even to elias: we’ve been together for about half a year
even to isak: it’s 21.21, 8 months and 24 days ago I kissed you for the first time in a swimming pool and 2 months and 11 days ago we moved in together and-
Okay, that’s a lie. He can’t help himself. Any sign of a secret threatening to be exposed, he needs to get to the bottom of it. According to him, it’s a natural human instinct. Everyone else thinks it’s just a Jake Peralta instinct.
So when he glances down at the trash can next to the bathroom sink while brushing his teeth one night, a rectangular blue box takes over his eyesight.
And - you guessed it - he can’t help himself.
He reaches down and picks it up, his eyes scanning the small print over and over. Then the panic sets in and the assumptions roll through his mind. He has two options right now - freak out and ask Amy if they need to start baby-proofing their apartment, or calmly ask her what the hell is going on.
He decides to go with the latter.
“Hey, babe?” he calls out, walking back into the bedroom with the box clutched in his hand.
“Yeah?” Amy’s sitting up against the headboard, a concentrated frown hiding behind her reading glasses, and today’s copy of the New York Times sprawled across her lap (she likes to do the Sudoku puzzles at night. Jake doesn’t question it anymore).
“Is there anything you need to tell me?” Jake asks, holding the box up in plain sight.
Amy glances up at him, then at the box. Then back at him, then back at the box, then back to her newspaper. “Nope,” she replies, a small grin appearing as she scribbles a bunch of numbers down on the page.
“You sure? Because this little guy right here is telling me something different.”
Amy rolls her eyes, taking off her glasses. “Jake-”
“Ames, if you were a murderer, you’d be terrible at it. I mean come on, you can’t even hide this evidence properly! You’re literally asking me to arrest you.”
“Wait, are you a murderer? Oh my god, have you been pretending to be a detective this entire time? Captain Holt would be so disappointed in you.”
“Actually you know what? That’s pretty good, faking being a police officer to cover up your crimes, maybe you can get extra points for sneaky behavior-“
“JAKE!” Amy yells. He stops rambling, finally, and stares at her.
“Did you actually look inside the box?” Amy asks. “Or did you just jump to conclusions as always?”
Jake frowns, looking down at the box again. He moves over to the bed, sitting on the edge, then shakes the box lightly. It rattles, indicating that there is indeed something inside that he probably should have investigated before. He reaches with his other hand to open the box, but stops and throws it to Amy.
“I don’t wanna touch it,” he explains with a shudder.
Amy lets out an exasperated sigh - bed time is never boring - before grabbing the box and pulling out the small white stick and holding it up. “It’s negative,” she says, pointing at the single pink line, “see?”
Jake squints at the object, feeling his body instantly relax when he sees one line instead of two. “Okay,” he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Negative. Okay. Cool cool cool.”
Amy gives him a tight-lipped smile, slipping the test back into the box. “Don’t worry, no tiny humans will be running around this place any time soon,” she reassures him, throwing the box into the small rubbish basket underneath the nightstand.
Jake smiles back but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He slips under the bed covers with a sigh, sliding into the warmth with an odd feeling gnawing at his heart. He still has a million questions about this insane little object that almost just had the ability to change his life. And Amy’s no moron. She can sense when something’s wrong with him.
“Okay, what’s up with you?” she asks, shifting closer to him.
“Why did you take the test in the first place?” Jake blurts out, surprising himself because he was pretty sure he’d said that in his head and not out loud.
Amy takes a deep breath and shrugs. “I…was late,” she admits, a light shade of crimson heating her cheeks.
“But you’re on birth control.”
“Yeah but it’s not always 100% effective, I wanted to be sure. And I didn’t think it was necessarily worth hiding because it wasn’t positive. No biggie, right?”
“Right,” Jake replies. A wave of relief washes over him and he relaxes. “Right, right, right. So, no kids yet?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“No, not yet,” Amy replies, linking her arm with his.
“But…one day?” he asks hopefully.
If there’s ever been a moment that’s melted Amy’s heart, it’s this one. She grabs his hand, linking her fingers with his gently. “One day for sure,” she promises, kissing him softly on the cheek and resting her chin on his shoulder.
“So just to be completely sure, you’re definitely not pregnant?”
Allura and the Paladins go to a planet to form an alliance, and the aliens want to play their planet’s national anthem, so out of respect they listen to it and…it’s fuckin Toxic by Brittany Spears. Pidge would probably die from laughter and Allura and Shiro try to control their team like the mom and dad they are while Lance just starts crying, wraps his arms around Keith and Hunk, and starts screeching the lyrics.
psa !! to everyone bcus i’ve seen it floating around on the dash: please don’t reblog the pocrppositivity post or follow the blog thats going around. its false. it was made by a racist white girl who was trying to fuck us all over!! thats whats new now in the rpc world!!! it aint enough that yall ignore our poc characters that arent selena gomez, but now you want to lure us into ‘safe spaces’ and degrade and use us?? im tired of this noise.
<b>Harry:</b> I love you with every inch of my being<p/><b>Harry:</b> Every time you smile, my world lights up<p/><b>Harry:</b> You make every moment more beautiful just by being there<p/><b>Harry:</b> I love you, my dear, my sweetie, my only one, the love of my life-!<p/><b>Draco:</b> What did you do.<p/><b>Harry:</b> .....<p/><b></b> *distant screaming*<p/><b>Harry:</b> So there may be a troll in the school...<p/></p>
When Syaoran got sucked into the book I partially assumed
that the arc would be over when he got out and we wouldn’t stay in Recort much
longer. BUT I AM VERY GLAD TO BE WRONG BECAUSE I WILL DRINK IN LITERALLY ANY
AND EVERY DETAIL THEY WILL GIVE ME ABOUT THIS WORLD.
GIANT WINGED TRAINS THAT FLY THROUGH THE SKY LIKE A FLOCK OF
METAL BIRDS? SURE. TELL ME MORE. TELL ME EVERYTHING.
But of course the first thing we get is Fai trying to act
all surprised like, “WOW. Flying? By Magic? How NOVEL and UNUSUAL.” And I’m
sure it’s supposed to be more for the fact of conversation than anything but we were all in the Hanshin Republic, Fai. We
were all there. Don’t you even try it.
And then the daddy jokes return but in a somewhat more
palatable version so I guess I’ll take it?
OK SO HOLD UP ONE SEC. I JUST REALISED THE NEXT TWO SCANS
ARE IN JAPANESE AND I WAS SUPPOSED TO ORGANISE THIS BEFORE HAND. I DID NOT DO
In the interest of not holding up the liveblog
I’m just going to take photos with my phone but I APOLOGISE IN ADVANCE FOR THEM
LOOKING LIKE NONSENSE.
For @4wksoffluff . (Also: sorry I haven’t really been keeping up with the 4 weeks of fluff.) Thanks to @yeahitsmaegan for looking over this and other fics for me!
Summary: Simon is angry at Baz, and things get emotional. An angst-to-fluff snowbaz fic with slight hurt/comfort.
Snow’s face is so close to mine and his eyes are narrowed to slits. His nose is nearly touching mine, but it’s not out of affection, rather aggression. He speaks more like he’s spitting, every word like a flame.
“Go to hell, Baz!” he snarls, his eyes no longer soft and watery, a new sharpness taking over them instead.
“Oh, Fuck off, Snow,” I sneer back at him. “You’re the one who started all this. It’s ridiculous, really. I hardly did anything.” I step away from him and gesture at his desk, a disbelieving look on my face. All I did was spell his stuff stuck to his desk. All it will do is complicate his schoolwork until he figures out how to undo it (which won’t be long if he asks Bunce, anyway.). It’s hardly a bother - it’s not like I tried to kill him.
“It doesn’t matter!” He’s moved away and is shouting across the room in a high-pitched voice. It’s whiny, like a small child’s. “You do this kind of thing all the time and I’m sick of it! You’re never nice to me. And I know I’m not the best to you either but at least I don’t spell your stuff to the desk! I even said good morning to you this morning, Baz! Why can’t you be nice to me just once?” He has tears in his eyes now, they’re back to their softer tone. They’re vulnerable. And I want to cry along with him. I want to hug him and tell him I’m sorry and take away his pain. I want to hold him until we both feel better. Because I don’t feel good about this either. It’s not like I enjoy making his life a misery. I love him, but this is what I have to do. It’s what’s expected of me. He’s looking at me with his watery, pleading eyes, and all I want to do is reach out to him, but I stop myself. I can’t. He’d never forgive and then I’d never forgive myself for being so weak. But I do allow myself to say: “I’m sorry, Simon.” And then I can’t stop myself this time. I walk over him, spur of the moment, and he’s just staring at me, tears falling down his cheeks. It’s finally too much for him, and it’s finally too much for me as well. If I just do it this one time, maybe I’ll be fulfilled enough to never do it again. I take him by his back and hug him. I can hear his sniffling as I pull him into my chest, resting my chin atop his head. I say it again.
“I’m sorry, Simon,” I murmur softly. He’s not shoving me off him, and I think I’m crying about an entirely different thing because of it. I touch my nose to his hair, closing my eyes and inhaling his cinnamon/smoke scent. Simon Snow, you beautiful nightmare. He pushes away from me gently after a while, looking up into my eyes.
“Thank you, Baz,” he says, then gives me a quick kiss on the cheek. All the blood I have in me rushes to my cheeks. Simon. Snow. Just. Kissed. Me. On. The. Cheek. I try not to let my feelings show too much across my face, but then I think ‘Crowley, I’m already bloody crying,’ so I let myself smile and close my eyes as I feel the blush intensify. When I open my eyes, Snow is blushing too. He’s adorable- standing there in the half dark with his golden curls and pink apple cheeks. I kiss him on the cheek.
“I promise never to spell your books to your desk again, Snow,” I tell him. He hugs me again, resting his head on his shoulder.
“I guess this is a truce, then,” he murmurs.
“Sure Snow,” I say, “a truce.” Because I’m wrapped up in the moment and that’s what I want, a truce. I want it so much. I want to hug Snow without thinking about how my family will probably ask me to poison his scones one day. I agree. Truce. It’s nice. And then he looks up and kisses me with all the confidence I’ve never had to do the same to him. Like it’s no big deal and incredibly important at the same time. I lean into it, placing my hand gently around the back of his neck. The soft-lipped, golden-haired, mole constellated boy I’ve always dreamed of is kissing me, and I want it to be infinite. I want ‘truce’ to be infinitely true.
“Truce,” I mutter, chuckling when we break apart. “Truce.” I kiss him again. I’m in love with him, and he kissed me and called a truce.