#quarantime

[barryjeanblues]

magnus sits next to you and makes pleasant conversation with you as you pet his dogs and he crafts a beautifully intricate rocking chair while you are both quarantined inside his house asmr

[anubhasierra]

Me: what kind of triangle is this?

My brother, an intellectual: iSoLatiOn tRiangLe

[bottled-petrichor]

Freelancing as at November 2020

Freelancing as at November 2020

I’m applying to another NGO job, in the beginning, I turned my nose up at the unpaid gigs, a year of unemployment has worn me down. Here I am, relishing the opportunity to be exploited if it’ll get a leg in. I’m changing the date on my coverletter even though a HR lady I follow on Twitter says no one reads those. Convert to pdf and send. I reopen the “writing competitions 2021” tab and browse…

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[birlcholtz]

fluff 42 with holsom?

42. “Truth hurts, doesn’t it?” from this prompt list

anon i have to say i saw ur prompt and then i went to go look at what #42 was and when i saw the prompt i said ‘oh fuck yes’ OUT LOUD. ao3 here

.

Holster’s glasses are on top of his head.

He hasn’t noticed yet. For the past ten minutes, he’s been walking around their living room, still in the old red and white sweatpants that function as his pajamas, doing random tasks and pretending he’s not actually looking for them.

It’s funny. Ransom and his bi ass have never been unaware, exactly, of Holster’s chest. And shoulders. And abs. Living with someone and changing in the same room as them constantly does that to you. But now it’s both different and… not different. Like, there’s no novelty in seeing Holster shirtless. There is novelty in looking at Holster shirtless. It’s a subtle difference, but it’s one of the reasons Ransom hasn’t bothered to tell Holster where his glasses are yet, because once he figures it out he’ll probably go get dressed.

Holster tries to toss a throw pillow back onto the couch, and misses because it bounces off of the armrest, and does his best to look like that’s what he intended the whole time.

“Dude,” Ransom says, because even though he’s aware most people don’t call their boyfriends dude, it’s hard to shake after four and a half years of being best bros. Even six months of dating hasn’t changed anything— Ransom still said ‘dude’ the whole year he was pining away, and, as it turns out, so did Holster, so the habit is firmly ingrained.  “Can you just put in your contacts?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Holster says, picking up the TV remote and pretending to brush dust off of it. Ransom knows he’s pretending because he just kind of swipes at it once or twice with his free hand and does not hold it closer to his face to see what he’s doing. “I’m doing great. Great enough that I think I don’t actually need to wear contacts or glasses ever again.“ 

Ransom raises an eyebrow at that, and even though Holster wasn’t even looking at him before, he turns and looks over now, and whatever he sees makes him grin, forgetting about the remote for a second, and Ransom can’t help but smile back.

“It’s just a scam by the optometry industry to make me think I get headaches because my eyes are shit. I mean, my eyes are shit, but I can handle it. Dr. Robbins is just trying to con me.”

Holster punctuates that by going to put down the remote, misjudging the distance of the coffee table, and banging his shin into it spectacularly. 

Ransom is up off the couch before Holster’s even within four inches of the coffee table, because one of his best skills is, and always has been, anticipating where Holster is going to be when, and maybe more importantly, when he’s going to need Ransom’s help. And he’s there right behind Holster and catches him when he instinctively wheels backwards and trips over his own feet.

“Aw, fuck,” Holster says, with the resignation of someone who’s used to checking and getting checked and still hasn’t completely forgotten what that feels like, and thus, bruising his shin via inanimate object is more of a novelty than anything. But because he’s Holster, he also tilts his head back to look at Ransom and says it with the best sad-puppy eyes he can muster.

Which are pretty damn good.

“Truth hurts, doesn’t it?” Ransom says, but that’s the longest he can hold out against the puppy eyes, especially combined with being able to wrap his arms around Holster and hold him. “Are you okay?”

“My pride is irretrievably wounded.” He gets his feet back under him and stops leaning on Ransom, but any disappointment Ransom might have felt is mitigated by the fact that Holster immediately pulls him in and presses a light kiss to his lips. “Would you believe me if I told you all that was on purpose so you would get up and come over here?”

“Hm, probably not. Would you believe me if I told you your glasses are on top of your head?”

Holster looks at him suspiciously, then reaches up and immediately finds his glasses. “Unfortunately, yes.”

[canipel]

Quarantime.| Make sure you follow > Shot By Canipel & Instagram

[rebkinz]

i’m ordering everyone to take the MBTI test

[hiding-in-my-room-alone]

corona is officially homophobic it needs to figure out that nobody likes it and fuck off so this quarantine can be over and I can see the girl I like

[kaharaway]

My Quaran-time was kinda wild ngl lel

can you figure what are the movies i’m watching in the strip?