#the groove relation

[notbecauseofvictories]

it takes years for terry pratchett's books to get consistently good. I would argue that the series doesn't really hit its stride until Feet of Clay, which means that pratchett was writing and being published for 12 years before he found his groove.

and I genuinely can't imagine that. in part because I do think that pratchett's publication calendar looks different than what's expected of writers today---he had about 2 books published per year for his entire career. he must have been writing furiously, and the publisher must have relatively quickly gotten these to press.

but also....I just can't imagine any modern-day publisher keeping an author on their list for twelve years, unless that author is a prestige get or a constant presence on the bestseller list. And what does it say about the state of publishing that you can't go on publishing someone's good-but-not-revelatory books until they figure out what story they're trying to tell?

[thefamilyhat]

um um, if ever y0u c0me back t0 a hat in time 0r have the urge t0 d00dle s0mething um um. Dj gr00vez plz **blink blink**

its funny to get this ask cause I was literally doodling some DJ Grooves yesterday this is a sign!!

Been happy to actually draw him! He is really fun to draw :]

[mx-nada]

gaty!!!!!!

[i-am-a-secret-ssshhh]

I have never related more to a character than when Kronk said, completely seriously,

"There's a "me" in "mediocre"."

[flowercrowngods]

yearning hours (bonus track)

🤍 also on ao3

Seeing Steve like this always makes Eddie feel like he’s suddenly in on some secret of the universe. Like he knew nothing prior to this moment, like history is rewriting itself around the two of them just now. It makes him feel like the boy he is — young, stupid, with no idea about the world and what lies beyond, and absolutely in love with another boy. 

The light of the full moon catches in his hair, painting it silver and covering him in a sheen of light that Steve knows to wear like a second skin. He’s calm out here, his legs dangling over the abyss of the quarry, his hands in his lap, his chest rising and falling steadily. Slowly. Evenly. Eddie wants to reach out and hold his hand over Steve’s heart just to feel it against his skin, just to give his own some direction; to get it right. 

No frown between his brows, no tension in the line of his shoulders, no clenched jaw or balled fists. 

He looks beautiful like this; a playing field for light and darkness that treat him like an old friend that comes to visit, to stay just for the night. 

Steve is beautiful. And Eddie gets to watch; take it all in, the silver light on the bridge of his nose, the shadows underneath his lips, the dried trail of old tears, telling a glistening tale of the heart that combines history and future. 

Eddie watches as Steve stares out at the quarry, his eyes fixed somewhere in the darkness, unaware of his surroundings as he loses himself in that freedom he makes for himself every night he is out here. The freedom he is willing to share with Eddie, apparently. 

It’s a privilege. An honour. And still all Eddie can do, all he wants to do, is look at Steve and watch him and see. Justbecause he can. Because Steve won’t tell him to stop, because he won’t ask him about it, won’t duck his face or skip away from Eddie’s smile or his hands or his silent confessions whispered into his very own thoughts. Not here, not in the darkness. Not anymore. 

He wants to reach out and take that hand that’s resting in Steve‘s lap, weave their fingers together and breathe a promise into the air between them. Wants to tug on that hand and make Steve fall into him, make their hearts pick up their paces because for just a fraction of a second they’ll think they’re about to lose their balance and fall. Fall down there, into the darkness, and never see the light again. 

A breeze picks up around them, brushing through Steve‘s hair and making it dance in the moon light. Eddie’s eyes follow with rapt attention, but still it breaks the spell of yearning and brings a question to the forefront of his mind. 

A question about calm, about darkness, about Steve and what that means. 

Lifting one leg from the abyss to wrap his arms around it and give his hands something to do, something to hold, Eddie asks, “You ever think about jumping?” 

Steve blinks once. Twice. Coming back from wherever he went while Eddie waits patiently and watches. 

“Jumping?” 

Eddie inclines his head even though Steve’s not looking. “Off. Down there. Y’know...”  He trails off. 

Steve blinks again, a frown between his brows redirecting the silver light on his face before he finally turns his head to look at Eddie. 

“No. Not uhm... Not jumping." 

Eddie takes it all in, trailing his gaze over Steve's face, searching for something he's not sure exists. This thing between them that's been growing steadily. This thing between them that has lead to quiet nights at the quarry, to Steve talking about bravery and jumping and all those things that aren't meant for daylight. 

"No? What then?" 

Eddie reaches for a pebble, scratching its smooth surface with the nail of his thumb because he’s feeling restless again and he needs something to anchor him. He always does, around Steve. The boy just makes him feel weightless and heavy and floating and sinking at the same time, and Eddie is always just along for the ride. Wouldn’t want to miss a second of it.

Steve musters him for a moment and Eddie can feel himself tensing up a little, aiming to seem nonchalant with the pebble in his hand, like it’s the most normal thing to do for a boy who’s not ready to be a man yet in a world that never even let him be a child. A boy who failed his senior year three times. A boy who’s endlessly in love with Steve Harrington. 

The golden boy. But he’s painted in silver now in this moment shared just between the two of them. Maybe Eddie is looking for symbolism where there is none, his mind clinging to romanticisations and narratives of beauty and belonging just to defy the bleakness of the world that grownups have always been so adamantly demanding of him to believe in. 

Maybe he’s blinded by infatuation, stupid and colourblind with it. Or maybe it means something that this gold-skinned boy is veiled in silver light as he’s looking at Eddie like that. 

Like he sees it, too. 

Like he can feel it, that something between them that’s been growing. 

And Eddie feels hope rising in his chest for a second, dares to let his heart skip and jump and race, brought to life by Steve’s eyes trailing down to his lips; and falling, when the boy only huffs. 

“Nothing. It’s stupid.” 

Eddie hums, pleading his heart to come down, a little bit terrified that Steve would hear it for how heavily and rapidly it’s beating against his ribcage. “Tell me anyway?” 

He loves it, the way Steve’s lips tug up into a smile. A shy, secret little one, illuminated and captured for all eternity by the moonlight for one second, two, before he turns his face away and looks down into the abyss again. 

“I like when you do that.” 

“What?” 

“Tell me anyway. It’s… It makes me feel not-stupid. Or like it’s okay, you know? Like even if it’s stupid, it’s still there, still worth telling maybe. Not an empty phrase. Just… Yeah. You know I’ll tell you anyway, Ed.” 

And what do you even say to that? Nothing. There’s nothing for Eddie to say because his heart is still racing against itself and winning and losing and falling ever after. 

Stupidly, he offers Steve his pebble. Wondrously, Steve takes it, his fingertips lingering on Eddie’s palm, electric and tickling, and they both huff. Breathless. 

“Falling,” Steve says at last. 

“Hm?” 

A twitch of his lips, looking over for the briefest of seconds before he focuses on Eddie’s pebble, rolling it between his fingers, placing it in the middle of his palm, and Eddie aches to take its place. To place his hand on Steve’s palm and hold him, to have Steve play with his fingers like that. To be the centre of Steve’s attention more than he already is. 

“It’s not about jumping. Just falling. And trying not to.” 

Eddie swallows, biting his tongue, not daring to speak now. His voice would waver, his heart would jump out and he’d be found out. So he watches. Listens. Longs. 

“I’ve never…” Steve trails off and closes his fingers around the pebble. “I’ve never been good at not falling.” 

It hangs in the air between them, boring into Eddie’s mind, his thoughts, his desires, and it leaves him reeling. Confused. Blinking. 

Steve doesn’t elaborate, though, and Eddie feels like he’s losing his mind. He’s been there, he’s done that, and Steve always makes him feel like he’s terribly close to that, but… There was something in his voice when he said that. The same something that’s in the air when they sit together, just a tad closer than is strictly necessary or acceptable. The same something that floats between them when their eyes meet and neither of them looks away — until they have to, with pink-tinted smiles on their faces. 

This something that is reserved in the universe; reserved for them. Reserved for Eddie and his crush that has turned into a flame, a bonfire that keeps him warm and sustained and safe so long as he doesn’t touch it. Reserved for Steve and the way he doesn’t duck his head to hide his smile anymore, the way he started laughing more around Eddie, and the way he always finds excuses to touch him, to linger, to stay. 

And so, with a voice that doesn’t quite feel like his, he asks, “Why are you trying not to fall?” 

“Because…” He shrugs, frowning at the pebble. “Because the landing always hurts, Eddie.” 

And I’ve already hurt so much. I’m already hurting so much. Can’t you see it? It goes unsaid, but it’s spoken still with the tiny shrug, with the tone of resignation, and the way his voice breaks on Eddie’s name. 

It breaks something inside Eddie, too. 

“Steve,” he whispers. Thought that if he said his name, it would be unbroken. It’s not, though, it’s just a name that hangs in the air now. 

Steve puts away the pebble, laying it gently between them, and Eddie feels colder for it. “Told you it was stupid.” 

“It’s not,” he hurries to reassure him, insistent and desperate for Steve to believe him. “I’m not judging or anything, shit, Stevie, I’m just…” 

“Just?” 

Just thinking that I would catch you. Just longing to fall with you. Not just for you. Always, always for you, though. 

But it’s too much; the words are bubbling inside him, too close to the surface, ready to break out and face the world, but Eddie swallows thickly until they lose their momentum. 

So he shakes his head and breathes deeply. Watches as Steve’s shoulders fall slightly as tension bleeds out of them. Maybe it’s better for the words to stay where they are. Unsaid. Secret. 

He wants to take the pebble back, but he feels paralysed. Maybe it’s one secret too many. Maybe it’s what will break him, them, this something between them. 

But looking at Steve now, streaked in silver and a loneliness that wasn’t there before, something settles inside him. 

“I would catch you,” he says, like it’s that simple. “Give it all to find a way. It sounds cheesy as fuck, and maybe it is, but Jesus, Stevie.” His voice is small, gentle like he’s never really heard it out of his own mouth, and he reaches out to tuck a strand of Steve’s hair behind his ear. It was never out of place, he just felt this ache he needed to soothe. Just wanted to touch Steve. He always wants to touch him. “I would find a way.” 

Steve looks at him, meets his eyes over the thrum of darkness and secrets, over the terrifying petrification that seems to have overcome them both, and over the hitching breaths and skipping hearts that guide the hand of fate. 

“Why?” he breathes. Like it’s just a word. Like it’s not Eddie’s entire heart and soul laid bare, Steve’s name embedded in weeks and months and years of simile and symbolism, deeply ingrained in his every thought now. 

“Because I want to,” Eddie says. Like it’s that easy. He leans forward, falling toward Steve to rest his head on Steve’s shoulder and being the one to hide now. “God, I want to.” 

It’s a whisper, but Steve’s shaking underneath him. Eddie is ready to bolt, ready to run, his hands wrapped around his middle protectively just in case he’s misreading all of this spectacularly. Hoping and aching and pleading that he isn’t. 

“Eddie,” Steve breathes, but doesn’t move away from him. He sounds a little lost with it, and Eddie is reminded of the hurt, broken little sound that was his name just moments earlier. It makes him snake his hand out from under himself to lay it on Steve’s thigh, palm up. Inviting. Offering. “You can’t just say shit like that, man.” 

Eddie huffs a breath he wasn’t aware he still had in his lungs when everything has turned into Steve and falling and catching and wanting. 

“Why not?” And there’s vulnerability in it, spreading its wings inside him, pushing back everything else he’s been feeling before as a different kind of the same reality comes crashing down on him. Why not? Because we’re boys? Because you’re Steve and I’m Eddie? Because I’ve been misreading this after all? 

He pulls away, but Steve does take his hand before he can get too far.

“Because I’m already falling. And falling and falling and falling, and there you are.” Steve’s hand comes up to his hair now, brushing it behind his ear to meet his eyes. “Pretty.” He sighs, leaving his hand on Eddie’s cheek. “What if it’s too much?”

“You?” 

“Me.” It’s rotten work. 

Eddie shakes his head. “Never.” Not to me. Not if it’s you. 

“‘M gonna start saying shit,” Steve murmurs then, his face impossibly closer now, and Eddie’s eyes trail to his lips. He doesn’t want to kiss Steve. Well, he does, and quite desperately in fact; but not right now. He wants to keep looking at him, wants to keep talking, wants to drink him in and just to be there. Make good on his promise. 

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Cheesy shit,” Steve grins, though it wavers in the moonlight. Still it makes Eddie’s breath hitch. “Like asking you to hold me. And never let me go.” 

Eddie smiles, plucking Steve’s hand from his cheek to rest it in his lap, playing with his fingers and marvelling at the feel of them. They’re so warm. Maybe Steve has that same bonfire inside him. 

He almost asks. Instead, what he says is, “And if I do that? If I hold you? And catch you. And never let you go. And tell you that you look really good in the moonlight, and all that cheesy shit…” They grin, Steve’s fingers twitching in his lap. “Would you let me?”

“Let you what?” 

Eddie swallows, his cheeks heating, his heart racing again.“Be the one you fall for.” 

“Eddie,” Steve breathes, and the sound is far from broken this time, spoken as it is around a smile, accompanied by eyes glistening in the moonlight. “You already are.” 

His heart is soaring. There is no other word to describe the feeling that overcomes him, body and soul, and he wants to scream about it, wants to laugh and cry and jump and fly. But all he says is, “Good.”

“Yeah?” 

And, God, he sounds so hopeful, so innocent, so purely and deeply serene that Eddie can’t help but move carefully until he’s standing, holding one hand out to Steve. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, laughing as Eddie pulls him to his feet and immediately wraps his arms around Steve’s middle, leaving him to bury his face in Eddie’s neck and wind his arms around him, too. 

“Just making good on that promise, Stevie. Gonna hold you til you’re sick of me.” 

“God, I love you,” Steve whispers into his skin, accompanied by another breathless laugh as he burrows deeper into him. 

Or, at least Eddie thinks that he said. Maybe he was the one who said it. Maybe he just thought it, made it feel real with how strong he's feeling.

But before he can so much as freeze with the onslaught of both possibility and reality, Steve’s hand comes up to his cheek again and he brushes a kiss to his neck, one to his jaw, and then one to his cheek, before returning to bury himself in Eddie’s embrace. 

Eddie closes his eyes and just breathes him in as they stand there, just holding each other. Falling and catching each other. Cradling their something new in trembling hands that tell the tale of two boys terrified and brave, and smiles that speak of future. 

yearning hours | yearning hours b-side

[whatsuptyler]

Me: I’m gonna work on this specific WIP for my next release

Also me: what if I work on this second, thematically similar but very different WIP instead?

Also also me: what if I work on this third WIP that has nothing to do with either of the other ones I outlined or started writing?

Also also also me: what if—

Me: I am never releasing another novel, actually

[hirazuki]

I think the common interpretation of Melkor spreading strife among the Noldor is that these anti-Valar rumors reached Feanor second- and third-hand... but think of the comedic potential of Melkor trying to gain Feanor's ear in person, in disguise, and being repeatedly blocked by various family members and thus turning to increasingly desperate and ludicrous ploys.

ps. his idea of an adequate disguise is changing one (1) aspect of his color palette and diminishing his stature to elf proportions XD

(Also! I have finally gone through my posts and tracked down all my crossover comic strips; I never expected to have so many ^^; You can now find them under the 'silmarillion's new groove' tag on my blog here!)

[54prowl]

all the king’s (wo)men

[booasaur]

From (2022) - 2x05

[im-not-buying-it-ether]

Seeing a villain/antagonist in youth: Awe, they’re like me!

Seeing their actions: Oh fuck this guy

Me: wait…

[sentient-trash]

Might draw some bill cipher art just to feel something

(He’s so simple to draw (and I’ve drawn him so much in the past) that it might just get me out of the worst art block (and depression) l've ever been in 👍)

[down-with-the-mafia]

grooves. dude. I love you. why do your movies suck

[autisticdjgrooves]

Y'all know those outlandish ships and opinions I was talking about.. here they are

Okay guys I'm gonna sound crazy rn but imagine walrus captain X conductor NOW HEAR ME OUT PLEASE I think. They'd be cute together plus they both operate modes of transportation match made in heaven guys

I also like snatcher X grooves so I think that says enough about my character I'm sorry just my onion

JUST A PREFACE I LIKE DISCOTRAIN TOO DISCOTRAIN TRUTHERS YOU HAVE AN ALLY IN ME I PROMMY

Speaking of my opinions here's some honorary hcs as my introduction to the ahit Tumblr community

We got the "conductor is part fire spirit" a true classic amongst fans but I fear I must mention the Horrors Incomprehensible to Mankind as well that occur within my interpretation but you have to get to know me to pry the horrors from my forked tongue

Me thinks that Grooves' guilty pleasure is just a little death metal in his playlist. He will however lie and say he doesn't like it

And worst of all; snatcher does that thing parents do where they see a meme and turn it into a lecture except it's stuff like Reddit AITA and rage bait and instead of a lecture it's him reciting his 50 step plan on how "if it were him he'd do this" and it ultimately ends with the downfall of humanity or smth

[nomatterwhatnomatterwhere]

Actual representation of me working on an assignment whose theme I chose :

Always me trying to understand WHY I chose that theme

My brain trying to understand what was I trying to say

Me during the whole writing process :

[crybaby-bkg]

been feeling v frustrated n a little scared recently bc I’ve genuinely had no desire whatsoever to write fics lately and. I’m not used to that. maybe it’s burnout?? I’ve experienced it with different things but never fic writing so it just feels really weird and oddly disappointing ☹️

[rainyinjanuary]

thanks sidney gish for getting me through year 10 and also today!