#sunday shorts

[peacehopeandrats]

In Class

Belle glanced at the piece of paper taped to the craft store's window and squeezed Rumple's hand. "Why don't we give it a go?"

He blinked at her, tipping his head back in surprise before making a gesture at the shop and then the sleepy city around them. "You want to give up our evening stroll for painting?" Mirth mingled with the words, making each become a sound of pleasant disbelief.

"And why shouldn't we?" Belle thrust her hands to her hips and tilted her head to the side. It had been a while since she and Rumple had time to be on their own. Even longer since they'd had an evening stroll like the ones they used to take in Storybrooke. The atmosphere only served to fuel her playful banter. "Unless you think you couldn't do it."

"Of course I can do it." Her husband wrinkled his nose as he would have back when she first knew him. The mask didn't stay on long, however. After a breath, his eyes had softened. "I just don't want to take away from our limited time together."

Belle gave him a warm smile. "We can hire more sitters for Gideon," she reminded him. "All you have to do is ask."

He looked at the store, eyes narrowing at the activity happening beyond the glass. "I suppose we could see if they are still taking students."

With a giggle, Belle reached for the door and gave it a gentle tug. It responded with a rattle so loud that every head within the craft store turned their way.

One woman, brows knitted tight, strode forward and pointed at a sign in the window opposite to the one the Golds had been focused on. "Sorry. We're closed."

"We were hoping it wasn't to late to sign up for the lesson," Rumple called out kindly. "We're traveling through town this week. We'd be willing to pay full price for whatever you have left to teach tonight."

A thoughtful hum could be heard on the other side of the glass while several of the students leaned close to whisper to each other. Eventually the lock clicked and the door swung partially open.

"I think we could allow that exception."

* * *

The golds learned a lot about the town that night, and a lot about Miss Lanette, their instructor. They also learned a lot about each other and themselves.

It turned out that Rumple was the better painter, which had surprised him, but not Belle, who insisted that his talent came from years of flourished hand gestures. Belle was much more capable of sketching, making short work of copying the form of the flamingo they would be working on. Deciding to work together on one piece meant that they were able to catch up to the rest of the class quickly and were soon as comfortable with the others as if the class were taking place in Storybrooke.

"Now, these lighter feathers should pick up a little of the darker color, but not much. We want a brief, gentle blending, not something muddy."

Belle tucked her lip in her teeth and studied the work they'd done so far. It looked good, or was at least recognizable, but what she liked most about it was the true blend of technique. It was obvious that the painting was a collaboration. Her strokes clashed in look with Rumple's. Yet the spread of their work, the way her strokes and his gently alternated, made it beautiful.

"I'm going to ruin this," she said.

Rumple shifted position so that he stood beside her and reached out to take her hand and the brush in his own. He pressed close and murmured into her ear. "Then we'll do it together."

"I think we found a new hobby," Belle whispered as he helped her make the first, careful stroke.

Her husband's chest vibrated as he let out an approving hum. "Perhaps we have indeed."

* * *

"Where'd that come from?" Alice pointed to a painting of a pink flamingo leaning against the wall. It clashed so horribly with the rest of the house that she couldn't imagine it had ever belonged in it.

Gideon turned to see what she was pointing at and his eyes instantly clouded over, filling with memories Alice would never know. "My parents brought that home after one of their dates. I was too little to remember everything, but I know we were in a small town and they found someone to watch me while they were out. When I woke up the next day it was in our hotel room and they couldn't stop looking at it."

Alice imagined Rumple, the way he would melt at the mere thought of Belle. She could easily picture that expression again; a man dissolving at the thought of whatever romantic moment caused the purchase of such an interesting item that was not at all his style. It was harder to picture Belle exactly, but she could piece together something from all the stories Gideon had told. She would be sipping tea, elbows on the table, one arm brushing Rumple's. As Gideon munched on his morning oatmeal, his parents would lean into each other until their heads touched and stare at the haphazard feathers that made up their bird...

And everything would be whole in their universe.

Based on the flamingo and city at night images at the Monthly Rumbelling post here:

[valkxrie]

rhododendron : is your muse receptive to warnings & advice given by others ?

@kylo-wrecked

All of them are receptive to warnings and advice. All of them may simply heed nothing and do what they want regardless.

[prone-to-fleeting-obsessions]

Dating Sunday hc's

(I haven't had the time to play 2.2, so some of this might conflict—)

In the eyes of the people of Penacony you're the perfect couple, the shining example of two souls kindled in Xipe's all accepting glory

Your background doesn't matter, not really...

Sure, it's expected of him to take on a darling lover of equal status, perhaps some prime shining star in another branch of the all encompassing family

But all are accepted in the family's benevolent glory, right?

He loves you like you're equals, like you're his perfect soulmate, his one true darling love...

Public appearances are necessary of course, his ever present smile and perfectly kept appearance as he effortlessly drapes an arm around your waist, as if you were simply another part of his perfect persona, his missing puzzle piece

In private he's much more doting, sickeningly so

His chaste little public pecks don't hold a candle to the almost sloppy breathy kisses he gives in private, with his wings fluttering as he stares up at you, as if you were an extension of Xipe themself

His arms wrapped so tight around you that it's almost needy, as if he can't force himself to detach

God he needs you, needs you like air, like life itself...

That's made abundantly clear as he doesn't dare detach from your sweet lips, your perfect skin against his

"Perfect..." He'd mumbled over and over, as if he really believed it

Of course his wings are sensitive

If you touch them in public you might earn a little glare, his pretty eyes narrowing slightly at your attempt to get him to drop that lovely little act of his

In private it's fair game, though

He might, if the mood is right, guide your hands there himself, silently begging you to comfort him after such a horribly stressful day

Your sweet touch is a craving nothing else can satisfy

Preening his wings is also something he just might let you do, after you've gotten comfortable with each other

Your sweet fingers brushing through his feathers, he can only close his eyes in bliss, trying hard to stay perfectly still

He's a control freak, that much is obvious, but he's far from mean, far from unfair...

Of course he'll pick out your outfits daily, they just have to match his, and of course you'll need to be by his side as much as physically possible...

Once his mind is made up, it's quite hard to sway, but it's all in your best interest, as his darling love...

He'll make it up to you with flowers so fresh you'd swear they're still growing, with the most delicious food in all of Penacony, and especially with enough love to drown in, privately of course

But it's hard to stay mad when he's so keen on keeping you his, on laying his claim as your perfect match

[lavendermin]

imagine virgin sunday :(( he can’t help his pathetic whines and cries when you’re jerking him off like that… he can‘t help coming undone the instant your hands are on him… it’s all so unfamiliar :((

anon ily please keep feeding my Sunday brainworms. That man is such a loser virgin I need to ruin him

virgin sunday x reader, gn reader

warnings | nsfw, mdni, handjobs, virgin sunday, cum eating

He wants it— the experience. There’s hesitance in every move as the head of the Oak Family, but even so Sunday is swayed by gentle coaxing and your silver tongue.

“If it’s in the Dreamscape, it’s nothing more than a fantasy. Wouldn’t you agree?”

A fictional encounter, you reason. Sunday bites his lip, his clothes too warm as they cling to his body. You sit across from him in a leather chair nursing a glass of something bitter he fears he’ll taste on your tongue later. Even with so much distance between you both, your eyes devour him and he swears he feels your hands wandering the expanse of his skin under his clothes.

Sunday is eager and hesitant as you both slip into the Dreamscape. The room is no different than the one you were both in.

His wings flutter when he jolts, caught off-guard by the sudden feeling of your hands snaking around his waist from behind. It feels no different than reality.

Sunday shudders. It’s not real, he reminds himself.

Deludes himself with your words.

But he wants this— wants your hands on him tonight during this endless Penacony fantasy because tomorrow you will be gone.

You chuckle, low and sultry as the Oak Family head is reduced to a shivering mess when your lips kiss and nip at his neck.

“D-Don’t leave marks.” Sunday’s warning pulls another laugh from you.

“It seems I have quite the effect on you for you to forget how your own realm works. I can’t leave marks while we’re here.”

You push him toward the loveseat and make home knelt on the ground between his legs. The wings that adorn him fluff up in anticipation and shield his reddened cheeks.

“And you’ve never done this? Really?”

“Don’t tease,” Sunday admonishes, though his voice quivers as your hands settle high on his thighs to gently squeeze there. “There is much that rests on my shoulders. I’m not allowed to indulge like this.”

You hum in thought, unconvinced. Your cheek presses to the inside of his knee as you stare up at him with unreadable mischief.

“I think with that much power, you should be able to do what you want. Or be married by now so you have someone to sleep with. Take the edge off, you know? Body and mind.”

“No, I–”

I only need you, he wants to say but thinks better of it than to voice such impossible affairs. Sunday’s eyes wander elsewhere, afraid to meet your gaze knowing you’ll read him like a book.

“Then we’ll take it slow,” you suggest, fingers trailing higher until you feel his semi-hard cock through his pants. “If you need me to stop, just say the word.”

He can only nod, breaths coming out in quiet huffs as a hand grips the armrest rather harshly. It’s rather comical to you that he’s this affected by mere touch. You coo at him as you undo his pants and push his shirt up. It won’t wrinkle here in the Dreamscape, but the concern still makes Sunday’s fingers twitch out of habit.

The feeling is unfamiliar and overwhelming as your warm hands pull his cock from its confines. It twitches in your hand as you give it an experimental squeeze and smear his pre with your thumb. Sunday’s breathing stutters and a loud whine leaves his lips, his wings reacting and fluttering with the foreign sensation. There’s a strange, tight feeling building in his abdomen much too quickly— warm and intense.

As your skilled hands jerk him off slow and steady, his legs tremble and he’s gasping under your touch. Pleading with his desperate moans for more of the unfamiliar feeling. Your touch is hot— scorching yet pleasant. With eyes squeezed shut, he feels every tug and squeeze from your expert hands. Your movements are relentless and within less than a minute he’s tensing and singing your name like a hymn as he comes undone.

It’s rather quick, as expected of a virgin, and you coo at him with praises and kisses to his inner thighs.

“Feels good? You came so much from just that? How cute.” Your praise makes his chest tight and his wretched desire pool once again. Warm, too warm.

When he opens one eye, breathing ragged, his face warms in both arousal and horror as you lick his cum off your hand.

He wants to protest and tell you to stop— it’s dirty. The words die in his throat when your warm tongue licks up his cock from the base to the messy tip, gathering up any remaining mess. You chuckle, twisted and endeared when he gently shoves you off his softening cock.

“Who’d have known it tastes different even here.”

An insatiable lust clouds your eyes. It makes Sunday’s softening cock twitch again with arousal. Even now, he fears he’ll be devoured.

There are tears that sting his eyes with the overwhelming feeling he just experienced. Euphoric and intense. When you ask him if he’d like to keep going, Sunday nods bashfully.

He’s out of breath, out of words. He wants you to take it all.

[freemontnationalvalley]

Yeah...about last Sunday. 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

[catboybiologist]

Tgirl Tummy Tuesday, One Year on Tumblr, and Ten Thousand (!!!) followers

What the fuck, y'all.

So the stars aligned, and I hit 10k followers on exactly my 365th day of this blog existing, sometimes while I was sleeping. I'd like to say I don't care about the follower count, and its stupid and vain, but..... Idk. Tumblr has been great for me, and I have to say that honestly.

I was already planning on starting HRT when I joined tumblr, so I'm not gonna say that Tumblr transed my gender or cracked my egg.

But tumblr did let me decide on, and test, my name.

Tumblr turned social transition from an insurmountable barrier in my mind, to something that I'm actively planning to do over the next few weeks to months.

Tumblr did give me the confidence and the fire to openly love myself and my body, and not feel like it was guilty, indulgent vanity. Or more accurately, make me feel like indulgent vanity wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

Maybe I don't care about 10k followers (well, something about the "neatness" of exactly 10k in exactly 1 year appeals to me), but having a community online that I can freely and regularly interact with has been incredible in so many ways, and maybe 10k is as good a time as any to say it. So thank you.

Is this sappy? Dramatic? Vain? Shallow? Terminally online? Giving a fucking award speech style post for being literally just a tumblr shitposter and having an inflated ego about it? Yeah. But fuck you, I ramble, its what I do, no YOU shut up.

Anyways. I'm just gonna slap tags here before I get dumb and all overinflated ego about it again. shush.

@glowingemberz @whalesharkcat @godless-of-the-hunt

@xenasaur @lilithtransrights

@anarqueeen @eruditegeek @sagasolejma @puzzlecatt @k1nky-r0b0t-g1rl @serotoninswitch

And so, so many others, I'm so sorry if I forgot a tag

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

BRAINROT

I LOVE YOUR MELUSINE AU SM

I wanna imagine that Neuvillette is also aware, and hoards y/n there so he and Ajax are the only two who know, though Ajax doesn’t know Neuvillette knows

Ough I need to redraw my melusona

RETURN OF THE MELUSINE AU!!!!!!!!

every once in a while- aka every week- you vanish for one day. always the same day, too- always on Sunday, from dawn until dusk. Foul Legacy absolutely PANICS at first, checking every nook and cranny of Merusea Village with desperate cries and chirps. a few other Melusine even join him in a tizzy, looking for their missing sibling, when suddenly you walk into the caverns as if nothing happened at all, perfectly whole and healthy. Legacy chitters, frantically fussing over you, but you merely hug his leg with a lovely smile, bloopy antennae twitching as you stare up with innocent eyes. his panic fades, replaced by exasperation, and Legacy lifts you into his arms with an admonishing trill. a couple Melusine trail behind him as he carries you to the little shell cottage you reside in, huffing and checking your skin, making sure no other shimmering markings have joined your vast collection- beautiful scars, yes, but scars mean wounds. there's nothing new, and Legacy finally relents and bumps his head protectively against yours

the same thing happens again the next week. and the next, and the next

slowly, Legacy and your siblings grow used to it. the disappearances almost become part of your schedule, like painting with Mamere every Tuesday or late afternoon tea. you never emerge worse for wear, quite the opposite, and after the first incident you leave little notes for Foul Legacy in the morning to tell him you're okay. the other Melusine shrug and keep him company those days, climbing over him like a tree and giggling in delight. none of them know you're with the Iudex himself, helping him arrange flowers in a vase in his office. Neuvillette watches you quietly, his eyes tracing over those familiar shining scars, the ones that tore you apart in the first place. there's a trace of Abyssal magic on you, but also the care and protection of every other Melusine in Fontaine, and the Hydro Sovereign smiles just a bit when you tie a bow around the vase and look up at him happily

[estcaligo]

book 7 sketches

[socialbutterfly19]

Im doing the best I can…. That’s all I can do!!!

[peacehopeandrats]

Sunday Shorts

Got my prompt from an old Readsy email this week.

"Young man. Young man!"

Gideon turned from the marble steps but didn't remove his hand from the railing. Behind him, a short man puffed air as he tried to rush over, each breath threatening to pop the buttons from his uniform.

"You have to leave, young sir. The museum is closing."

"I know, I'm just going to fetch my parents." He nodded toward the large window at the landing as if they were just outside and not hidden in a closet on the floor above.

"Someone else will be getting them. I'm afraid you must leave immediately. Closing times are quite exact. They can meet you on the grounds."

"It will only be a moment," Gideon protested.

The guard shook his head. "I must insist. One doesn't want to be in these rooms after sunset. The rules are quite strict for straglers."

Gideon shrugged. "Because the owners want to prevent thievery or because everything here self animates in the moonlight?"

"I don't know what you are talking about, young sir," the man insisted, though his expression told the opposite story. "Now, you must leave."

"We came here because of the magical quality of this building. It doesn't frighten us." Gideon glanced out the window, taking in the darkening sky. It had been a while since he'd missed his Gargoyle friends so deeply. This place triggered that longing. He let that emotion creep into his voice as he sighed. "But I suppose you are right. I'm sure my mother and father have already been sent out anyway. Thank you. I'll meet them outaide."

The older man gave a greatfull smile and gestured at the museum's exit. "Thank you. I do hope you will come again. There is always tomorrow to find whatever artful adventure you are looking for. The sun brings out the brilliance of the pigments, you know. So much more interesting to view in the daylight."

"I'm sure," Gideon told him, hoping his distraction was giving his parents the opportunity to remain in the building undetected, as planned. "Maybe I will come back tomorrow."

[valkxrie]

❛ Tell me how you did that. ❜ [MK to VB]

@silverjetsystm

It was a hard thing to do, she realized. Telling him would be like telling someone how to breathe. How to swallow. How to pump blood around their body as they slept.

"Don't think about it." Brunnhilde offered as if that were the answer he was looking for. "Turn your brain off."

[try-set-me-on-fire]

Tagged by @eddiebabygirldiaz for seven sentence Sunday! Here’s uhhhhh more than that from a buddietommy vacation threesome fic-

The day is hot enough that Buck is curled up like a bug on the dock between them. He’d stayed in the water longer than Tommy or Eddie had, and had swum out further than either of them, so when he’d crawled back up onto the old wood planks he’d chugged an entire water bottle and promptly passed out. Eddie glances down at his bare torso, just starting to get a little pink.

“Should probably get sunscreen on him again.”

Tommy snorts as he leans backwards, stretching out to grab the spray can. “And you’re worried you’ve forgotten how to be a dad.”

“Fuck off,” Eddie says as Buck, still asleep, makes a similar sound when Tommy mists him all over with cold sunscreen. “It’s been months, man, that’s so long for a kid, who knows what he’s even into now-”

“Minecraft, right?” Tommy says as he smooths his hand over a few places the sunscreen pooled on his boyfriend’s back. “Wasn’t he on a video call with you and Buck about it for like three hours on Friday? Something about- uh- command blocks?”

Eddie is mildly impressed Tommy remembers the word — maybe — because he certainly doesn’t. Buck had only been slightly better at following along than he had as they’d squinted at the probably impressive pixels on the laptop screen. “I don’t know, I just feel like…” Every morning, still, he wakes up and thinks he needs to get Chris’ breakfast started. Whole parts of his being are wired around taking care of his kid, but since he’s been gone Eddie has been trying — in fits and starts and most of the time guiltily — to figure out what the rest of him is for. It’s part of what got him into the whole mess in the first place, chasing after the dreams of a 19 year old who got those dreams from his parents. A nice wife (but they never liked her, did they) and a good job (but firefighting is too dangerous, isn’t it) and a picket fence (one closer to home, Eddie, you’ve gone too far away.) So he owed it to Chris, owed it to himself, to figure out what the fuck he actually wants, so he doesn’t keep twisting himself into knots and taking out everyone around him when the line breaks. He’s not sure he’s any closer to whatever that is — other than it’s unlikely to include a wife of any kind — but in the time he’s taken trying, what if other things got lost in the upheaval? “I keep thinking I’ll just- not remember to do something. Forget how field trip permissions slips work, or not know what shoe size he wears, or- I don’t know. Anything. I won’t pack his lunch and it won’t be the end of the world but he’ll be hungry that day.”

Tommy leans back on his palms and looks across at him, quiet and thoughtful for a few moments in that way he has, like he’s thinking through every possible response before he speaks. He is, maybe; he’d confessed to Eddie that he’d spoken too quickly when he was younger, is embarrassed about a lot of the dumb shit he’d said, so he tries to take his time with his words now. “Eddie. You took us up here this weekend to check and make sure this place is accessible to take your kid to this summer. And- I get that’s a big thing, a big gesture, and maybe you’re worried about messing up the small stuff, but… You’ve still got his favorite kind of jelly in the fridge that nobody else eats. You love him, and he knows that. You’re gonna do fine.” He shrugs. “And he’s almost fourteen, if you forget to hand him lunch he’s gonna let you know.”

Eddie huffs a small laugh. “Yeah, I guess he will.” He groans a little, shaking his head. “Fourteen years old, that’s fucking crazy. I don’t feel old enough for that to be true.”

Tommy rolls his neck so it audibly cracks. “Yeah, yeah, you whippersnapper.”

Eddie grins at him. “You feeling the exercise, old man? Need to go lay down?” He cackles and leans away as Tommy grabs the can and sprays a burst of sunscreen at him.

Between them Buck grunts at the commotion, and rolls towards Eddie. He presses his face into the meat of his bare side above his trunks, and wraps his long arms around his torso. Eddie glances up at Tommy, who just looks fondly amused. “Uh. Wrong guy, there, bud.”

Buck stills, and then pulls back a little to squint up at him. Eddie’s not particularly ticklish, but something like goosebump are shivering across the skin of his stomach where Buck’s forearm rests against him. He has to actively try not to shudder as Buck pulls back and rolls the other way, Eddie watching hypnotized as he gives Tommy the same treatment. Buck presses a little kiss onto Tommy’s hip, in the spot he had just been cuddled into on Eddie, and Eddie’s mouth goes dry.

Tommy lets out a little breath, and Eddie doesn’t think he’ll be able to use the sun as an excuse for how pink he’s gotten as his eyes snap up to the other man’s face. Except- he’d been expecting a raised eyebrow, a flat mouth, some visual indicator of disapproval, that this is one step Buckandeddie too far, that all the rest of their codependent lives have been fine, a platonic kind of care built over years of being there for each other through the worst of the worst, but now the uncomfortable answer to what Eddie wants, the uncomfortable answer he’s been trying to avoid because it's something he cannot have, has been found out and the messy insides of him will have once again ruined something good. But what he finds is a tiny little smile and heavy eyes that-

Well, they don’t look disapproving in the slightest.

“You guys hungry?” Buck mutters, words muffled by Tommy’s skin. “We should go start the grill.”

Tommy’s little smile gets wide and lazy, eyes still stuck on Eddie. “I could eat,” he says.

Tagging @iinryer @shitouttabuck @butchdiaz @chronicowboy @homerforsure @rewritetheending @bigfootsmom if you have anything you want to share!

[jamiesfootball]

“Roy?”

“Hm?”

“I don't want you to die before me.”

“The fuck?” Roy jerks right out of his half-slumber. He tries to sit up, but Jamie flexes his calves and traps Roy back down against the sofa. With a pillow stuffed against his chest in a death grip he looks pathetic, like someone's just told him his favourite puppy needs to be put down.

Roy huffs. “I’m not dying.”

“I know,” Jamie says sincerely. “But you’d tell me if you were, right?”

Roy rolls his eyes.

“Roy,” Jamie insists, and God help them both, but there’s real stress in his voice.

Roy pats one of the calves holding him down. “Yes. I’d fucking tell you. You’d probably be the first to know beside my sister.”

The muppet nods, at least not arguing with his being placed behind Sarah. Roy has a brief moment of deluding himself that that’s it for Jamie’s tangent into mortality logistics, before the prick adds with all the subtly of a hammer, “You’re almost fifty.”

Fuck.

The sigh that escapes isn’t entirely free of weight. His age isn't something Roy can ignore these days, not with how his body has started to hold him back more and more. Sure, he’s still fit. He’s able to do 5ks for charities without much effort, but not without restraining himself down to a steady job. His heart's in fine shape, a history of strict nutrition guidelines has left him with a habit of eating well. As far as his doctors are concerned, he’s fit as a whistle, with no pressing concerns that should keep him up at night.

But he feels old now, in a way he didn’t even five short years ago. When he looks around, the signs of his age reflect back. His hair isn’t as thick as it used to be, still thicker than most but he can feel the difference when he washes up at night. His skin’s lost some of its elasticity, a paper-like consistency creeping in around his joints. Strangers have started to hold doors open for him when he's out on his own. More than a few times now, he’s been asked by a fresh-faced juvenile if he qualifies for a senior discount.

It's not just him either. His niece is almost an adult, long weedy limbs beginning to steady into a permanent shape. She's looking at universities, her exacting list of demands narrowed down to an aggressive handful of final round picks. His little sister’s hair has gone grey, streaked and wild. It's been years since Roy's needed to step in to cover a last minute emergency. Sarah's become a hit on the lecture circuit, and years of extra shifts have given her a cushion of stability that she can rely on outside of her brother.

And Jamie, sulking at the other end of the couch, has crows feet the flutter from the corners of his eyes whenever he smiles. He’s not smiling now, but Roy can still make out the faint outline of them below the skin. The sight of them has become a familiar ache; when they first met, Roy already had those.

Somehow, Jamie’s still not the age that Roy was when they first met.

At some point he’s gone from patting the calf under his hand to holding it close, warm and heavy and familiar from hundreds of evenings spent watching the highlight reels on Sky Sports.

He gives it a quick squeeze. “Let me up.”

Jamie swings his legs off of his chest. Then he shimmies around, and before Roy can complain, he crawls over to collapse against Roy’s side. Roy lets his arm drop around his shoulder, holding him close with an ease that’s taken years to weave under his skin.

He wouldn’t trade it, not even for youth. Not even for more time.

“You realise it’s not fair the other way around, right? Me watching you die before me.” Awful, the way his throat goes thick at the mere thought. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going anywhere any time soon. Short of being hit by a bus, you’re stuck with me.”

Jamie exhales. He’s tense, and without thinking Roy rubs his arm.

“Not saying I wanna die any time soon either. I’m just saying, it’s shit you’re likely to kick the bucket first.” His forehead digs into the bone of Roy’s shoulder. “Don’t know what I’d-“

He cuts himself off, sucking in a breath.

While he tries to compose himself, Roy does the same. Still sounds rough to his own ears when he points out, “This conversation sucks.”

Jamie snorts, a little wet and more than a bit thick. “Your fault, you grumpy old bastard. What were you thinking, being born fifteen years sooner than me like that?”

“Probably that someone had to be ready to look out for your sorry arse when you showed up.”

Jamie wriggles, his arms snaking their way around- one between Roy’s back and the cushions, the other curled over his front like a safety belt, until they meet around the other side, one lapped over the other.

“Yeah,” says Jamie softly. He hugs Roy like if he holds on tight enough, he can give a few years back. “Thanks for that by the way.”

Fifty years pin Roy down against the weight of the living; mentally, he vows to do everything in his power to hang on for another fifty more.

“You’re welcome.”

[harmonysanreads]

Y'all know who Sunday low-key reminds me of?

[wikiangela]

seven sentence sunday

I wasn't gonna post anything from this one bc it's so close to being done I might just post it within a day or two (no promises tho lol) but I'm loving it so much and I can't resist posting a snippet haha

so here's a bit of my 7x06 tommy's pov fic!

___

(...) “my sister finally married the love of her life,” a kiss to Tommy’s chin, then another, and one more, and Tommy laughs again. “And I,” Evan grins against Tommy’s lips as he kisses him again, “I have a really hot date to her wedding.”

“Yeah, straight out of a fire.” Tommy smirks and bumps their noses together, and Evan laughs, Tommy drinking in the adorable sound. It all feels- it feels intimate, familiar, more than it should be at this stage.

“Mhm, even hotter now.” he leaves one more kiss on Tommy’s lips. “And I’m just- I’m really happy you’re here, Tommy.” Evan pulls away, this time enough to look into Tommy’s eyes, his own shining excitedly, face softening, as he whispers, with something like awe in his voice, “You made it.”

“Of course.” Tommy answers earnestly, feeling a fond smile pull at his own lips, his chest swelling at the look Evan gives him, something so affectionate and wonderstruck – he doesn’t think anyone has ever looked at him like this. It could be overwhelming, if he didn’t feel the exact same way. “We had a date.”

___

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[marypickfords]

Judy Garland and Deanna Durbin in Every Sunday (Felix E. Feist, 1936)