Reblog-inator

"Turn around! No, in the other direction. No, turn around again"

"Where are you? I don't see you"

"At home, but the thought of you aimlessly turning around in circles amused me"

I just think this would be something Robert does to Flambae lol

On the large couch in the living room, with the TV playing some random show that's long since been forgotten, Robert sits anxiously staring at his phone.

His eyes stay glued to the map.

The little blue dot marking Flambae's phone finally reaches the entrance to the apartment complex.

"There you are," Robert murmurs to himself.

He locks his phone and sits up straighter, already smiling.

He can't help it whenever he remembers his boyfriend's last text.

what are you wearing?

The pause before it had lasted almost a full minute.

Robert knows exactly what happened during that minute.

Flambae had turned around.

Again.

Even after falling for it the first time.

Robert still isn't over how hard he'd laughed.

The metallic click of the front door unlocking pulls him out of his thoughts.

He's already on his feet before the door is fully open.

"Hey—"

Flambae walks right past him.

It's so fast that Robert doesn't even get the usual few seconds he normally takes to close the door whenever Flambae comes home with groceries. Instead, Flambae kicks it shut with his heel, not waiting for Robert to help.

The rustle of reusable grocery bags and heavy footsteps crossing the entryway are the only signs the pyrokinetic is home.

"...babe," Robert finishes, watching him disappear toward the kitchen.

Instead of answering, Flambae heads straight there to deal with the groceries.

Robert follows, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

He knows exactly what he did.

"So... I'm guessing you finally realized I wasn't actually at the grocery store."

Flambae reaches the kitchen island, drops the bags onto the countertop with a dull thud, and starts unpacking them.

"You know, I almost felt bad," Robert says, leaning one hip against the counter. "I mean... not during it. But after."

Flambae acts as though Robert isn't even in the room.

Robert watches him pull everything out of the bags and put it away with practiced precision.

Rice. Beans. Lentils. Quinoa. Pasta.

"So we're doing the silent treatment, huh," Robert tries again after a few seconds.

Canned goods disappear into the pantry.

Corn. Peas. Tuna. Tomato sauce. Hearts of palm.

"You know," Robert continues conversationally, "if you're trying to punish me, you're supposed to yell."

Still nothing.

Starting to feel genuinely frustrated at being ignored, Robert begins digging through the remaining grocery bags, helping empty and put everything away.

Careful not to bump into him — or even look at him — Flambae picks up a bag of apples and starts washing them at the sink.

Robert keeps glancing at his boyfriend's back before something catches his attention.

Or rather...

The absence of something.

His beloved Twinkies.

Everything else is there.

Everything except the one thing he'd actually miss.

"Mhm..." Robert clears his throat. "Where are the Twinkies?"

Without turning around, calmly arranging the freshly washed apples into the fruit bowl, Flambae answers,

"I forgot."

Robert knows that's bullshit.

Flambae might complain, religiously, about buying his Twinkies every single shopping trip...

But he never forgets them.

Never.

So Robert knows exactly what's happening.

He's being punished for the prank.

Robert scratches the back of his neck.

"...Okay."

For the first time since the front door opened...

His smile disappears.

"...Maybe I deserved that."

Flambae doesn't answer.

He's already moving again, wiping a few drops of condensation off the countertop with a dish towel.

Robert watches him.

Suddenly, the silence isn't nearly as entertaining anymore.

He walks around the kitchen island until he's standing directly in Flambae's path.

Flambae immediately sidesteps him.

Robert mirrors the movement, blocking him again.

Flambae lets out a sharp breath through his nose.

"...Move."

Robert looks up at him.

"No."

"I said move."

"I heard you."

Flambae tries going the other way, only for Robert to slide back in front of him again.

Their little dance continues across the kitchen tiles.

"Robert!" Flambae huffs, exasperated, crossing his arms as his eyes burn with barely contained irritation.

"I'm sorry," Robert says without joking this time. "I shouldn't have doubled down."

Silence.

Flambae looks away.

His expression softens just a little.

Robert steps closer, carefully.

"I shouldn't have pulled that prank in the first place."

Still nothing.

Robert sighs. He knows he's going to have to swallow a little more of his pride.

"I was being an asshole."

Flambae finally looks at him.

Not with his usual warmth. But not nearly as angry anymore.

“You made me look like a complete fool in public...” Flambae narrows his eyes. "...Twice."

Robert bites the inside of his cheek, holding back a laugh. "Sorry."

Flambae points a finger right at his face.

"And then you called me an idiot, you little shit..."

Robert has to look away for a second to hide another smile.

"When you say it out loud, it sounds..."

"Horrible?" Flambae finishes, planting both hands on his hips as he leans slightly toward Robert. "Because it is."

Robert looks back at him.

"I was gonna say 'less funny.'"

Flambae lets out the faintest sound through his nose.

Not quite a laugh.

Barely even a scoff.

But it's the first crack in the wall.

"Unbelievable," Flambae mutters with a disbelieving chuckle before walking around Robert and leaving the kitchen.

Robert watches him go, grinning from ear to ear again.

He knows Flambae walked away because staying would make it impossible to keep pretending he was still mad.

"And my Twinkies?" Robert calls after him.

Derek: 'I'm fine' Stiles: 🚨🚨🚨 (honestly this goes both ways for these two)

Birthday gift art for @sparassiss who requested Stiles holding Derek after a crappy day, and you know what - a good ol' Stilinski Hug would probably fix him a lil' bit ♡

because theyd rather someone stay terrible or just straight up die than become a better person 

from a compassionate point of view it’s deeply distressing and from a pragmatic point of view it’s outright frustrating

once on the subway, some investment banker guy was hitting on me and trying to invite me to a party with [indecipherable slang]

and i asked him to clarify, so he used some other [indecipherable slang]

there’s like five iterations of this until it finally “clicks” and i accidentally blurt, for the entire packed subway car to hear, “OH, YOU MEAN LIKE COCAINE”

dude is glancing over his shoulder, looking like he wants to die on the spot, and clarifies “yes, i mean like cocaine”

i smile and go “no thank you, but i hope you have a good time with the drugs!”