#thank you and goodnight!!!

[averseunhinged]

ok well we made it. this is more of the porn with feelings that has finally turned into porn. this is not porn, though. it's just kissing and feelings. i totally fucked up the read order last time. all the sorries. i'm pretty sure it's this part, then this week's snippet, then this, and finally this.

“I'm going to kiss you now, Klaus. Is that enough warning? Should I put my hand on your knee for a while? Maybe do the old yawn and stretch maneuver?”

He grinned at her, dimples stretching into deep, grooved lines. It wasn't that Klaus didn't smile often, but for all that he did, he rarely showed his teeth. It was a little bit silly, his big smile, less practiced. Less wary. His teeth weren't perfect or celebrity white, but they were pretty good for a guy who was born before flossing was invented.

Before he could return her volley, she leaned forward and kissed the smile off his mouth. He sucked in a surprised breath through his nose as he returned her kiss, even though she'd warned him. He was a little bit of a sloppy kisser, loose lipped and wet. She might have thought he wasn't interested if it wasn't for the careful, hesitant hands on her waist and thigh.

It had been months since he'd been so hesitant to touch her. Caroline was a touchy, huggy person by nature. It had felt good to not allow him permission at first. Not because she was punishing him -- or not entirely. It let her feel some small amount of control over her own life when she could give him a single glance and he'd obey. By graduation, though, it had stopped feeling quite so satisfying. After he'd returned from New Orleans the second time, his immediate acquiescence, and the disappointed little moue he tried to hide, made her feel downright petty.

He'd taken Rebekah and her to the Outer Banks for a week near the end of August. Caroline was so mad at Tyler and disappointed both Bonnie and Elena had decided not to go to college like they'd all planned; she'd let him take her hand to help her up off the sand and keep it as they'd walked back to the beach house. It wasn't until later, after pitchers of sweet, vivid sangria, after tender Scottadito and fresh, raw oysters with their iodine tang, after Klaus and Rebekah bickered and laughed all evening, the happiest she'd seen either of them, that she'd wondered where her guilt had gone.

She pressed forward harder and angled her head. He'd let his stubble go in the few weeks since she'd left for Whitmore with Rebekah. Other than a couple of day trips to D.C., Klaus didn't seem interested in doing much other than drinking, painting, and reading Jim Thompson novels, one after another. He certainly hadn't made any friends in town, the way Damon had ingratiated himself. She had a feeling he might have been shifting more often, but he hadn't mentioned it, so she hadn't asked. He smelled fresh and clean from the shower and the unscented soaps he preferred, but underneath that were fainter traces of green, summer forest and some raw and bloody and wild.

She scraped her chin along his and liked the way it burned so much, it made her feel wobbly. Her hands moved without her permission, needing the feeling of his skin to ground herself. Her right hand cupped around the side of his neck, her fingers creeping into his hair and up behind his ear. She steadied herself with her other hand on the center of his chest almost below his sternum. His skin shivered beneath her touch and finally came alive.

He'd never really used his strength on her. Even when he was furious, even the one time he'd hurt her, he'd held her. Shook her without squeezing until she bruised. He'd impaled her and bit her and dropped her on the floor like she was nothing, but he'd cradled her, held her like she was something precious he desperately wanted to keep, too. The closest she'd come to understanding was the night Rebekah saved her life. Even with a stake in her shoulder, Rebekah had lifted Caroline like it wasn't any harder to carry her than not to, cracked ribs with the strength of her grip, and moved so quickly, Caroline hadn't had the chance to see what was happening. She'd only heard the screams fading behind them, the squishing and popping of bodies rent, and a rumbling, menacing growl that should have terrified her.

He was gentler now than Rebekah had been, but he pulled Caroline hard enough to overbalance her as he sat up. She collapsed against him, giggling out the butterflies rioting in her stomach, until he settled her in his lap, his right arm coiling around her waist. She didn't need to test his grip to know she wouldn't be able to break it if he didn't allow her to. There was too much need in it, an urgency he'd buried over the summer, while he tried to be her friend. Tried to give her what she wanted, even if it wasn't enough for him. She wondered if anything would ever be enough for him, if he could gorge himself on her until he was satisfied. He took her now in nips and tongue-tip licks until she opened her mouth to him and let him in.

[riocinn]

those were the lyrics right

[triona-tribblescore]

I cant stop thinking about them :'( 🩷🩷✨✨ drew my human designs for a wee change of pace uvu

[modernlovez]

Thoughts I’ve had in the past 72 hours

[cairafea]

On the idea of Theseus's Ship: in the end, it's still his, isn't it? It was known as Theseus's, and it will continue to be known as Theseus's.

Even after he has returned to the ground which grew the wood of the hammer used to nail the ship's frame, Even after generations of new wood have rotted and the sails are rags clinging to threads, Even after millennia,

it will still be Theseus's Ship.

Thank you for bringing us home.

Goodnight, Phosphophyllite.

[swiftlymurmurs]

I've seen a lot of people voice disappointment over this Game Changer season finale and while I personally wasn't really bothered by a lot of the criticisms (I thought the Ratfish was an interesting added game mechanic and I never really care who wins or loses so his judgements not aligning with mine made no difference to me) I do think it's very interesting and I've spent some time thinking about why it doesn't work for so many. Some thoughts: Why is this Eric guy even here?

Tim & Eric were a popular tv comedy duo in the late aughts alt comedy scene. Sam and many of the writers at Dropout are sketch comedy nerds who, in 2007, were freshly at the start of their comedy careers, and probably see them and the larger [Adult Swim] environment they were a part of as a huge influence.

Why has it maybe aged poorly?

As far as I know, their popularity came in the early stages of about a decade of quite cynical, surreal comedy that also spawned the "lolrandom" era. While huge and fresh at the time, I think my generation (gen Z, the main viewerbase of Dropout) has grown pretty tired of this style and favours sketch comedy that's more clever, witty, and emotionally open or wholesome. At least, that's a movement Dropout has very much steered into with their roster of comedians and it's what the viewers expect.

The parasocial thing

It's no secret that Dropout actively promotes itself as a tight group of friendly comedians who you are invited to get to know, expect, and love when they show up. They don't abuse parasociality in the way you see, for example, younger audience oriented youtubers shoveling merch do it, but they absolutely make use of it. Most of the moments from this episode I've seen people gush over or post positively about are those where the cast recognize each other's styles, reference their relationships, and just generally make it known how well they know one another. When a total stranger enters the picture in an episode where the cast already have a barrier to their regular banter AND is given so much power over the game, they may look like an outsider or even an enemy to the happy little family people have gotten so attached to. Especially because his role is explicitly that of an antagonist, and the cast are never given a chance to see him and maybe out their love and respect for him as a comedian. In the minds of viewers, he just stays some guy who made mean jokes about their blorbo and then left.

Conclusion

I'm always glad to see this show making big swings, and while most of them have landed, some of them are bound to miss. It's a show that prides itself on trying things the viewers may not yet know they wanted and the second it stops trying, I think it'll be all the worse for it. It's a shame to end the season on such a note, but it's been hit after hit so far, and before we know it we'll be right back into it. I love this show, I love this cast, and I'm excited to see what's next!

[shivroygirls]

the roy siblings, part I

where things come back by john corey whaley / succession's all the bells say / unknown source / frank ocean's ivy / jenny han / erica e. goode / adventure time's i remember you / jane mersky lader / succession / maurice sendak / jewish literacy by rabbi joseph telushkin / succession / you are jeff by richard siken / brother, sister, rival, friend: the longstanding effects of sibling relationships by oshua a. krisch / antigone by sophocles.

[rotisseries]

every fandom has the found family cuddle pile picture but can you believe ours is official?

[algoreithms]

late night cecilia post because i'm brainrotting so fucking bad. she's the worst

+ slapshipping nonsense below the cut because i am a degenerate

[hools]

happy trans day of visibility 

[rainbow-nerdss]

"How come you never talk to me about sports?"

It's late in the afternoon on a lazy Sunday, and they're just curled up on the couch together. Eddie's got a book in one hand, and he's carding the fingers of his other through Steve's hair. Steve's got the sports pages from the morning paper in his lap, and he's looking through it idly.

He stops when he hears Eddie's question, though, cranes his neck back to look at him.

"Huh?"

"How come you never talk about sports? I just realised I don't even know what teams you support." Eddie dog-ears his book and sets his book aside as he asks.

Steve frowns. "But… you don't care about sports. Like, at all. Why would I bore you by talking about it?"

"Are you bored when I talk about D&D?” Eddie asks, hand stilling in Steve’s hair. Steve shakes his head. “I tell you about my sessions all the time. I tell you about the books I'm reading and music shit, and you always listen to me. You don't really care about any of that stuff, either."

Steve shakes his head. "Yeah, but that’s different,” he tries to argue.

“How so?”

Steve wracks his brain for the words to describe it. “I like listening to you talk about D&D because you get so excited. I like hearing you talk about something you care about."

Eddie smiles and kisses Steve’s forehead. He looks almost smug, like he’s won a debate Steve hadn’t even realised he was part of.

"So let me ask again. Why don't you talk about sports more?"

Steve is quiet, staring at nothing in the distance as he puts the pieces together.

"I never... Nobody ever.... I mean, except Lucas, but Robin and Dustin always rolled their eyes when I made references to it, so..."

Eddie cups Steve’s face and looks him in the eye. "Tell me something."

"What?"

"I don't know. What's the drama right now? How's your team doing in the league or the championship or whatever it's called? Tell me about the last game you saw on TV! I wanna hear you talk about your interests, too."

Steve feels warmth burst in his chest as he sets the newspaper aside. 

Eddie leans back against the couch, watching fondly as he listens. Steve is hesitant at first, stumbling over his words. A little voice in the back of his head keeps tripping him up, telling him Eddie doesn't care about any of this and you're boring him, wrap it up.

Every time he lets the voice win, though, every time he stops talking, trails off, or tries to change the topic to something Eddie might enjoy more, Eddie asks him a question.

"What does that rule mean?"

"How does team selection even work?" 

"What would your dream line-up look like right now?"

And Steve answers. And Eddie listens.

When Eddie finally runs out of questions, Steve's surprised by how happy he is.

"You're really cute when you talk about sports, you know that right? Your face lights up with it."

Steve leans in and kisses Eddie. "I love you."

"Love you too, babe. I really do."

[2xthemoon]

My personal headcanon is that the batkids got a roomba and named it Alfred

Could you IMAGINE the chaos that ensues

[emositecc]

I got inspired by this post 🥺♥️

[buglaur]

if virgil was in a horror movie he'd probably be first to die

[queerweewoo]

Eddie stumbles from his tangled bedsheets to go take his nightly piss—alarm clock beaming its 4:03 AM display directly onto his sleep-wrecked retinas, possibly for all of eternity—because being past the age of thirty is all fun and games. 

Bare feet padding as quietly as an exhausted still half-asleep one hundred and seventy-five pounds not far off six foot guy can manage, he's just about to pass the living room when he hears... something.  

He stops. Holds his breath. Listens. 

Buck is mumbling, talking in his sleep.

“And, man, I (something something) you. Because you always listen to me; never make me feel bad for (something something), always make me feel like I'm worth sticking around for, and I (something something) for that, Eddie.”

Buck is dreaming. Buck is dreaming about Eddie. Buck is dreaming about Eddie making Buck feel wanted. 

Eddie smiles—and before realising what he's doing he is in his living room, leaning over his couch, leaning over Buck, and pressing a soft kiss to Buck's birthmark as if he's done this a thousand times before. 

Buck wakes, blinks, smiles sleepily back at Eddie, cute as a bug, and is then craning his neck to peck his own soft kiss to the small mole underneath Eddie's left eye. 

With the speed of a gunshot or a lightning strike, Eddie suddenly doesn't know why the hell Buck is sleeping on his couch instead of in his bed, or why the hell he hasn't had the guts to tell Buck that he is so, so in love with him—especially after Buck split with Tommy a few weeks ago and started testing the water with Eddie (when Eddie grew a moustache and styled his hair a little differently and suggested they go to that gay club down on Burbank together to drink stupid amazing pink cocktails and dance the night away as if they didn't have a care in the world and—) 

Then, just as fast, he's thinking fuck it, and la vida es demasiado corta, and deciding to remedy the latter—with the hope it might help with the former—by saying, “It's ass o'clock in the morning, Buck, and I really fucking love you.” 

Eddie's best friend is at once wide a-fucking-wake, eyes the size of abuela’s best Talavera dinner plates, mouth doing a pretty great impression of a guppy as he gawps up at Eddie. 

There's a concerningly long moment of silence, before Buck says, “Oh.” 

Like a champ, Eddie chooses to ignore the way his heart is trying to relocate to somewhere deep in his gut, because he's had to get pretty damn good at that, what with everything that has happened in his loco life, and he just smiles again, a little dimmer, a little more tight-lipped, while nodding his head and rolling his eyes in a yeah, silly ol’me, huh? sort of way, and is about to push himself upright with the hand gripping the top of the couch so that he can drag his sorry ass back to his bedroom and get a tension headache from not allowing himself to cry and getting zero sleep for what will probably be the rest his life— 

That's when Buck reaches out, a big hand grabbing at Eddie's waist. 

Eddie's gaze tears itself away from those beautiful Talavera eyes that are shining brightly in the thick darkness of his sleeping house, settling where Buck's hand is holding him in place, where the contact blazes; not like fire but like the ever-burning candle flame that's lived behind Eddie's ribcage for the past seven or so years.

“Eds, I’m—I wasn't, like, awake enough to, uh, to, to, to process that? And the thing is—” 

“Hey, no, Buck, it's okay, you don't need to explain.” Eddie's heart is falling, falling, falling, right to the very soles of his feet. “I shouldn't have just blurted that out at you, without any preamble—

“Eddie.”

“—and I definitely shouldn't have bothered you while your were—”  

“Eddie." 

“—sleeping, I just—

“Eddie, will you shut up!”  

Eddie's teeth clack as he dutifully swallows the rest of his rambling. 

“Can you please just listen to me for a sec?” Buck pleads.  

“I—yeah, Buck, sure. I'm sorry, ‘course. Sorry.”

Buck takes a breath. “You don't gotta be sorry, Eds, I was just trying to say: The thing is, I have said a lot of dumb things in my life—like a lot—but me saying ‘oh’ to you telling me that you love me? Yeah, no, that has to top the bill. Dumbest fucking thing that's ever left these lips.” Eddie can't help it when his gaze flickers to the pretty culprits; it's an involuntary action by this point. “Because,” and Buck is now licking at them—tongue wet and lush against plush red—before he's honest to Dios batting those beautiful blonde eyelashes of his right in Eddie's helpless direction, then breathing his next words right into Eddie's mouth as he leans up and pulls Eddie into him at the same time, fanning the flame in Eddie's chest by saying, “I really fucking love you too, Eds.”  

And then he's kissing Eddie again—only this time he's pressing his lips into Eddie's, and Eddie is right there with him, kissing Buck back as if they've done this a thousand times before. 

When Buck has to pull away, presumably to prevent a crick in his neck—Eddie cannot fathom even half of another good reason—Eddie goes to follow him down, so eager after so long, wanting to cover the entirety of Buck's body with the entirety of his own. But Buck is shaking his head, and saying, “No, wait, Eddie.”  

Before Eddie's heart can start digging its way down through the carpet and floorboards and foundations and dirt, to some place that resembles an old forgotten underground well, Buck is asking, “Can I come to bed with you?”  

Eddie has to will his heart from beating right out of his chest, then, with just how much happiness is bursting its way in there; with Buck bursting in, with all of his love, sharing it with Eddie, just like everything else in their lives.   

Eddie feels his cheeks flush when he says, “That's, uh—well, honestly, Buck? You'd kinda be making my best recurring dream come true, if you did.”

“Well, you shot my recurring dream down in flames by not listening to me for the very first time in seven literal years and talking right over my heartfelt love confession—even if I did still your line,” Buck tuts.“ You're a monster, Eddie Diaz,” he teases.  

Eddie pays back Buck's grin with added interest, because it's as infectious and unstoppable as the common cold.

“Firstly, you had just answered 'oh' when I told you that I loved you, and secondly, does this monster not get a pass seeing as we just got off a clusterfuck of a twenty-four and it's ass o'clock in the morning and I had presumed you were letting me down gently?” 

“Absolutely not, Firefighter Diaz—because you should never presume when it comes to a Buckley,” Buck follows that with a pointed look. “But, I might let you make it up to me,” he grins again, a hopeful sort of thing, “by agreeing to be the teaspoon to my tablespoon in your big, comfortable bed… Whadda ya say to that?” 

“I say yes sir, Firefighter Buckley,” Eddie agrees instantly, obviously, as he bends down and scoops Buck up and over his shoulder and into a very appropriate Evacuation Lift, Buck squealing hilariously when Eddie sets off for his bedroom at a pretty impressive pace, if you were to ask Eddie.

And after they've sunk beneath the tangled bedsheets at ass o'clock in the morning (4.12 AM to be precise), and as Buck wraps the entirety of his long self around the entirety of Eddie, in Eddie's bed—their bed, now, hopefully—Eddie breathes a full breath for the first time all summer, and allows himself to love and be loved.  

His next big breath is a couple of weeks later when Christopher comes home, rolling eyes at Eddie and Buck after they tell him they're together, merely giving them a finally! in that patented teenage tone before heading to his room to set up his gaming station, like he'd never been away.  

Oh, and in case anyone is wondering, it turns out Eddie really, really loves being the little spoon—almost as much as he and Buck love each other. 

.

(unedited; pls be forgiving!)

[mylarena]

Soap, draped across the couch, hanging halfway off of it: [Sad, dejected tone] And that's the most effective way to set up your C4 to maximize the destruction.

Gaz, knowing exactly what Soap's issue is: [Nods] Nice.

Price: ... Soap, are you feeling al-

Ghost: [Walks into the room, just getting back from a week long solo mission]

Soap, immediately flinging himself into a sitting position: [Absolutely ecstatic voice] Ghost! You're back!

Gaz & Price: [Exchange a Done With This Shit™ look]