#I apologize for nothing

[mintybagels]

Days seem sometimes as if they’ll never end

#processing this trauma now #i apologize for nothing #good omens #good omens season 2 #good omens 2 #good omens fanart #good omens 2 spoilers #good omens spoilers #good omens season 2 spoilers #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziracrow #aziraphale #neil gaiman

[spamtonromantic]

i am not going to heaven

#ultrakill #gabriel ultrakill #yes this based on the im pregnant gabriel gif i love it so fucking much #i apologize for nothing #i made this myself in like 20 minutes. inlcuding getting the picture #but i had to turn off easter first LMAO

[ofbodiesofcities]

#i apologize for nothing

[unpretty]

in honor of the occasion i clipped the segment of Old Oak Doors where cecil and carlos are reunited and cecil is very upset that carlos wasn't checking tumblr and reblogging his art while stranded in the desert otherworld

#original #wtnv #i apologize for nothing

[jim-kirks-bubble-butt]

the shatty

#no way spock can handle all of that #i apologize for nothing #it needed to be said #star trek #star trek tos #james kirk #james t kirk #jim kirk #spirk #spock #william shatner

[matchbet-allofthetime]

Raiden in MK11 (and previous games, but I digress) is DILF. Daddy as fuck.

We as a fandom should acknowledge this more. He's daddy as hell.

"I demand obedience!" LIKE YEAH? YOU DO?? FUCK ME MAN, IF YOU INSIST-

#i am tired #and down bad #i apologize for nothing #we're all thinking it #mortal kombat 11 #mk11 #mortal kombat #raiden #mk11 raiden #lord raiden

[steddiemicrofic]

💐 april prompt 🌸

happy april babies!!! can’t believe we’re getting so close to our first anniversary on this blog. seriously thank you so so much to everyone who participates in these challenges, i love this community and i think you’re all pretty 😘

mickala and i thought it would be fun to shake things up a bit, so this month we’re doing a whole group of words as your prompt and giving you a larger word count than normal so you have plenty of room to fit them all into your story. everything else is business as usual: interpret the prompt however you like, make sure your submission is steddie-centric third pov with a title, rating, and tags, and word counts must be exact when pasted into wordcounter.net. mods will comment a 🥧 to let you know your story has been verified and added to the queue, and then you can add your fic to the april ao3 collection

okay sick, onto the prompt!

your april wc is ✨ 1987 ✨ and your prompts are:

and

around

desert

down

give

gonna

let

never

run

up

you

xoxo,

gossip wynn 💋

jk beloveds your actual prompt is

🃏 fool | 454 words 🃏

#steddiemicrofic #steddiemicroficapril #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #steddie prompt #april fool's day #i apologize for nothing

[cannibalcaprine]

mmh

horrid idea

#i apologize for nothing #homestuck #ultrakill #gabv1el

[hardly-an-escape]

I saw pictures of Ferdie in a tux earlier today and blacked out and wrote this | rated T for public makeouts | 1445 words

- - -

'cause every Dreamlord's crazy 'bout a sharp-dressed man

- - -

Hob would be the first to admit he isn't much of a fashion plate these days. In fact, it’s one of the things he deeply appreciates about the 21st century so far: just how much easier it had become to simply get dressed.

No more fussing with hose and doublets and codpieces. No more wigs or complicated ascots or fancy hats or cufflinks. Pair of jeans, decent jacket, and you were out the door. And if your shirt didn't have holes in it people considered you fairly put together, all things being equal.

Still, he takes pride in looking well, like he always has. Keeps his hair nice, stays away from crappy fast fashion. And since his TA makes a point of teasing him about how many undergrads have a crush on him (despite the enormous eye rolls that conversation always generates), he figures he must be doing something right.

And before anyone asks, yes, he also finds the juxtaposition with Dream amusing. “Painfully normal history professor on a hot date with an exquisite goth king” is hilarious any way you slice it; in fact, Hob secretly lives for the subtle double-takes when he introduces people to his boyfriend.

Yeah, I pulled that, he thinks smugly to himself. He just couldn’t resist my devastating Levis-and-t shirt combo.

- - -

“I’m off, love,” said Hob, draining his coffee. “Don’t forget the fundraiser tonight, yeah? They're doing it at the natural history museum. Cocktails at 6:00, dinner at 7:30, and you know I can't come home to collect you after that meeting, so please don’t be more than fashionably late and I'll meet you there.”

“Hmph,” said Dream. “Must we go at all?”

“It’s literally in my contract to do one of these a year, I’m afraid,” said Hob. “And I did promise Professor Hathaway that this time, and I quote, my surprisingly dashing partner would be in attendance. Besides,” he added, pausing to press a kiss against his glowering lover’s temple, “you know you love to dress up. Just think of it as your own little Met Gala.”

“And are you wearing... these?” queried Dream, gesturing disdainfully at Hob’s well-loved corduroys.

“You like these trousers,” said Hob with a cheeky grin. “You think they make my bum look good.”

“Hmm.” Dream slid a hand onto Hob’s hip and pressed his nose into the hollow of his throat in a way that never failed to send a shiver down Hob’s spine. “Perhaps I do. Perhaps I could demonstrate. Perhaps we could skip—”

“Nice try, my love,” laughed Hob, and detached himself regretfully. “I will see you at 6:00 o’clock, we will schmooze lovely donors with lots of lovely money, and never fear, I will be wearing something other than my old cords.” He punctuated each sentence with a touch of his lips. “Now I really have to go.”

He dropped one last kiss on Dream’s upturned mouth and snagged his bag on his way out the door.

“No later than a quarter after six! Promise!”

- - -

Dream sauntered up the steps of the museum at 6:33, exactly as he had intended, and followed the sounds of revelry toward the crowd of literature professors, history lecturers, administrators, graduate students, donors, and various hangers on who always seemed to turn up at this sort of event.

The professors and lecturers would be bored, the administrators avid, the graduate students petrified, the donors sleek, and the hangers on clustered around the hors d'oeuvre table. So it always had been and so it always would be. Strange, how the glad-handing traditions of the waking world mirrored so perfectly the events of state he had endured in the Dreaming.

He accepted a plastic flute of sparkling something from a waiter and looked about for Hob.

Dream soon spotted his paramour in the midst of a cluster of people paying court to Professor Hathaway, who liked to surround herself with handsome younger men as frequently as possible (and could get away with it, partly due to being an absolute powerhouse in the field of art history and partly due to being eighty years old and four and a half feet tall in her socks).

Hob was laughing, plastic flute in hand, and even from across the room Dream was so captivated by the sparkle in his eye that it took a moment to realize just what Hob was wearing.

It was an impeccable dinner jacket, nipped in ever-so-slightly at Hob’s slim waist, where a single button closed the front. Stark white cuffs peeked out at the wrist, and a touch of texture on the lapels drew the eye upward, across the snowy dress shirt to the perfectly tied bow tie at Hob's throat.

He twisted to the side to listen politely to the man standing next to him – clearly a donor – and Dream's eye drifted down, where excellently tailored trousers emerged from the hem of the jacket, gave the corduroys a run for their money, and led down to a pair of highly polished Oxford shoes.

Hob's hair was swept back from his forehead, and the five o'clock shadow that had looked a bit scruffy that morning had somehow, by the mysterious alchemy of formal wear, been transformed into something rakish and debonair.

Dream's mouth was suddenly and inexplicably very dry.

Of course, Hob chose that moment to scan the crowd and catch Dream's eye, flashing him that brilliant smile and waving him over to join the group. Dream swallowed half his wine in one go and obeyed Hob's beckoning hand.

"Madam, may I present to you Morpheus, as promised," Hob said laughingly. "I have proved he still exists and must beg your indulgence if he fails to appear at a faculty party for another year and change."

"Professor Hathaway." Dream took her wrinkled hand and bowed low over it. "I am as charmed by your presence as ever. I know I have only just arrived, but would you briefly excuse us? I find I must borrow Robert for a moment."

She tittered and waved them off as Dream neatly excised Hob from the conversational circle and steered them away from the crowd and down an empty gallery.

"Everything alright, love?" asked Hob. "Did something happen while I was at work?"

The tinge of concern on his face lasted right up until Dream pulled him behind a trilobite diorama, divested him of his drink, grabbed him by the lapel of his perfect dinner jacket, and fitted their mouths together with mathematical precision and intensity.

"Ah. I see," said Hob after a long and breathless kiss. "One of those moments. Like the suit, do you?"

Dream considered growling at Hob; quickly weighed and dismissed the relative merits of, in order, demanding where exactly Hob got off looking like that, demanding to be taken home and ravished, and demanding to be ravished on the spot; and finally settled for pushing him back against the glass case and kissing him again, as thoroughly as possible.

It was several more moments before they broke apart, and the white expanse of Hob’s shirt was heaving slightly as he straightened his tie and swept a hand through his hair.

“Are you not going to tell me I’m late?” asked Dream, retrieving his plastic cup and draining the remaining wine, already gone slightly flat.

“That joke’s gotten a bit old by now, hasn’t it?” said Hob. “Besides, I fibbed, because I know you very well. Cocktails didn’t start until 6:30 and dinner’s not until 8:00. Got to let everyone get a bit toasty before the auction starts.”

“Liar. Rogue. Charlatan.” Dream grumbled. “I cannot possibly remain in the waking world that long. My realm requires—”

“Tell you what,” interrupted Hob. “If you stay through the main course, you can plead a headache and we’ll leave when they serve dessert; they won’t need me after the speeches anyway. And then…” his voice dropped lower “...if you don’t mind, all these studs and cufflinks are very fiddly. I may need quite a bit of help getting out of this monkey suit once we get home.”

He leaned forward and brushed a promising kiss at the corner of Dream’s mouth, and something inside Dream shivered in a way he still was unaccustomed to.

“Your terms are acceptable.”

Hob smiled again, one of the soft smiles that Dream had learned were especially for him (and for which he was privately willing to endure many more fundraising galas).

“I love you,” he said simply. “Thank you for coming tonight.”

Dream found his hand and squeezed it gently as they turned to rejoin the party.

“I love you, too,” he said.

- - -

PS: picture, if you will, Lord Morpheus at the fundraising dinner in the velvet Saint Laurent suit Tom wore to the premiere. because it amuses me.

#Dreamling #Hob Gadling #Dream of the Endless #this is just an excuse to lovingly describe Hob Gadling in modern formal wear #I apologize for nothing #my writing

[thedenofravenpuff]

Sun and Moon playing Cult of the Lamb

Moon: "Why does your wife have ONLY negative traits?"

Sun: "BecauseIlikeapersonwithtoxictraits."

Moon: "That explains a lot."

SunEclipse is in fact possible!

#PuffBlog #SAMS #TSAMS #The Sun And Moon Show #SunEclipse #I apologize for nothing

[comicavalcade]

🤷🏾‍♂️ that's comics baybeee

#comics #comics age #age discourse #sliding timescale #time travel #clones #deaging #so unserious #i apologize for nothing

[marlynnofmany]

Thanks to whoever it was that had the post about "writing your dessert."

I just finished writing a delightful mix of things that I've enjoyed reading about in other Good Omens fanfics, and I think it turned out great.

Other people who enjoy unexplained nesting instincts in creatures with wings, demon summoning with a side of snark, and getting mistaken for the wrong kind of cryptid entirely will probably enjoy this particular trope cake.

#when the characters aren't human #that makes for some very entertaining possibilities #and I have definitely entertained myself here #you're welcome to come along #enjoy the trope cake #write your dessert #it's always worth it #Good Omens #fanfic #my writing #I apologize for nothing #some of those lines are making ME crack up #I want to draw fanart of my own fanfic #and that's a good sign that it accomplished exactly what it was meant to do

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

#ACLA24 #ACLA24Leaders #youtube #youtube video #climate leaders #climate solutions #climate action #climate and environment #climate #climate change #climate and health #climate blog #climate justice #climate news #weather and climate #environmental news #environment #environmental awareness #environment and health #environmental #environmental issues #environmental justice #environment protection #environmental health #Youtube

[navarresimp]

loosing braincells at a rapid pace

#splatoon #dj octavio #craig cuttlefish #cuttletavio #djvorce #that one titanic scene #you know the one #In case you were wondering #yes I am receiving psychiatric help #i apologize for nothing

[ambisweetiepie]

I should be allowed to make valentines cards.

#valentine's day #valentines day #i apologize for nothing

[karastears]

DO YALL SEE THIS PENGUIN RIGHT HERE? HE IS A GIRL'S BEST FRIEND. HE IS BESTIES WITH ✨THE GIRLS✨. HE HANGS WITH THE GIRLIES THAT GET IT YES MAYBE HE IS A LITTLE INSANE BUT HE IS FOR THE GIRLS AND THE GAYS AND WE ARE ROCKING WITH RICO. now let's go shopping

#the penguins of madagascar #tpom rico #tpom #madagascar #we're coming for you jeffrey katzenberg #i will not elaborate #i apologize for nothing

[lunapwrites]

Hey so remember that time that I made that post about the sudden plot bunny about Lyall and Andromeda bonding over the corpses of their children and wouldn't that be a fun meet-cute like a complete sociopath?

Well anyway I might have written it.

Third row, fifteen down. Lyall moved through the Great Hall, woodenly scanning the bodies laid out along the floor. Children, mostly — boys and girls just sighting the light at the end of their teens. Adults scattered in between, too few to be an effective shield against their attackers, against — Christ — the Giants he'd seen collapsed on the grounds. Fires still smoldering. Third row, fifteen down. He spotted the shoes first — how many times had he heard those boots scuffing on the rug at his door? How long had it been? Not since his son had burst into the house a year before, digging through boxes like a madman. "Need a hand?" "No, I just can't remember where I — ah! There you are—" "What are you up to, lad?" "Something monumentally stupid, probably — I'll explain later, I promise." He'd run out the door then, jamming something into his pocket as he went. It was the last Lyall had seen Remus alive. He'd thought himself moderately prepared for this, having buried his wife years ago. Thought he knew grief. Remus had always been a bit pale, a bit quiet. Self-contained. But there was always a sense of movement underneath his skin, an energy about him that could burst out at any moment — for good or ill. The body at his feet lay unnaturally still, unnaturally silent, eyes mercifully closed. Not just pale, but grey-faced. Slightly blue. He felt the air leave his lungs, felt his soul wither and die, his heart crumbling to ash in his breast. That was his son. That was his son. "You must be Lyall," a quiet voice ventured. He wrenched his eyes away from what was left of his son — his son! — to see a dark-haired woman standing beside him, arms full of a tiny baby, eyes hollow as he felt. "Remus spoke of you often." He frowned. "I…" "Andromeda Tonks," she offered. "Your son married my daughter." Lyall blinked slowly. He looked down at his son's body, spotting the ring glinting on his finger. There was blood on it. And to Remus' left was a young woman with mousey brown hair and a lip ring, fingers brushing against his even in death. She was wearing Hope's ring. "Something monumentally stupid, probably." He didn't even know her name. "I had no idea," he rasped. Andromeda let out a little sigh, adjusting the baby in her arms. "No, I suppose you wouldn't have."

She offered nothing further, and Lyall didn't have it in himself to ask. They stood shoulder to shoulder for a time, staring silently down at the faces of their dead children, each drowning in their own private sea of grief until the baby in her arms began fussing. He waved his tiny little fists as he screwed his face up, turning towards Andromeda's breast as if to latch. She pulled him away slightly, frowning. "I haven't anything to feed you with," she said, and Lyall wasn't so gone that he didn't hear the double meaning in her statement. "Don't know where I'll find you a nurse on such short notice, but we'll manage." "Does he not handle formula?" "What?" Her confusion was so genuine, she could have only been from an old pureblood line. His confusion over just who his son had (apparently) married only grew. “Something monumentally stupid—” "Baby formula,” Lyall clarified. “The Muggles use it to feed babies if they can't use milk for whatever reason. We had to use it for— well. He was allergic, so…" Andromeda nodded absently. “I suppose I could try to find some. Although, Merlin knows where at this hour…” She trailed off fretfully, a tiny furrow appearing between her finely curved brows, and Lyall let out a sigh. “There ought to be a Tesco open by now; it’s near six,” he assured her, earning a blank stare in response. Oh dear. “The supermarket?” Andromeda’s cheeks finally tinged a bit pink. “Oh, I… my husband—” a ripple of pain shot across her face, and oh, he recognised that one — “he normally does the— did the shopping. He was better at that sort of thing. And then Remus took over, after…” Recent, then; poor woman. It warmed him, slightly, to know that Remus had stepped in to fill the void the other man had left. That they’d let him. “Well. I’m glad he was there, at least.” Her expression hardened almost imperceptibly. “In the end, yes.” (There was a story there; Lyall was certain he’d hear about it soon enough.) (He only wished his son was alive to tell it himself.) “Suppose I ought to figure out where to bury him now,” Lyall murmured. “Only… you know. Never thought I’d have to.” (His son!) “Them,” Andromeda corrected, meeting his gaze as she drew herself up imperiously. “Your son swore to me that he’d never leave her side again, and I mean to see he keeps his word.” She paused, her eyes drifting to her daughter’s face, and Lyall could see her walls cracking. “She kept hers, after all. Swore she’d never let him if he tried, and here we are.” Lyall nodded thoughtfully, sidestepping the landmine for now. “Alright. Suppose we can discuss that while we hit the shops, then.” Andromeda stared at him, wide-eyed. “What? I couldn’t possibly leave—”

“They’re not going anywhere, and we haven’t anywhere better to be,” Lyall reminded her. “And more importantly, we need to get this one fed. Might as well grab a bite ourselves while we’re at it and discuss details as we go.”

She hesitated, and for a moment he thought she might tell him to go hang — he certainly wouldn’t have blamed her, especially under the circumstances. And yet Andromeda seemed to gather herself, adjusting the still fussing baby in her arms whose hair was, to his surprise, slowly shifting from brown to red. She conjured up a tiny hat and popped it on his head with the expert precision of a woman who had not only expected such an occurrence, but had experience managing it.

“Right then,” she said briskly. “Lead on.”

The more Lyall was learning, the more confusion was beginning to give way to intrigue: just who was this woman his son had married? And who exactly was her mother?

“Something monumentally stupid, probably —”

But Remus wasn’t around to explain anymore, so all he had — all he could do — was this:

Show his son’s mother-in-law around the Tesco, formula in hand. Show her how to prepare it. Ask her how she takes her tea. Ask her about herself, her daughter, and his son, and the little hill where he’d buried his wife in ‘82.

“She’d like that, I think.”

Marvel a bit at the fact this poor girl survived her teens with a name like Nymphadora, sweet Circe. Keep that bit to himself.

Hold the baby — Teddy, a mercifully bog standard name, that — so she can sip and cry at the same time.

Tell her about his son — not the cagey, wand-shy man she knew, but the kind and quiet, if impulsive one he’d raised. The one she laughed and said her daughter must have known.

And then— “Would you like to stay for supper?” A wince. “I appreciate the offer—” Ah, hell. He waved her off. “Next time, then.” There wouldn’t be a next time, he thought. And then… there was. Tea after the quiet funeral turned into tea every Sunday, turned into "I was heading out to the shops for a bit, would you mind taking Teddy?" turned into bringing Teddy along as he helped her carry the bags home — "I suppose I could have Featherlighted them, but there were so many Muggles around, you know?" "Oh, of course." The grief never left — not really. Only faded to a dull roar in the back of his mind that Lyall could tuck away when he needed most days. Andie understood; she felt it too. He stepped in on the days when Harry was working and Andie couldn't get herself out of bed, and she stepped in on the days when the grief seemed to stretch out so long and deep that he couldn't climb out. Tucked a baby — a toddler — a boy into his arms, just to remind him they're still here, at least a little. Teddy was growing into something not-Remus and not-Nymphadora but something entirely, brilliantly his own, and most days Lyall could have burst with the joy of it. The sorrow. She understood that too. Held his hand as they visited the graves on the hill, beneath the alder tree he'd once carved his and Hope's initials into. Four headstones for three bodies, watching the sun rise over the valley. Watching Teddy try to do cartwheels that looked more like a pisshead falling over a bin. Watching him recover, hair brilliantly blue, and try again.

"Gran! Bampi, watch!" Merlin, they would have loved him. Merlin, but he could bleed with it most days. (Andie wrapped her arms around his waist, chin perched on his shoulder as she laughed quietly against his back. Holding them both together.)

Lyall reckoned that, most days at least, they were alright.

#lyall lupin #andromeda tonks #remadora #lp writes #this was supposed to be a meet cute #but obviously there's angst lmfao #somehow this turned into lyall/andromeda #i apologize for nothing #hp