#because I couldn't resist

[existennialmemes]

[kiwiplaetzchen]

*sigh* (ꈍᴗꈍ) 💚💕💖

(⌐■_■) 💚💕

[kimmiessimmies]

For now, you live only in my dreams... ❤️

[kjack89]

The Only Honest Art Form

The Lenny Bruce-esque sorta-kinda Mrs. Maisel AU that I just couldn't resist writing.

1950s comedian AU, E/R, developing relationship.

Enjolras glanced almost nervously around himself before descending the few stairs to the grubby-looking door underneath the flickering neon sign. He pushed the door open and was met immediately by a veritable screen of smoke, both cigarette and otherwise, and the particular smells that always seemed to accompany bars.

Not that Enjolras spent much time in bars, save for on the rare occasion when he was dragged somewhere, usually by Courfeyrac, to meet someone, usually an attempted date being disguised as a comrade.

But Joly and Bossuet had cornered Enjolras one night after a Les Amis meeting to tell Enjolras that there was a comedy act he needed to check out. “Comedy?” Enjolras had asked, wrinkling his nose. “I don’t think—”

“Believe me, whatever you think is wrong,” Bossuet had said.

Joly had nodded. “Seriously,” he said, clearly picking up on Enjolras’s lingering skepticism. “This guy is a helluva lot more than just a comic. He’s saying things about free speech that I’ve only dreamed of having the balls to say at one of our protests.”

So despite his better judgment, Enjolras had made the schlep on a Saturday night to the nondescript comedy club in the Village to see—

“That’ll be a buck-fifty.”

Enjolras shook his head to clear it before realizing that what he had assumed was a pile of coats just inside the doorway was actually a young man. Or woman. It was hard to tell, and seemed rude to assume one way or the other. “Pardon?” he said politely.

The woman – Enjolras was more convinced now that the figure was a woman, despite the unlit cigar chomped firmly between her lips – rolled her eyes. “Door charge,” she said shortly, mumbling around the cigar. “It’s a buck-fifty, and a two drink minimum.”

Enjolras had expected a drink minimum, even if he wasn’t thrilled by it. “What if I give you five bucks, and we skip the drinks?”

She looked distinctly unimpressed. “What if I shove my foot up your ass and tell you to pound sand?”

“A buck-fifty and two drinks it is.”

He passed the money over to her before asking, in what he hoped was a casual way, “So has Grantaire gone on yet?”

She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “Who do you think is fellating the microphone as we speak?”

The man onstage was in fact doing a fair impression of oral sex, presumably as some kind of punchline, given the way that the audience was falling over themselves, and Enjolras wrinkled his nose. “So much for saying things about free speech,” he muttered to himself, making his way over to the bar where he asked the bartender for two beers, neither of which he intended on actually drinking.

As the bartender poured, Enjolras sat on a barstool and for the first time took a good look at the man onstage. He looked to be a few years older than Enjolras, and was wearing a rumpled suit with a loosened dark green tie. He didn’t look much like what Enjolras had expected, not that Enjolras knew what he had expected in the first place. A beatnik, maybe, complete with the black turtleneck and sunglasses and—

Dear God, Enjolras was beginning to sound like his mother.

The bartender slid the beers across the counter to him and Enjolras took a grateful swig from one, happy to have the distraction from his impending mental breakdown at the comparison to his mother. 

He took another sip as he finally tuned into what Grantaire was saying. “So anyway,” Grantaire said, clearly wrapping up a bit, “as I told my manager, that’s the last time I’m going to San Francisco.”

That statement was met with enough laughter and applause that Enjolras almost wished he had heard the joke that preceded it. “Which is a shame,” Grantaire continued, “because it’s a great city full of lovely people. But apparently they operate under a ‘three strikes and you’re out’ policy for obscenity arrests, which, y’know, is very All-American of them, but does pose a problem for me.”

The mention of obscenity arrests piqued Enjolras’s interest, and he sat forward on his barstool. “And which seems especially odd given that San Fran is full of fags, but hey, what do I know.” Grantaire said the word so casually that Enjolras almost didn’t flinch, and he immediately glanced around to see if anyone else had caught it, or his reaction to it, but no one was looking at him. Nor did anyone seem remotely surprised by Grantaire’s casual use of the word. “Well, this is what I do know: even if that’s true, you apparently shouldn’t say it. Not unless you’re calling someone a fag, at least. That, people get free passes on.”

“Joe McCarthy called me a fag once.” Low murmurs broke out throughout the club but Grantaire just waited them out, seemingly unconcerned. “Yeah, I know. It was a surprise to me, too. So I took my dick out of his mouth and I said, ‘Joe, don’t talk with your mouth full.’”

The laughter that met that was startled but uproarious, and Enjolras couldn’t help but whistle and clap along with the rest of the crowd, somehow feeling a weight slip off of him. Enjolras had spent so much of his life trying to avoid being called that, or being connected to those kinds of sex acts, that he could hardly believe that someone was standing on a stage, mentioning it as casually as remarking on the weather, and not only were people not fleeing in the opposite direction, but they were actually cheering for him. 

Grantaire waited for the crowd to calm down before continuing, “Interestingly, that joke got me arrested the last time that I was in DC, again on obscenity charges. I asked them which was more obscene, the dick sucking or Joe McCarthy.”

More laughter, but this time, Grantaire spoke over the crowd. “I know, I know, you’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead. So in that case, let me just say, to his credit, the absolute best thing that Sen. Joseph McCarthy ever did was die.”

Enjolras didn’t expect that line to get as much raucous applause as it did, but then again, Joseph McCarthy had become a bit of a laughing stock following his censure a few years back. If only that meant his ideals had become an equal laughing stock, but Enjolras wasn’t about to hold his breath on that. 

“But hey, let’s not overstate his legacy, right?” Grantaire said, taking the microphone off of its stand before resting his elbow on top of the stand. “Because this is America, and we have that little thing called the First Amendment, which says that I can stand up here and say whatever the fuck I want…” He paused, rather deliberately. “And then promptly be arrested for it. The American Experiment, brought to its knees by a joint fear of communism and homosexuality.”

Gone was Grantaire’s previously sardonic tone, replaced by something more like bitterness, and he took a moment, seemingly to gather himself, before continuing, in a slightly more upbeat way, “Listen, I respect their aim of conflating communists with homosexuals, but I just don’t think it works in practice. I mean, have you seen a gay man when there’s a sale at Bergdorf’s? Hell, Liberace’s practically single-handedly supporting the sequins industry.” He paused before adding, “That is, of course, a joke, lest Mr. Liberace comes after me like he went after the Daily Mirror. I’m less concerned about the implications of that because I’m not a British citizen and have in fact been banned from entering the UK as an ‘undesirable alien’.” Again Grantaire paused, this time to wink at a woman sitting towards the front of the club. “Which is what my last girlfriend called me, too.”

The laughter that met that was somewhat gentler than before, and Grantaire straightened, strolling casually toward the left side of the stage. “But seriously, I’ve been told that it’s because homosexuality is an affront against God, and communism is antitheist, so they go hand-in-hand, apparently.” He shrugged. “Personally, I think God’s probably got more important stuff to deal with than communists, and Jesus was a confirmed bachelor who traveled around with 12 other guys, so. I’m gonna let you draw your own conclusions on that one.”

“Besides, if anything, in my experience, homosexuals help turn people away from godlessness. Or at least, that’s sure what it sounded like when the guy I was fucking last night kept screaming, ‘Oh my God, oh my God.’”

That joke drew enormous laughter, and Grantaire allowed himself a smile before pointing into the audience. “That cat knows what I’m talking about.” He wandered back towards the microphone stand. “Of course, that’s another joke that got me arrested, once again for being obscene.” He returned the microphone to its stand as he asked, “Have you heard about this thing, the Roth test? Yeah, the Supreme Court said that Congress can outlaw anything that is ‘utterly without redeeming social value’.” He gave the audience a knowing look. “I look forward to Congress outlawing the Supreme Court under the same guise.”

“But seriously,” he continued, “who decides what has social value? I get up here, I tell some jokes, you fine people laugh. How is that not social value?” 

“Of course, probably the biggest example of no redeeming social value that the various authorities has tried to pin on me was for making a joke about the Pope, which, I mean. Have you seen the hat?” This time, the joke was met with a few boos and shouts, and Grantaire grinned. “I see we’ve got some Catholics in the audience tonight, folks, so I apologize in advance to each of you and your dozen siblings. But that’s what I mean – the jokes write themselves. You can accuse me of being a lazy joke writer if you want, but I don’t think you can say it’s obscene to point out the obvious.”

He paused. “Which is that the Pope’s hat is uncomfortably phallic.”

“Again, lazy, but obscene?” He shrugged. “I dunno.” He shook his head. “People get weird about religion though, man. Specifically Christianity, or, Christ, Catholicism, Jesus, don’t get me started. And like, they can dig if you’re a Jew, or a Muslim, maybe, just as long as you don’t talk badly about Christianity. Let alone if you make the fatal error of saying that you don’t believe in the Christian God.”

His tone had again slipped into something less joking, and Enjolras found himself leaning forward in his seat again. “Because the thing is, you gotta pay attention to the wording, y’know? Our friend the First Amendment, it says free exercise of religion, not free exercise from religion. People in this country, they get very uncomfortable when you start talking about beliefs, but they get even more uncomfortable when you talk about not having any beliefs. Like, how can you not believe in God?”

Grantaire’s expression twisted. “And I look around at the world and I ask, how can you?”

He forced a chuckle and shrugged again. “But seriously, questioning the existence of God is actually a religious act in and of itself, if my grandmother’s rabbi is to be believed, and as someone who is kind of Jewish on my mother’s side, I say that the First fucking Amendment should protect my right to just kind of shrug and say, ‘I dunno’ when asked about my beliefs.”

“And as someone who’s kind of an alcoholic on my father’s side, I honestly couldn’t give a fuck what you believe as long as you keep pouring.”

That garnered the loudest applause yet, and Grantaire laughed lightly before saying, “Listen, I don't know if God is real or not. I don’t really care one way or the other. But belief – I wish I had that kind of confidence, honestly.”

“Truth is, I believe in one thing, and one thing only: my full glass. And since mine is looking a little empty, and since I haven’t yet said anything to get me arrested, it’s probably as good a sign as any that it’s time to wrap it up.”

He spoke over the applause that greeted that statement, lifting the empty glass in question. “You guys have been a wonderful audience. Tip your waitresses, tip the bartender, tip me in beer and pills if you want. Just don’t call the cops and remember: fuck Joe McCarthy.”

Grantaire walked offstage to applause and whistles, and Enjolras craned his neck, watching as Grantaire accepted a beer someone offered him before slipping out of a side door. Enjolras stood, heading toward the door before doubling back to grab the beer that he hadn’t yet touched, carrying it towards the door.

He was cut off by the woman from the door, who blocked his path with crossed arms. “Just where do you think you’re going?”

Enjolras stared at her. “I, uh, I wanted to…” He trailed off, not sure of the best way to get around her, or through her, or whatever. “I wanted to tip him in a beer,” he offered weakly.

Her eyes narrowed. “Uh-huh,” she said skeptically. She looked him up and down and shook her head. “Well, you’re lucky that the beer you’re offering is accompanied by that mug.” She took a step to the side and gave Enjolras a nod, letting him slip past her. “Just don’t keep him out all night.”

Enjolras didn’t bother replying, just shouldering the door open and stepping outside, the crisp air almost knocking the breath out of him. And if the cold didn’t do, almost running smack in Grantaire certainly did. “You ok?” Grantaire asked, looking amused, as Enjolras cursed at the beer that had slopped all over his hand.

“Yeah, I’m…” Enjolras trailed off, flushing when he realized Grantaire was standing all of a foot away from him, his jacket slung over the railing of the steps, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and he felt his mouth go dry. “I mean, uh, I wanted to, uh…”

“Did Éponine send you back here?” Grantaire asked, saving him from his stammering, and he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

Up close, Grantaire looked exhausted, his shirt rumpled and stained, and Enjolras tore his eyes away to ask, “Who’s Éponine?”

“My manager,” Grantaire mumbled around the cigarette he’d just stuck in his mouth. “She was manning the door.”

“Oh,” Enjolras said, setting the now half-full beer down on the lid of a nearby trash can. “Uh, yeah, or at least she didn’t stop me, and—”

Grantaire snorted. “And she knows my type.” He took a drag from the cigarette before telling Enjolras, “Listen, I appreciate the thought but I’m not exactly in the mood tonight, as much as I would love to see what you look like without your clothes on.”

He leered at Enjolras, who recoiled, his expression darkening. “Excuse me?”

Grantaire just looked amused. “Isn’t that what you came back here for?” he asked.

“Yes. I mean, no. I mean—” Enjolras flushed. “Listen, all I wanted was—”

But Grantaire cut him off. “Look, kid—”

“I’m not a kid,” Enjolras interrupted, wincing when he realized that’s exactly how he sounded.

Grantaire had the nerve to laugh. “No? How many nights have you spent behind bars?”

Enjolras glared at him. “Not that it’s any of your business, but twelve.”

Grantaire whistled. “No shit. Pretty little thing like you? For what?” He grinned. “No, let me guess.” He took another drag from his cigarette as he eyed Enjolras appreciatively. “Clean cut kid like you, can’t imagine it was a drug rap. Or indecent exposure, more’s the pity. But given how you’re glaring at me, you’ve got a righteous anger thing going on, so I’m gonna guess causing a public disturbance, maybe inciting a riot.”

Despite himself, Enjolras felt a smile twitch at the corners of his mouth. “You forgot contributing to the delinquency of a minor,” he said, leaning against the brick wall of the club as he added, “and, of course, obscenity.”

A slow grin crossed Grantaire’s face. “No shit,” he repeated. “We have that in common.”

Enjolras took a deep breath. “We have more than that in common.”

Grantaire’s eyes darkened and he mimicked Enjolras’s position, leaning against the wall entirely too closely to Enjolras to be accidental. “I sort of put that much together,” he said, giving Enjolras a crooked half-smile, “but seeing as how I don’t exactly relish adding sodomy to your list of illustrious charges…”

Enjolras shook his head, but he wasn’t quite able to look away. “That wasn’t what I meant,” he said, but his words came out a little breathier than he intended.

No wonder Grantaire didn’t look convinced. “Wasn’t it?” he asked, reaching out to brush a blond curl off of Enjolras’s forehead. “Because what I said earlier, about not being in the mood…Well, let’s just say I can be convinced otherwise.”

Enjolras swallowed hard before blurting, “Actually, I wanted to invite you to join me and my friends.”

Grantaire blinked. “What, like an orgy?”

“No!” Enjolras snapped, straightening. “Not like an orgy. For one of our meetings.”

Grantaire’s expression fell, and he shook his head, stabbing his cigarette out on the wall. “Let me guess, you’re a bunch of activists? You want me to join one of your little protests?”

Enjolras bristled at his dismissive tone. “Well, yeah, given everything you said about the First Amendment, I just thought—”

“You thought wrong,” Grantaire said flatly, grabbing his jacket from the railing, though he didn’t put it on, just draping it over his arm. “Or did you miss my last bit about not believing in anything?”

Enjolras felt stung. “I thought that was about religion.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Religion, politics, what’s the difference?”

“So, what, you’re happy getting busted on obscenity charges every other day?” Enjolras asked, incredulous.

“What’s the alternative?”

Enjolras stared at him. “Well, for starters, if we get different people in office—”

“They’ll eventually just uphold the exact same power structures,” Grantaire said dismissively. “But seriously, if you can point to any concrete achievement that your little friends have actually gotten…”

“So is it all just an act?” Enjolras asked, his voice tight. “Just something to get some laughs? You don’t actually believe in free speech?”

“It’s not me that doesn’t believe, kid,” Grantaire told him, his crooked smile back. “But until the Supreme Court says otherwise, there’s not a helluva lot any of us can do.”

Enjolras shook his head. “I don’t believe that.”

“Then you’re braver than me by far.”

Enjolras looked at Grantaire closely. “I don’t believe that, either.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the door to the club. “What you did in there, what you said in there, those weren’t the words of a coward. Nor, for that matter, were they the words of a man who doesn’t believe a better world is possible.”

Grantaire just shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe not. But regardless, I’ve got better things to do than waste my time on activism.”

“Like what?” Enjolras challenged.

Grantaire winked. “Like finding someone who will sleep with me tonight, for starters,” he said. “Since I think we can both agree that ship has pretty much sailed.”

Enjolras glared at him. “That ship was never even in the harbor.”

Grantaire just laughed. “Keep telling yourself that, kid.”

He started to brush past Enjolras back into the club, but Enjolras reached out to grab his arm. “Wait—” he started, breaking off when his thumb brushed against a series of marks on the inside of Grantaire’s arm. “What’s this?”

Grantaire yanked his arm away from him. “Nothing for you to worry your pretty head about, sweetheart,” he said, rolling his shirtsleeve down and buttoning the cuff with unexpected dexterity. 

“Is that the better thing you have to do?” Enjolras asked.

Grantaire grinned. “Well, one of many,” he said. “But again, it’s nothing you need to worry about.”

Enjolras shook his head slowly. “You could be just what the movement needs,” he told Grantaire, his voice low. “Your humor, and the things you have to say about obscenity, about free speech – people would listen to you.”

Grantaire shrugged. “They already do,” he said simply. “Maybe I’ll see you at another show.”

“Yeah,” Enjolras said, feeling oddly deflated. “Maybe you will.”

“And who knows,” Grantaire said, “maybe you will end up changing the world…”

He trailed off expectantly, and Enjolras realized for the first time that he had never actually introduced himself. “Enjolras,” he said. “I’m Enjolras.”

Grantaire grinned. “Enjolras,” he repeated. “Well, it’s better than Apollo, which is what I was calling you in my head.” He winked again. “I’ll see you around, Enjolras.”

“Yeah,” Enjolras echoed. “I’ll see you around.”

Grantaire slipped back into the club, and Enjolras stared after him for a long moment before shaking his head and slowly starting in the direction of the subway, shoving his hands in his pockets.

He wasn’t sure what exactly he’d expected from this, what he’d expected Grantaire to be like, or whether he’d actually believed that Grantaire would come to a Les Amis meeting, but he knew he’d expected more than that.

He’d expected more from Grantaire.

Of course, Enjolras had never been one to just roll over and accept defeat, and as he walked toward the subway, he felt a familiar feeling rise in his chest: determination.

Yeah, he would see Grantaire again.

One way or another.

Because Enjolras wasn’t done trying to convince him.

[softquietsteadylove]

Hello! Can you continue the Thenamesh Actors AU where they are trying to do a kiss scene, but they mess it up every time and end up laughing, but then off set, they manage to do it?

Thena leaned in, her eyes fluttering closed, her heart picking up. She could smell his cologne and some coffee on his breath. But he had also chewed some gum. She had seen him doing it, too; it was sweet he was nervous about it.

Gil felt Thena's breath hit his lips and gulped.

Thena and Gil both pulled away, giggling like kids in a play.

"Cut!"

"Sorry, I'm sorry," Thena apologised immediately for her lack of professionalism. She ran a hand through her mussed hair; she had never had trouble with a kiss scene like this before.

"N-No, it's my fault," Gilgamesh volunteered (chivalrous as always).

"Do you two need an intimacy coordinator for this or-"

"Just," Thena cleared her throat, trying not to play with her hair as her nerves built up, "just give us a few minutes?"

"That's a take 5!"

The crew started shutting down and moving equipment as needed. The director was already turning attention to other things that needed to get done that day.

Thena sighed as she and Gil both made their way off the soundstage. "Sorry, I don't know why I can't seem to focus."

"Well, I'm not being much help," Gil offered in apology with a smile. "I think--I don't know, I guess I haven't gone over it as much as I wanted to."

"Y-Yes, that's it!" Thena eagerly jumped onto the reason - excuse - Gil provided. "I have a few notes on it, but we didn't get these sides that long ago."

"Exactly," Gil laughed along, "the re-writes aren't helping either."

"Come and look at them with me?" Thena asked with a small smile. "I wouldn't hate having your opinion on what they're thinking in this scene."

"Yeah, yeah--same," Gil rushed, trotting beside her away from the commotion of the set. He pulled his script out of his back pocket (folded and rumpled). "I was thinking about, uh, I guess what he might be thinking in terms of...this is the woman he loves, right?"

"Right," Thena nodded, opening up her own sides as well.

"Not that he's necessarily been open to it before," Gil shrugged, leaning against the wall as he went through his process. "I kind of think maybe they've always been a little flirty. But I don't know, what do you think?"

"No, I agree," she mused as she flipped to the appropriate page. "They've worked kind of around each other for so long, and I imagine there's always been a kind of tension surrounding them. The film is just when we see it really coming to a head."

"Exactly," Gil nodded eagerly. "They're mob bosses, for fuck's sake. There's no way they haven't thought of, well..."

Thena smiled at how sheepish he became about it, when she had written on her own pages 'dying to fuck each other' in the margins. Not that it was for anyone else to see. "I think...they just need the right push."

"Right," Gil said more seriously, reading over their scene again. It was rather dramatic seeming on the page, but that just meant that their performance would be what grounded it in reality. "Their enemies are starting to catch onto their weaknesses."

"It's important that she be the one who has to bargain for him," Thena pointed out, tapping the page, "not just from a woman's perspective, but also because it illustrates that she's willing to make sacrifices for him."

"As opposed to him being the only one wanting her," Gil concurred. He flipped the page, leading to the big kiss. "The confession is a bit..."

"I thought so too," Thena murmured, looking at where she had noted and scribbled and crossed out liberally. "I don't know if it's really...letting them speak."

Gil just nodded. "I don't think they'd need this long-ass paragraph speech."

"No."

"They've known each other for so long, now," he narrated, even tucking his pages away as he crossed his arms in thought. "And they've been loving each other quietly."

"There's this understanding between them that's," Thena also tucked her pages away, pushing her hair out of her face, "obvious."

"Love doesn't always need these big speeches," Gil shook his head, leaning off the wall and closer. "He knows she knows...even if she won't admit it."

"That unwillingness to admit it is fundamental to her," Thena agreed, chewing her lip as she thought. "She's so uptight, so controlling-"

"That's why she has him," Gil suggested a little more lightly. "I think that's what this kiss is saying."

"Saying?" Thena peeked up at him, realising he was a lot closer than before.

"It's a way for him to say that he loves her, and that he's there to be everything she needs, as well as everything she isn't."

"So she can say," Thena's eyes drifted down to his lips for just a split second, "that she knows he's there, and that she knows that she wants him there in spite of herself. Despite all her efforts, he's already in her heart."

"Is it worth the risk?"

"Yes."

Thena's eyes fluttered closed as Gil tipped her head up to him, hands on her cheeks, fingers dipped into her hair. She leaned into the kiss, pressing her lips to his the way a hand might cling to another in the dark. Her hand came up to his wrist just to rest on it, to cling to his sleeve as if to ask him to stay there a little longer.

Gil kept his head close, moving a stray wisp of blonde out of his way so he could look at her unobstructed.

Thena licked her lips - completely subconsciously - as they pulled away. That was it--that was exactly what they needed to happen when they were rolling! It was...it was... "good."

Gil blinked as her voice kind of squeaked out. His heart, if it was already beating faster than normal, flipped around inside his chest and started beating tenfold. "Y-Yeah, that was--was it-"

"Yes, it was-"

They both broke into laughter, soft and gentle in the little corner of the studio they had found. Thena twisted some of her hair over her shoulder, smiling up at him in their little bubble of solace. "Thanks for working on the scene with me."

Gil looked surprised, but he had on a smile that she recognised as the smile he wore specifically in character. It was a little cocky looking, a little sexy, but still undeniably Gilgamesh. "Like it's a chore to kiss the most beautiful woman on the planet?"

Thena rolled her eyes at him, also slipping back into her character in favour of ducking her head down in a blush. "Thinks he's so charming."

"Ready?" he asked, tipping his head in the direction of the set moving back to one.

Thena flipped her hair over her shoulder, taking the lead on the way back, "just try to keep up."

[feluka]

In front of the Journalists' Syndicate, Cairo, Egypt, on 15th January 2024.

The crowd chants:

مصر مشاركة في الحصار معبر بيننا و بين اهالينا الصهيوني متحكم فينا طول ما الدم العربي رخيص يسقط يسقط اي رئيس عملوها احفاد مانديلا و احنا فخوف و فعار و مزلة عايزين المعبر مفتوح

Translation:

Egypt participates in this siege! A crossing between us and our people! Controlled by Zionists! As long as Arab blood is seen as cheap, Any and every president must fall! Mandela's grandchildren have done it, While we are seized by fear, shame, and humiliation! We demand Rafah Crossing open!

[justwait-sunshine]

today in the chronicles of women in motorsport...

[swordsonnet]

the archival assistants @ jon:

[zu-is-here]

This made me think of Dust and Swap leaving their respective theaters at the same time, halfway through the movie, to buy an extra refill of popcorn.

My mind has nothing concrete but something tells me it could be an interesting conversation ╮⁠(⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)⁠╭ (maybe also a little awkward?)

**********

Chaotic duo ♡

[sygneth]

game of deduction

[super-paper]

The rest is confetti.

(My Hero Academia x The Haunting of Hill House)

Had a particularly violent revelation about what AFOhouse reminds me of a couple days ago and decided I had to make this.

[sarcasticscribbles]

Gerry Keay with top surgery scars 👉👈

Mornin' smoke

[kiwiplaetzchen]

Hungry for knowledge ( ｡• ᵕ •｡) ♡💚💕

(⌐■_■) 💚💕

[eveningalchemist-art]

"You're being shagged by a rare parrot!"

In Treasure Island, parrot Captain Flint is described as green, so now I can't unsee her as a kakapo - my most favourite very large and flightless parrot from half way around the world 💚 She gets to annoy Black Sails' Silver (older version) because he never did get a parrot by the time the show ended.

[disdaidal]

Eamon Farren as Richard Horne | 1/∞ TWIN PEAKS: THE RETURN (2017) 1.05 Case Files

[softquietsteadylove]

Something spicy is in the air!

I bet Gilgamesh had at least once a very wet dream about him and Thena. And when he wakes up, Thena sleeping next to him, he realizes he has a problem in his pants and wants to get rid of it.

You choose the AU xoxo

Gil groans, moving faintly as he hovers the line between asleep and awake. He feels restless, but he also doesn't want to get up yet. He can smell something sweet, like vanilla. And he's warm, but his front is warmer than his back. It's really warm--it's hot.

Gil's eyes shoot open as he feels that familiar - and in this case, uncomfortable - stickiness. He lets out a different kind of groan. What is he--a fourteen year old having a fucking wet dream?

It gets worse when he realises Thena is still snuggled into his arms, her ass pressed directly against him. That explains the terrible predicament he's in, at least, but it doesn't help him feel better about it.

Gil buries his nose in her amazing hair, although even this feels wrong, now. He's burning bright red, he's sure, but he has more embarrassing things to worry about. He moves his hips back from her, attempting to extricate himself without the potential humiliation.

Thena senses the absence of his warmth and moves towards him again in her sleep. "Gil."

His blush isn't going anywhere. No wonder he got hard--hard to completion, which still horrifies him. He makes an effort to keep Thena as far away from his groin as possible. "Sweetie, I gotta get up."

"No," she whines. Ah yes, his little sleep talker.

"Yes," he chuckles, doing his best to move gently and quietly and also keep his hands hovering around the front of his pants. He winces, feeling even more keenly just how much is there.

"Stay," Thena whispers out, still attempting to cling to him. She even rolls over to grasp at him. "Warm."

Gil averts his eyes from the plush fullness of her breasts, evident even in her scrubs. His ears are burning. "I'm sorry, Sweetheart. Just for a minute, okay? I'll be back."

Thena makes a kind of disgruntled sound of disagreement, but doesn't bring up another argument.

Gil shimmies out of his hoodie and leaves it for her to cuddle. It seems to satiate her need, letting him slip away and off the end of the on-call bed. He smiles as she buries her nose in it; she has no idea how cute she is.

Gil pokes his head out, making sure no one is around. He crosses the hall and walks cautiously, somewhat hunched with his hands clasped in front of him. He manages to make it to the break room. A change of clothes will have to suffice in place of a cold shower, for now.

Pieces of his dream float back to him, although he kind of wishes they wouldn't. It's nothing detailed, mostly hazy images, the sounds of breath in his ear. Pale skin contrasting full, pink lips-

Gil splashes some cold water from the sink onto his face in an attempt to shock himself. He switches out his underwear and his work pants, bundling up the others into a pocket of his bag for laundry at home. He hasn't experienced an incident like this in forever.

Gil--Thena's voice is in his head, although the way she's saying is...very different. He leans against the sink again, hoping to re-center his thoughts a little. Hoping not to think about Thena like that.

Thena pressed up against him. Thena's lips on his neck. Thena in his arm, letting out little sighs that make his whole body tighten. Thena...just Thena.

Gil splashes his face a few more times before daring to head back to the on-call room. He's not going to think about it anymore, he decides. He's just not!

"Thena?" he whispers, testing to see if she's awake. And if she is, then he's ready to say that he just had to go to the bathroom. Which he did--it's not really a lie.

She's still fast asleep, though. It charms him that Thena, usually a light sleeper, can become properly knocked out when they're napping together. He likes to imagine that it's because she feels safe when she's with him, able to turn off the doctor part of her brain that's been trained to be alert at a moment's notice.

Gil sighs as he takes her in, in all her beauty. He brushes some hair back for her.

"Gil?"

"Hey, baby," he whispers, able to settle himself into the bed again without much trouble. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

Thena just buries her face in his chest once it's available to her, shaking it a little to really get in there.

"Good," Gil smiles, kissing her hair as he settles in again. It's not as if they have all the time in the world. He's on a mandatory break between back to back shifts, and she's on call for the next six hours.

This is just a little slice of paradise they've managed to find for themselves.

"Love you," Thena sighs as she grabs a hold of him, refusing to let him leave their little nest again.

Gil chuckles. This woman is going to kill him with how adorable she is. He wraps his arms around her, securing her to him, "I love you too, Honey."

She won't remember any of this later, which is probably a good thing. But he likes to think that she still means it.