#thinking about Them again

[fuusart]

The Case of the Very Long Stairway

[birdperselias]

"You kinda wasted your 30's, though, with that whole bird-watching phase."

[fiendishartist2]

ehehehe

[aramblingjay]

—The Song of Achilles, Madeline Miller

[nevermeyers]

[habunshu]

good afternoon jiankongers

[misteria247]

Do you think that one day Wanda looked at Timmy and realized that he was getting taller? Do you think that one day when Cosmo goes to grab Timmy's hands, he noticed that his hands were larger? Do you think that one day when Peri goes to hug Timmy that he realized that his arms can't circle him anymore?

Do you think that they look at Timmy and it's like getting stabbed someplace deep because it's so obviously clear that Timmy's aging. That he's not like them, no matter how much they've woven him into their family. That he's so fragile and mortal and human and that he'll one day be gone in the blink of an eye.

It's gotta be hard, being this immortal being, and getting attached to this small boy and falling in love with him only to be constantly reminded that this boy you love more than life itself is only with you temporarily. That one day you could lose him, because mortality has an expiration date. And time stops for no one.

[diazsdimples]

I think the first time Tommy gets sick, he'll try hide it from Buck but Buck's got this creepy 6th sense where he can tell something is wrong based off text messages and he turns up at Tommy's doorstep like "right, what's going on" and Tommy's just standing there dishevelled as hell, with a tissue hanging out one nostril because it won't stop fucking dripping, and he looks absolutely miserable, so Buck barrels in, ushers Tommy into bed and starts making him soup from the stuff he can find in Tommy's cupboards. And Tommy just lies in bed with a stuffy nose and a pounding headache, listening to muffled bangs and quiet swear words as Buck drops a pot on his toe, and realises that fuck, he could be falling in love with this guy. Buck comes in with a bowl of soup and spoon feeds it to Tommy, wiping the corners of his mouth with a napkin and kissing his nose after Tommy sneezes cause he finds it so cute the way it scrunches up, and when Tommy is done Buck pulls his head into his lap and brushes his fingers through Tommy's hair while he tells him about how first responders used to function before 9-1-1 was set up and Tommy slowly starts to fall asleep and for the first time in his life, he feels surrounded by love and feels cared for and seen and he doesn't hate being sick anymore because his Evan is here to take care of him and he vows that some day, he's going to marry that man.

[perilsensitive-sunglasses]

Husbands holding hands ❤️

[sporkberries]

Batgirl x Robin??? omggg I love batgirl x robin

[irisofmyeyes]

i love thinking about booth and brennan because why did they for so long think it was platonic to be that involved in each others lives and have those kinds of reactions when they were injured

the slow burn ate though

[enlitment]

-> Mary Shelley, hitting a nail squarely on the head

[day-sketches]

[lavendernlilac]

It’s late at night when Scar finally finishes up his rounds during patrol. He stands on top of a building, the colors of his Hotguy suit bright under the shine of the moon. He takes a look around, finding the streets of his city safe and quiet. He hasn’t dealt with much tonight besides a robber or two; typical.

He takes a glance at the time through his HUD display, wincing. 5:45am. Well, it’s not six in the morning, so that’s some sort of improvement. He lets out a sigh, shoulders sagging low. “Time to call it a night for this hot guy.”

Turning around, Scar takes off, jumping along rooftops with the braces of his suit pushing him forward. The air is crisp and cool as the breeze moves through the loose strands of his hair. They’re slowly approaching autumn, a thought that makes him smile faintly. He heads in the direction of home, but it isn’t his own apartment. No, no, it belongs to his other half.

It takes him roughly forty five minutes to reach his destination, stopping at the roof of the building right next to the apartments in front of him. Scar takes a careful glance around, making sure that there aren’t any extra eyes watching him. At most he finds a stray cat sitting on the fire exit stairs right by someone’s stairs that he coos at. Other than the cat, the coast is clear. Nodding to himself, Scar jumps down, landing carefully on the fire escape right by the window he’s looking for.

He gives the window a small test, pushing up on it. To his relief the window is unlocked, and he slips right inside the apartment. He climbs through, booted feet landing silently on the floor. Making sure to lock the window behind him, Scar takes a breath. He surveys the bedroom he’s in, the last bits of the moon spilling in through the window to create a streak of light. It’s just enough to light up the sleeping person in front of him, and instantly Scar softens at the sight.

See, he has the wonderful privilege of not only being a bodyguard to famous pop star Ariana Griande, but her boyfriend as well. Not that anyone knows about that second bit.

Taking a moment to simply admire his lovely girlfriend, Scar smiles softly. Her blanket is pulled up to her shoulders, one of her hands lying on the pillow next to her head. Grian’s glasses have practically fallen off her face, tilted and just barely clinging to her ears. Her long curls are splayed across her pillow, a few stray strands fallen in her face. He has to keep himself from giggling at the bit of hair in her mouth. The moonlight frames her perfectly, giving her a near ethereal glow as she sleeps comfortably under the covers. Scar has never been so enamored with someone before, so incredibly sure that she’s the only one for him.

Seeing her so cozy has Scar yawning, and he figures he may as well join her. He pulls his boots and bracers off, striping himself of the external parts of his suit. He’s left with the bare bones of it, just the pants and shirt. His bow and quiver sit against the wall, innocuous. Although after some thought Scar pulls his shirt off as well. Before climbing into bed with Grian, he sets his visor on the nightstand. He also carefully takes Grian’s glasses off her face so that they don’t break in her sleep.

He knows how much she hates wearing contacts, she wears them enough as is when she performs as Griande.

Glasses safe, Scar tiptoes around the bed, deeming it safer to get in on the other side. Standing at the edge of the bed, Scar cringes as the springs creak right when his knee touches the mattress. He powers through it, hoping to avoid waking Grian. And he thinks he does a pretty good job of it!

Scar comfortably lays down on his side, facing Grian’s back. He scoots toward her, holding his breath as he ever so slowly wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her into his chest. He gets a hint of Grian’s strawberry scented shampoo and instantly relaxes, comfortable. This? This is the perfect way to end a quiet night of patrol. Scar sighs with content, pressing a kiss to Grian’s hair. He lets his eyes fall shut and—

“Well you’re here earlier than yesterday.”

He yelps at the sound of her voice, flinging himself back. “G-G-Grian!” he exclaims, startled. He sets a hand against his chest, feeling how his heart races. “Oh my gosh you scared me—how long have you been awake?!”

Grian laughs, the sound full of mischief and melody. “Would it make you feel better if I said you woke me up when you took my glasses off?” she asks. “I was already awake but I can pretend.”

Scar heaves a breath, shaking his head. “Of course you were awake as soon as I got in. You’re such a light sleeper.”

“Nah, I just sleep better when you’re here,” Grian sleepily answers, rolling over to face him. She greets him with a cheeky smile, and Scar can’t help but return it.

“Hi, beautiful.” He reaches for her once more, kissing her nose. Just like Grian, he sleeps a lot better with her in his arms.

Grian playfully rolls her eyes at him, affection soft in her expression. “Hi, handsome,” she returns. “Not hiding any injuries on me this time, are you?” She squints at him with suspicion through the darkness.

“No ma’am!” Scar denies. “Unless you count some little bruises, that is,” he amends after a moment, thinking about it. “Some robbers wanted to play tough rather than sitting still to wait for the cops. Not to worry though, they were no match for good ol’ Hotguy.” He grins at her, slipping his hand under the cotton shirt she wears. The act feels so natural, as he settles his palm against the middle of her back.

“Scar, your hand is cold!” Grian yelps as he touches her. “Out! You can touch me when you’re warm.” She frowns.

He looks at her with a small pout, “Oh Grian, you’d let me suffer with cold hands all by myself? After spending the night bravely fighting against evil?”

“Yes.” Grian doesn’t hesitate with her answer.

Scar ups the antics, pulling out the puppy dog eyes as he pleads with her. "You won't even warm me up?"

"You can put your hands under the blanket if you want them to be warm," Grian replies, refusing to give in.

"But Griaaaaan," he whines at her, looping an arm around her waist to pull her closer. "You're my favorite blanket."

"Scar!" Grian huffs at him, setting her hand against his chest. She sighs with fond exasperation, "of course you're not wearing a shirt."

Scar hums, nuzzling his cheek against her head. "I thought you liked seeing me shirtless?" he teases, pressing his cold palm further against her back. He grins as he feels her shudder in his grasp. "Gets you all weak in the knees."

"Oh my god, shut up and get under the covers before you start freezing." Grian moves back to let Scar pull the blankets up, giving him room.

Wasting no time, Scar joins her under the covers with a content sigh. He feels the warmth almost immediately, and Scar practically melts. "Oh sweet warmth, I could fall right asleep just like this," he hums. "Although, something is missing." Meeting Grian's eyes, Scar grins at her before reaching out, pulling his girlfriend right into his chest once more. And just to be extra mischievous, Scar slips his hand under her shirt again. Though, some of the effect is lost now that his hand is a bit warmer. "There we go. Now I'm all ready for bed."

Grian huffs lightly at him, tucking her head under his chin. He smiles as her arm wraps around him, scooting closer. "I'm glad you're not hurt," she mumbles to him. "Else I would've had Skizz track those guys down so I could give them a piece of my mind."

Scar laughs in return, the sound full of warmth as he runs his fingers through her hair. "I'm a superhero, sweetheart. It's a part of the job description."

"I don't care," Grian grumbles, pressing her lips against his chest.

His chest swells with affection, and Scar squeezes her in his arms. "Maybe I should start calling you Hotgirl then," he teases.

Grian pinches him, "Absolutely not, if you call me that I'll lock my window next time you want to sneak in late."

He laughs again, and god he loves this girl. He'd give her the whole world if she asked him to. He'd steal the sun right out of the sky just to gift it to her to see her smile if he could. Scar doesn't care what price he'd have to pay, he'd do anything to make Grian happy, to keep her happy for as long as he lives. He moves back, looking down at her. "I love you," he says, voice soft like honey, vibrant and thick and so painfully sweet.

She smiles at him, reaching up to cup his face in her hands. "I love you too." Grian pulls him down, pressing their lips together with soft intention. Scar melts into it with ease, like it's as natural as breathing; with Grian it is. There's nothing easier than being with her. He moves his lips against hers lightly, nipping at her bottom lip. Grian sighs quietly, one of her hands moving to tangle in his hair, pulling it out of the ponytail he keeps it in. Scar pulls her closer against him, pressing his lips a little harder against her.

Grian lets him move her, feeling him nudge his knee in between her legs. His thumb strokes her back lovingly as he nips at her lip once more, earning himself a pretty, yet muffled noise from her.

Yet before they can go any further, Grian pulls away, breathing heavy as she looks at him. Her hand remains in his hair, strands tangled around her fingers. "As much as I love where this is going, you've been out all night and haven't gotten any rest," she says.

Scar pouts, but doesn't argue against her. He is tired. He sighs dramatically, "I guess going to sleep would be better than staying up and having a good time with you."

Grian groans at the pun on his name, knocking her head against him. "You're insufferable. Go to sleep, Scar."

He chuckles at her reaction, bundling her up in his arms. "Alright, alright. Good night, my pretty bird."

"Good night, Scar," Grian sighs softly, setting her head right under his chin, embracing him. "...thank you for coming home in one piece."

Scar lets his eyes fall shut, tucking his face into her hair. "For you? Always."

[flowercrowngods]

He’s not entirely sure what wakes him, something between instinct, experience, and the dreadful gut-feeling that something is very, very wrong. A voice in the back of his head calls it the telltale sound of nightmare, of fear, of a child that seeks protection. That same voice wants to call it the sound of fatherhood, but it’s shut away before it becomes too loud every time.

Either way, they wake him. The groaning of the bed springs, the creaking of the floor board just behind the door before it opens with a squeak. And then the sound, barely there, of slow steps, old wool scraping over polished wood and worn carpet.

They come to a stop six paces before the couch.

Hopper counts to five before he turns to look which one of the kids it is.

Steve. Of course. El doesn’t come to him, not really. She goes to Steve if she can’t sleep, knowing he’ll be awake. The kid is always awake — and Hopper is almost glad for it, having heard his nightmares. For how quiet he is throughout the day, he sure doesn’t hold back at night.

El mentioned something a few days ago about visiting him in there to make it quiet, but they haven’t figured out how to do that yet. Steve mentioned something about sensory deprivation, but Hopper hasn’t gotten around to finding out more without being suspicious.

Really, the silence of the night should have been a dead giveaway that Steve wasn’t sleeping. It’s the third night, as far as Hopper knows. Three nights without sleep is grounds to worry, sure; but then the things he worries about are countless, so really it’s just one thing among many.

Steve rarely comes to see him, though. It must be really bad then. They made a deal after Christmas.

You come to me. Next time you wanna run, you come to me, understand that? I won’t pick you off the floor half frozen to death again next time, kid, so you got a problem, you come to me, alright?

Steve had only shrugged, and Hopper had wanted to punch him, to pull him in and hold him for a while and then shake him and command him to just fucking talk. He had pulled him in, clapped his shoulder and ruffled his hair before sending him to go eat his dinner.

And now there he is, standing in the middle of the cabin that seems to get tinier by the day, wringing his hands in the dark.

“What is it?” Hopper grunts as he sits up, wincing at how rough his voice sounds. Way to go getting him to talk, idiot.

“Uh…”

Hopper waits, but Steve doesn’t say anything more than that, and understanding dawns. The pit of dread grows, and Hopper sighs, leaning his head against the backrest of the couch.

“It’s Wednesday.”

Steve stares.

“Wednesday, February twenty-second.”

Steve stares, and Hopper hates this.

“It’s Wednesday, February twenty-second, 1984.”

Steve stares, but he inhales now. He breathes. He’s alive. Hopper wonders if he needs a reminder of that, too.

But then he nods, slowly, a little too long. Hopper doesn’t know what to do. He hates this, he hates this, he hates this. The urge to punch something is strong; but at least this time he doesn’t wanna punch the kid. He never actually wants to punch the kid.

“I don’t know what to do,” Steve says then, and it’s a whisper into the cold night that damn near breaks Hopper’s cold, tiny heart in two.

He’s struck by deja-vu. His daughter standing by his bed at night, her bunny clutched tightly to her chest, a sniffle interrupting the silence and waking him up. A nightmare woke her up, and the rain sounded scary, and she wanted to go back to sleep but she didn’t know how.

“I don’t know what to do, daddy.”

“Come here, that’s what you do.”

“Come here,” Hopper says, lifting his blanket in an invitation, and he wonders if Steve even sees it in the darkness. If he even has his eyes open. If his vision isn’t blurred with those silent tears he’s so good at hiding.

After a moment, silent steps approach him, and Hopper is surprised that he listened. The kid must really be tired, then. And scared. Shitless, probably.

But he comes. And he didn’t run. And he’s not freezing to death outside in his pyjamas.

It feels like a win. A heartbreaking, angry little win that leaves Hopper with the urge to burn this whole world to the ground and rip reality to shreds. But still, somehow, a win.

[free-my-boy-grumbot]

scars elven kiss cookies teleport you into scars arms so he can kiss u btw. not that you care