#IT WAS GODDAMN LUCK

[acesammy]

Ugh man I am so not looking forward to work tomorrow

[isjasz]

[Day 194]

have been losing my mind over math all day so i decided to draw them also losing their minds over math 👍

[speakofcompersion]

Happy anniversary, Circle ♡

[hitlikehammers]

on the radio

rating: t ♥️ cw: criminal-levels of softness, love beyond the boundaries of what it even meant to love before the spring of ‘86 ♥️ tags: established relationship, rockstar!eddie, teacher!steve, rockstar husbands, tour dates coincide with summer vacation because Eddie can't sleep without his Stevie thank you for your cooperation with this policy, soul-deep love, slice of life, softness

for @steddielovemonth day fourteen: Love is being late to work because you can’t ever say goodbye in a reasonable amount of time (@sharpbutsoft)

more codependent rockstar!husbands of the je ne regrette rien variety, you say? oh, well, I mean: I guess ♥️

Steve can fucking taste freedom, he swears.

He looks at the list of student records he needs to close out to transfer to the high school before he can pack away the last of his office and sign the hell off for the school year—and start the summer tour cycle with his husband through the Midwest, up and down the East Coast, and then they’re fucking breaking Europe, got signed on to a couple festivals, and Steve is goddamn vibrating with excitement and shit, just: are there parts of your heart that like, fit together? Like bones where they connect and shit, or is it all just one piece?

Steve thinks is more like one piece, but he is gonna go with that it’s more like stitched together or something, just so he can fucking say exactly what he feels, which is that his whole goddamn chest—heart and ribs and lungs and all the other fucking bones and shit there—all of it’s seriously bursting at the seams just with so much fucking pride, okay, because his Eddie’s goddamn made it. This dream of his isn’t just gold records; it’s a plane across an ocean to play for tens of thousands of people who don’t even all speak their language and that’s…that’s just like…

Steve’s so goddamn proud he’s split between wanting to scream about it from the top of the school and maybe sob about it with all kinds of sappy declarations peppered in as he messy-cries, so: bursting at the seams. Heart in his chest so full it’s primed to just explode like a goddamn confetti cannon.

Though time has kind of served as testament to the fact that that sensation’s less exclusively about Eddie’s music, or his success, and more just about Eddie.

Eddie, and loving him beyond the boundaries of any understanding Steve ever had about what it meant to love before the spring of ‘86.

He’s almost through the ‘V’s at the end of his alphabet of names when he notes the time—shit, he almost missed it.

He reaches for tiny radio in the corner of his desk that literally just lives there for the purpose of Eddie and the boys doing interviews on local stations every so often, and tunes it in 93.9.

…elcome to most of the infamous lords of midwestern metal, Corroded Coffin, the DJ’s introducing and good, Steve sighs and flips through his…fifth-to-last folder—just in time, he can listen to the interview the guys are squeezing in before hitting the road, then he can get home while the band’s getting their flight to the first venue in Chicago, they’ve got a couple of days there and he and Eddie are planning to look at some houses; Erica’s out of high school they’re ready to make the leap, and Steve will take the 6:10 flight and head straight to the show like the often do, it should work perfect; it’s great to have you guys back but Jeff, I gotta ask, the maybe most…colorful?

You can say obnoxious, Lenny, if anyone knows, we do, Jeff’s shooting playfully, and Steve snickers, distracted by closer folder-number-five and flipping open number-four.

I would never, the DJ gasps theatrically to laughter, and Gareth’s muted holler almost like he’s here! and then he continues on; that does open the line of inquiry, though: where’s your notorious frontman, Mr. Munson?

Steve’s hand slips on the folder; he barely catches it before it falls to the floor.

Eddie…Eddie’s not, not there?

Steve tries to talk down the adrenaline response that’s never wholly died at the idea of the love of his fucking life gone missing, and worse, the idea of something happening to him while unaccounted for: Jeff was playful. Gareth was teasing. They have to at least have known somethingabout Eddie’s absence, Steve talks down his racing heart to something just a little anxious as he listens for clues, and doesn’t have to mine little hints or anything even, it’s clear and plain:

Eddie’s got a sore throat, so like the diva he is, he’s resting it before showtime, Dougie chiming in and yeah, two points to that: one, the only reason Eddie’d have a sore throat would have been fine by sun-up, yeah, and it was, because Eddie was all sunshine and manic energy when they parted ways that morning, and then two: Steve actually knows these guys well enough to be able to tell when they’re talking out their asses.

And Doug is maybe the worst liar of the three on-air.

Steve’s chewing hard on his Bic, trying hard to keep a level head about this: if anything drastic had happened, he’d have heard, they all have his office number, they all know where he is, it would—

Steve startles when he hears rubber squeaking down the hall outside the office; as far as he knows, though, he’s the only person here—everyone else takes at least a week free from this place after classes end, but Steve has a timeline, and a flight to catch, so y’know: sacrifices must be made and whatnot.

He barely gets to turn in his chair to consider getting up to check when the culprit and his perpetually-trashed Reeboks skids to a halt in the doorway.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie beams at him, a little breathless, hair a fucking mess but smiling so big, those dimples popped so deep: shit, if Steve’s heart hadn’t been quick already, that’d fucking do the trick.

“Eddie,” Steve stands, and meets him in the middle where Eddie’s already crossing to him, kissing him immediately and hungrier than the maybe-five-hours since the saw each other really fucking merits. “What, you, why aren’t you at the station?”

Eddie’s eyes flick to the radio as he clocks the question and of all the reactions Steve could predict from him, the fake-sheepish grin with the glimmering fucking eyes?

Probably could have guessed that one.

“I forgot something.”

“You forgot something?”

“Yeah, something important,” he nods fervently and Steve frowns.

‘Babe, you could have called, I’m meeting you at the arena, I could drop it with security if needed to,” he offers, argues: but not really, and not like it fucking matters, because here Eddie is, and the boys were planning to run straight to the airport from the interview, both of which are in the city but Steve’s not, and Eddie’s gonna have to be fucking quick, here, if he doesn’t want to be late for his goddamn flight; did he already swing by the house for whatever it is he needs, it—

“Nope,” Eddie pops the denial like a bubble; “can’t leave it with security.”

Steve squints at him, because now it’s a puzzle. Now it’s Eddie being…kind of a little shit.

And Steve doesn’t even begrudge him the momentary panic before; he’s too adorable. Steve’s too fucking in love.

And now he’s curious.

“You kissed me goodbye.”

“Oh, always,” Eddies almost offended by the suggestion he could have forgotten that. As in: ever.

“Said you loved me.”

“Bigger than the universe,” Eddie says exactly what he came up with that morning, like he does every morning, some new outlandish way to describe the scope of his affections and Steve rolls his eyes but eats it up every fucking time; “and the universe is always expanding so I love you bigger than what it’s expanded to since this morning, too.”

Steve can’t help but kiss him for that, because; well.

Because.

“What the hell else then?” Steve asks, because Eddie has a fucking timeline here and then his husband’s grin stretches slow, and sly, and then he’s drawing Steve in, and kissing him deep, licking as far as he can reach and wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist tight, knocking him a little off balance by design and Steve goes with it, because he fucking loves it, and then—

“Goddamnit, Edward,” Steve growls between them into Eddie’s shit-eating fucking grin as he smacks Steve’s ass, again, and keeps his hand there to squeeze while he pecks at Steve’s lips with feeling.

“It’s good luck, baby, for the journey!” Eddie protests between kisses. “It would curse the whole shebang if I left without showing the appreciation duly accorded to a goddamn masterpiece,” and then he leans in and goes deep one more time, draws a moan out and drags it slow from Steve’s lips before breaking away to declare emphatically:

“Unthinkable.”

And Steve…Steve fucking loves this man bigger than the whole expanding fucking universe or whatever, so he kisses him back until Eddie’s the one moaning, then pushes him away, kinda hard.

“Get out of here, you fucking lunatic,” but then he’s quick to drag Eddie back for one last kiss to mouth against him: “have a safe flight, I’ll see you tonight.”

And Eddie smiles against him, and makes to actually listen, but.

Not before Steve slaps that ass as it makes its way out the door.

Turnabout’s fair play.

Or whatever.

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson

♥️

divider credit here

[willowser]

aww you know, i actually really do like the idea of double boy dad bakugou 🥺

your first son being a little angel and you and katsuki are both perfectly satisfied, and then maybe another bug comes as a surprise a few years later and he turns out to be a heinous little menace — and katsuki didn't think he'd love having a brat of a child so much 🥺

[intotheelliwoods]

if I had a nickel for each rottmnt trend I set I would have 3 damn shiny nickels

[blog-of-frontiers]

Trying to open a tiktok link on desktop or on mobile without the app is fucking barbaric. You have to click like three different buttons and slide around a stupid turing puzzle and by that time the entire thing is over. That being said I am not downloading that fucking app again and will simply never be clicking another tiktok link ever

[honeypleasejustkillme]

i hope i die soon

[lacomandante]

HELLO i'm alive, I just barely survived 9 days in Girona doing costumes for Assumpta's short film reels.....and immediately after we came back I had to do some frantic sewing in time for the week of events planned for the Dos de Mayo. I met up with some new friends I had met at the Museo de Traje two weeks or so earlier, and my Spanish has improved SO MUCH during my time here. I am so happy and having SO much fun. I based this spencer off of one Assumpta wears in Rossini, Rossini!, and had two days to make it. I did my hair how Teresa's looks in a snood in Company, but made a madroñera instead- it's a little lower class than Teresa would've worn, I think, but it was appropriate. (I want to make all of the costumes Assumpta wears in her films and make a pre-war Teresa wardrobe, though I'll be remaking this red spencer!) Over the course of the week we walked through many parks, got to see the changing of the guard, we went to many palaces, and I got to participate in the Dos de Mayo parade and battle, which was insanely cool, and where the first two photos are taken! I also got to go to a wonderful ball and danced with all my friends, which I'll post photos of soon. Now that the events are over, I'm rereading Sharpe's Command bc I have my review in my drafts and want to revisit it.

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

This bitch got an interview!!!

I scheduled an interview, then immediately received a text from the interviewer that she wouldn't be in tomorrow due to a family emergency and asked if we could reschedule next week, so next week at some point I have an interview!!!

[callmegodorvega]

I’m rereading PJO because the new series is coming out on Disney + and I wanted to refresh my memory and I was thinking about Percy earlier and how this kid has so much nerve, like the audacity this kid has, dueling a GOD, the god of war no less. And the way he can almost never keep his mouth shut. Always making silent remarks, making enemies out of being you do not want to make enemies out of. Like, wtf? Idk if this is bravery or stupidity? Probably a bit of both, and that got me thinking, you know who this loudmouth, sassy, sarcastic little shit reminds me of???

Guess.

Neil Fucking Josten.

Oh my gods.

Like.

I remember when I first read aftg, I thought, “huh this Neil kid reminds me of someone” and I could never figure out who, now I know, it’s PERCY JACKSON

They are the SAME character in a different font.

The sassiness? The sarcasm? The nerve? The impulsiveness? The recklessness? The bravery? The stupidity? The quick thinking? The inability to keep their mouth shut? The undying personal loyalty??? To the point it’s a fault????

Even the inner monologues are similar.

No wonder I’m so attached to both of them.

Anyway, just wanted to share my thoughts

Thank you, and goodnight

[valka-arialitan]

I'm working on something, guys.

Don't know when it'll be done

But it'll be done.

Better late than never.

[zeb-z]

Listen all I’m saying is this really is Purgatory for Cellbit, specifically. The whole reason he’s been going on his ‘give into anger and take revenge’ arc is because the Federation is responsible for taking him as a child and putting him into wars exactly like this. Now he’s back in such a similar situation, needing to fight to survive, kill to win, and it’s just re-traumatizing him again. Like the whole reason he’s out murdering is because he went through all this when he was like thirteen. It especially doesn’t help that Bad, who was with him before, is the one targeting him and his team members so badly. Like yeah of course he snapped so quickly, immediately confessing to killing the workers. In a literal hell for him, with no other idea of how to escape this, he confesses his sins, because he might as fucking well - nothing could be worse than what he’s reliving.

[stabbyfoxandrew]

last night i got so frustrated trying to fight, i mean WRITE, arsonist neil that i turned my laptop off and read half of a (very bad) book. and now i'm like 'well i have to write because if not i'll have to go back to the book'

TwT

[raineandsky]

#98

“And lo! Here approaches my best knight,” the king announces to the jester as the knight squeezes through the door. The poor jester looks thankful to see her as he hurries out of the king’s gaze. “Come, show me your skill.”

The knight throws a few carefully angled swings for the king. He watches with a delighted expression, but she can see the soullessness in his eyes. Her stomach flips uncertainly.

“You are an excellent swordsman, knight,” he says flatly. “Now, tell me, why should I allow you to stay within my walls?”

The jester averts his gaze awkwardly. Is she about to get fired? “… Because I’m an excellent swordsman and your best knight,” she tries, and the king huffs in his telltale way of saying WRONG.

“Perhaps that was on me for being unspecific.” He picks up a wine glass from the golden table next to his throne, swirling it idly. “I hear you liaise with dragons.”

The knight’s attempt to keep her expression neutral fails miserably. The king watches with keen interest as her eyes widen and her mouth moves in an abysmal attempt to form some sort of defence. She’s acutely aware of the jester watching curiously too—whatever she says next will be the castle’s gossip for the next month. Maybe two if nothing of interest happens before then.

Well shit. Might as well fall into treason headfirst.

She reaches a hand into the front of her breastplate, earning a soft squeak from something inside. The king leans forward on his throne. The jester peers as close as he dares.

Her hand comes back with a short purple string laced around her fingers. Or she does at first glance, and closer inspection reveals her ribbon to be a tiny dragon, yawning and digging tiny claws into her fingers.

The king roars so loud the dragon startles. The knight and the jester don’t fare much better. “Beast!” he howls.

“Beast! Beast! Beast! Beast!” the room echoes back to them.

“You bring this creature within my walls?” he demands. “You slander my name—my rule—with your disregard to my kindness for you?”

“She’s harmless!” the knight cries over him. The dragon isn’t a fan of the racket, and is making a great effort to slip up her sleeve. “She looks after my finances.”

“Disgusting beast,” the king spits.

“The dragon,” the jester says quietly, valiantly ignoring the way the king’s stare snaps to him, “is your accountant?”

The knight fishes a coin from her pouch, gently tapping the dragon with its edge. Its gaze snaps to her gold, its past endeavour with her sleeve forgotten as it grapples for her coin. It twists its body around it excitedly, gnawing at the edge like a toddler, a quiet hum emitting from it as it does.

“That noise it is making,” the king shrieks, “it is going to attack!”

“No!” the knight shouts over him. “It’s like a cat—she’s purring. It means she’s happy.”

“Dragons do not purr,” the king retorts, but the dragon is undeniably making a noise that sounds remarkably like purring. The jester takes a cautious step closer.

The knight tucks her finger under her chin, giving it a hearty scratch. The dragon’s humming gets louder, her eyes closing blissfully at the touch.

“How does it… work?” the jester asks. The knight offers him a smile that she hopes conveys how grateful she is for his interest in the face of the king’s disgust.

“She takes my coins—my salary, my earnings, anything.” The knight adjusts her hand so the dragon sits more comfortably in her palm. She doesn’t seem to mind, too busy clamping her jaw around the gold to notice. “She keeps a hoard no one but her can find. I earned her trust, and whenever I need money she gives it to me.”

“She is a thief,” the king spits, but the rage is losing momentum in the face of such a cute little thing. The knight doesn’t miss how she’s suddenly not an ‘it’.

“I give her all the money she has. She’s just better at keeping money than most humans,” the knight says with a grin, “because she doesn’t spend it all in a tavern.”

The jester snorts. The king raises his eyebrows. Silence falls for a moment as they all watch the dragon get comfortable in the knight’s hand, her tiny body choking her coin, a claw wrapped around her thumb as she nestles in and closes her eyes.

The jester lets out a short “aww,” that’s louder than he probably intended.

“Tsch,” the king says. He leans back in his throne like he’s lost interest. “A beast is a beast. I am most displeased you were disloyal to my word, knight.”

“I apologise, your majesty,” the knight says. It’s all she can say, really. “I will fix things.”

“You… may keep the thing,” the king continues after a moment of intense deliberation. The knight attempts to not to look too surprised. The jester doesn’t even try. “But it is your accountant and nothing more. If I discover it torching my palace I will execute both it and you.”

“Accounting is what she’s best at, your majesty,” the knight says brightly. “You’ll never have to see her again.”

The king nods shortly, though his gaze is traitorously locked onto the purple ball in her hand. “I would not be adverse, knight,” the king says slowly, like he doesn’t quite want to, “if you felt it right to study. We did not know dragons purr, or like coin.”

“Your majesty?”

“Gather your resources and come back to me with knowledge of the beasts.” He waves a hand dismissively. “I will reconsider your treasonous actions if you can prove that your creature poses no threat to my rule or my people.”

A lot of questions are rattling through her brain. “Your majesty, what do—”

“That is all. Jester!” The king turns his attention away from her and back to the jester as he takes centrestage, looking a lot less stressed than before. He gives her a subtle nod and the lightest smile—a small gesture between the servants of the castle, a simple well done.

The knight leaves the hall with the king’s uproaring laughter following her. The dragon stays curled in her hand, and she runs her thumb over it carefully, the dragon’s body warm and prickly to the touch.

A knight to a scholar in one conversation. She doesn’t even know how to write.

[slythereen]

once again i am pleading with christian horner to realize just how cunty and diabolical and genius it would be to steal ferrari's golden boy aka toto's dream boy aka max verstappen's favorite rival