenly it's halfway through family feud and steve crawls between eddie's legs to lay against his chest like clockwork. it's when they have cleaning day and the kitchen is steve's because he hates how eddie loads the dishwasher and eddie dusts because he knows steve won't pick things up, just dusts around them. it's when they go to the grocery store and steve pushes the cart, checks things off the list, and eddie looks over produce to make sure they aren't too brown for steve.

it's the little things that can go unsaid because they've said them enough or lived them enough or some mixture of both where there's comfort in simplicity. steve knows when eddie wakes up and makes coffee immediately that it'll be a good day ending in dancing in the kitchen with cool tiles under their bare feet. eddie knows when steve wears that sweater with the blue on the trim that he needs a little extra support, a hand through his hair and a kiss on the cheek, a whispered forever promise in his ear.

it's learning how to love someone the way they want to be loved. it's adapting and giving to take and taking to give and intrinsically being what the other needs. it's steve and eddie, who alone are great but together are better. it's them, knowing that steve will always wrap his arms around eddie's waist and knowing that eddie will always sling his around steve's neck and knowing that when they always take in a deep breath full of the other, it's because they're home.

[thirteenemeraldcats]

Summary:

“So what’re you doin’ for your birthday, Coach?”

The question’s so unexpected, asked so abruptly, that it almost sends Roy sprawling out of the rhythmic jog he’s fallen into at Jamie’s side and straight to the gravel below.

As it is, he skids to a quick stop and faces his star player, arms held stiffly at his sides. Waits for Jamie to notice he’s gone and hurriedly circle back to stand in front of him before replying. Quick feet and a quicker smile; the professional-menace doesn’t seem to care that he’s brought Roy to a dead-stop with just his words.

“The fuck did you just say?”

In which Roy experiences the mortifying ordeal of being loved and Jamie bakes a cake.

AKA: Happy Birthday Roy! Get celebrated you silly man!

[thatsnotmygunflash]

Are there any Professor Snart fics out there? The thought came to me and now I'm lying on the floor trying to get my brain to reboot.

Think about it. The gossip surrounding the hot new English professor. The casual but professional outfits. The captivating lectures. The charming smiles. The corny jokes. The starry-eyed students. The never-ending string of faculty friends and students visiting when he's in his office. The abundance of award-winning books he's written (James Patterson who?). The Dean is ready to offer him tenure if Len agrees to add another class or two to his roster because they have so many students begging to be in his class. He goes to his students' poetry slams to encourage them and has a writing workshop for inspiring authors. He sponsored a scholarship in his name for LGBTQ+ students. He volunteers to help with the theater department. Not long after he's hired, Professor Leonard Snart seems to be the only thing anyone wants to talk about at Central City University.

[queerbauten]

Something that’s interesting about other Joost fan spaces online compared to Tumblr is how young some of the members are—and I don’t mean, like, “oh, they’re immature,” or whatever; I mean seeing people talking about how their parents won’t let them go see Joost, or how they hope Joost and co. don’t play “Ratata”, because their parents will be there, and it’s just like… I cannot, for the life of me, imagine needing my parents’ approval to see any concert anymore. I’m nearly 30. They can’t tell me not to.

[hakusins]

(vent in the tags) me thinking i've finally escaped financial problems: :DDDDD

life:

[0318k]

most of my childhood memories are not happy. but i have this one that is still so vivid, and good. i was playing outside it was sunny, somewhere between spring and summer. i must have been less than 7/8 years old because we still lived behind my grandparents house. i could have been 5 or 6. i saw my grandpa sitting on this wooden bench he made himself, very simple. he sat there, he was drunk. he drank a lot, i mightve not understood what it all meant and why my grandma was mad, but i knew its something they didnt like him to do. i couldn’t understand why because no matter his state he was always so good to me, so kind. i still had this spring to my walk, i was always too happy to see him. he always talked to me, really talked to me,listened to what i wanted to say to him and he cared about it. i asked what are you doing grandpa and he said shhhh look. he was sitting on that bench and i came closer to peek. i saw a bee walking along his finger and of course my child mind already knew i should be scared of these i wanted to cry and said grandpa please watch out and wanted him to shake her off before she stings him. and he didnt do that, he just smiled and said please look she wont do anything to you if she doesnt feel threatened. she wont harm you if you wont try to harm her, look. and i looked at his calm and soft movements and at first i didnt really believe what he told me i waited for him to make a hiss and say ouch i waited for the moment she does hurt him but it didnt come and as it wasnt coming i was more and more curious following her little legs taking a walk on his hand. she stayed there for quite a while and flew away. then he smiled at me again. god if he knew how much these moments with him matter to me to this day. if he knew these are the defining moments of what love is to me to this day. i had so little, and it brought so much

[canichangemyblogname]

Reblog this and tell me what sound(s) play(s) on a constant loop inside your head.

[revasserium]

comma with akaashi? i'm glad to see you're back :)

reqs are open :)

comma

akaashi; 690 words; fluff, a little experimental, stream of consciousness

sometimes, he thinks he can think about you forever. sometimes, he thinks he can think about you until he runs out of words to think, and then, he thinks he’ll think of new words, new phrases, invent new ways to think about you.

call it a hyperfixation, call it an unhealthy obsession. call it what you like — whatever you like, but sometimes akaashi wonders if there aren’t too many words in the world for the same damn thing, if people don’t just dance around the thing instead of calling it by it’s name —

the first time he says your name out loud, he thinks it kind of sounds like forever.

“see, you missed a comma here,” you point to his paper, where you’d pressed a red dot between two of his words, the tail of it hanging just below the line, almost like a question mark. a pause, he knows. a pause, a breath, and break before the next word, and still, and still —

“oh. thanks.”

“hey… are you even paying attention?”

akaashi looks up, blinks, smiles as he cocks his head.

“yes. sorry. please continue.”

he does not tell you the million and one commas he wishes he could press between the space between this moment and the next, and then the next, all the breaks he wants to take, just like this — with just the two of you, and a book between you, or tomorrows homework, or lunch, or that one kind of sponge-cake you really like from the corner store, or — he never wants it to end.

“… and i think that’s it!”

you smile up at him from over top of his now very edited essay, and he blinks again, takes his time with you, with the way his eyes trail down the length of your face, the sweet of your features.

“oh,” he says, “thank you,” he says, “that was really helpful,��� he says.

you offer him a helpless laugh, served up on a red-pen dotted platter and he takes it with a smile, nodding as he tucks his essay back into his backpack. he tries to think of something to say, anything to keep you from leaveing, just one more reason to stay.

“if i write another essay,” he says, perhaps a bit too hurriedly, pausing as you look up at him, an amused smile spreading slow across your lips, and he knows — he knows — that he’s said something strange, but he doesn’t really care, because you’re still here, aren’t you? still standing in front of him, waiting — still.

“will you help me look it over?”

you laugh, your cheeks flushing the color of a sunset sky.

“sure — but… do you have another essay due soon?”

akaashi purses his lips, teeters on the edge of a lie before he settles on the truth.

“no, but…” i like spending time with you, sounds a bit too forward, doesn’t it?

“you know… we can just… hang out…” you say, and akaashi doesn’t miss the way your lashes flutter, the way your teeth catch your bottom lip just so.

“yes,” akaashi says, “we can do that too.”

he smiles, looking down at the now-empty desk between you; he takes a breath, looks back up again.

“let’s do it.”

you laugh, nodding, nodding, your laughter trickling down his spine like rose water and piano music and maybe he believes in heaven, maybe he doesn’t, but he doesn’t really care because what he does believe is the magic of this moment, the magic of you standing just in front of him, close enough to touch.

he reaches out to brush a strand of hair from your cheek, tucking it behind your ear.

your breath hitches inside your chest like a misplaced comma.

“a-akaashi-kun?”

he smiles and lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“yeah. let’s hang out.”

[tittyinfinity]

"And my girlfriend looks just like me mixed with Zach Gilifianakis" is gonna be stuck in my head for a while now huh

[firkant-fugl]

If I had a nickel for every time one of my parents accidentally (yet completely preventably) broke a mug of high emotional and sentimental value to me, I'd have two.

Which isn't a lot, but it hurts that it happened twice.