Funky Little Egg Cup

she/her, bi, just trying to keep my plants alive

[doctorcurdlejr]

I can be normal about things. Don't look at my blog.

[bees-with-swords]

"Do you ever dream of land?" The whale asks the tuna.

"No." Says the tuna, "Do you?"

"I have never seen it." Says the whale, "but deep in my body, I remember it."

"Why do you care," says the tuna, "if you will never see it."

"There are bones in my body built to walk through the forests and the mountains." Says the whale.

"They will disappear." Says the tuna, "one day, your body will forget the forests and the mountains."

"Maybe I don't want to forget," Says the whale, "The forests were once my home."

"I have seen the forests." Whispers the salmon, almost to itself.

"Tell me what you have seen," says the whale.

"The forests spawned me." Says the salmon. "They sent me to the ocean to grow. When I am fat with the bounty of the ocean, I will bring it home."

"Why would the forests seek the bounty of the oceans?" Asks the whale. "They have bounty of their own."

"You forget," says the salmon, "That the oceans were once their home."

[hearnoweevil]

Last year I finally had an excuse to illustrate this simple little Tumblr story I've had bookmarked forever for class.

I hope you like it :]

[baleful-meat-worm]

apologies to anyone who followed me for tma. cow studies :) ❤️

[emhidesart]

the astrophage dads

[puncertainty]

oh worm?

[tgtbata]

solving crimes and making out etc etc

[theorderofthetriad]

When your very attractive coworker compliments how you look even though your face and posture was all scrunched up. [X]

[diver5ion]

[palvoa]

Jon Michael Hill as Marcus Bell in Elementary Season 3

[starrynightarchive]

marcus is god's strongest soldier truly

[themushroomblues]

First round of poppers is on me.

[tweetsongs]

"i don't know if i can do this."

hen tilts her head at him, putting down the child-sized slide in his backyard. "a bit late for that, buckaroo," she says. "you can't return a kid the same way you can return backyard toys."

buck looks at her with a kind of wild look in his eyes, a sort of how the hell did i get myself into this that makes hen's heart twinge, just a little.

"no, i--" he hesitates, looking around. the backyard, with the weights taken off to the side, replaced with an inflatable pool and a swing set and all manner of children's toys. "i mean, i just-- it feels unfair, that it's me."

hen leans her hip on the fence, watching him. there's a sort of frantic energy to him that has clung to the edges of his eyes ever since the hospital, the elevator, his pants soaked in eddie's blood as he held his hand. or maybe before that, when hen had shaken her head at eddie over a set of crumpled bodies and then followed his gaze to buck's hands wrapped around a small figure, holding him like he doesn't know what else to do.

"it's unfair that it's not them," hen acknowledges. "but they mentioned you in their will, didn't they? they trusted you."

buck snorts. "yeah," he says, then, in a lower voice-- "if i had a nickel for every time..." hen, wisely, decides not to pursue that. "but they weren't actually gonna let me-- if it weren't for the fact that there was nobody else--"

"but there was nobody else," hen interrupts him, because she can see the spiral beginning in his throat. "so it's you."

"how did you and karen know?" buck asks her. "that you could-- that you were ready?"

hen thinks about her baby, her babies, both the ones that are with her now and the ones that aren't. the long nights, the research, the talks that ended in tears or furious whispers or distances that felt too far to breach, sometimes. sometimes she looks at denny and thinks about what a miracle it is that he's here. sometimes she looks at mara and wonders at her own selfishness, for being so glad to have her, even though it meant so much suffering had to happen.

she looks at buck, and says: "we didn't. we decided that we wanted to build this life, that's all. the ready part comes afterwards."

buck absorbs that, and she can see the little furrow of his brows that means that he's carving her words onto his heart. he comes over next to her, leaning on the fence close, shoes knocking together. he leans his curls on her shoulder, shuffling down to fit. she lets him, because he was once this lanky kid who watched her put an iv in like she was pure magic, and the awe has never quite left his eyes when he looks at her.

"i feel like-- i was ready to let go, you know?" he murmurs, voice soft between them. "like you said: donor, not dad."

hen nods, cheek brushing against his curls. she remembers that conversation, the satisfaction of being able to focus on his problems, to provide a solution that she didn't have in her life, back then. she should've known that life would turn out far stranger and more complicated than her pithy phrase.

"and now you might be both," she finishes his thought.

a long exhale. "and now i might be both."

when harry had called buck theo's dad, hen had been the only one to correct him-- his biological father. she had remembered that conversation, then. how hesitant buck had been. her own reservations.

"do you want to be both?" she asks, because that part is important, too.

"yes-- no--" buck shakes his head. "i don't know."

hen thinks about buck bringing theo down from the electrical tower. he'd been charmed by theo, but only in the same way all of them were, only in the easy way buck connected to any kid on a call. it wasn't an instant connection or a biological imperative, just buck being buck, empathizing with a kid a little too hard, loving a little too easily.

love, for hen, has always been series of choices. sometimes easy, sometimes difficult. it's the nature of existing the way she does, in the world that she has to navigate. she's had years to come to terms with it. buck doesn't quite have that kind of time.

"that's okay," she says, still. "you don't have to know right now. this isn't-- it doesn't have to be permanent."

"i don't want to make the wrong choice," buck says, quietly. "i don't want him to ever-- feel like i did. unchosen."

hen nudges him with her elbow, making him wiggle a little. "you won't," she says, confident. "you know why?"

buck raises his head a little to look at her, all little-kid curiosity. she smiles.

"because there's only one thing you have to do to not mess this up," she says. "and you're there already."

buck blinks at her. "doing all the paperwork properly?"

hen laughs. shoves him a little, looks over all the things that buck has prepared for a little boy he'd been ready to let go of, if that's what he needed.

"no," she says. "just love him anyways."

[fruifruit]

if the sinclairs have no fans im dead

[richmondtillidie]

Roy paying attention to Jamie when no one else is

Ted Lasso | 3.03 4-5-1

[feel-like-expl0sions]

chasing cars by snow patrol really hits harder everytime i listen to it like,, what if i DID just lay here???? would u lie with me and just forget the world??????? please???????????

[aemelia]

The night has barely begun and already Ilya wants to—well, not go home, because his big empty house is just as exhausting to be in right now as this club; but he doesn't want to be here. Yes, there are dozens of beautiful women. Yes, there is alcohol. Yes, Boston won earlier, beating New Jersey easily, 4-1.

There's a thick wall of glass, separating Ilya from all of it, muffling everything. Everything feels heavy, and shit, and Ilya is sick of himself.

Restless, he swipes his messages open again, thumb tapping on Jane automatically, even though there's no new notifications. He wishes there was, even though that's stupid. But Hollander is fun to talk to, fun to tease, and Ilya wants—that. Wants to feel lighter again.

He drains the rest of his vodka—not particularly good, конечно—and pushes off the bar, shouldering his way through the crowd of tipsy, sweaty bodies.

The crisp air outside hits him like a welcome slap to the face, bracing, invigorating. There are other people out here, of course, smoking and laughing loud, but it's still quieter than inside the club. Ilya thinks about bumming a cigarette—he hasn't got any on him tonight, trying to be good, like an idiot—but he doesn't want to talk to anyone.

He walks a little further away, instead, and unlocks his phone again. The same week-old messages stare back at him, before he taps Jane again.

His thumb hovers over the little phone icon.

They don't do this. Ilya knows that. Knows Hollander will probably be weird about it, too.

He presses call.

The sound of the dial tone makes his stomach clench. He's holding his breath. Maybe Hollander won't even pick up. Maybe he'll see a missed call later, and—

"Hello?"

Ilya leans back against the building, closing his eyes. Something fills up his throat, briefly, and he has to swallow down.

"Hello?" Hollander says again, sounding tenser, like maybe he thinks this is a prank.

"Hi," Ilya says, and has no idea how to continue. They don't do this.

"What are you—is something wrong? Did something—fuck. Did something leak?"

Ilya knows it's a bit fucked up, but he can't help smiling at the sharpening edge of panic in Hollander's voice. He knows it wouldn't make sense, if he had to say this out loud to any other person on earth, but Hollander's predictability is oddly comforting. Relaxing. Ilya knows how to handle it.

"No, no, sorry," Ilya says, body loosening, warming up. "It was—uh, how you say. Pocket dial."

"Oh," Hollander says, voice looser and warmer, too, in Ilya's ear. It makes his scalp crawl pleasantly. "Okay. Um. Well, I can—let you go. I guess."

"Is okay. You are saving me from boring celebrations." Ilya pushes off the wall, starts walking back towards the hotel. Maybe, just maybe, he can keep Hollander on the phone long enough to jerk off together. "Gets old fast, when you are the best. I know you don't know this, as second best."

Hollander scoffs. "Fuck you."

"Mm. In three weeks, yes?" He thinks he hears Shane's breath catch a little.

"Yeah. Three weeks." There's a pause. Ilya wonders what Shane is doing, if he's in the kitchen, or curled up on his sofa, or in bed. Probably reading a boring hockey book or watching boring hockey tapes. Just the thought of it makes fondness surge up inside him. "You won't have to worry about celebrating then, when we beat your ass."

Ilya laughs, stride lengthening now the hotel is in view. "Shane Hollander, my hero."

"Mm. I'm very selfless, you know."

"Oh I know so. Very generous. Always so good for me."

Now the catch in Shane's breath is obvious. "Fuck. Shut up."

"Mmmm, no." Ilya's getting hard in his jeans. He walks past the reception, to the elevators. The doors ding as they close.

"What are you doing? Where are you?"

Ilya presses the button for his floor, impatient now, buzzing. "Back at hotel. I have whole room to myself." He lets that speak for itself, and grins at the sound of Shane's breath growing heavier in his ear. "And I will be so terribly lonely and bored, Hollander… and my cock is so hard…"

"Jesus fucking Christ."

"Mm, no, just Ilya is fine."

Shane laughs, and Ilya feels alive.

Pocket dial // @hollanovbingo // 730 words

[originalcrime]

dead wife who was MEAN and slept without a TOP SHEET and only went to the beach when it was OVERCAST to SCOWL at the waves