#and truly. ily so much

[swiftviolets]

a book you can definitely read on the train 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

pose by @antiquatedsimmer!

the original cover:

[jinstronaut]

i still orbit you, and nothing’s changed, but if there’s no name to love, everything has changed. (cr. namuspromised, lyric translation doolsetbangtan)

happy birthday @cordiallyfuturedwight 💜💜💜

[uncanny-tranny]

I'm still so amazed at how far medicine has come for trans people... being able to take hormones and get surgeries that are life-saving and life-affirming are genuinely such amazing feats and I wish more people understood that. Like, even if those aspects of transition do not appeal to every trans person, it is still so important to recognize just how important it is that trans people have options.

If love were a language, it would be science.

[starheirxero]

After revisiting your "came back wrong" comic, absolutely wonderful btw, I came to a rather haunting realization.

Because it became true. But instead of Bloodmoon, it's Eclipse. And that's both much worse(for the characters), and much better(for the narrative).

Because both him and Lunar went through the same, and in a way seem to parallel each other, though that's probably me overthinking.

Both of them died. Both of them were blown to smithereens. Both of them came back after several months. Both found themselves in a body not their own. We've seen what they look like in every other universe.

Both of them came back wrong.

Lunar came back numb, quieter than before, with all their energy being a play. He came back running from unknown danger. They died a normal animatronic, and came back being more.

Eclipse is the opposite. He came back louder, erratic, full of madness. Where Lunar is running from unknown danger, he is sprinting towards it, not realizing the consequences until it's to late. Not to forget the star. Eclipse died being somewhat of a god, and came back as nothing more than a plaything, a puppet on a string.

In a twist of fate, they can relate best to each other now, and that might be the worst part for both of them.

Because what is there to do? Even though they understand, even though, one day, they might glance at each other and wonder "Do you feel the same?", they will never be able to confide in each other. Their relationship is beyond repair, and for good reason. Eclipse hurt Lunar, used and ab*sed him, and then blew him up.

This also opens up so much emotional baggage. What will Lunar think? Will he wonder "Do you regret what you did now, knowing how it felt?" Will a part of him feel the smallest bit of satisfaction? Will they ever be able to look at him at all, or will they forever hide away?

What about Eclipse? Will he feel guilty? He seems aware of the damage he has caused the celestial twins, even telling Ruin that he deserves what's coming for him, but he still showed no remorse when he talked to them.

I'm sorry this got so long, I am incredibly emotional about this right now, and I can't even begin to describe, how this makes me feel-

ANON OH MY GHOD /POS

DID YOU KNOW YOU HAVE THE BIGGEST FUCJING BRAIN EVER. DID YOU KNOW YOU'VE CONNECTED THE MOST PERFECT DOTS KNOWN TO MAN. HOLY SHIT.

LUNAR CAME BACK AS MORE AND ECLIPSE CAME BACK AS LESS BUT BOTH CAME BACK WRONG AAIAUAUAYAGAGGGHHHHHH

[mossycakes]

can i ask why armand is your fav character? what qualities make him your fav? genuinely curious :)

not a question i was expecting! im not entirely sure. i just think hes so incredibly rich as a character. every single thing he does, good or bad, hurtful or not, can be explained. he always has a line of logic, or a splinter of trauma that explains perfectly why he does what he does. i think hes such a sympathetic character as well.

more comedically, i think hes very relatable as an autistic person in terms of being a bit weird and off putting. unfortunately i relate to that, lol, i have a bad habit of staring a lot and not talking very much. i think him in his director era in the theatre was genuinely hilarious, and i think he can be so sweet and genuinely romantic.

assad zaman captures him absolutely perfectly as well, and while i can't attribute him to all of my love (example, i watched the movie earlier and atill loved armands character, even though i believe film armand and book/show armand are two seperate characters, but thats another post) he definitely helps bring armand to life.

hes good looking, autistic, weird, has committed several atrocities, and at the end of the day still has the saddest most pathetic wet cat face of them all. whats not to love

[xayspancakeee]

just unlocked rafayel’s “hope against hope” over in abyssal chaos and this message comes in:

so stinking cute. (ฅ• . •ฅ)

[babygirlgiles]

I think my fic where Xander accidentally becomes a successful novelist (largely without realizing it) is the funniest idea I’ve ever had. This guy started writing little stories to remember their adventures in Sunnydale (his last line in Chosen about “how will anyone even know about this unless we tell them” burrowed itself into my little archivist brain and won’t let go) and posts them online. He unintentionally goes viral. He thinks someone named Simon N. Schuster is leaving him voicemails. He ends up on the New York Times bestseller list.

He doesn’t even realize that everyone else thinks the stories are fiction. Xander is out here writing autobiographical non-fiction but everyone else thinks he’s a weirdly dedicated author that’s really committed to maintaining a Lemony Snicket style pseudonym/persona for the narrator of his novel. There are “Who Is Xander Harris?” articles. No one can dig up much of anything on him because he lived his whole life in a town that got wiped off the map. He keeps rejecting requests for interviews because of his stage fright. At first this drives his publicist absolutely ballistic but it just adds the the air of mystery that’s drumming up book sales so she lets it go.

He only responds to questions over email and only ever responds “in character” as his “novel’s narrator” and this baffles everyone, only adding to the supposed mystery. It’s literally not even Xander actually writing the emails 95% of the time. It’s Dawn. She has appointed herself as “Xander’s representation” even though she doesn’t really know what being someone’s representation means. She printed business cards.

[jestarcana]

For the doodle requests: Ann from the Space Pirate AU :3? I really love her design :]

ABSOLUTELY!!!

[larabar]

never getting over how. melancholy im here sounds

the chords in the chorus sound a little more triumphant at first but it kinda just sounds like a half victory. the pain of the journey is still there, even at the end of it all. but its alright. i will be with you. im here

[itmeans-everything]

[taegularities]

just thinking thoughts

[lucienarcheron]

Happy birthday to SJM! Her books have changed my life in a way I never imagined and I'm thankful for the community and friends I've made along the way!! ♥️✨

[teddybeartoji]

MICKEY YOUR RB ON THAT SMOKER!SUGU POST………. oh i need . lore . so badly

ROOMIE!SUGU BEING A SMOKER MAKES SOOO MUCH SENSE OBVIOUSLY (my heart goes out to depression era sugu and his inherent need for self-destruction 🫡) but i must know …. does he. try to get you to smoke 😳😳 does he … shotgun you……… or does he steal any cigarettes you buy with a teasing grin so you never start………. i need answers so bad misu you are my otp always

(also <3 ily!!! remember to have yourself a nice big meal if you haven’t already!!!!! <33333)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA deep breaths deep breaths...

you're out to get me fr ari you're insane i love you so much. OKEOKE OKE SO we did have a lil talk abt this already buut yeah in the misu world.. roomie!suguru definitely smokes. we have a little balcony in our apartment too so he doesn't have to like.. smoke out of a window or go down the stairs which is nice. aaand we have two little chairs outside too aand a little table and then we have a few plants too (he takes care of those i am awful with plants..) AAAND this is our regular hangout spot!!!!!!!!!! smoking or not, we like to sit there a lot!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

ok now to the actual smoking lmao like i already mentioned i am not a smoker but i am not a Cigarette Virgin either so i don't have a problem if he smokes or not. i think smokers are hot and i'm not gonna lie abt he looks SO fucking good while doing it oh my god my heart is going to give out................................. so yeah i definitely grab one from him every so often bc why the fuck not. but... mostly he just shares the cig with me... sometimes he just holds it to my lips so i wouldn't get the smell on my fingers and he always holds eye-contact while doing that bc he's a fucking asshole aaand when i blow the smoke into his face to get back at him he just . grins at me.. (he's so fucking hot ari i really do think i'm gonna die if i think abt him too hard)

he isn't the biggest smoker ever though, shoko definitely does it more than him. buuuut he does always want at least one after a long day and i think that's more than fine (i am drooling rn). oh aaand whenever we're hanging out with satoru and shoko and they go out for a smoke i mostly stay with satoru lmao this is important ok me and him are very very very good friends in this au i baby him i tease him we get along so well that it makes suguru a little jealous and then shoko gets to tease him abt that😭😭😭

liike suguru's just leaning against the balcony railing while shoko sits on one of the stairs and he's just . looking at me and satoru laughing together inside and shoko thinks it's the funniest thing ever hgashdgghsahdghgsa AAAAAAAAND when they come back inside, he always plops onto the couch right beside me (like awfully close) and then puts his arm behind me on the backrest and he thinks he's. smooth lmao pls everybody INCLUDING ME knows what he's doing😭😭😭

mm i don't carry around any cigs but i do always have a lighter with me and while it is very hot when he lights his own cigs.. he lets me do it a lot too and this is also smth that makes me fucking dizzy bc he leans in so close and then holds onto my hand so it wouldn't shake and AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH i hate him i love him i need to punch him i need to kiss him he's awful he's sexy he's the worst man alive

he definitely smokes weed sometimes too but uh. that's uhh. gulps very fucking nervously. that's when uh. Things happen ok i can't go into detail or i'll pass out.. he gets very touchy LIKE VERY TOUCHY i mean like nuzzling his face into the crook of my neck while toying with the hem of my shirt YEAH YEAH YEA H I NEED TO STOP HERE FUCK .

[loveshotzz]

Bouncer Steve wants to have the laziest of Sundays with you. He obviously works late in a Saturday so Sunday is designated for a long lay in, waking up with his hair a little wild and his arms locked around you. He grunts as he stretches a little, pillow creases on his face and wet kisses smeared against your shoulder.

“Mornin’” He lives for how you burrow into his chest and kiss the moles on his neck, moving one arm from around you to rub his eyes as the other hugs you closer. He tells you about a dream he had and stroked your arm and thigh with his finger tips, eyes becomes brighter as sleep leaves him. Steve kisses your lips a few times before patting your ass firmly. Diner breakfast. Pancakes and coffee, his treat every time.

It takes you way longer than it should, both hungry but reluctant to leave you cocoon bed. He contemplates booking a haircut as he watches you do your skin care, sitting on the toilet lid as his own moisturiser sinks in. His yawns crack his jaw and he pinches the lovely fat of your hip to make you yelp and giggle. He steals some of your lip mask and asks you to check it for him, kissing you a few times - the bed calling him louder to take you back to it.

this made me melt, i am so soft rn it’s not even funny and it’s all your fault anon. this is the sweetest fucking thing i’ve ever read 😩 i am in my feels about this man and i desperately need this to be my life.

[tunastime]

On the Wolf and the Canary

In which Joel and Jimmy get to talk about it all

(3490 words)

Somewhere, quietly, the sun is rising. Orange-gold beams slice through grey hanging on the edge of speckled cliffs, bows of red and yellow stone, orange hills and canyons. It brushes the dark sky and turns it pink-red-orange, too, mottling out the stars. Jimmy Solidarity isn’t awake to see this. Or, he is awake, but he isn’t watching from the window. He’s lying in bed, tired, half-lidded eyes staring at the ceiling. He can feel a sort of anxiety, a grief, pooling in the hollow of his arms and wrists, behind his teeth, in his throat, and in the white space of his eyes. When he moves to scrub his face the movements are stiff and jerky, like the muscles are sore and taut. They are sore and taut, and he spends a moment rolling his wrists free of the click. Beside him, as per usual, Norman is sleeping. He thinks he can see the soft body of Flick at his feet, paws stretched toward his ankle.

On the day Jimmy comes back from the death game, where he doesn’t linger, where no one is here to make sure he’s fine, he’s alright, he’s okay, he’s not hurting, the world is quiet. Jimmy swallows, mouth dry and gritty like he’s eaten a handful of sand. He closes his eyes for a long moment, and pretends as if he’s still asleep, pretends that if he were to fall back asleep, he might wake up to Grian prodding him in the side, standing over him. Or that Joel might be tucking the blankets too tight around him. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. Right now, as well, he’s pretending like his heart doesn’t ache.

When he sits up, his back aches in protest. There’s no spot where his wings should be, leaving the muscles sore from use. He rolls his shoulders, twists, feeling his spine pop, tries to get on with dressing with as little fuss as possible. Flick wakes as he stands, and watches him as he wanders over to the dresser and starts his search. He hears something thud against the roof of his house. It’s quiet for a moment, this repeated, soft thudding, before he recognizes.

Jimmy sprints down the stairs, shirt half-tucked, half-buttoned, pulling his socks on. When he opens the door, the sky is heavy and light grey, clouds partially blocking the sun.

On the day Jimmy comes back from the death game, it rains.

It’s not a quiet rain, either, not anymore. There’s just a moment before there’s a crackle of thunder that sends Jimmy, and Norman, perched at the doorway, scrambling back. It’s not raining particularly hard enough to worry about flooding, but the few people left that he could see on the cliff-side had peered out of their doors and promptly shut them. He can imagine the inch-thick layer of mud he’d been walking through to get anywhere over the next few days, the cobble he’d need to replace.

Something about it though, how…soft it is. A soft rain. Something the crops could soak up and flourish with. Something rain barrels and gutters could catch. It eases the tension in his heart just a fraction. He wanders away from the door, smiling to himself, and then to Norman as he twists around his feet. He tucks in the tail end of his shirt, buttons the last few buttons at the top, and scoops Norman into his arms.

“What’s for breakfast, aye, buddy?”

Norman settles, shutting his eyes.

He lilts around the room, swinging Norman in his arms, humming to himself as he walks into the kitchen. The sound of the rain on the roof muffles out a good majority of the whispered, pitched baby-talk he mumbles to Norman, who blinks sleepily at him as Jimmy kisses his head and turns him out onto the kitchen table. There Norman sits, flicks his tail, and observes as Jimmy maneuvers around Flick and lights the fireplace. He stuffs down a bit of charred wood and sets in a new log, watching for a moment as the flames lick at it. Then it’s on to lighting the stove, filling the kettle, and setting it atop the stove. He waits for it to boil, busying himself with familiar tasks, something to keep his mind off the facts of the matter.

It was his fault.

He pulls down a cup. It’s yellow.

He nearly drops it, though, when there’s a shout outside his door. It’s nearly as loud as the thunder that follows, rattling his windows. If he had feathers to fluff, he’d surely be standing on edge. He frowns deeply, before leaning away from the stove. The call comes again.

“Sheriff!”

Jimmy blinks, startled. He paces to the coat rack, cup forgotten on the counter. There, he stuffs his feet into shoes and lifts his hat off the hook, settling it firm on his head. At least his head and shoulders won’t be wet if he has to trudge through the rain.

“Jimmy!”

Jimmy throws open the door.

Standing in the middle of the rain, in the square, on the cobbles Jimmy placed himself, looking quite a normal height as of right now, which is to say, much shorter (or, wait, is Jimmy taller? Wait, is he. Wait.) than normal, is Joel. Robes, beard, looking a bit disgruntled with his whole affair, Joel. Joel who should still be making sure Grian isn’t getting into too much trouble, Joel.

“Joel?” Jimmy starts. He’s still standing in the doorway. The rain is making puddles in his empty terracotta pots and dry soil. He can feel a cool breeze from the rain on his exposed neck and face.

“I’m sorry, Jim—” Joel starts, shoulders sagging. He raises his voice over the rain. Where he’s standing, he’s getting the brute force of it, the rain splatting down on the cobbles under his feet. At least he’s not standing in mud, but. He stands like there’s something more to the words than just I’m sorry, but Jimmy can’t place what.

“What are you doing here?” Jimmy says. For some reason, he can’t wrap his head around this. He must be hallucinating, right? There’s no way Joel is actually here in front of him. Something about that won’t click. He’s just woken up. Or, he’s just gotten up, from being woken up many times. Or something. Matter of the fact is that Jimmy’s just gotten up, gotten back, whatever. There’s no way Joel went so quick. It couldn’t have been so soon, right? There’s no way that Joel. No.

“What’d’you mean?” Joel says, incredulous all of a sudden, sweeping a hand out. He’s almost laughing. “‘Ve blummin’ died, what’s it look like?”

“No—wait, that’s—” Jimmy puts a hand to his forehead. The air feels muggy around him all of a sudden. Or maybe he’s just clammy. His hand comes back damp, but he’s not sure from mist or sweat.

“Yeah, ‘s happened. All a blur, really.”

He watches Joel cross his arms, set his jaw. He doesn’t look upset, per se, if upset was anything other than shouting and yelling and punching the air. He looks frustrated. Which is exactly how Jimmy feels, consequently.

“How’d it happen?” Jimmy asks. Joel stares at him like he’s gone mad, for about thirty seconds, before he sighs again, and his demeanor drops, and he gives a weak shrug. A defeated shrug.

“Bloody arrow. Dunno who it was. Scar or Bdubs maybe,” another shrug. “Sure Grian knows, he was right behind me.”

“Sorry, man…” Jimmy says. He feels a twist in his gut, a remnant of anxiety, watching the disappointment grow on Joel’s face. He scuffs his boots for a moment, staring at the wooden slats on the ground. The rain continues to fall. It drops in little rivulets down the banister and off the roof and still into his pots. He should really bring out a bucket to catch it all. ‘S good rain, that’s what it is.

“What happened to you sucks, by the way,” Joel says sympathetically. He’s just barely loud enough to hear over the rain. Jimmy shrugs weakly, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“I know, it sucks,” he huffs. He kicks against the deck, hearing his boot thunk and spur jingle.

“It sucks,” Joel says again. Jimmy huffs once more, gritting his teeth, shutting his eyes. He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to calm himself down. It doesn’t work well. There’s something clawing about and it’s making quite a mess of the inside of his chest and man. Man. He can feel it sink to the pit of his stomach, stretch all the way up his throat. He’s holding it there, like he’s trying to breathe through wet paper.

“I know, it sucks,” he says, dropping his hands in frustration. He waves them about instead, a self-righteous anger bubbling up in his chest. “I know that! I’m the one it happened to, Joel! Y’know!”

He groans, letting the sound peter out as he covers his face with his hands. He scrubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. For a moment, his vision goes blurry, before he blinks, and blinks, and it clears.

“‘S whatever,” he says, the tone of his voice falling flat. He’s finally back to looking at Joel. “Let’s just not talk about it.”

Joel nods, folding his arms.

“Right…”

There’s a beat of silence between them, filled only by the rain, in which Jimmy realizes Joel is very much standing in his square without cover. He startles, stepping forward toward the steps, gesturing with his head.

“You wanna come inside?” he says, looking back to the beam of yellow coming through the cracked-open door. “‘S soakin’ out there.”

Joel shrugs. His expression shifts from disappointed toward unsure.

“‘M not wet or anythin’,” he says, a bit confused.

Jimmy’s face falls. “Oh…”

They stare at each other for a moment, Jimmy’s expression rapidly saddening and Joel finally rolling his eyes, trudging over the path.

“Well don’t look so sad about it,” he says, stepping up the stairs. “‘m comin’ in, hold on.”

Jimmy steps back, letting him onto the landing. He laughs a little, feeling something settle in his chest. Then, he pushes open the door, stepping aside to let him in. “Right, god-man…get in.”

Joel smiles a bit as he steps in. He pauses at the threshold, glancing around the room as Jimmy shuts the door behind him, toeing off his boots. Norman wanders over after a second, giving Joel a cautionary sniff. Joel crouches down after a moment, holding out his hand. Norman sniffs before wandering back, making a loop between the two of them. Jimmy smiles. Something about that makes his heart go soft. Norman’s a precautious guy! Seeing him warm up almost instantly to Joel, who he’s never seen, it’s sweet. It’s nice, okay? There’s not a lot of nice things happening usually in his life. So he’s enjoying it. He’ll take what he can get.

He sets his hands on his hips, watching Joel as he rises from a crouch.

“Tea?” Jimmy asks, tilting his head. “Kettle’s on.”

Joel nods a few times. Norman makes a reappearance, bumping against one of Joel’s legs. Jimmy watches him for a moment, before looking back up to Joel. The smile lingers on both of their faces.

“Sure, sure.”

Jimmy nods, pulling away. He waves his hands as he wanders back to the kitchen, gesturing to the room at large. Rug. Desk. Lit fireplace. Gas stove. Green couch. Armchair. Map. Bookshelf. Gas lanterns. Pots and pans. Shelving. Cat bed. Things that make a house a home, to him.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he says absently, turning up the heat for the kettle. It starts to bubble a bit, a lilting trail of steam coming from the spout. He takes down another cup��one he got recently, with a green ring around the rim.

When he looks over his shoulder, Joel is standing in the center of the living space, looking at the map on his wall. His head is tilted just so.

“Dunno if I’ve ever been in here, Jim,” he says, and Jimmy is starkly aware of how much taller he is than Joel right now. His stomach twists. He feels a little dizzy all of a sudden, reaching out to hold onto the lip of the stove to steady himself.

“Mm,” Jimmy says, fighting the weakness in his voice. “Didn’t realize.”

“‘S nice.”

Joel sits on the sofa. Jimmy sees his body shift as he gets comfortable. If he knew any better, he might be able to tell whether or not Joel was contemplating putting his feet up on the round coffee table. He might be. Jimmy isn’t certain. He wouldn’t blame him. He does the same thing. He turns back to the kettle, now boiling, and lifts it off the stove.

“I was gonna sacrifice myself so you wouldn’t be first out, y’know.”

Joel speaks the sentence into the silence left by the pouring of two cups of tea. The kettle hangs heavy in Jimmy’s hand. He doesn’t say anything. There are words trapped in his throat—something incredulous, something asking why. And even then, there’s a creeping feeling over his spine, a dread that he feels just seconds before disaster. Not enough to save anything, but just enough to hurt him. He takes a long breath in, swallowing the words that have turned sour in the back of his mouth. One of his hands grips the edge of the stovetop as he sets the kettle down. He’s staring at his yellow cup full of his favorite tea. He’s in his home, safe, warm, dry, and yet he feels too big and too small all at once for the space he occupies. He shakes his head, sighing.

“You don’ have’ta lie t’me, Joel, to make me feel better or nothin’,” he manages. “‘M fine about it.”

Joel scoffs. “‘M serious, Jimmy—”

Jimmy shakes his head. “‘S not funny—”

“‘S true—”

“Seriously, dude, stop. Stop it—”

Jimmy whips around, staring at Joel, who’s turned to face him. Joel’s face is screwed up, eyebrows deeply furrowed, mouth a sharp downward curve. He breathes in and out and his shoulders rise and fall a little quicker than they should. Jimmy’s heart jumps to his throat.

“I’m not jokin’, Jim, why would I ever—” Joel shuts his eyes, shaking his head. He reaches up to press his fingers to his eyes. “That’s not somethin’ I’d joke about. It was funny the first few times but you’re my friend, man, for god’s sake, Jim—”

Jimmy stands in his kitchen, on the day he gets back from another death game, and for the first time, he doesn’t feel utterly alone.

Not that he—he’s not always felt alone. He certainly didn’t in the last two games, with someone, two very good someone’s in his mind, glued to his side. Or partially glued, he guesses. But to have that physically ripped away from him on respawn. To come back to a mostly empty town—especially now, that it’s pouring rain, that nobody else has come to check in on him—it was always so isolating. Isolation isn’t what he wants after dying. He wants someone to tell him he’ll be okay. And Joel is sitting in his living room staring at him and sounds so frustrated he might cry and Jimmy is sure he will, too, feeling something sharp and burning in his nose and throat. What’s he supposed to do with all this, huh? How’s he supposed to make sense of it all?

“I don’t want you to think it’s your fault all the time, ‘s all,” Joel mutters, looking away from him. He folds his arms, settling back against the couch and grumbling to himself and generally sounding put-off again, so much so that Jimmy nearly passes out. He feels sick. “I care about you, alright?”

“Joel…” Jimmy’s voice wavers. It reminds him of a life that isn’t his—something that resembles his life. It reminds him of a fairy tale, or something like that. Something about something powerful and strong and scary protecting something small and too soft and unable to fend for itself. His chest feels heavy and achy.

“‘S the tea done?” Joel asks. Jimmy turns, lifting both cups. He wanders over quietly, setting them both on the coffee table. Joel leans forward without looking at him, lifting the cup and taking a sip. He seems pleased.

“You mean tha’?” Jimmy says after a beat, sitting on the couch beside him. Joel’s eyes flick up to see him before he sighs, turns his body toward him. His expression isn’t as frustrated, softer now, but not sad. Remorseful. Regretful. Something like that. Jimmy frowns a little.

“I did, yeah,” Joel says, glancing into his cup. “I do. It’s horrifyin’, is what it is. I mean, ‘s productive for everyone else, I guess, but it sucks for you.” Joel takes a long sip. It sucks. He knows it sucks, more than anyone else. But to hear it out loud…

Jimmy nods. He picks up his tea cup, holding it in the cradle of his hands.

“I ‘preciate tha’,” he says after a minute, after a sip. “Really, Joel. That’s…it means a lot.”

Joel laughs a little. “Sure thing, Jim,” he shrugs. “A good bit’s changed since we last talked here, eh?”

Jimmy laughs, too. “Yeah, you can say that again.”

It’s something at the root of it all. Some line of friendship finally surfacing, after too long away. Jimmy doesn’t know, he’s not sure. Why would he be? He’s not good at this sort of thing. But it makes him happy. And that’s what matters the most, he thinks. Joel is sitting on his couch, drinking his tea, and generally making kind, though emotionally distressing, small talk. The rain keeps falling. If he peeks out far enough, Jimmy’s certain the light grey cloud cover hasn’t broken, though the sun might be lighting them up from the back. Or there might be a crack where the sun gets through. Wouldn’t that be nice? Norman bumps his leg. He reaches down to trail his hand down his back.

It’s funny, now that he thinks about it, how the rain suddenly started. Usually he can see the clouds brewing on the edge of the horizon, where they never truly reach the edge of the canyon. But today they broke that barrier, and offered the needed bit of rain. Jimmy takes in the sound of the rain pattering against his tile-shingled roof and sips his tea.

“Did you do all that, by the way?” Jimmy finally says. “The rain ‘n all?”

Joel tilts his head. There’s a sheepish smile forming on his face. He sets his tea cup down on the coffee table as Jimmy does.

“Oh…a bit, yeah,” he says. “Yeah…”

Jimmy smiles, a smile that turns into a laugh, a laugh that turns into throwing his head back. He reaches out, patting Joel’s arm, before pulling him forward into a hug. Joel startles before he leans in. Jimmy thinks he hears him laugh, too—but maybe it’s just a sigh.

“Thank you, Joel, seriously,” Jimmy says, leaning his cheek on Joel’s shoulder. Joel pats his back, and it makes his hair stand on end, like the precipice of a static shock. “Thanks. You’re my best bro, you know that?”

Joel laughs at that. He laughs, and it sounds a little like the thunder Jimmy had heard and he laughs, too, and Joel pulls back from him and ruffles his hair and claps his shoulder, giving it a squeeze that leaves an impression as he drops his hands.

“You were always my favorite Bad Boy, Jimmy.”

Jimmy’s heart squeezes.

“Joel—” he groans, drawing out the syllable into definitely more than the one required. “Don’t say that!”

Joel only laughs and picks up his tea cup again. After a sip, he makes a face at Jimmy. Jimmy makes a face back, kicking him in the shin. Joel yelps, kicking him back. Jimmy pulls his legs up, shuffling back to the corner of the couch with his tea cup in hand. He glares at Joel from his side, and Joel from his own side, and they drink in relative silence before Joel says:

“Remind me to tell you all about my murder rampage later, eh?”

Jimmy barks out a laugh. Sure, okay. He nods. Yeah. He’ll hear about a murder rampage later. That ought to be fun.

For now though, as he nods, he’s too preoccupied on the feeling finally settling in his chest. One he hadn’t felt in a good long bit. A sense of belonging. Because at least one person’s looking out for him now, right? Post mortal enemy, half-brother-in-law from another time, weird-annoying-brother relationship aside. A friend. A shoulder. A guy in his corner.

Jimmy’s happy. It’s good now.

[ghost-proofbaby]

Twenty-four Hours: hour twenty

OMG OMG OMG

The ring, motherfucking ring. Oh my god that whole scene was perfection.

Then him admitting he pushed her away, made her hate him.

Then her saying he was worth it. Oh my God I’m screaming.

oh i can't believe this gem of a reaction has been hidden amongst all the taylor swift-ness that is my inbox right now!!!

i'm so glad you enjoyed it!!! <3

just because i'm being chaotic tonight, i offer a spoiler for hour 21 beneath the cut to say thank you for always reading and always being so damn sweet shhhhh 🤫🤫

-A TEXT THREAD BETWEEN EDDIE AND READER-

YOU: why were the almond croissants almost sold out? 

EDDIE: Excuse me?

YOU: because everyone went NUTS over them.

EDDIE: Is that supposed to be a joke? 

YOU: ‘supposed to be’. excuse me, it was definitely a joke. and a very good one, at that. 

EDDIE: Debatable.

YOU: what did the customer say when they looked at the croissant?

EDDIE: I don't know, what? 

YOU: what a BREADtaking sight.

YOU: i heard that. don’t even try to tell me it wasn’t funny. 

EDDIE: I’m not laughing because they’re funny. I’m laughing because they’re BAD. 

YOU: bet you wouldn’t say that to my face.