#literally just don’t lie

[sapphic-storm69]

I hate neurotypicals sm bro wtf do you MEAN you don’t mean it when you say “we should hang out again”????? Don’t give me none of that “we’re being nice” bs because that’s NOT nice???? You’re lying to someone for literally no reason????

[the-casbah-way]

been having brutus thoughts recently

[ickypuppi3]

steve being overly tactile with billy when they become friends. slinging an arm around billy’s shoulder’s while they’re watching a movie. putting his hands on billy’s waist to move past him. tucking billy’s hair behind his ear to look at his earring. slipping a finger through the loop of billy’s jeans to tug him closer. grabbing billy’s chin to tilt his head because oh, you have freckles..

steve telling himself that sure he touches billy a lot but. he’s always been a touchy guy. it doesn’t mean anything.

steve not accepting that he has a crush on billy and that’s the reason he can’t keep his hands to himself.

because obviously steve isn’t a queer.

as if.

billy being simultaneously overwhelmed with and loving all the attention. because it’s steve. steve pressing his face into billy’s neck when they’re high. pulling billy’s hand close to play with his ring. running his hand over billy’s stomach when they pass out in the same bed and he thinks billy’s still asleep. tracing circles around billy’s ankle as he listens to billy read.

because it’s steve. steve who billy’s had a thing for since he arrived in hawkins. steve who can’t like billy like that. steve who isn’t like billy. steve who likes girls.

steve who called byers a queer.

billy wondering if this is just what it’s like to have a friend. a best friend. if this is just what you do. because billy doesn’t know. wouldn’t know. no one’s ever gotten close enough. billy thinking it’s all in his head. that he’s twisting his and steve’s relationship. making it into something it’s not.

steve staring at billy’s lips and wondering what it’d be like to touch them. billy wondering if steve’s gonna break his heart without even trying.

[astrobei]

Something’s wrong.

It’s a quiet afternoon in Will’s room. Mike is here, and this simple fact should be taking precedence over all else. It would be, on any other day — a day where it wasn’t off-puttingly quiet outside. On any other day, it would be all he could focus on.

Not that it’s not important. Mike is here, sprawled haphazardly across him, limbs akimbo like he couldn’t even be bothered to right himself before the need to bodily press every square inch of himself up against Will’s torso suddenly overtook him. It’s endearing, is what it is, even though Mike’s feet are dangling off the side of Will’s bed — they’re getting too tall to be able to lie down like this, side by side and taking up all the room they could possibly want. He’s got his cheek pressed up against Will’s sternum, arms wrapped so tight around Will’s stomach and lower back that it’s bordering on uncomfortable.

Endearing. It’s endearing, the need for proximity. The need for closeness, for touch, for reassurance. Mike wasn’t like this before. Not to this degree, at least. Will pretended to be annoyed by it at first, but the façade hadn’t even lasted a day before he cracked. He needs it too, and they both know it — the rhythmic push and pull of Mike’s breathing. Feeling Mike’s heart beat steadily against his own, separated by a meager few inches of blood and muscle and bone. The kinesthetic weight of a body against his own, grounding him on his off days — days where his pulse is perpetually panicked and off-kilter, threatening to fly away entirely, rendered unsuccessful only by the shape of Mike’s shoulder blades under his palm. The cotton of his flannel button-down, worn soft with use.

Grounding things. Real things. Safe things.

It’s a quiet afternoon. Mike’s foot twitches, suddenly and gently against where it’s pressed up against the line of Will’s calf.

It’s a quiet afternoon, and Will feels off, down to his bones.

Mike might be falling asleep.

Will smiles, hides it in the soft curtain of Mike’s hair where it’s brushing over his neck. Cups a hand around the back of his head and wraps his other arm around his shoulder — tighter, tighter, like Mike might just get up and walk away if he doesn’t. For all his pretending, Will is like this too, now: desperate, a little needy, selfish in small, ordinary ways. Too quick to worry when a call goes unanswered. Too quick to fuss over cuts and scrapes and bruises. He hugs too tight and he kisses too hard and he gets unsettled by quiet, calm afternoons.

He wasn’t ever like that before.

Mike twitches again — so delicately that it’s almost like an afterthought — then his arms tighten around Will’s midriff.

That feels intentional. Even if it hadn’t been. Things with Mike feel intentional. Purposeful.

Even if he is — you know. Asleep, a little.

Will’s room is comfortably warm; the late summer sun has been hiding lately, and the sky isn’t blue, exactly but at least it’s not red anymore — dark and rolling and angry. It’s still, and it’s quiet, and it’s peaceful for the first time in a long time — a long time—

—and still, something’s wrong.

“Will?”

Mike shifts, just slightly, just enough to lean his head against Will’s collarbone and look up at him. He catches the edge of Mike’s expression like it’s a secret, a glimpse of wide eyes, a little confused.

Will peers down at him. “Go back to sleep.”

“I wasn’t,” Mike says, even as he blinks heavily. He rolls out his ankle, bumps it against Will’s and keeps it there, stretches long and languid, lazy, like he has all the time in the world. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Will says. If Mike stays like this, if he doesn’t look up any farther, maybe he can get away with it.

Mike doesn’t sound convinced. “You sure?” he mumbles, rubbing at his eyes with one hand and pushing himself up, just enough to be able to look at Will better. “You seemed…”

He trails off. Will tucks a stray strand of hair back behind Mike’s ear, from where it had been falling loose and down into his eyes. “I’m sure,” he murmurs. “Go back to sleep.”

“I wasn’t asleep!”

“You were,” Will laughs. “You were twitching. Like a cat.”

“I don’t twitch,” Mike insists, then pauses. “Do I?”

“Sometimes,” Will admits, then presses a kiss to the top of Mike’s head. “When you’re really tired. I think it’s cute.”

“Stop,” Mike mumbles, but he lowers his head back to Will’s chest. “So mean to me.”

“I called you cute!”

“Mean,” Mike says, sounding like he’s halfway back to sleep already as he snakes an arm back around Will’s chest, hand resting lightly on the side of his throat, just over his jaw. He tangles their legs together, the sheets going wrinkled and bunched up under them. “So mean.”

Will smiles. “Sorry,” he whispers. He glances down at the mess of black hair in front of his face, runs a careful hand through it. Again, and again, and again. Mike makes a small noise, content and pleased, and presses in closer, like he’s trying to vanquish whatever minute semblance of space might have been left between them. “I won’t be mean again.”

It’s a joke, obviously. Still, Will traces apologetic circles into Mike’s back, into the gentle dip between his shoulders. He maps out the planes there, tries to commit them to memory by touch alone, the way he can feel Mike breathe in — slow, hesitant — and then out again — faster, like he’s collapsing back into Will’s body.

The circles give way to shapes, any that Will can think of. Then lines, curved and looping around his shoulder blades, his upper arms. He trails fingers up the back of Mike’s neck, where the cotton of his shirt gives way to a more organic warmth, and scrapes his fingernails lightly against the skin there. Drops another delicate kiss to the sliver of Mike’s forehead where his hair is parted as it falls around his face.

Mike lets out another pleased noise, half-coherent and probably involuntary, and his hand twitches lightly on Will’s jaw. Will bites back a smile, and stares straight up at the ceiling.

Will was never good at this before either — taking the things he wants. Letting himself have things he wants. Something is turning over in his gut, warm and viscous and slow, with each moment of touch he lets himself have, in this newfound, selfish way — through Mike’s hair, down his arms and back up again. Over his back, his shoulders, trailing fingers up his cheeks. He rubs circles into Mike’s temples, watches his brows unfurrow — for once in his life — and his expression go slack with contentment. He wants to touch the corners of Mike’s mouth too, where they’ve turned downwards, vulnerable, half-pressed into Will’s shirt.

He does. He can.

It’s a novel thing, for him, having someone be this close. Having someone be this close just because they want to be, because they trust you.

Will doesn’t know what to make of that. He’s never felt this before, the urge to hold someone so close that all the bad things go away. The urge to touch, the urge to lie here until entropy takes them.

There are no bad things anymore, though. It’s a quiet afternoon, and it’s calm, and it’s peaceful, and—

Will stops.

His hand stills on Mike’s back.

Oh, he thinks, still looking up at the ceiling. Oh.

“Will?” Mike stirs again, and he’d definitely been right on the precipice of sleep this time, judging by the way his voice is dragging on the single syllable. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Will whispers, a little incredulously, as realization dawns upon him. He wants to laugh. He wants to cry too, a little bit. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m great.”

Mike taps a slow finger against Will’s cheek and peers carefully up at him. “What is it?

“I,” Will starts, then stops. He’ll sound ridiculous if he says it. Ridiculous and pathetic and— “Nothing,” he says anyway, despite every molecule of better judgment in his body. “I’m just— I’m happy.”

Mike pauses. “Oh,” he says simply, cheek still pressed to Will’s chest. He sounds a little caught off-guard, in a good way. “I— that’s good. That you’re happy.”

The weird feeling in Will’s gut bubbles up, up, and over. “Yeah,” he says quietly, trying to keep his voice even. “I am. You make me happy.”

At this, Mike looks up. His expression is a bit startled, like a deer in headlights. “What?”

Oh, god. Will swallows. He looks back up. “I just,” he says, “I’ve never— I’m happy. And I don’t know when— I don’t know if I’ve ever. Been this happy before, I mean. Before everything. Before—”

You, he thinks. He doesn’t say it, but it goes implied.

Mike is silent.

The weird feeling starts settling back into Will’s stomach, slow and steady like molasses. Shit. That was, objectively, probably a weird thing to say. It was, right?

Oh, god.

Will blinks, once, twice, thrice in quick succession, and keeps his stare fixed on the ceiling.

“Will,” Mike says at last, from somewhere below him. He lifts his head off of Will’s chest, tufts of black hair swimming into view. “Can you— can you look at me, please?”

Oh, god.

Will looks down. “Yeah?”

Mike looks— wondrous, maybe, which is a bit dramatic, but it’s true. “Really?” he asks, and he doesn’t sound freaked out or anything, which is a good sign, but— “I do?”

“Yeah,” Will whispers. “You do. Like, really happy.”

Happy seems a bit diminutive, if Will’s being honest. Whatever this feeling is runs much deeper than that — past contentment and comfort and satisfaction. Ease, maybe. Safety would be closer.

He doesn’t say any of that.

Mike’s cheeks flush a brilliant pink. He splays his palm across Will’s cheek and asks, in mild disbelief, “Is that what was bothering you?”

“It wasn’t bothering me,” Will says quietly, tugging at Mike’s wrist and sitting up, just slightly, leaning back against one elbow. “I’m fine.”

“You weren’t,” Mike says simply, and lets himself be moved. “I could tell. I just— I thought it was something, you know. Worse.”

“What?” Will laughs, and Mike’s expression softens in relief. “Like what?”

“I don’t know!” Mike exclaims, but he’s smiling too. “I just— I could tell, and I didn’t— I don’t know. Never mind.”

Will pushes a strand of hair behind Mike’s ear again, the same one that had been falling back out the entire time they’d been lying together. “I’m sorry if you worried,” he says quietly. “I just— I didn’t know what it was. I’ve never been this happy before.”

“Will,” Mike starts, expression earnest and searching. He opens his mouth and closes it again.

“Sorry,” Will adds, for good measure. Maybe Mike is, like, totally freaked out. “No pressure, or anything.”

“Don’t apologize,” Mike says immediately, frowning. “Never apologize. I just— I’m happy too. You make me happy. Really happy.”

“Well that’s good,” Will jokes, but it comes out halfhearted. “I should hope I’m not making you sad.”

Mike rolls his eyes. “Will.”

“Sorry,” he says on instinct, then immediately bites down on his lower lip. “I mean. Yes. Yeah.”

Mike gives him a look, exasperated and a little fond. “I mean,” he says, then leans forward, all the way back into Will’s space, “you make me happy too. I don’t know when I’ve been— me too, I mean. Me too.”

“Oh,” Will breathes out, in awe, a little bit, of a lot of things — the deepening flush across Mike’s cheek, the ease with which the admission comes tumbling out of his mouth. The simple reciprocity of it bowls him over, like maybe Mike thinks about this, when Will doesn’t know — just how happy Will makes him. “Okay.”

Mike eyes dart between his own. “That all you have to say?” he teases. “Okay?”

“What else do you want me to say?” Will asks, teasing back, a little, but also asking a little truthfully. He’s not the greatest with words, but he’s also not stupid — he understands the implications, here, of what it means to feel so happy around someone that it feels like you’re admitting to something bigger by just saying it. He knows what he’s implying, and he knows Mike is picking up on it, but he doesn’t know how to put that into words — the way his soul feels like it’s stilled inside of him, somewhere, no longer restless or jittery or perpetually keyed up.

He wonders if Mike feels like that too.

The thought, suddenly, is too much.

“Nothing,” Mike says, after a moment. He pauses, then presses a fleeting kiss to Will’s cheek. “Nothing.”

“Mike,” Will says, suddenly, then grabs a hold of Mike’s wrist again. “I— you know that I—”

He feels overwhelmed, a little frantic. He’s sure it’s coming through in his voice. The rest of the sentence hangs there, suspended in midair between the two of them.

Love you, Will thinks. I love you. I love you.

He needs Mike to know.

Mike can’t ever know.

He looks away again, like maybe Mike will be able to tell exactly what he’s thinking just by looking at him.

“Yeah,” Mike is saying. “It’s okay, Will. I know. Me too. Obviously.”

Will relaxes. Thank god for plausible deniability. “Okay,” he says instead, feeling a smile split wide and exhilarated across his face. He feels like he just ran a marathon, and it isn’t until he lies back down that he feels it. The adrenaline, sweet and thick and palpable in his veins. “Okay. Cool.”

“Cool,” Mike echoes, then settles back down on top of him. “Yeah. Cool.”

Will tucks his chin over the top of Mike’s head, running a soothing hand over Mike’s hair. His heart is beating so fast that he’s sure Mike is able to tell. “Go back to sleep,” he says quietly. Mike lets out a noise that might be a laugh, and tucks his face into Will’s neck.

It’s a quiet afternoon. Everything feels perfectly right.

[kawaiixriot]

FFXVI SPOILERS

WHY DIDNT ANYONE GIVE YO GIRL A WARNING I MEAN JESUS CHRIST

[girlweepinginstairwell]

i was hoping to get this one job so badly and i applied a week ago and the listing has closed since then so i assume they hired someone and it wasn’t meeeee and i really really really wanted the job. it makes me so sad that i have all the qualifications and i did all the right things and somehow i still am not able to break into this industry. i’m a loss for what to do at this point

[canisonicscrewyou]

Hey y’all want some D-D-Doctor Who Playlists

because GOD I have a lot of them. and I’m not gonna lie they’re MOSTLY thoschei. some are better than others. featuring a fair amount of The Mountain Goats, AJJ, My Chemical Romance, Mitski, Sidney Gish, Hozier, Talking Heads, folk punk, emo,, and literally so much more songs. so many song. different flavors. yum yum eat up (is unreasonably pleased with all of these)

[starbuck]

just made the worst PowerPoint of my life and i’m going to turn it in for five million points

[gayvampyr]

yeah it might be annoying when people act like having children is a bad decision for everyone and anyone who chooses to have kids is ~insane~ but like. our society puts having a nuclear family on a pedestal and treats anyone who doesn’t conform like they’re freaks of nature (i.e. lonely adult virgin who just can’t get any, or “crazy cat ladies” or queers who are “destroying good traditional family values”) and ostracizes them and makes them feel broken so like. idk maybe a post online responding negatively to someone who acts like their life is perfect because they’ve achieved the One True Goal of a happy cishet family and looks down on anyone who hasn’t isn’t the biggest deal in the world?

[mediumtires]

i'm rereading copper and wool and did you ever say what christians anniversary gift was for toto 🤔

okay okay SO! this is so funny, a few weeks ago the first person ever (shoutout to FallingStar on ao3) actually guessed right! it's sheep! to me it was so obvious (copper and wool etc) but looking back now, it really wasn't. so christian's anniversary gift is sheep lol.

when i wrote it i was actually planning a tiny little sequel but I abandoned it and now it's collecting dust on my desktop. that being said, i’ll put it here (unbeta-d first draft) for those who might want to read it!

“No. No chance.” “C’mon, be a good sport.” “Nein,” Toto says, trying hard to hide his smirk. “I will not let you blindfold me.”

“What if I were to take you upstairs?” “Are you?” “No.” “Then no,” Toto laughs, a little exasperated, and tries to pull away from Christian’s insisting hands.

“C’mon, darling,” Christian tries again, a wide grin lighting up his features. “You know it’s the standard protocol for surprises.”

“I don’t trust you,” Toto just says and turns away from Christian and the tie in his hands to put the water filter back in the fridge. “Fuck you.” Christian laughs in retaliation and swats the tie at him. “At least close your eyes then.”

Toto sighs heavily and turns back to Christian, propping one hand up on the kitchen counter. “Are you serious?” “Entirely.” Christian knows he’s won when Toto sighs once more in exasperation and rakes a hand through his hair.

“But don’t make me fall,” he instructs. “Or walk me into things. I’m very important.” Christian rolls his eyes. “I know you are. Now, c’mon. Close your eyes. We don’t have all day.” “We don’t?” 

But Toto does close his eyes after all and stretches his hands out to curl them around Christian’s hips. As Christian starts walking, he says, “Y’know, if you would’ve gone for the tie, I might’ve taken you to the bedroom after.”

Toto snorts. “If you want me to tie you up and blindfold you, just ask,” he offers with a devilish little smirk and Christian is glad he’s got his eyes closed. Something to consider. “Maybe later.” He’s aiming for nonchalant, but he knows Toto sees right through him anyway.

When they step out onto the patio, Toto pulls up his shoulders and frowns. “Are we outside?” “Yes.” “Why?” “Can you not just let me do this for five minutes?” Christian asks, exasperated. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Toto does shut up after that, but it’s mainly because he’s concentrating hard on not tripping and falling when trailing after Christian.

It’s been a few days since their return from Miami and this is the first lull in both their schedules, both of them home early, so frankly, Christian saw an opportunity and took it. Not that he thinks it would have made a huge difference to wait another day or two. Toto hasn’t set a foot anywhere but the chicken coop in a good week, so the probability of him finding out about this is hilariously low. It does make Christian question the whole idea somewhat, but it’s too late now anyway. Still, the Carrera on his left wrist weighs a little heavier than usual.

Toto trips once they reach the gravel path leading further into the grounds and digs his hands into the fleshy bit of Christian’s hips to catch himself. He grunts, stumbles, and Christian can’t help but crack a laugh. “Careful there,” he offers. “Gravel.” He pats Toto’s left hand and then keeps his palm there.

“You are supposed to guide me,” Toto complains, and he already sounds like he’s enjoying this much less than only a minute ago. “You are making me fall on purpose.”

“I’m not.” Christian rolls his eyes towards the sky but keeps moving. “Not everything I do is to antagonise you, darling. Now stop whining.”

Toto does not stop whining because of course he doesn’t. He’s very vocal about how stupid this whole thing is all the way past the chickens, the goats and the donkeys, the pen closest to the house, past their two old ponies, Jacky and Jim, which they had adopted on a whim from the farmer up the road.

For a moment, Christian is contemplating whether he should just push Toto into the pond to humble him. A while ago a bunch of ducks moved in and don’t seem to want to leave again. Christian has grown quite fond of them. More often than not he finds them with the chickens now or waddling around the farm.

“Are we—Is that ducks? Is that the ducks?” Toto has picked up on the distinct flapping of their wings, affronted at the unusual intrusion of their privacy. Christian chuckles at the drake side eying them and pulls Toto further down the path towards the folding. It’s the one attached to the barn at the outskirts of their main property, and Christian had chosen it mainly because it was the one Toto would be least likely to walk into unprompted.

“Almost there,” he says and takes one of Toto’s hands in his so navigating the uneven grounds becomes a little easier. “Should have put on wellies,” he ponders, as he eyes the meadow, the grass long and wet. It’s perfect for the sheep but not exactly ideal for Toto’s dress shoes. They’re Italian leather.

“What?” Toto makes a sound as the damp grass hits his ankles and Christian’s smirk widens. “Christian, you should’ve told me! My boots were right there! These are Italian leather!”

He knows. “I know.” He pulls Toto along. Surprisingly, despite his bitching and moaning, he keeps his eyes closed. “Might have to throw them out later. Shame.” He’ll make sure to keep Toto out here long enough for them to be soaked through and ruined. 

Toto makes another sound, displeased, but Christian can see how hard he’s trying to bite down on his exasperated amusement. Toto’s about to throw a comment back at him when a loud “Baaaaa” cuts him off. “What was that?” Toto pulls himself up a little taller. The sheep must’ve spotted them because there’s another string of agreeable bleating. “Christian, what is that?”

They stop at the fence and Toto, still with his eyes closed, sways a little, gripping Christian’s hand to regain his balance. “Christian.”

“Jesus, yes.” Now that he’s looking at the flock of sheep, all huddled together and warily observing Christian and Toto at the fence, he’s not sure if this wasn’t a silly idea.

He’d come up with it when Toto had one night jokingly suggested they should get sheep.

“Sheep?” “Yeah.” “Do you know how much bloody work sheep are, darling? We can barely keep up with the animals we’ve collected so far! We’re lucky we’ve got Johnny to help us out.” Toto had just laughed and kissed his shoulder and let it go, but then, on a trip to Austria last year, Toto had told him how he’d seen a herd of very specific Austrian sheep every time he’d visited his gran in the countryside and how they reminded him of the better times of his childhood. When Christian started thinking about potential anniversary gifts, it was too perfect to just let go. He couldn’t for the life of him remember the breed Toto had mentioned, but the more he’d looked into it, the more he’d realised that while Austrian sheep are very durable and sturdy, they would probably do less well in the mellow British countryside of Oxfordshire, and so he’d decided on British breeds instead. In the end, he’d just gone for one that looked adorable and was easy enough to maintain. With the accumulation of random animals they already had running around the farm, it wouldn’t make much of a difference anyway. They wouldn’t be using them for wool farming or that, so might as well have them be nice to look at.

The longer he looks at them now, Toto impatient at his side, still holding his hand, the heavier the watch on his wrist feels. Christian isn’t one for huge gestures or anniversary gifts, but somehow things this year felt different. It hasn’t even been a year since Singapore. It still follows them around, the consequences of that day, shadowy and washed out, but he can still feel it, and so can Toto. Christian is just glad they’re still here. They made it to seven years, and beyond, and for whatever bloody reason he thought a flock of seven sheep would be ideal to celebrate an anniversary centred around wool.

“Christian, there’s water in my shoes,” Toto informs him, and Christian turns his head and grins at his city husband, still blind, the corners of his mouth tweaked down.

“That’s a shame,” he says, “You can open your eyes now.”

Toto does so immediately. He blinks, frowns up at the grey sky, rubs at his eyes with the hand that isn’t still holding Christian’s. Christian lets go to lean against the wooden fence instead.

There is a brief pause. Then, “Christian?” “Yes, darling.” “What am I looking at.” Christian turns to Toto with his eyebrows twitching. As if it wasn’t obvious. “Your anniversary gift!” Toto’s eyes go a little wider as he looks back at the flock of sheep, a huddle of white fleece and black eyes. “What?”

“I told you, your gift was waiting at home.”

“You got me… sheep?”

“Well, us, I guess. But yeah.”

“Seven sheep?”

“Well, first of all, Johnny said no less than five.” Christian is getting a little flustered now and so he blusters on in full pretentious confidence of a Formula 1 team principal defending a Max overtake that no one in good conscience should defend. “And so I wanted to get six, but then I thought, well that doesn’t make any sense, does it, when it’s our seven year anniversary and the theme I’m going with is wool. So I got seven. And they’re a family! The two little ones were only born a few weeks ago. I didn’t want to take them from their mothers.” He pulls his shoulders down a little to straighten his back and keeps looking at the sheep to avoid having to look at his husband. “Plus, you were banging on about wanting sheep.”

“You remembered that? That was ages ago.”

“So?”

“Christian.” Toto’s voice is soft in a way it only ever is when he’s about to say something disarming. “Darling. I—” And then he just wraps himself around Christian from behind, chin hooked over his shoulder and nosing Christian’s cheek. “You said they are too much work.”

“Well, you said you wanted them so—” “How do you manage to outdo me every time?” Toto’s voice is awfully quiet. “I really thought I nailed it this year.” Christian breathes a laugh, half of it in relief that he, against better judgement, didn’t mess this up. “You know I love my watch,” he tells Toto, fingers brushing the warmed leather hugging his wrist. “And this isn’t a competition. You got copper, I got wool. Sorted.”

“I can’t believe you got me sheep,” Toto says again. His voice is a little higher than usual, his accent catching on the vowels, making the words come out hitched.

“Well, look,” Christian grabs one of the large hands wrapped around his torso and covers it with his own. “It’s not just—Sure, you said you wanted sheep, but—Look, I know you’re not a farm boy, okay? You’re very much a child from the city and I know you say you love our home, but I want you to feel it, too, I want you to feel at home here and not just come along for the ride and agree to everything I say. Especially after last year, I want this place to be our sanctuary, and if it takes bloody sheep because you said you wanted them, then so be it. There’s your sheep.”

Toto’s smile widens, Christian can feel it pressed to his cheek, and he can feel the pleased little hum too, reverberating down his spine. Toto’s hold around him tightens fractionally. “I feel very at home, darling. You know that, ja? I don’t need sheep for that. Mostly I need you.”

Christian closes his eyes on a deep breath, and sinking further into Toto’s chest he says, “We can put them with the rest of the lot soon. They’ll need another few days or so, until they’re settled in, and then we can move them in with the others.”

“We’ll need a sheep dog now.”

Christian barks a laugh, lets his head thump against Toto’s shoulder in defeat. “Yeah, no, Bernie and Flav won’t do, will they? Lazy little buggers.” “It’s because you feed them at the table.” “Hey, you started that! Flav, with those puppy eyes and you just—Don’t think I don’t know you cut him up steak when I’m not looking!” Toto’s silent laughter comes in short puffs of breath against the skin of Christian’s neck. “No no no no,” he feels the need to clarify even though they both know it’s the truth. “You feed them too, don’t lie.” Christian tries to stifle a smirk. “They are a tad overweight, aren’t they?” “The vet said, last time,” Toto reminds him. “We need to work them harder, or cut out the food.” Christian hums. “It might be time for a third. A puppy will work them alright.” He coughs a laugh, already regretting this, and adds, “Might as well get a cow or two while we’re at it. Not like it matters now.”

“What are we going to call them?” Toto suddenly asks, lifting his chin from Christian’s shoulder to regard the sheep more closely.

“Well, we gotta stick to the theme.” Christian’s mouth lifts into a smirk. “So you better get creative.”

“It’s my turn, isn’t it?” Toto asks. “My sheep, my turn.” “Toto, I swear, if you’re going to name them something stupid—” “You named the donkeys and now I have to call them Max and Daniel!” Christian’s protest dissipates into thin air. “Well, it works, they’re good names.” “Yes, and now it’s my turn.” “Just remember, it’s mostly ewes. One ram, the big one, the rest is ewes, and the two lambs are one of each.” “…ewes?” “Female sheep, darling. So I want no Lewis running around, or George, or whoever you’re already thinking of.” “No,” Toto hums thoughtfully. “Lewis is a goat, not a sheep.”

It's so stupid, it has Christian crack a well-earned laugh.

And bonus (cause I couldn’t work this in):

“You know, they’re like… designer sheep.” “They’re what? Designer sheep?” “Yeah, well, look, we’re not going to use them for breeding, or wool, or meat, are we, so they’re… you know. Nice to look at. Sheep we can keep as pets, more or less. They’re still a durable breed, just. Also nice to look at.”

Toto laughs at him for an hour after that.

Here are said sheep!

“They look a little like donkeys, don’t they?” “You think?” “Ja.” “Well, they’re not, they’re sheep. Kerry Hill.” “Kerry who? Have you named them already?” “What? No, that’s the breed, darling. They’re Kerry Hill sheep. They’re from Wales.” “So basically foreigners, yes? We should give them foreign names. International.” Toto grins at him, then he adds, “We should give them German names you can’t pronounce.”

[sexynetra]

I SOBBED LIKE A BABY

[juniperhillpatient]

I like watching videos that are like “films I literally had to turn off!” or “most controversial horror movies” etc because I am an edgy edgy little edgelord & I take obnoxious pride in never ever having done anything like that because I’m very annoying & I love extreme horror

[chilapis]

I think every moment is eternal in its own right and we hold no authority to deny it that status. Even if it is a forever that will escape our memories, it’ll still exist as a forever in the history of time. In the memories of no-one but the Earth itself. In the records kept and made by no-one, where everything is stored for all time to come. No love is lost and no existence truly unacknowledged.

[soullessjack]

not a samgirl not a deangirl not a casgirl but a fourth secret and far more sinister thing

[byanyan]

feel like byan runs into this issue a lot where someone they've stolen from or affected poorly in some other way will see them again randomly on the street or in a store or whatever & confront them...

but they'll just stand there so confused like "wtf how do you even know that was me" like their look isn't stupidly distinctive... like they don't fucking draw attention just for existing dressed the way they are... like someone's not gonna remember the vibrant & glittery punkass freak and the platform boots they ran away in

[starlooove]

Racist white ppl who don’t realize they’re racist getting mad about gojo is so funny