2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year

Love Begins

Product Placement
Xuebing Du
Show & Tell
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Monterey Bay Aquarium

Origami Around

â

blake kathryn
hello vonnie

titsay

if i look back, i am lost
occasionally subtle


Kiana Khansmith
DEAR READER

Kaledo Art

seen from Italy
seen from Mexico
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from TĂŒrkiye

seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from United States

seen from Italy
seen from United States

seen from France

seen from Malaysia

seen from United States

seen from United States
@ghostsandwhiskey

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
singingrass-archive:
Wrapped up in his thin jean jacket, Job accepts the lighter with a small smile and a dip of his head, a crooked Pall Mall cigarette already parked in the corner of his lips. He is, admittedly, quite the talkative person â which make Nat the perfect dinnermate as far as he is concerned, matching his chattiness with some of her own â but he cannot help but feel as though this has been more of a burden for ThĂ©o than it has been a pleasant dinner with a grateful client. Some people just donât handle or even desire idle chatter and company as well as others⊠which makes Job wonder whether he should have stayed for dinner at all. Maybe a better token of his appreciation would have been to simply prepare a meal for ThĂ©o and allow him to enjoy it on his own.
Heâll learn. Next time around, itâll be better â if ThĂ©o deems it appropriate to have him over a second time, anyway.
Job opens his mouth to speak â then, after a short moment, closes it back shut again without saying a single word. Not all silence needs to be filled with words. Yakking on and on about how ThĂ©o has a nice place or how Nat seems very friendly will only be a farther invasion of his privacy. So he simply hands the lighter back as he takes a long breath of smoke in, gaze set to the street below them, and allows the welcome sounds of the city at night to slowly fill the space between them.
However â he still is, at the end of the day, only Job Edwards. A long few minutes pass in relative silence, a few more drags on both their cigarettes, before he mutters quietly, âBack home, when the weather allowed for it, we used to have dinner out in the back yard. I mean, uh â we didnât really have a yard, huh? Just like, this open⊠nature⊠space.â He huffs quietly, a sound reminiscent of laughter â smiling at his own inability to properly describe his childhood home. âThere were grass ân weeds growinâ wild out back, and my daddy ân my brother Gene would take the kitchen table and all the chairs out. Iâd set some jars with candles in âem along the patio âcause my sisters were too young to handle matches on their own.â
Thereâs no real point to this story â which isnât new for Job, as most of his stories are pointless â but this might seem peculiar to a man who doesnât really know him yet, he realizes. There is absolutely no relation to this little fire escape with its city noises and practicality and the farm-country Job had grown up in. He watches ThĂ©o from the corner of his eye a moment longer and then shrugs, taking a short drag off his cigarette before explaining, âDonât really get to share my dinner with other people often no more.â
  Those that know him well, know he isnât one for idle chatter. Still, so long as the rare company he keeps isnât particular about him responding, ThĂ©o doesnât make a half-bad listener. So as Job reminisces, he simply angles his head slightly to show that heâs not ignoring him â a courtesy that he doesnât often remember. His eyes remain fixed to the night sky, and his feet tap an unconscious syncopation.
  He doesnât know why it surprises him. That this kid obviously came from somewhere. Had a history, a hometown, a family. ThĂ©o had discarded his past so nonchalantly at the first opportunity, that he supposes it doesnât get him in the habit about wondering about other people. So comfortable and safe in the present, that it never even occurred to him that those that he encountered didnât just apparate from some negative space. He supposes heâs not curious enough to inquire about these things anyway.
  Thereâs an emotion he canât quite place in the short tale. A resignation but a wistfulness at the same time. The story is not just a presentation of facts. Glances minutely at Job, and for just a second, he imagine other kids with similar features. Dark hair and wide, earnest faces. Playing in country fields. Then suddenly, itâs just the two of them again on the balcony. Alone, but not.
  Takes a deep inhale of his own cigarette, and taps the ashes into the mouth of Nathalieâs frog ashtray. Itâs not his business how the kid got from Point A to Point B. Otherâs might find this indifference callous, but thatâs not ThĂ©oâs intention. Quite the opposite in fact. Itâs a show of respect that he doesnât pry.
  Clears his throat, voice a low rumble, âNat likes having the house packed. Februaryfest. Halloween. Hannukahmas. Just excuses to feed people she takes to.â
  Itâs his way of noting, that the kid probably wonât have much opportunity to eat alone anymore, now that Nathalie has gathered him in the fold.
shaldagim:
Though smiling wide at ThĂ©oâs last remark, Kfir does his best to curb down a quiet laughter bubbling in the deep of his throat. It doesnât take even half his training to notice ThĂ©o is clearly nervous in his presence â though someone, that doesnât make Kfir feel bad or awkward. It doesnât make him want to relieve ThĂ©o of his nervousness â or rather, he will, because he just isnât that mean, doesnât need that egotistical stroke â but, if anything, it makes Kfir happy to know. To put things simply: if there was nothing here, between them â there would be nothing for ThĂ©o to be nervous about.
So he smiles and nods and tries not to look ThĂ©oâs way for too long as he considers his observations.
âHe was just such a good director. I mean, itâs undeniable, watching his films. Itâs just⊠heâs perfected his method of storytelling. I mean â thatâs what humans do, right? Thatâs art. Itâs just different methods of storytelling. Cave paintings, Da Vinci and â yeah, Hitchcock â they all just wanted one thing. To tell a compelling story in a compelling way.â
Maybe thatâs a little too heavy on the art history philosophy, but ThĂ©o is far more than just qualified to understand. He pauses, mouths a small handful of popcorn â then instantly carries on.
ââ which is why Iâm not really sure whether I agree on the romance bit. Is it cheesy? Sure â but everyone wants to be loved. If anything, itâs more real than if Jeffries didnât have a love interest. Heâs a successful photographer and a handsome man â it only makes sense that he has some sort of female presence in his life.â He pauses a short moment. âOr, well, you know â just a romantic or sexual presence â but Jeffries being gay would never have flown back then.â
  At the mention of storytelling, his mind drifts to his brother. Itâs not something he can control, this segue of thought, but itâs not entirely unwelcome either. He knows itâs useless to dwell on where the kid might be at the moment. But if thereâs one thing heâs sure of, itâs that heâs spinning a tale to someone lucky enough to encounter his sunny presence. Job is a modern day roads scholar, if there ever was one. Able to do with the sound of his voice, what ThĂ©o could never accomplish in a thousand years, and thatâs fine. If anything, ThĂ©o likes to listen. But thereâs something to be said about this preservation of his story, even if thereâs sometime no discernable point. It has different meaning to different people. To ThĂ©o, it is reassurance that his brother is alive.
  Thereâs a minor change in his demeanor, as he thinks. If Kfir blinked, he would miss it.
   Then heâs clearing his throat softly, filling his mouth with a couple pieces of popcorn. Everyone wants to be loved. Looks nervously at Kfir for just a moment, then back at the screen. He canât verify whether this is a truth for himself. Heâd never actually felt that need, content to be on his own, but he supposes he can understand. But then, why was he inviting this man into his home? Why were they sharing a snack and watching a movie and talking and generally keeping each other in good company? He supposes being able to relate to someone. The idea that someone understands a part of you. That could be a type of love, as well.
  For now though, love is too big of a word to fathom, and he swallows down that slightly hysterical sense of anxiety that comes with it. Doesnât examine that heâs open to the idea of a future, one thatâs past this moment.
   ââŠHe is a great storyteller.â He concedes, nods. âKnew how to pull people into their own minds. Knew how to build up a mood. Unpredictable until the end.â
  Their knuckles brush on the next venture into the popcorn bowl, and ThĂ©o pulls back awkwardly, heart jumping into his throat. Not that he hasnât noticed the other manâs fingers before. Knicks and scars from his trade. Ink stains on his fingertips. Returns his gaze pointedly to the screen, face flushing.
  He doesnât have any more commentary about the logistics of romance or sexuality in the film, that he figures would make sense to anyone other than himself. Not that heâs worried about his thoughts around Kfir. Itâs just a non-issue. He can acknowledge the other manâs point of view, and the point of view at the time without having to understand it. He also gets the sense that Kfir would never demand or pry an opinion out of him just for the sake of conversation, and heâs more grateful for this than he can enunciate.
  Thereâs silence for a couple scenes, visits from Stella and Lisa, and the eye-rolling plug that Jeffries should just settle down and marry his girlfriend. It makes him think about Nathalie, lamenting about how her brother might die alone with no one to take care of him but a filled breadbox. (    âBut can the baguette keep you warm at night, ThĂ©odore? Can it?â   )
  Then the fateful night of the thunderstorm, where the story really gets interesting. ThĂ©o leans forward slightly, exchanges a shy smile with Kfir because theyâre both obviously aware of getting to the nitty gritty part of the ever-thickening plot. ââŠSuch good plot development here. Like a hook and line. Get to see the start of that trademark paranoia. âŠI like it.â
@ghostsandwhiskey i love you and job loves thĂ©o đ
singingrass:
He leans back into ThĂ©oâs side, the laptop still propped atop his knees, and contemplates the notion for a moment. Heâll stay the night either way (no reason for him to leave just yet; no unpleasant dreams or any other sign of Boucher), perfectly comfortable on his brotherâs couch even if it is not quite suitable for his size; but gets the feeling ThĂ©o would be farther reassured of this if he postponed the rest of their business until tomorrow. Really, who can blame him? Jobâs habit of abruptly disappearing (from peopleâs lives generally and from ThĂ©oâs in particular) isnât new. Any excuse, any hint of him spending yet another night here, where heâs wanted, is probably a blessed one as far as the older man is concerned.
So Job will give him this much grace. Itâs isnât much â but whatever puts that faint, barely-there smile on ThĂ©oâs lips is good enough for him.
âSure. It can wait.â He smiles, closing the laptopâs cover before transferring it to the coffee table, then quickly returning to ThĂ©oâs side once more. He removes the blanket from over one of his own shoulders and wraps it around ThĂ©oâs back, so that they are both nestled comfortably underneath it.
âThink we can take her out on a joy ride when sheâs finished? Before we sell her.â Cheek pressed against his brotherâs hard shoulder, Job glances up at him with a tired little smile. âYâknow, just once â see what itâs like.â
  What many people donât understand about their relationship, is that itâs one of safety, despite the darkness that follows Job. There are very few people that ThĂ©o can honestly say that he feels safe around. Itâs not something that he understands, just this fuzzy, intuition in the back of his brain; probably meant to protect him from the hurts of his past.
  He knows it should be the other way around. Job is younger, and has worse cards stacked against him in life, than Théo ever did. By all rights and purposes, he should be protecting him. How can he ever begin to explain how these very simple, yet very complex feelings work?
  All he knows, is that he can be purely himself with his brother around. That he knows without a doubt, that he is unconditionally loved and accepted by this young man, and that he prefers his company to anyone else in his life. That he doesnât get that prickly feeling of discomfort, that need to hide in the deepest, quietest corners of his mind when Jobâs around.
  He allows himself to be leaned on. To be wrapped in their brother cocoon. Looks down at the top of that messy mop of dark hair, like heâs done so many times before. In the hospital. On the drive to their cove. Falling asleep on the Laurent couch to a movie. For a moment, itâs just the two of them, out of time. A comfortable and reliable solidarity. He returns the smile with a softness that only his siblings are familiar with.
  ââŠCount on it.â The older man murmers, âBest part of building something is the process. ...Resultâs arenât bad, either. Never drove a vehicle like that before.â
  He can picture it now. Windows rolled down, stretch of open highway, sun setting with a blaze of orange and red on the horizon. Palm catching the warm air as a cigarette glows lazy between his fingertips. Job singing along to something quaint and folk sounding, and the gentle rumble of a motor. ââŠGive you the first test drive. Discovered her, after all.â

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
axgmented:
  she doesnât dignify the indignant squawk of her partner, rather just lets the smirk do all the talking. rem should be more sympathetic to his personal space, how he doesnât like being touched or his boundaries pushed, but that fact that rem can pull rank on him every now and then does sweeten the deal just a tick. if he was going to be her partner, he needed to loosen up; this was why she requested reno for this particular mission â at least she probably would have gotten a quickie snuck in. theo was a prude and she idly wondered if all of the soldiers were like that. rem nudges the door open and she rolls her eyes when he awkwardly nodded his head and followed her out.
  her eyes flicker towards the group near the elevators and it seemed like someone hit the jackpot while the other would probably be up to his fat neck in debt. she never understood the appeal of gambling. without missing a beat, she lifts a flute of the cheap champagne off of its silver platter and tips it towards her lips; rem faintly jumps at the sudden warmth at the small of her back. she has to remember not to bare her teeth, to jerk away from him or cause a scene â thatâs when she seems smarmy walk by with that critical gaze and rem meets it with a practiced, smug smirk; she leans heavily back against theo, lips curling at the corners before he deems them a couple and wanders off. immediately she leans up from his warmth before taking another long sip.
  â â yer a brok'n fuck'n record, theola.â
  her voice is soft in his ear, teasing as a smile covers the bite. she knows what to do and the moment the lights dim and the announcer comes over the pa systems, rem nearly gets shoved out of the way from all the sick gamblers. tiny hands curl against the flute of champagne, wanting nothing more than to smash the glass against some of their faces, but she figures thatâs not recon. after a few moments, she watches the huddle of guards sneak away to watch the match and rem nearly loses it when her hearing picks up on the pained screech of one of the birds. her heels grind into the polished floor, teeth bared and hands crooked into claws. she canât express the rage she feels, the sudden sadness before another pained squawk causes her jaw to tighten, the muscle jumping beneath her skin; this wasnât right. how could any of this be legal? she takes a slow breath, quickly regaining her composure before heading towards the elevators â sheâs abandoned her heels behind a pillar, they made too much noise.
   remâs visibly shaken once the two of them were alone, her fingers jabbing at random buttons; the first was the basement â it was the most obvious, and should that prove to be fruitless, the next stop was the top floor. she feels sick, flesh itching as flashbacks started to play within her minds eye; sheâs been where those birds were before â on display for anyone to watch, to have to prove your strength just to survive. the elevator feels too small and she canât seem to catch her breath. her back aches, the bruise causing the flesh to feel as though it were melting right off of her bones; rem closes her eyes tightly before a quivering hand grips the handrail to steady herself. all she can hear is the echoes of that poor animal.
   " â i need a cigarette.â
  Sometimes he thinks that Rem is more human than anyone heâs ever known, despite her origins. He doesnât know if he could ever feel anything half as intensely as she does. Her rage. Her despair. He knows it isolates her from her peers, just as his lack of reactivity isolates him from his own. Perhaps this is why he continues in her orbit. Passing satellites in the dark. Thereâs a kinship there, one he canât name and doesnât care to. He knows if he made enough noise, that Lazard would reconsider their partnership, but some months ago, when their arrangement came under review, he was surprised to find he didnât say a word about it.
  He watches her reflection in the mirrored elevator. Her breath is shallow, her crimson eyes hidden from sight. She seems very, very small suddenly. Bare feet looking tiny against the floor. A ghost in a red dress. He realizes that she knows what itâs like to be caged. To be property. To be a weapon for someone else. She doesnât want sympathy, though, he knows this much. Heâd be garbage at offering it, anyway. So he stays silent, but by her side. A stony sentinel.
( Â Â And heâll even light her cigarettes after this mission. Hell, he could use one himself. Â Â )
  A cool toned chime announces each passing floor, and itâs just as they suspected. This elevator isnât for public use. When the movement finally stops, it feels like theyâve been in that little box forever. They brace themselves, he can feel Rem getting combat ready beside him for when the doors slide open, he doesnât even have to look at her to know â but theyâre greeted with⊠silence.
  Darkness and silence. ThĂ©oâs mouth thins and he holds up two fingers to signify that heâll go first. His footsteps sound thunderous against the cold concrete of the hallway. Even with the total lack of light, the atmosphere has a completely different feel than the Saucer. Industrial. Sterile. One would expect there to be a ton of windows considering the view to be had. But nothing.
  Handleless doors line the hallway, each with a keycard type entry. They try a couple, none of which their own pilfered card opens, but ThĂ©o suspects that none of those matter as soon as they come to two wide sliding double doors, flanked by huge crates. Tilts his head curiously at Rem, fingers investigating the seams of one of the boxes. An eerie, familiar glow illuminates from the slats. ThĂ©o kneels down and immediately recognizes it. Mako. Even watered down as it is in these tanks, it still burns bright and chemical. âRem.â
  He taps at the crate, meeting her eyes, a cold feeling in his stomach. Theyâre medical grade containers. Heâs seen them in the labs at ShinRa before, when he had to go for his injections and subsequent induction into SOLDIER. What in Ifritâs name where they up to here? Even with strict medical supervision, it was lunacy to do your own mako infusions. Whispers, âWe need to report back.â
  But then the doors are sliding open and heâs hustling them into the shadows of the boxes.
The Open Road, It Calls To Me (+Archer)
archerwhiterp:
Archer sat after him, pushing their plates and cups towards each side. He waited to eat his own, smiling as he watched Theo chow down. He was starting to think he should have made more, the man looked almost starved. Archer had been there more than once.Â
After a few moments he decides to dig into his own food, purposefully leaving half his plate uneaten.
The question made him raise his head and turn up to the farm house. He squinted in the light, sun glaring in his glasses but he nodded. âIt was my parents.â he explained with a half smile.Â
âWhen they died the state took the property. I was put in an orphanage. Iâve only just managed to get it back.â He took another bite from his eggs and pushed the rest of the plate towards Theo. âIâm full⊠if you want this too.âÂ
Folding his hands together he glanced back up to the house as he sipped his coffee. âIâm trying to restore it to how I remembered it⊠funny thing is my memory is so bad but the house, I remember it so clearly.âÂ
  He doesnât hesitate. Shovels the rest of the food with the gracelessness of a bear devouring a salmon. It occurs to him that itâs been a hell of a long time since heâs eaten a home cooked meal. That was Natâs forte, the cooking. ThĂ©o was more prone to eat things that came in a can, or pre-made. Clearing the plate, heâs too awkward to know that heâs being awkward about table manners. ââŠThanks.â
  He follows the other manâs gaze back at the decrepit building. He can agree about memories. Although what he remembers about growing up in Lyon, is moreso what he chooses. He hasnât thought about his own parents for nearly twenty years. Finds heâs okay with that as well. Unlike Archer, he chose to be an orphan of sorts, and he canât relate. Although he does find peace in familiarity, so he can see where the other man is coming from, but he still has to ask. ââŠWhy? Restore it like it was, I mean.â
singingrass:
Sucking remnants of sticky dough and soy sauce off his fingers, Job pushes himself up out of the armchair with a grunt and then plops right back down on the couch next to ThĂ©o in a mess of lanky limbs, their shoulders bumping, Job pressed into his brotherâs side (not dissimilar to the way heâs fallen asleep against him several times in the past while watching television together), props his socked feet up atop the coffee table (hole-ridden as well, of course, his thumb poking out the left sock), props the laptop in his lap and opens a new Google Chrome tab. Of course ThĂ©o has no clue how to use this â and on a selfish level, Job is kind of glad that he doesnât. He likes instances like this â the very few and rare in which he can offer ThĂ©o anything, however meager and insufficient, for everything ThĂ©oâs offered him.   He already feels as though theyâve been working on this project for years together, and they havenât even really begun yet. It already feels theirs.
âSo this is a browser, right? You need a browser to browse the internet. Get it?â He grins, mostly at the screen â but glances to ThĂ©o every once in a while, to seek out understanding in his otherwise sealed expression â or, well, seemingly sealed, anyway. It isnât, not really. Most people just donât look hard enough. âAnd now weâre gonna go to the search bar ân weâre gonna type in⊠nineteen⊠fifty one⊠CheeevroooleeetâŠâ he explains as he types away slowly; 1951 chevrolet 3100 carburetor; not as computer-savvy as most, but also not entirely stunted like his older brother. He shoves ThĂ©oâs shoulder slightly with his own when the results pop up on the screen, âân there we have it! Now all you gotta do is right-click all the links on the first page,â he demonstrates, âand compare all the sellers we find ân see what suits us most. Iâd say itâs a combination of price, shippinâ cost, location ân credibility. I mean â you donât gotta do this â I can definitely do it on my own. Like, after youâve gone to bed or somethinâ. Just run it by you before I make the purchase to make sure weâre good. Then all we gotta do is either ship it here or wait for me to pick it up.â   He hopes he isnât rambling too much. Hope it wasnât too overwhelming all at once for ThĂ©o â who isnât slow, but strongly dislikes change â to comprehend. He leans into the manâs shoulder as he glances back at him again.
   ThĂ©o watches with a blank expression as Job opens up the laptop. Heâs familiar with the little fruit shaped button (âGoogle Chrome,â he mouths). Heâd always associated it as the gateway to The Internet, even though heâs not entirely sure how it works.  More than anything, heâs just grateful for Jobâs expertise with technology. The kid had a way of speaking to ThĂ©o so normally, that the older man never felt like he was being belittled as with others that are Jobâs age. Itâs why heâs loath to ever ask for help when his cellphone or the computer at work did something confusing. Heâd simply file the situation away for later when he could ask Job.
  Thereâs a flurry of activity on the screen, and ThĂ©oâs eyes can barely keep up, images of carburetors, price points, lines of text all popping up at his brotherâs key strokes. He doesnât respond for a full minute. Is glad that Job never hurries him along, and simply lets him take things in. Itâs like being known and accepted all at once in a way that no one has ever known or accepted him before. He leans forward slightly, arm rubbing against Jobâs, then glances at him, â...Might be a good idea for you to do this. Trust your judgment.â
  Then heâs pulling the blanket on the couch around the kidâs bare shoulders. âNot if youâre too tired though. Can do it tomorrow.â
  Plus, thereâs something comforting about the idea of Job being there in the morning still. Taking their coffee out to the garage as he works his Internet magic, and ThĂ©o can steal glances his way as the dawnâs light breaks through the windows.
singingrass:
âUhâŠâ he doubts heâll be here until February. Sometimes it takes Boucher only a single day to find him; sometimes it takes him a week; sometimes it may take him up to two months and, though Job clearly prefers the latter timeline â it also allows for it to become increasingly clear to him, with each passing day, that his amount of time left in one place or another is dwindling; that whatever time he has with people heâs found, people he may like, is growing ever-shorter. Heâs been in Victoria almost a full month now.   Either way, the celebration does sound like a lot of fun. Itâs been a good while since Job has attended a proper party â especially one thrown by people he actually knows. He hates the thought of letting Nathalie down â at least not now â so he simply offers one of the usual crooked smile and replies, non-committal, âYeah â of course. If Iâm still around by then, Iâll be happy to come.â   If. If, because the reality is, heâll likely be back on the road by then whether he likes it or not.
Job takes another small sip of whiskey, baring his teeth and stifling a groan when it burns down his throat again; damn, this shitâs strong muttered under his breath. He consumes enough beer so the liquor doesnât go straight to his head, but he is feeling slightly more comfortable than usual nevertheless, and likes the way it seems to warm his chest. He smiles over the rim of his mug at the siblings.   âSay, uh â pardon the rude question, but uh â you guys got a designated smokinâ area, by chance? Totally, completely understandable if you donât â just uh â I think I saw you smokinâ at the garage, ThĂ©o? ân I was wondering.â
  Nathalie pouts for just a moment before heaving an almighty sigh, âOf course, Chickadee. I mean, your VIP invite will always stand, but I understand the call of the road. I get that way too, you know. Stir fucking crazy if I stay too long in one place. Thay knows what I mean.â
  ThĂ©o responds with something between a grunt and a shrug. He doesnât want to examine his sisterâs propensity for leaving just when heâs appreciating her company again. Not in front of Job. He understands why she does it, sure, and heâd never be so selfish as to clip her wings, but he does miss her, more than he cares to admit sometimes. Stands up wordlessly, mug still in hand, and tilts his head for Job to follow. Â
  They collect their jackets, ThĂ©o shrugging into some battered flannel work jacket with shearling on the collar, and make their way out the kitchen balcony. The temperature difference is noticeable immediately, their breath appearing in puffs. Itâs already dark out, though the glow of downtown Victoria blots out much of the stars that could be visible from here.
  Itâs been awhile since someone came out here to smoke with him. Nathalie rarely does. Still, there are two battered lawn chairs and a little folding TV tray out here with a makeshift ashtray. Itâs supposed to be for plants or something, but Hunter had commented on how the gaping fish mouth was perfect for when they smoked. ThĂ©o is unsure about this new person in a space thatâs very clearly the Laurentâs, but thereâs something so wide open and honest about Jobâs plain face that makes it seem⊠okay.
  He taps out a cigarette, pulls out his Zippo from the pocket of his jeans. His face is briefly illuminated, blank as a stone as he lights up. Is silent save for the brief inhale and exhale, occasional sip of whiskey in between. After a minute, he offers the lighter tentatively to the kid. Hadnât even checked to see if he had his own smokes, though assuming he does considering heâd asked for somewhere to smoke in the first place.
Sway to the Rhythm of the New World Order (+Astrid)
eteriskromling:
When the topic of payment was mentioned, Astrid laughed. It would have sounded gentle from someone else. As if she had really heard or witnessed something funny.Â
A good joke, someone accidentally walking into a door. But no, it was about being repaid. And, since it was Astrid Vivienne Lovaas, that gentle laughterâso lovely, if it wasnât her laughingâwas laced with high superiority. Condescending.
âDarling ThĂ©odore,â she called, still seemingly finding something hilarious. âEven if you had something to repay me with, Iâm in doubt you could afford me. This should be seen as an act of charity, no? Not a guarantee of kindness.â The immediate idea of dumping him at a clinic was satisfying in its own shallow way, but she knew she would think about his fate.Â
Too much, she figured, so sheâd rather watch him recover.
âBesides, sending you to a clinic would spell out something worse than a broken limb. Where else do you have a guarantee of privacy? A hot meal?â Something changed in her face, âCleanliness? You wonât even catch the slightest cold here.â She scratched at her neck absent-mindedly, exposing a deep scar for the ghost of a moment.
âI doubt we will enjoy eachothersâ company. I dislike people,â A statement that seemed obvious by tis point. âBut I will make sure you heal. Since I am your saviour. The hero of your story.â She couldnât recall what made her this cynical. Perhaps it was more than just one incident. Many that piled up on eachother, tangling like thread that wasnât paid enough attention.Â
âThere is a guest dwelling, downstairs. I canât imagine you could travel there now, but there is the option, should you take it. There are spare clothes, too. They should fit you. Dixon preferred loose things.âÂ
  Her laughter is strange in his ears, joyless despite its sophistication, and the way that she calls him by that endearment, twice as artificial. He is âThĂ©odoreâ by legalities only. The world knows him as âThĂ©oâ, no matter the level of familiarity. And there is something so unsettling about her use of his name, the easy way it falls from her lips that feels like ice up his spine, despite his fever.
  And even though she explains herself somewhat, heâs still clueless about her motivations. A charity case, for sure, but for what? Out of boredom? For some greater maliciousness to show itself in the future? Not like heâs in any shape to think about his next actions, right now. So he accepts it. Not knowing. Hadnât this trait been what had made him such a good SOLDIER? Perhaps all that training still had a use, after all.
   And itâs not as though they have to enjoy each otherâs company for him to heal. Heâd never been one to require any sort of joviality from the world around him. Best not to look a gift chocobo in the beak. He can wait. He can bide his time. He does not require comfort or affection. He will survive this.
  Glances up to catch a glimpse of scar tissue, like a perverse smile across her pale, long throat. Knows better than to be curious, and casts his gaze back at his bruised and battered palms, face placid. Dixon? Someone else lived here?
( Â Â Itâs hard for him to picture her having family. Friends. For the short time that heâs been in her presence, it just seemed to make sense that she had existed independently from every other human for as long as the world existed. Like she was from a different time. Â Â )
   He nods shortly. Itâs acknowledgement of what sheâs doing for him, whatever the reason. Examines his blood stained, ripped and dirty clothing. The crimson having dried to some dark color some time ago, making the fabric stiff. ââŠCould use a wet cloth. Change of clothes. Please.â
   Wonders if he has any qualms about wearing a dead manâs clothing. Not that he knows for sure.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
Norman Reedus on the Golden Globes red carpet: January 7, 2018.
His ears đđđ I love them đđ
singingrass:
Job wants to tell her it isnât so much that as much as he simply hasnât found the right person to settle down with yet â but the pace in which the Laurent siblings move to clear the table and wash all the dishes makes it impossible for him to follow through. They do not let him help even when he tries physically butting in between them and, though Job isnât quite used to being served on â it makes him smile nevertheless. He gives up after that, does not protest their refusal to let him help, and does as heâs told, following them through to the living room and plopping down on the couch beside ThĂ©o.
âUh â sure â Iâll have some of that whiskey, if it ainât no trouble. Thank you.â This is replied to ThĂ©oâs offering of a mug, and Job sits up and holds it close for him as the man pours him a serving of the drink, sucking the icing off the fingers of his other hand as he turns his attention back to Nat.   âThat was abso-fuckinâ-lutely the most delicious⊠thing Iâve ever eaten. What did you say they were called? Ben-yays?â He finishes sucking the last of his fingers and pauses to take a quick sip of the whiskey before carrying on, twisting his lips somewhat at the harsh burn in the pit of his throat. He stifles a small cough against the back of his hand. ââ pardon â uh â yeah, I was stayinâ there with him for a bit, but uh, I just moved to the trailer park up on the northern side of town. Kitchenâs tiny but, uh, I guess itâs about the resourcefulness of the cook ân not the size of the kitchen, huh?â
  âHey, his pronunciationâs not bad!â Nat grins in approval and pours herself a generous splash of wine. âThatâs correct. Itâs just a fancy word for a hunk of deep fried dough. Honestly, we French are so fucking extra, sometimes.â
  She pushes another one at Job, encouraging him before shoving one at her brother. ThĂ©o puts his palm up to decline, but sheâs already dropping it, so heâs forced to catch it. âOh! Iâve heard of that little place. Nice view, actually. Backs onto some trees and a clearing. What is it called, Sunny something? Golden Court something? Well weâre glad youâve found a place to stay. It gets ridiculously cold in the winter here and we always worry about our friends that donât have roofs over their heads. Of course, our couch is always open for you to lay your head down if you ever need to, no questions asked, isnât that right Thay?â
  ThĂ©o looks a little deer in the headlights at the moment. Heâs never going to turn someone out onto the street, but the idea of more strangers sleeping in his home makes him anxious. He pops the beignet into his mouth, chews in lieu of a response. Nods. Downs it with some of his whiskey, and in no way feels the burn as much as Job does.
  âYouâll have to have us over too. Small kitchen or not. Iâm a potluck type of girl. And Iâd love to dig into your cooking again.â Nat scratches and pets at the back of Jobâs neck. An unconscious gesture, that ThĂ©oâs always noticed she does with her younger friends. Thereâs something doting and familial about it. âThĂ©o, we should invite Job to our Februaryfest. Though I canât tell you when the date is. Weâve got to listen to the winds.â
  ThĂ©o offers a shrug at Job, explains to the best of his ability, ââŠNathalie used to have a party on Valentineâs for all her single friends. Then weâve got some birthdays in February. She decided weâd combine it all. Februaryfest. Food. Karaoke. A piñata. Iâm not sure what itâs about now. For some reason, there are costumes involved. Itâs⊠Confusing.â
  Nat reaches out a long leg to kick ThĂ©o in the shin gently, âOh shush you, Mr. âGrumpy Pantsâ Laurent. As if we ever need a reason to get together and have fun. What do you think, Job? Can we put your name down for a âyesâ?â
singingrass:
There hangs a saying at the tip of his tongue, something about how heâs a big boy who can handle himself and doesnât need ThĂ©o feeding him (mind, heâs already eaten double what the older man has) â but Job doesnât speak a word of it. Rather, he smiles gratefully when his brother keeps piling his plate up with dumplings, which keep vanishing almost as soon as they appear. Itâs nice, being cared for like this â and it is nice for ThĂ©o to be able to care for him this way, for a change. Job will let them both have this small moment of grace.   The internet. ThĂ©o has a funny way of talking of things he doesnât understand, the internet consisting of about eighty percent of that category. Were this any other person, Job would laugh â but he knows not to. Knows he is the only person ThĂ©o can ask without getting ridiculed â and more than anything â Job loves, so very deeply, the fact that he is able to be this person for his brother. So he smiles, cheeks round and swollen with pork dim sum, and listens to ThĂ©o speak.
  âOh â yeah, sure thing. I could show you how to do it, too â yâknow, for the garage.â   He likes this. He likes them sitting together, talking shop over dinner. Working together. It reminds him of being a kid and working on the neighborsâ farm with Gene. It is what a brotherly bond should look like, the way Job knows it. In this moment, he is as happy as can possibly be.   Retrieving another beef and broccoli serving from its container, Job dips it in a generous amount of soy sauce before stuffing the whole thing in his mouth; tonguing at the sauce that drips down his chin and muttering around it as he carries on. âDo you one better â we can figure out whiff if fhe beft deal on fhe internet â fhen I can juftâŠâ he swallows, ââ pick it up on my way cominâ or goinâ ân save us the shipping cost.â
  He doesnât show it, but ThĂ©o is beaming inside as he watches Job eat. Thereâs something about the kid being back home and back in his care, that is so damn special to him, he canât enunciate it. Itâs a feeling more than anything, and ThĂ©o has never been very good with feelings. So he just props his chin on his palm, listens diligently to Jobâs proposition. And tries not to let his face fall at the mention of leaving.
  He knows this. The inevitability of it. Job canât stay in one place forever, as much as ThĂ©o would wish it. Heâs been over this a thousand times in his own mind. But it doesnât stop him from flinching from the idea. It doesnât stop him from feeling that great sudden surge of loneliness at the thought of Job stepping through the doorframe, not knowing where heâs going or when heâs coming back.
  Thereâs an unspoken rule that they donât talk about it. Itâs for everyoneâs safety. But even more so, ThĂ©o has found that it makes him relish the time they have together even more when he doesnât know how long Job is able to stay. Heâs always lived in the present, but thatâs never been so true as it is when heâs with his younger brother.
  He tries not to let anything show on his face. Itâs harder with Job, whom heâs most comfortable being vulnerable with, without even knowing. Busies himself by scooping up his plate, sealing up the containers for a quick lunch tomorrow. Carts everything over to the fridge, and without making direct eye contact, continues their conversation, ââŠKids usually handle that at the garage. The ordering. I tell them what we need and they get on the computer and. Do whatever it is. Might be nice to learn.â
  Truthfully heâs been terrified of using the shopâs PC. Kai had laughed himself into a stupor when ThĂ©o had thought it had broken when the screen went into screensaver mode. Needless to say, he doesnât use it a lot. ââŠNatâs got a laptop. She doesnât mind us borrowing it.â
  Disappears into his sisterâs room, which always smells of incense and something flowery. Finds another strip of photos tucked into her mirror, as he picks up her laptop from the vanity. A younger ThĂ©o with longer hair, looking sullen in a ripped black hoodie as he sits at a drum set. Then underneath it, a picture of Job from some months back, plucking away at his mandolin. Theyâre both leaning down over their instruments, hair hanging in their faces. Natâs written the caption âSHOCKING FAMILY RESEMBLANCEâ on the border of the photo of Job. ThĂ©o blinks at the pictures, doesnât remember when they were taken. Timeâs a funny thing. The minutes tick by, but in the end all thatâs left are not even the memories. But the people youâve chosen to share them with.
  He shakes himself, returns to the living room and places Natâs laptop down gently like itâs some precious artifact. ââŠYou. Know how to open this?â
axgmented:
     it takes him too quick to just be a casual trip to the bathroom. if rem knows her partner, heâs trying to force his steps to be casual but his pace is too brisk and heâs probably clenching his jaw too tight and ten gil says he still has the flute of empty champagne in his hand â
  â ya owe me ten gil.â
    she mutters softly to him, leaning against the porcelain sinks. remâs fixing her lipstick, giving a fresh swipe across her lower lip when theo leans down to check the fat fuckâs pulse. yeah yeah, she let him live, he was just out cold. she scoffs lightly, sheathing the little tube of makeup back into the clutch purse before kneeling at his side. she canât help that impish grin that tugs the corner of her mouth upwards; heâs practically sweating in that suit. all over her? they havenât been partners that long, but reno tried to warn him about rem â sheâs taken her eyes off of three potential partners so far. thereâs something about the big hulking mass of muscle who seems to breathe a sigh of relief when she was within arms length. itâs not that she wouldnât be upset if someone lodged a bullet in his head, but she wouldnât exactly be happy about it either. sheâs young still, new to the turks and has a hard time reigning in her thirst for a hunt.
      "â whatcha got, theola?â
    she purrs, leaning over from stashing what currency she can find on his unconscious body and into her purse; heâs got some kind of non-descriptive keycard, unmarked by any logo. she frowns, eyebrows pulling together before impatient hands swipe it from his grasp, turning it over and over in hopes that maybe something would show up; the card is lodged between her ring and middle finger, as if she were handing it back to him. a sinking feeling hits her stomach; this wasnât just a mythril smuggle-deal. this wasnât just a replicating arms deal. rem scoots a little closer to theo before standing, arms over her head before she can let him catch on about her unease. heâs already standing, his hair falling in his face.
    he wants them to stay together, do some boring recon: "behaveâ is spoken between the lines. sheâs got half the mind to tell him to head back to the hotel, sheâll finish this mission on her own without his constant mother henning but she steps over the dead weight at their feet, standing just a bit on her tiptoes to push his hair back gently; thatâs when those hands go to messing up his hair, pulling at his tie before undoing his shirt at the first two buttons â only to fist the materials in her hand and wrinkle the nice white press. she leans forward, placing her red-stained mouth just beneath his ear where the collar would hide most of the lipstick mark. her thumb smears it slightly, and her hands go back to fixing his shirt and his tie. she turns her attention to her reflection, holding her wrist beneath the faucet before the warm spray of water hit her flesh. she dabs the water gently at her neck, down to the curve of her chest in the dress before pinching lightly at her cheeks. a hand raises to break free some of her curls, musing the silvery locks this way and that before attempting to tame them back down. a hand drifts down to the hem of her outfit, wrinkling it before heading towards the door.
 â c'mon now ya look ravished ânough. letâs get thaâ info, yeah?â
  He almost backs himself into a toilet stall when she touches him, parting his shaggy, dark hair, brief press of her lips to his throat, then suddenly he feels like heâs being undressed and he makes a shocked, gruff little noise. ââRem!â
  Look. Itâs not that he hasnât ever been touched by another person before. And itâs not like he shouldnât be used to Rem invading his rather large and broad personal space bubble with the aggressive way that she speaks, by now. Itâs the mere suggestion of intimacy. ThĂ©o is ill versed in his body on the best of days, and he could probably go about life never having to examine that particular aspect of himself, ever again. Heâs got his duties, and heâs got his place in the world. No need to complicate anything.
  But with Rem, itâs just an expert part of her act, and she seems totally unfazed by the reaction heâs giving. Face roughly the color of a beet, heart in his throat, stomach jumping around, and expression looking more harassed with every passing minute. Watches her with a sort of stupefied distress as she dabs at her skin with water, musses up her own outfit and lets some of her silver hair fall out of place. He quickly tears his gaze away, making a strangled noise of acknowledgment. Nods for her to go ahead, so he can take a deep breath. Settle his nerves again.
( Â Â Itâs just an act. Sheâs covering our asses. No need to get so freaked out, SOLDIER. Â Â )
  Then theyâre back out in the noise of the lounge again, the commotion seeming to have settled as they set up for the next match. People are talking excitedly, counting their wins and the alcohol is flowing freely and the music is pulsing loud. He gets a couple smirks in his direction, a thumbs-up from a particularly smarmy looking guy, and feels like he might throw up. Is at Remâs side again, willing himself to get back to business. Nods in the direction of the goons guarding the vicinity of the elevator. Theyâre cheering as well, clapping each other on the back and gloating at the one of them thatâs apparently bet on the wrong bird. ââŠHavenât noticed us yet. Or their missing friend. Should be able to slip away when the lights dim again.â
  Smarmy walks by, looks them over with a curious jeer, and ThĂ©o has to fight the urge to step in front of his partner, or stand there looking back awkwardly. He swallows hard, pushes back at the jittery feeling inside and places a chaste palm against the small of Remâs back. Feels unsettled beyond belief at the feeling of her bare skin, as he pointedly returns the guyâs gaze. He seems satisfied, convinced that theyâre a couple, although a little weirded out that a guy like ThĂ©o might end up with a girl like Rem, but he moves on. ThĂ©o noticeably relaxes. The lights dim down for a second match and people rush back to the viewing windows, jostling them slightly.
  âTime to move. Remember. âŠJust recon.â Itâs more of a suggestion than a command. He knows itâs her call, should she ever want to listen. Lazard had hinted that ThĂ©o was someone whose demeanor was good at keeping his more rowdy comrades in check, but he had warned him that the Turks were in their own league. Reno had joked about ThĂ©oâs âbalancing influenceâ on Rem, and she had nearly whipped a chair at his head, after all.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
splatteredfingers:
   âPerhaps that happens more often than we think.â Heâs never really thought about it in such a way. It seems to him the artist in the one in control. The artist holds the brush, chooses the colors, creates the positive and negative space of the painting. They make all of the choices. But the otherâs comments have Daxton wondering otherwise. Maybe some of those decisions arenât conscious ones. They just happen through some sheer force of their own. His gaze lingers on the womenâs eyes a moment longer before he looks over his shoulder.    Thereâs a huddle of individuals not too far away. Theyâre all chattering and carrying on, sipping champagne and nipping finger foods from passing trays. Dax recognizes some of them as regular fixtures of the gallery showings in this area. A faint spike of anxiety rises. He doesnât want to get cornered by any of them or caught in their discussion. Plus, heâs observant, noticing the other manâs step back might be a subtle hint of wanting to disengage.    âIâm probably keeping you.â An apologetic smile graces his features. Itâs mere assumption really, but many people attend showings as part of a group or, at least, a couple. âI should let you get back to your viewing.âÂ
  ThĂ©o watches the small pocket of people coming towards them with the same anxiety as the other man, although heâd never know it because heâd never ask. Thereâs something about their surefootedness. Their confidence and being at ease with all those small social gestures that are a complete mystery to ThĂ©o. He doesnât think theyâd engage him, because heâs a stranger to the art community, but they might engage this other man, and heâd be forced to stand awkwardly plotting his escape.
  Oh, if only people were more like machines. Everything predictable and stable. ThĂ©o can speak that language. He glances nervously away, shakes his head to dismiss his company. Admits in a low voice, ââŠCame here with my sister. Donât know where she went. Sheâs⊠Better at these things than I am.â
  The people are within earshot now, and he awkwardly backs up several more steps, looking around for another way out. It seems as though the hallway leads to a back exit. ââŠSorry about your shoes, again. Know if itâs okay to smoke back there?â
take that, love you