globalindiaexp

[ladyriot]

It's really all the mini romance arcs in this damn show...

3x08 Cuts Like a Knife

3x12 Love The Way You Lie

The undercurrent of season 3 is Maura trying to get Jane to drink more wine for her health and every single moment of it feels like a romantic B-plot.

[amphibianaday]

Hello I would like to request your favourite little freak(amphibian) for day 1432

day 1432

[cowardlycowboys]

skirt

[static-radio-ao3]

@jegulus-microfic // march 18 // prompt: instrument // words: 758 // part two + part three

“What do you play?” James asks, voice muffled as he is digging through his laundry basket.

“Huh?”

“Instrument, I mean.” James turns to face him. His glasses are halfway down his nose and Regulus’ fingers twitch with the need to adjust them. James is annoyingly handsome. Even in the middle of the night when his hair is tousled and his glasses are smudged and he has baby formula on his ratty college shirt, tan skin glowing under the fluorescent lights of the basement laundry room.

“What do you play? We’ve been talking every night but I don’t even know what instrument you play. I hear you sometimes when I get home.”

“Shit, I'm sorry, I can try to keep it down.”

“No, please, I like it!” Another second of rummaging before James shuts the door to the machine, twists the dial and presses the start button. “It sounds nice. Harry likes it too.”

James checks the volume on the baby monitor again, making sure it is still turned all the way up. When he is sure it didn’t magically turn off in the minute since he checked last, he places it gingerly on the bench in the middle of the room, sitting down next to Regulus.

Their shoulders brush. His arm feels warm where it is pressed against James’, despite the frigid air in the basement.

“Ah, thank you. It's uh— violin. I'm at the conservatory for classical music.”

“You must be really hard-working, then.”

This pleases Regulus, satisfaction burrowing its way into his chest, making him preen a little. People always think he is talented.

Secretly, Regulus hates that word. He has never been talented. No particular skill that stood out — and his parents made sure he knew it.

So yes, Regulus is hard-working. Passionate. Stays up until 3 A.M. to practice, tucked away in the laundry room so he doesn’t wake Sirius in their tiny two-bedroom apartment.

That’s how this whole thing started. Regulus, resident insomniac, slipping out of bed with his violin tucked under his arm. James, still adjusting to the fact that his son is now sleeping through the night, doing chores on the wrong side of midnight.

“I have to be, if I want to be the best,” Regulus says.

“I’ll have to come see you play sometime, then.” James makes it sound like a give. Like it is something he is willing to make time for. Regulus’ heart flutters. Traitor, he whispers at it.

“Do you now?” His teeth tug at the dry skin on his lips, picking at it until he bleeds. Sirius always tells him off for it but it is a nervous habit he has yet to beat.

“Absolutely. If you’ll have me that is.”

A hurried yes almost bursts from him, but he traps it behind his teeth before he can actually say it. He tries to play it cool despite the heat in his face, a teasing tone as he says, “Maybe. Gotta see if you’re worth keeping around first.”

James laughs at that. Regulus thinks it sounds sweeter than his violin ever has.

“I’ll be such a good audience, I swear. I can make a career-switch. Go from sports reporting to music reporting.” Because James works for the local newspaper. Writes sports columns. Takes his son with him to football games, a tiny infant strapped to his chest. The mental image of James at a recital with baby Harry on his hip makes Regulus’ heart flutter again. “Would that be enough proof of my dedication?”

More fluttering. Traitor, traitor, traitor. Regulus pretends to ponder on it for a moment.

“It’ll do. For now.”

James scoffs. Rolls his eyes. “For now, he says.”

It sounds fond.

Neither of them says anything else but Regulus doesn’t mind it. His eyes are trained on the laundry machine with his clothes in it. He watches it spin and spin and spin. Lets himself get hypnotized by the repetitive motion, the quiet humming, James’ even breaths. It’s peaceful.

“Same time tomorrow?” Regulus asks when he has gathered all his laundry, the basket propped against his hip. He doesn’t miss the way James’ eyes droop with his nod. He chuckles softly at the sight. “Get some sleep, James.”

A mumbled, “Sweet dreams” follows him out of the room.

For once, Regulus is eager to fall asleep, only so he can see James again tomorrow.

It is only in the silent halls of the apartment building that he lets himself think that there is no sweeter dream than those moments they share.

[houseswife]

yeah your boyfriend peeled you an orange but would he fake his death to make you his afterlife? would black flowers blossom, fearless on his breath?

[canisalbus]

What if modern au vachete is simply old timey angst vachete reincarnated. they get a second chance to be cute and in love

.

[naivety]

okay i need feedback from the autism mentall illness website um. this is going to read like an AITA post. brother vs half-sister (who are currently my dependents do to their own individual disabilities + ptsd/depression) spat i will skim the details on but i'm worried my sister will discount my take since i'm not autistic myself so. am i crazy to call it ableist to look at an autistic person (23) who is clearly going through it dealing w long term depression, a world that doesn't give a shit abt him, unemployment, very self-isolated and burnt out barely leaving his room because the world is an ableist dumpster fire with zero opportunities for him, and then bring up childhood abuse he's suffered and his diagnosis as reasonable factors on top of this to worry he'll [checks notes] abuse my cat just to hurt me or even worse have a breakdown and kill me and his other sibling in a violent episode, a train of thought i probably wouldn't even be having were he not [checks notes] mad at me for the first time in my life?

like i don't have any other read on this kind of fear-based characterization other than ableism. like those are very real things in his life but she never points out any current violent behavior, of which there are none, only the one (1) instance of him lashing out when he was like 14 and Officially Diagnosed Low Empathy she thinks is a concern and Hateful Looks toward her since he stopped getting along with her, that's it. i tried explaining to her why i, someone who's lived w him his entire life, can vouch for how unlikely he is to do anything like that, especially when it's again not based on anything he's actually currently doing except for isolating in a way that is much more indicative of him potentially being a danger to himself than anyone else, and being cold towards her specifically, and i thought she had let it go, but when i brought it up off-hand in a conversation tangentially related, she continued to defend and justify her Concern about the potential directions his behavior could lead to because [checks notes] other people in similar situations have lashed out and killed their entire families according to. true crime books or videos she's watched on youtube as far as i'm aware. ignoring the fact that her and i have had the same or Worse childhood abuse and have acted similarly isolated in the past, or for her literally just as currently as him, and she's not expressed any worry past or present about either of us doing anything like that, in my opinion obviously because i haven't cut her off due to our differences like he decided to. like am i big sibling biased because this is pissing me off so bad.

[harlequinoccult]

i am so fucking close to leaving this fuck ass apartment. please for the love of god.

[bookrat]

Pretty sure my little man has a case of abundism affecting the marble tabby coat under all those white splotches

[somecunttookmyurl]

all the while society conflates "being an adult" with "having a proper job" and "having money to make arbitrary Adult Purchases" disabled people who can't work - or can only work part time or can only do entry level baby jobs - will never be 'allowed' to be adults

you can say "being an adult is looking after yourself you don't have to have a job!!!" all you want but most people who say that will still assume anybody who doesn't either can't or won't 'look after themselves' actually. and every 'marker' of 'adulthood' that's observable and thus actually counts or whatever loops back around to... having a job and 'contributing' something

[stevieharringtonwifeguy]

supernatural fruity four au where whenever they have occasion to tell people they're supernatural they go like 'okay one of us is a vampire, one's a fairy, one's a witch, and one's a werewolf. guess which is which' because everyone literally always guesses that eddie's the vampire, nancys the fairy, robins the witch, and steve's the werewolf, and they think it's fucking hilarious how literally no one ever clocks a single one of them correctly

in actuality, nancys the vampire, steve's the fairy, eddie's the witch, and robins the werewolf

[family-on-6]

im still grappling with the fact that the actual Sam Reich commented on a tiktok that i made

the tiktok currently has less than 1k views

sam's comment is one of 4, one of which is mine replying to sam, two of which are from another person commenting and then replying to themself.

and its not some fake account, its his actual verified tiktok account with over 440k followers

like what the hey

but i mean hey @gamechangershow glad you liked the tiktok

[herbofgraceandpeace]

I was chilling, and now, alas! I am not.

[static-radio-ao3]

@jegulus-microfic // june 18 // prompt: date // words: 1046 // part one + part two + part three

“You look fine, Regulus,” Sirius says from where he is sprawled out on Regulus’ bed. He’s watching as Regulus tries on his fifth outfit. Something smart yet casual.

Regulus glances over at Sirius as he fiddles with his curls, making sure they’re arranged just right. “I know I do! I’m just— nervous.”

“What for?” Sirius reaches into the bag of chips again, fingers stained bright yellow from the cheesy powder. He’s munching away at his chips. “This guy’s seen you at in the middle of the night in those fuck ass plaid pants you insist on sleep in. If he’s still willing to go on a date with you, I’m sure he likes you a lot.”

“I don’t know…” Regulus hesitates, scratches his nose. “What if he only likes me at 2AM when he’s sleep-deprived?”

“Then he’s a fool. And a tired one, too.” Sirius sounds certain. Decisive. Like he had a glimpse into the future and is simply relaying facts. He always did have such a convincing way of speaking. Convinced Regulus right out of their parents’ house. Convinced him straight into the conservatory.

Sirius maneuvers his body into an upright position, pushing himself off the bed and coming to stand in front of Regulus. He reaches out to fuss with the collar of his shirt, but Regulus ducks out of range.

“Get your filthy fingers away from me.” He does not intend to show up to dinner with yellow fingerprints on his shirt.

Sirius shrugs, sucking his fingers into his mouth one by one to get the cheese powder off.

“My baby brother, all grown up.” All proud and preening, as if he’s solely responsible. And maybe he is, in a way.

But Regulus would rather choke on the words than let Sirius hear them, the Black family pride still a thing he can’t shake.

Sirius follows him to the front door, talking about how Regulus should be home by midnight and should not kiss on the first date and other inane social rules that Regulus has absolutely no intention of adhering to.

“Stop!” Regulus complains as he bats away Sirius’ hands when he reaches out again to adjust a curl. “You’re messing up my hair! And getting cheese powder all over me!”

Sirius is persistent, though. “Let me have this! You’ve never liked anyone before, this is a special occasion.” He shoves Regulus’ hands away with ease and tugs on a curl, making sure it rests over his forehead just so.

“I’ve liked people before, thank you very much,” Regulus huffs, indignant.

“Crouch doesn’t count,” Sirius says with a roll of his eyes.

“Just because you don’t like him doesn’t mean he doesn’t count.”

“Shhh. I am very specifically choosing to pretend you never liked him. Better yet, I am very specifically choosing to pretend he doesn’t exist.”

“You’re so fucking annoying, did you know that?”

Sirius opens his mouth to respond, but a knock on the door interrupts him. Regulus tries to sneak past Sirius to open the door himself, unwilling to subject James to the phenomenon that is his brother, but Sirius beats him to it.

He opens the door with a flourish, a winning smile on his face as he says, “Hi! You must be Jim—”

“James,” Regulus corrects dryly, despite the heavy thump of his heart. His treacherous, treacherous heart. Sirius pays him no mind.

James looks good. Annoyingly so. He hadn’t lied when he said he cleaned up nice.

His glasses are not smudged, for once. His hair sits neatly styled. Tan trousers and a nice shirt. Yeah, he looks good. But a part of Regulus wants to reach out and untuck the shirt and run a hand through his hair to ruffle it, just a bit.

He likes James soft and warm. He likes his voice sleep-sweet and honeyed.

“I’m Sirius. Regulus’ older brother. What are your intentions with him tonig—”

“And we’re leaving,” Regulus cuts in, shouldering past Sirius. Before he walks out the door, he turns to face his brother again, hissing, “Thank you for absolutely nothing.”

Sirius pays him no mind. He cheerfully calls out, “Bye! Make good choices!”

Regulus simply grabs James’ hand and drags him down the hall, as far away from his apartment as possible, as quickly as possible.

James’ hand is warm in his, a little clammy, but Regulus doesn’t mind. He hides a secret smile in the collar of his shirt at the knowledge that James is as nervous as he is.

“I’m so sorry about him,” Regulus says while they wait for the elevator. He turns to face James, but James’ gaze is fond. Regulus can smell James’ cologne, something woodsy and bright. It’s not as familiar to him as the lavender laundry detergent.

The same scent that clung to his favorite sweater for a week when Regulus had conveniently forgotten his own detergent at home and James had so kindly let Regulus use his. He had sat on the couch, nose tucked into the fabric of his sweater, pretending it was James’.

“No worries at all. I’m glad you have someone who cares about you like that.”

“Yeah, I—” Regulus supposes James is right. He doesn’t quite know what he’d do if he didn’t have this. Have Sirius. Wonders if he ever would have made it out of that house, out from under his parents’ thumb. He prefers not to think of it too much. “I guess,” he finishes lamely.

James — wonderful, attentive, thoughtful James — notices that the conversation is flowing someplace it is not yet supposed to go. He squeezes Regulus’ hand and smiles at him.

“Anyway, Harry is at his mum’s for the night so I am all yours. No interruptions this time. I swear.”

No baby monitors or beeping washing machines. No sleep to find and chord progressions to practice. Just James and Regulus.

This time, Regulus doesn’t hide his smile. “I think I like the sound of that.”

Regulus doesn’t make it home before midnight.

Instead, he finds himself in the laundry room at 2 A.M.

More specifically, he finds himself on top of a washing machine at 2 A.M., legs wrapped around James’ waist and hand lost in James’ hair as he is being paid back all the kisses he was owed.

With interest.

[balmungkriemhild]

I have made some sort of attempt at an alternate design so that Rêverose fits in the HSR setting more.... It feels like i'm speedrunning carpal tunnel (consider reblogging & donating to my Ko-fi, thank you!)

[veveisveryuncool]

Hm... you're taking drawing requests? Time to torture yet another mutual with my endless desire for GalactaDad! :D

I kid, I kid. But it would be nice! It's my current (permanent) hyperfixation.

(snickers mischievously) gramplactadad