salvage
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The apartment is dark and Robby is squinting in the weak light that spills in from the hallway, mouth slack, cheeks pink, clearly just awoken from sleep. He is wearing a plaid flannel bathrobe, the white fleece lining the inside of the collar lumpy and matted from being washed too many times. The robe hangs open, revealing Robby’s hairy chest and the pale curve of his belly, his dark-colored boxer shorts.
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As soon as Jack registers that there’s a person-sized shadow huddled on the front steps to his apartment, he knows that it’s Robby. He recognizes the contours of the body backlit by the bulb which illuminates the steps: short hair disarrayed, limned with gold in the light; the line of his throat, starkly pale beside the soft thick darkness of his beard; the defeated slope of his shoulders under the same green long-sleeved shirt he wore during his shift. Jack slows his pace as he approaches. Robby must notice him, the only figure on the empty street, but he doesn’t move.
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Love Songs by salvage
Fandoms: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
29 Jan 2025
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Geralt was always gathering weeds. Some Jaskier immediately identified as poisonous: white thornapple, for example, its distinctive trumpet-shaped flowers spiraling open into delicate starbursts, the leaves of which he looked at with wariness after an ill-advised experiment during his not-so-distant wayward youth. Belladonna, too, he recognized, its soft purple-yellow flowers demurely downturned, deceptively plump black berries temptingly revealed where the plant’s pale green sepals parted. White baneberries, in contrast, looked about as toxic as they were, each protruding artery-red stem topped with a single eerily white berry which bore a dark little pupil staring wildly into nothing. Geralt collected delicately curving purple flowers and shining, tender clusters of red berries and craggy roots or creamy pale rhizomes so newly unearthed that damp clumps of dirt still clung to their protruding tendrils.
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“This okay?” Wilson asks, drawing away belatedly, flushed and frantic, out of control like he always gets when sex is involved. It’s hard to focus on anything but House’s slack mouth, lips kissed pink and swollen, gleaming with saliva.
House’s eyes track over Wilson’s face and the silence stretches between them for just long enough that Wilson gets nervous, before House says, “Of course,” like it’s Wilson who was stupid for asking.
Sometimes you're entrenched in a yearslong psychosexually obsessive situationship with someone that prevents both of you from developing deep and meaningful connections with anyone else and you think you're "best friends."
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John had requested, in that shy way which he still sometimes adopted with Henry even after all the years they had spent together, that they arrive separately to Commander Fitzjames’s Carnivale. It was easy enough for Henry to orchestrate this: John had been enlisted by, as far as Henry could tell, the entirety of Erebus Command and about half of the crew to assist in the preparation of their costumes, so Henry saw very little of him in the days leading up to the event. By the fourth bell of the afternoon watch on the day of the event John had disappeared so thoroughly that Henry had no choice but to leave Erebus without him, following close behind the extravagantly costumed Commander Fitzjames, in whose voluminous frock Henry could certainly see the meticulous work of John’s careful, attentive hand. Henry suspected that whatever surprise John was preparing for him would be some expression of John’s incorrigible romanticism; it thrilled him, still, to be the recipient of such genuine affection as John showered upon him.
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Names of endurance, names of devotion,
street names and place names and all the names
of our dark heaven crackling in their pan.
It’s a bed of straw, darling. It sure as shit is.
If there was one thing I could save from the fire,
he said, the broken arms of the sycamore,
the eucalyptus still trying to climb out of the yard —
your breath on my neck like a music that holds
my hands down, kisses as they burn their way
along my spine — or rain, our bodies wet,
clothes clinging arm to elbow, clothes clinging
nipple to groin — I’ll be right here. I’m waiting.- Words:
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Jack messages Robby on Grindr. Not that he knows that.
Bookmarked by salvage
01 Mar 2026
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A couple of beers after work has Robby passed out on Jack's sofa. Not for the first time, but it might be the last.
Bookmarked by salvage
28 Feb 2026
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Bookmarked by salvage
15 Jan 2026
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Johnny and Doyoung wake up early to make it to Mark's recording (they are in true love).
Bookmarked by salvage
30 Jul 2025
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warm you like the sunshine by some_stars
Fandoms: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
02 Jun 2020
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"Why do you go with people who hurt you?"
He looked at Jaskier, and kept looking at him after he looked away and the smile dropped off his face. After a long silence, Jaskier said, in a much more tired voice, "I don't exactly have a lot of options, Geralt."
On the face of it it wasn't true--Jaskier could find a willing young woman or man in any half-crowded tavern without lifting a finger--but that wasn't what he meant, of course. He meant when he needed...that particular sort of person. That particular experience.
Without the slightest forethought or intention, Geralt frowned and said, "You have me."
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Bookmarked by salvage
06 Jan 2025