SAEYOUNG browses Netflix on the couch while he waits for you to make the popcorn. It's a warm summer night and you have agreed that he will choose the movie while you take care of the snacks. Soon, you discover you are out of Dr Pepper, so you promptly return to the living room to ask him if he wants you to take a quick trip to the store or if he prefers to have one of your soda cans.

The small pops begin echoing in the kitchen, but you don't move from your spot as you observe your lover, dressed in grey shorts and a black tank top. His amber eyes are set on the screen, soft humming leaving his lips as he carefully goes over the different options for tonight.

However, the thing that catches your attention, what made you stop your racks in the first place, is the small chub on his stomach. The fabric of his clothes strains a bit around it, almost as if it doesn't fit anymore, and you wonder how you didn't notice it before, given you've been sharing a bed for a year now.

Slowly, your eyes start tracing the rest of his body. The new rosy tint that dusts his now fuller cheeks. The defined lines that used to run across his biceps, barely noticeable, now replaced by soft skin. The added plush of his thighs, almost inviting, on display thanks to his shorts riling up.

He's healing, you think. Without the crushing weight of being an agent and the need to be able to escape at any time, he can finally rest. He's done with running away, constantly pushing his body to the limit, and eating just enough to see another day.

You walk towards him before you can register and, in a matter of seconds, you've found a place on his lap, your face buried in the crook of his neck as you envelop him with a hug. His chuckle makes his chest gently jump, and you snuggle even closer.

"Hey," he smiles, leaving the remote on the side and returning your hug, just as tight. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," you hum. You take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of his shampoo for a few seconds before you pull yourself away. The moment his eyes meet yours, a smile draws upon your face. "I just love seeing you happy."

He doesn't reply. He knows your words carry more meaning than you're letting on, so he prefers not to ask, even if he appreciates the sentiment behind them. He knows you're right, after all. The last twenty years of his life have felt like fifty, and this long year still feels like a summer vacation that will eventually end.

However, whenever those thoughts come, he pulls you close, just like he's doing now, and focuses on the beating of your heart. More than slow breathing, more than a cold shower, your sole presence always manages to calm him down.

It means you're here. It means it's over.

It's finally over.

a/n: omg mysme content from me? in 2023? you bet <3 the idea came during a convo with @requindeterre, as all good ideas come c:

"I've told you before: I don't smoke or drink." The words are forced through clenched teeth and heavy breathing.

"I think you can make an exception this once."

Vanderwood has never met a more stubborn kid in their life. Anyone else with a wound that big would be begging for anything to dull the pain. And to be fair to Seven, he did ask for something... at first, anyway.

"I won't let you bleed out if that's--"

"I know you won't," Seven cuts in. I trust you, as much as people like us can be trusted, is something that remains unspoken but understood between them. "That's not my concern. Just get on with it."

Vanderwood huffs out an irritated sigh. "I don't think a few shots of whiskey will count."

"This is the last time I will say it: if the closest thing you have right now to a painkiller is a bottle of whiskey, then I won't take it. Just. Get. On with it."

Seven's eyes are hard and unwavering. Vanderwood knows they're not going to win this argument. Why is he being so stubborn? "This is going to hurt," they say.

"It already fucking hurts," Seven snaps through gritten teeth. "It's a stab wound."

"And it's going to hurt a hell of a lot more when I'm sewing it closed."

"I'll be fine. I can take it."

"You're going to have to hold as still as possible. And be as quiet as possible."

The safehouse they escaped to should be too far for anyone to follow. Should being the keyword. If they have been followed, and Seven screams, it'll mean a lot of trouble.

Seven nods. "Yeah. Yeah I can do that, just..." He looks around for a moment, then grabs his jacket where it lay on the bed behind him. He balls up part of it and shoves the fabric into his mouth, biting down hard. He says something that sounds like "do it" and squeezes his eyes shut too.

Vanderwood sighs. They're not keen on doing this without giving Seven anything to dull his senses, but the other option is letting the wound keep bleeding.

"Okay. Last chance. Because once I start, I'm not going to stop," Vanderwood warns.

Seven shakes his head in a firm, final no.

"Okay. Keep pressure on it while I set up."

A few minutes and a sanitized needle later, Vanderwood walks back over to where Seven sits on the bed. His breathing is audible and deliberate. Slow breath in, slow breath out. In. Out. In. Out. Trying to focus on anything other than his leg. Vanderwood digs a knee into Seven's leg to hold him still and, with the hand not holding the needle, pinches the sliced flesh together. Seven's breathing gets heavier.

"Hold still and keep breathing. I'll be as quick as I can."

Seven nods. He twists his hoodie tight in his fingers and bites down even harder.

He doesn't scream when the needle pierces his skin. They've been working together for a few years now, but Vanderwood is still surprised by the kid's pain tolerance. He's not completely unaffected--Vanderwood doesn't miss the sharp inhale when they start--but he doesn't scream. Just bites down harder on the wad of cloth in his mouth and trembles with the effort of keeping still.

It feels like it takes forever--probably feels even longer to Seven--but Vanderwood finally stitches the wound shut. They wrap a bandage snug around it and let out a breath. "Okay. It's done."

Seven gasps and yanks the hoodie from his mouth. He takes big, gasping breaths, like he's just come up from underwater. His whole face is red and damp--sweat running down his face and drool on his chin. Vanderwood grabs a clean cloth and sits back down next to him. "Tip your head up and take your glasses off; you're a mess," they say.

Seven does and Vanderwood sees his eyes are red too; the tracks running down his face aren't all from sweat. Vanderwood doesn't comment on it. They just wipe his face clean. They're a little heavy-handed at the best of times, but they try to be gentle. After a moment the cloth is tossed aside and they're handing him a bottle of water. "Drink. You lost a lot of fluids."

Again, Seven does. That's how Vanderwood knows he's beyond exhausted--no comments or smart-ass remarks.

Seven gulps down half the bottle before stopping to take more gasping breaths. "Thank you, Vanderwood," he huffs out.

"Hmph. Good to know you appreciate me for more than just cleaning your house all the time."

"I mean it," he says. "Truly. Thank you."

If Vanderwood has ever seen genuine honestly from him, then this is it. If not, it's as close as they'll ever get. It's exceedingly rare and they're never quite sure how to respond to it. "Don't worry about it. I can't have you dying on my watch. Now finish drinking that and get some sleep. You look dead, and we can't stay here too long."

Seven nods, chugging the rest of the water before lying back on the bed. He's out cold in seconds, leaving the cabin in silence. Vanderwood enjoys it while they can (they won't admit that they miss Seven's chatter when it's been gone too long). They start repacking their medical supplies and catch sight of the bottle of whiskey standing on the table.

They make a mental note to double check that they're stocked up on painkillers in the future.

mystic messenger characters as tweets pt 5!

50 (unconventional) date ideas for your otp

PLEASE reblog, I have heard it on a couple of podcasts now and I'm genuinely curious how common it is! Also, if you feel comfortable with it, let me know what your accent normally is (Midwestern, Southern, New Englander, New Yorker, Minnesotan, whatever).

when i think of their dynamic it’s just this btw

“haha omg is shane ok this puppet history lore is craaaazy omg” YOU WEREN’T THERE FOR THE HOT DOGA. YOU HAVENT SEEN CRAZY UNTIL YOUVE WITNESS RYAN SLOWLY REALIZE HOW INSANE SHANE WOULD BE TO ADD HIM INTO THE HOT DAGA😭

one important thing that Must be understood about interpersonal relationships is that you have to stop interacting with people who love you like they’re one slip-up away from leaving you. you have to trust that the ppl you love mean what they say. you have to believe that when they say “this hurt my feelings,” that they’re also saying, “can you please love me this other way next time?” and you have to wrap your head around the fact that even if you don’t understand Why someone loves you, you can accept that that they do. true, honest, & open love does not function like hp in a video game !!!!!!

(source)

There are so many ways to make moodboards, bookcovers, and icons without infringing copyright! As artists, authors, and other creatives, we need to be especially careful not to use someone else’s work and pass it off as our own. 

Please add on if you know any more sites for free images <3

Thanks for the information!!

I will reblog this everytime i see it

Ok so while we’re at this, I just checked out Unsplash, and it’s an AMAZING site for free images?

Reblogging because useful and because f*ck P**terest

Riley Samels on Instagram / Etsy

richie performing his own material like *goes off script every 5 minutes*

special selection of screenshots from when my friends and i watched spongebob on some TOTALLY LEGAL site and the captions were from the wrong episodes for some reason

forgot to add one of the best ones, my fault

My inspiration and genuinely the funniest shit I’ve seen all day

This will go to deaf ears, but can we please stop redacting/black boxing sentences from memes until you can't see anything but black lines? This is a mess. Just make a new one.

we need a pride flag for women with prophetic visions

One day historians will have to explain how the dodgeball became a mechanism for prophecy.