#tagginggg

ended up switching my fargo works to their own ao3 account in a feverish fit of freedom, find them all (and future works) at constantcalamitas on ao3!

erin beloved!!!

hbo war ask game

c. which show did you enjoy, but don't engage with the fandom of?

although i think generation kill is probably the best produced of the show with the most interesting characters, i sometimes have trouble engaging in the fandom because of the connections i have to the iraq-afghanistan war lol

s. tag a blog you don't often interact with, but love the content they make.

i don't interact with @ww2yaoi a whole lot, but their webgott posts are mwah <3

v. post a snippet/wip/headcanon involving any one of the shows.

stepping AWAY from the luztoye week wips to go back to my beautiful post war little talks <33

He ran a hand across the span of his bare back, mouth hooking up carefully at the soft, relieved exhale that he gathered in his palm.

“I was starting to get worried.” George murmured into his pillow, not bothering to turn over, and Joe dropped an absent kiss to his bare shoulder before backing away to rest more fully on the mattress, shifting to take off the prosthetic and shoe.

“I got held up.” He rasped, setting the prosthesis against his nightstand. “Roman architecture, and all that.”

George rolled over, hand finding Joe’s lower back and rubbing circles into his skin. “Delightful.” He muttered, deadpan, and Joe leaned back into the bed, George’s arms going around his neck as he did. 

“How’re you feeling?” Joe asked, throwing his own arm over George’s waist, and George sunk into him with a relieved hum. 

“Better.” He murmured, breath warm against Joe’s neck. “The sink’s torn apart, though.”

He pressed his mouth to the gentle spot behind George’s ear, suppressing a smile. “I saw that. Putting it back together tomorrow?” 

“Mm. Then I’ll move on to tearing apart the rest of the apartment. How attached are you to the couch?”

“I could probably learn to live without it.” Joe said dryly, George pressing his forehead to the column of his throat, hand curling at his collarbone.