#then get mushy

[js589]

Another day, another installment of Everything I'll Never Say! Dear Lockwood is starting to realize that there is actually quite a lot he should say.

Part 3, Part 5

TAPE 1, SIDE 2, PART 2

[click] Well, George and Holly still think I'm an idiot, but I'm a correct idiot, so I'll take it. I just need to find the perfect job. It needs to be one that I couldn't refuse, of course, but more than that, it needs to be one you can't refuse, either. It needs to be a job that needs us. Both of us. It needs to be a job that needs you. [brief pause] [sigh] God, I hope this works. I don't—I mean, I do want you back. Here. With me. And George and Holly. At least, I want you back in my—our lives. But the only way that'll happen is if it's your choice. And the best way to do that is to show you that… that I trust you. That even if I don't understand how your Talent works and even though what you can do and the way you do it terrifies me. [brief laugh] I thought I was fearless, and then you showed up. And as much as I know you'll say there are things that scare you, honestly, I think you have me beat. From what I see in the papers, maybe that isn't as bad a thing as I thought. I did look into that collapsed house case. There wasn't anything you could have done differently; not without leaving someone else to die. I know you wouldn't do that. I still think you're safest here, with people who understand you. People you—hopefully—still trust. You can't use your Talent to its fullest with other teams, I'd wager. But we know about your abilities. And the Skull. Hope he's doing well, no matter what he thinks about me. Not like he ever had a favorable opinion of me to begin with, after all. He's not my first choice for company, either, but you're not alone with him around. Whatever else I may have said or thought, none of it was that you deserve to be alone. I know far too much about being alone. [long pause] Anyway, I need to find a case. Holly's been doing some looking, but—as much as it pains me to admit—we've got nothing worth your involvement right now. Maybe you're stealing cases from us. [awkward chuckle] We got desperate and had to resort to glorified pest control a few weeks back. Turns out gassing the rat colony living in one's cellar results in the new problem of dozens of rat ghosts. I mean, we could have told the old man that, but he's certainly older than the Problem and hadn't known. DEPRAC apparently had better things to do than salt the place, and really, for the job it paid well. Old chap said his grandkids wouldn't come over because they could hear the "infernal" scratching, and whatever he had to pay would be worth it. George said he was glad he couldn't hear it all because even what he could hear would drive him mad. I wonder what you would've thought. I wonder that a lot. [sigh] [muffled] God, I miss talking with you, Lucy. I mean, I talk with Holly and George, but it's just… it's not the same. Maybe—almost certainly—I give them too little credit, but I don't feel like I can tell them about everything the way I want to with you. More like I don't want to. And I know I wasn't good at not saying things I shouldn't, and when it comes to things I should say… [sigh] [long pause] Lucy, I… [muffled sigh, footsteps] [distant] God, what a pathetic idiot. Can't even say it when she's not here. [footsteps continue] What would I do anyway; show up on her doorstep on bended knee? Tell you exactly how I feel and how stupid I've been? Beg you to come back? Promise whatever you want? [weary sigh] No; I'm going to do this right. I'll get the business out of the way first. You deserve that. And then maybe— [unintelligible shouting from downstairs] [sigh] Well, business is business, I guess. [calling away from recorder] I'll be down in a minute! [fading footsteps] [silence] [click]

END OF TAPE 1

[tourmaline-dream]

the hand that drops his helm fists gently in her locs, holding her to him as she drags him closer by his cloak, closer, closer, never close enough

....

A rainy kiss for all you lovely people. I know we're having A Time right now but this fandom has been so invigorating to me as an artist and it's full of the coolest and most talented people and I'm happy to be part of it.

(sign the petition if you haven't already!)

[hardly-an-escape]

obviously being partnered/married isn't for everyone but sometimes I'm in the living room just hanging out and my husband is in the kitchen doing the dishes and I run in there for a second on my way to the bathroom or wherever and kiss him a bunch of times because!! that's my guy!!! that's my guy who lives with me who does the dishes and loves me and I can kiss him whenever I want and grab his butt!!! and it's really really great!!!!

[vanmarkus]

BUCKTOMMY + the stages of saying 'I love you' (x)

[ghostlyarchaeologist]

Evolution of Eliot/Hardison hugs over the years.

And the one time that Eliot really needed a hug:

Leverage S02E08/S03E10/S04E01/S04E07/S04E10/S05E09/Leverage Redemption S01E16/S02E06.

[junmail]

🤍 HAPPY JUN DAY ! 🤍

ok ok i wanna keep this short and mushy lol but this marks eight years I've been celebrating jun day and I'm a lil emotional, that's eight years growing up along side junhui and the fact he is turning 28 and I'll be turning 27 later this year but I first learned of him when he was 20 ... idk y'all I'm just full of love for wen junhui <33 there are truly not enough words to describe how much I have loved finding seventeen and junhui, he is so so sweet, funny, and beyond amazing - this hasn't been a smooth journey with junhui when huihui's felt like plds places him on the back burner a majority of the time but he still takes time to vlog his own schedules and posts on social media along with doing lives when he must be so tired bc he has been booked and busy this year and we're only in June ! I know he has so much more to accomplish but I am so proud of each and every milestone he has passed through the years and I cannot wait to see what more he has in store. the happiest of happy birthdays to wen junhui, I hope he feels all the carats love each and every day 🤍

[pileofmush]

In the dead of night, he crawls into your bed. 

Your eyes flutter open, but you already know who it is, for you are intimately familiar with the pad of his feet against the carpet. With the dip of your mattress underneath his weight. With the sense of calm that washes over you whenever he graces you with his presence. And that’s the best way to describe whatever you and the sorcerer have going on. Intimate—and familiar. 

You never know how to categorize it when your friends ask. 

Not friend, nor foe. Maybe both. Or maybe something in between?

There’s a tug of war inside your brain that struggles between wanting to tangle your legs with his under the soft press of your duvet, and wanting to climb atop him, wrap your hands delicately around his neck, and squeeze.

Most nights with him, you do neither. Just lie flat and stare up at the peeling ceiling tile, just barely illuminated by the midnight glow of the moon streaming through your blinds.

Some nights, you do both. Yuuta never seems to mind, either way. Says he just wants to be near you, as he wraps his limbs around you and pulls you to him, snugly. You play dead; go limp in his arms and count the warm puffs of air against the back of your neck like sheep.

It’s not normal, you know.

But it works for the two of you.

It goes like this: Okkotsu Yuuta is a lonely, lonely man, with too much heart and not nearly enough sense. 

It goes like this: You want to crawl into his skin, make home inside his chest.

And that’s really all there is to it. 

Tonight, you sit up and turn on the lamp that sits on your nightstand, casting a muted yellow glow over your surroundings. You blink, rub your eyes, and lift your head in greeting. 

“Hey,” he whispers, black eyes roving over you curiously. He seems alright—whole—though his shoulders sag with an inconceivable weight, and his eyebags speak of many sleepless nights. “What are you still doing up?” Gesturing to the clock on your nightstand that reads 3 am.

You hum. Press your tongue against your teeth. “Waiting for you,” you say, candidly. You understand he's a busy man. That he has responsibilities—'missions', he calls them. But it’s been two weeks since he last visited you. Far too long since the last time. Not long enough. 

At your admission, Yuuta’s mouth melts into a cotton-candy smile. “I missed you, too.”

…

You hadn’t said all that, but you’ll allow it.

Yuuta’s hand slips under the covers, searching for yours, and gives a firm, quick squeeze. He pulls away, reaches behind him and pulls off his navy blue sweater—the soft, cashmere one that you said would look good on him one relaxed day at the mall. The ministrations expose the taut, pale sheen of his skin as the hem of his tee slides up, and you have to breathe deeply to ground yourself.

He folds the sweater in his lap while you push the covers back, then leans over you to set it on your nightstand. Something about him hovering over you flips a primal switch within you, and without thinking you flip it so that it’s him on his back and you leaning above him. Yuuta, to his credit, doesn’t bat an eye. Gets settled between your thighs and waits calmly for…

For you to inhale deeply; to breathe him in and try not to choke. His scent is a cloying, sickly sweetness. A poisonous flower, luring you to something sinister. Begging you to taste him and face the consequences.

It’s a sight to behold, his dark hair fanned out against your pillow, his darkening cheeks, and his dark, dark gaze that pins you in place. 

His hands rest on the back of your thighs, flexing assuredly, and your hands rest on his rising and falling chest, then slowly trail up, up, up, to his cheek, his jaw, his neck. You pinch his skin gently between your thumb and forefinger. Feel his pulse jump in his throat. 

He swallows, and you feel the lump of spit travel down his esophagus.

Intimate—and familiar. That’s what you are to Yuuta. Who else can say the same?

Not one. 

Your hands smooth down to his shoulders as you slowly bend to his ear. Goosebumps prickle across his flesh as you whisper, softly, “Text me the next time you’re going to be away this long.”

Yuuta’s shudder is sinful. 

“I won’t,” he croaks, then backtracks. “Take this long again. I promise.”

Your lips twist into a wry grin. “Good.”

ty for reading (๑´`๑)♡ for my lovely anon, rosie <3

[magikkittenz]

i bet spy's a big 'ol softie when you get down to it

[vurelly]

sometimes i do not want to consume a media and justify my liking it by making it known that im aware of it's faults and loving it despite, sometimes i just want to love things wholly and unapologetically because it made me feel something and even if it was a little fucked up it did nothing to reduce the amount of love i held for it

im aware it's not perfect, but let me love it like it is, if only because it makes me happy

[jigsawcheeks]

Getting back into drawing fanart with some self-indulgent RadioApple

Bonus:

[gallusrostromegalus]

Me: Look, you know you're wildly sympathetic and like exploring the complexity of "villainous" characters in particular, but this fic is already enormous and you hate this guy, do you really want to expend the mental energy on making him into something else?

Also me: Hey, Disney was wrong about a lot of shit but he was fucking right when he said that a story is only as interesting as it's villain, and no matter what kind of monster they are, they also have to be appealing and interesting to watch. Tweaking this asshole to have some actual depth and sympathetic reasoning is solid storytelling.

Also Also Me: If I Doofenschmirtzinate the shitty little ICP wannabe war crimes "scientist" Mayuri it'll hurt more when I kill him :)

[gelatosushix]

Why do I always get sentimental over Inuokko reunions?

[ryuusea]

I miss sherliam they need to kiss and h*ld h*nds again soon

[myokk]

She hears him calling her name as she flees down the spiral staircase, almost tripping over her feet in her rush to get away from him, but he catches up quickly, reaching out to grab her arm in an attempt to slow her down. She stops running immediately - she supposes her traitorous body wants to see what he has to say, or maybe it just wants to bask in his intoxicating proximity. He crowds her space, and she sees that unfamiliar look in his eyes again. So very different from the cold disdain she had seen the last time she had been this close to him, during the argument that had ended their friendship.

Oh, Merlin, he's getting closer to her, and she can now clearly see the freckles dusting his cheeks and nose and forehead and then before she knows it, his hand is sliding up her arm, leaving goosebumps everywhere he touches and then he's caressing her jaw with his rough thumb and he pauses. Her eyelids flutter closed as her head tilts towards him - she couldn't stop herself even if she wanted to (what does she want?). She can feel his warm breath ghosting over her lips and she has the improbable, ridiculous thought - how is he remembering to breathe? - before he speaks. His lips brush against hers with every soft word and a deep shiver runs through her body.

"I," she hears him say, his voice so, so low, "haven't been able to think since last week."

That's all she needs to hear, the brush of his bottom lip against hers all she needs to feel, to push her into closing what minuscule distance there is between them and then his lips are on hers and it's better than anything she's been imagining. His mouth is soft against hers, insistent, and her hands go up to grip the collar of his plaid jacket to make sure he doesn't go away or disappear on her.

from my oneshot💘

[artiststarme]

The Corroded Coffin guys could always count on Eddie to write hardcore songs full of angst, songs that could make anyone feel something. It’s what made them such a hit to the drunks at The Hideout. After everything that happened over Spring Break, allegedly or otherwise, they expected to bear witness to the angstiest songs they could imagine. They thought they would hear tunes wrought with betrayal, heartache, pain, and anger.

Imagine their surprise when they came back to practice to a bunch of love songs.

Gareth could only stare at Eddie blankly while he demonstrated the new song on his guitar. He didn’t know what the hell he was hearing. Grant was glaring at the Warlock like the soft notes had personally offended him. Jeff was nodding along sagely to the beat of the music, always an ally to Eddie even when he was confused at the situation.

And Steve Harrington, the newest addition to join band practice, was sat in a metal folding chair looking at Eddie like he hung the stars. He’d never been serenaded before and the fact that it was Eddie doing it? It only made Steve love him even more.

[starsnores]

We are not just art for Michelangelo to carve He can't rewrite the aggro of my furied heart