#is it... is it many fics for a week?

[petricorah]

scenes i loved from Real Enough to Get Me Through by @marriedzukka <333 [ids in alt]

[winter-parrot]

for @911whatisyourpride week 3: family. took this prompt a little sideways but the idea hit me like a truck like two hours ago and then i typed this entire ficlet directly into the tumblr post dialog like a madwoman, so.

buck doesn't exactly try to adopt a dog, and fails anyway. tommy picks up a dog and an (ex?)-boyfriend. | bucktommy (duh) | post season-8 | 2.4k

now on ao3!

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Buck keeps thinking about Blaze. Not Bingo, who went back to his family and is probably spoiled and happy and exactly where he belongs. But Blaze, whom for that single day had belonged to Buck. Who had been a friend when he and Eddie were on the outs, and everything was falling apart, and he had nobody to talk to because everyone thought he was overreacting. Someone who was happy to see him, who looked at him adoringly, who took joy from Buck's mere existence and gave joy in return.

Now, his life is a hundred times the mess that it was back then, but the parallels aren't escaping him.

And yeah, yeah, he's always got Maddie. But she's not his, not really; she's got more important people in her life. Her own family. Chimney, and Jee, and newborn baby Robert-who-he-still-cannot-call-Bobby. Chim's got her and Jee and Robert, in return. Eddie's got Chris, and Tia Pepa. Hen's got Karen and Denny and Mara too, now. Athena's got May and Harry, and anyway he's not going to impose on her, not now, not after everything.

Point is, everyone's got someone who's theirs. Everyone except him, that is. For a minute there he thought he might have Tommy, but well. Shows you how much he knows about love, about building a family.

So instead he's sitting all alone--in a shitty little Airbnb he's got for the week, because apartment hunting in LA is anything but fast--thinking about Blaze. And looking up dog rescues, just to dream about holding them all, and bringing one home, and having someone to greet him and be excited to see him when he gets home.

He knows it's pathetic--knew it even then, when he was clinging to Blaze and ignoring Eddie--but the one thing more pathetic than having a dog for your only friend and source of love, is having no one for a friend and source of love. Although, dreaming about having a dog for his only friend and source of love, when he can't even get a dog because he doesn't have a home address and anywhere with a pet deposit is going to be way out of his price range, is probably more pathetic than both.

The thought doesn't stop him from scrolling, and scrolling, and scrolling past the little squares of photos and blurbs. There's a five-year-old beagle named Dot that reminds him a little too painfully of Blaze. A six-month-old mutt of a puppy--they think it's maybe a boxer mix--with bright blue eyes called Frankie. A massive ninety-pound Doberman named Sergeant with a noble air to him--and behaviour problems, apparently. A tiny yorkie, by far the teey-tiniest dog he's ever seen, called Mini.

And then, at the bottom, a raggedy three-legged lab mix called Tres. He's the longest-running resident of the shelter, according to his bio. Lost his leg in an accident, while wandering in the streets. Seven years old, old enough to have trouble being adopted even without the missing leg. He's also got the biggest, most soulful brown eyes Buck's ever seen on a dog. Ever seen period, maybe.

Before he quite realizes what he's doing, Buck has the address memorized and the keys to his Jeep in his hand. No, that's not entirely true. He sort of halfway realizes what he's doing, but refuses to let himself recognize it all the way. Because if he did, then he'd have to acknowledge that it's insane, and then he'd have nothing to do but sit there and think about how pathetic he is, and how sad Tres looked in the photos.

The shelter is almost halfway across the city, because he wasn't exactly paying attention to the location when he started down this impromptu spiral. But that's alright; he's on day one of a four off, so he's got the time to kill. It's early enough, too, so traffic won't even be that bad. (He Does Not think about why he was up so early on his day off. That way lies grief and pain and danger, and he does not want to end up accidentally wrapping his car around a power pole.)

Still, this is LA, and "not that bad" ends up being nearly an hour instead. Plenty of time to think about what the hell he's doing, and all the million reasons it's a stupid, impulsive idea. But he's started this already, going Full Buck as they'd say, and he's determined not to turn back. Maybe he can't take Tres home, doesn't even have a home to take Tres to, but that doesn't mean he can't go see the dog, right? Maybe he can't be enough for anyone in his life, can't make them happy or hold them together, but surely he can be a bright spot in one sad dog's day. He can be good for this one thing.

The shelter's open, but just barely, when he gets there. No cars in the tiny parking lot, thank God, because most sane people don't show up to animal shelters at--he checks his phone--8:17 in the morning. The tiny bells above the door chime a happy little chorus as he walks in. A woman behind the front desk looks up, seeming startled to see him there. Fair enough.

"Hi, u-um, I saw this dog on your website?" Buck says, uncertainty tilting his sentence up into a question.

"Are you looking to adopt?" the woman--Miranda, according to the name tag Buck's now close enough to read--asks, already rummaging for some forms.

"U-um, not-not yet. I don't, um, I don't currently have a pet-friendly place," Buck says. He doesn't have any place, of course, but that's a lot to unload on this poor woman at barely eight in the morning. "B-but, um, but I'd like to someday. When I'm in a- a better place." Winces at the phrasing; apparently he's so chock full of death euphemisms these days, it's leaking out everywhere. "I just, um, I just wanted to see the dog for now? Maybe play wit him for a bit, if-if that's something I can do?"

Miranda looks at him for a long moment. It feels, oddly, like the way Bobby used to look at him. Piercing and uncompromising, but not unkind. Like she was looking at him, really looking, past his shell and right down to the core of him--not to judge, or find him wanting, but just to see. To understand. To maybe even help. The moment stretches like gum, and Buck's not even sure he's breathing. Not until she nods once, sharply, and says, "What was his name? The dog you were looking at?"

"U-um, Tres," Buck says, somehow surprised by this turn of events despite literally showing up here for it. "I was looking at Tres."

Miranda's face turns apologetic. "Oh hon, someone already put in yestereday to adopt him."

Something inside Buck stretches past breaking point, snaps into overstretched pieces. Of course he can't even do this right. Too late and not enough. Forces his lips into a smile that feels far too brittle for how practiced it's become, these past few weeks. "R-right. Okay. That's, that's good for him, right? G-going home to someone who can love him." Love him better than Buck ever could. Who probably has a yard for Tres to play around in, and a cozy fireplace for Tres to curl up in front off, with a fluffy dog bed all set up and waiting.

Miranda nods, but she seems distracted, chewing at her lip. Looks down at her desk. Shuffles through some papers, looking for something. Squints down at one sheet, running her fingers along the lines. "Pick up time, pick up time... ah! Yeah, that's what I thought." She looks up at him, still holding the paper in her hand. "Listen, you seem like a nice guy--the people who come here for the saddest dogs usually are. You can see other dogs, of course, whichever ones you want. But if you've got your heart set on Tres, The owner's out back right now, picking up Tres and his stuff. I can go and ask if he'd be okay with you at least say hi to Tres."

Buck nods, mumbles out a thanks that may or may not come out intelligible past the growing knot in his throat. He can't explain it, why meeting Tres feels so important. Maybe it's because he felt like they were kindred souls, in some terribly pathetic way, forgotten and left behind and waiting, waiting, waiting for someone to finally want him. Maybe it's because he thought that he could save someone, even just one sad dog, from the terrible loneliness eating him up from the inside--and be saved in return. Maybe he just wanted to be good for something, anything, and this was the one tiny thing that felt maybe, possibly, within his reach.

Or maybe he was just a sucker for a sob story and big sad eyes and abandoned dogs. It doesn't have to be that deep.

Miranda pops her head in from the back door where she'd disappeared to. "He said yes, of course. Come on and meet Tres. It'd be good for his socialization anyway, to meet some more people."

Well. At least this whole insane trip wasn't a total loss, then. He can go meet Tres and his new owner, play with a dog for a few minutes, and then drive back to his sad Airbnb so he can keep searching apartment listings. Buck makes his way across the lobby, towards the door that Miranda's holding open. Ducks out through the gap. Steps into a little back yard, lined with straggly grass and patches of sand. Looks around for Tres.

Finds himself looking at familiar blue eyes, instead.

"Evan?" Tommy says, staring right back at him like he's seeing a ghost. His eyes are wide, and so blue, and rimmed faintly red with exhaustion. Buck's pretty sure there's new lines in their corners, stupidly wants to reach out a run a gentle finger over them, to learn their new shapes. Clenches his hands into fists in his pockets to stop himself.

"T-tommy," he says, more breath than word. Has to swallow twice and clear his throat awkwardly before he tries again. "Hey. I, uh, I didn't know you were in the market for a dog."

Tommy shrugs, a little awkward. Something about the motion somehow makes those strong, wide shoulders seem small. "House was feeling too quiet. Thought a dog might help liven things up. Plus, I've always been weak for the puppy eyes." The last sentence comes out with the weight of a confession, too heavy for the back yard of an animal shelter with a soon-to-be-spoiled three-legged dog sniffing around by their feet.

Buck makes his lips curl up at the corner, pretends he doesn't notice it feels more like a grimace than a smile. "You've got good taste," he says, jerking his chin towards Tres. "I had my eyes on him this morning, too."

"Sorry," Tommy says, and it feels like he's talking about more than the dog. "Didn't mean to steal him from you."

It's Buck's turn to shrug, this time. He tries not to think about other things Tommy's stolen, not from him but for him. Tries to hold on to the fading memory of how he felt that sun-drenched morning in Eddie's kitchen, in that helicopter still full of hope over the LA skyline. Tommy's going to be good to Tres. Buck knows, because he was good to him, too. Besides, Tommy's got a solid house, big back yard and a fireplace just like he'd been picturing.

Buck's got no house, and no dog, and no one to go home to. He leans down to pet Tres instead of thinking about that. Lets Tres lick his face and slobber all over him. Pretends that's why dampness weighs down his lashes.

"I was just gonna take him home, get him settled in," Tommy says above him, after a few prolonged minutes of silence.

Buck get up, because he does know how to take a hint, sometimes. Time to get out of Tommy's hair, let him take home the dog he wants without the ex-boyfriend he didn't want. Doesn't meet Tommy's eyes as he turns to leave, because even he's got a limit for how pathetic he's willing to be in one day.

"Do you want to come with me?" Tommy says, the words uncharacteristically rushed.

Buck looks up with surprise. Tommy's got a hand rubbing against the back of his neck in a gesture Buck hasn't seen in ages.

"D-do you want me to?" Buck says. Tries not to feel like he's asking about more than just Tres. Fails. It's like they're having a whole second conversation--except they're not, because they haven't said more than maybe fifty words to each other and neither of them are actually saying it. So maybe it's all in Buck's head; maybe he's gotten so desperate that he's reading signs into innocent

Tommy's wide-eyed again, breathing a little fast and shallow. For a second, he looks almost panicked. Doesn't quite look at Buck as he reaches down to clip a leash onto Tres's collar, and lingers to pet down the line of Tres's spine with a huge hand.

When he stands back up, something in him has straightened. He's steady, looking Buck straight in the eyes as he nods firmly. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. I want you to come home with me." Glances down at his feet, where Tres is sitting patiently with his tongue rolling out. "You and me and Tres."

They're still not talking, not really. Not about the them of it all But it's the closest they've come since the helicopter--no, since before that. Since that morning, maybe.

It feels like an invitation. Like a closed door, reopened. Like a second, third, fifth chance at something.

Buck leans down to give Tres one last pat--for luck, for hope, for gratitude, for courage. He takes the hand Tommy opens to him. Him and Tommy and Tres. It feels like a good place to start.

[codenameyan]

Read the original fic in its full glory.

Huge thank you to @big-cheesy-productions for writing such an amazing, heartbreaking fic, and for helping me iron out some writing bumps I had trouble with. ❤️

First of (hopefully) many from my 'I draw your one-shot fics' initiative.

[alchemistc]

Part One

The loft is sadly undecorated. He'd tried, is the thing. Gone to the same novelty store they'd found on a random walk after a date, in late September, where Tommy had spent twenty minutes worrying a foam pumpkin in his hands while Buck tried to decide what sort of decor would fit his utilitarian loft.

They'd spent so long lingering over the sculpted white candles, Buck thrilled because Tommy's straight face broke every time Buck pointed out which ones looked like incredibly expensive dildos, that he'd felt bad enough to buy a whole set of them just to appease the girl at the counter who'd been watching them with a half annoyed, half wistful expression while Buck made a comment about dragons that had had Tommy biting his lip so hard he'd actually gone red in the face trying to hold the laughter in.

But every time he'd picked up a glass tree and thought how much fun it'd be to try to make Tommy go full Tik Tok Paramedic on him, every time he'd found something soft or plush enough that Tommy wouldn't have been able to resist running his fingers over it, plucking it up to toss it between his palms - well.

It wasn't like there'd be anyone in his loft long enough to really appreciate his decorations.

"Why'd you kiss me?" he asks, rounding on Tommy as Tommy takes a tentative step towards the kitchen.

"You were being annoying." At Buck's look, he elaborates. "Force of habit."

The finger comes up without any input from Buck, his voice tipping into that same flirty, bickering rapport he'd always pushed as far as he could. "I knew you did it to shut me up."

Tommy expression shutters. He recognizes Buck's tone. A few months ago that tone would start with a round of banter that usually ended with at least one of them with their pants around their ankles.

He looks spooked. He's staring at the island stool closest to the door like he's replaying the last conversation they had here, and Buck feels all his ire rear back up.

"You promised me clarity, Tommy." It's an accusation, and they both know it, because he looks ready to fucking bolt.

Slowly, he steps in. Half a yard closer to Buck, close enough to curl his hand over the island, and Buck is struck again by how goddamn unfair it is that Tommy looks this goddamn good in a suit.

"I did."

Buck's pretty sure he has some muffins he hasn't frozen yet that wouldn't actually damage Tommy, if he threw them at him.

"Can we...?" He gestures, vague as his half a question, and Buck wants to throttle him. Or kiss him again, which is -

"I need a beer. You?"

Tommy sighs. His grip on the corner of the island makes his knuckles go white. "Evan."

"No beer, got it." He swings the door open and doesn't wait for the reaction to either his snippy little rejoinder or the stacks and stacks of baked goods filling up the shelves of his fridge. He pops the cap with his back still turned, let's the fridge door fall closed. "Not like you drove here, but sure. One of us should be sober, I guess."

The switch back to Evan doesn't do anything for him at all.

Buck leans back against the counter and tries not to think about how he'd had this half formed idea of getting a real tree this year, finding some novelty kiosk that made those hokey ornaments for people to mark the years they'd been a family. He'd thought -

Tommy blinks guiltily when Buck catches him eyeing the way he fills out his slacks, a toe to groin drift of his gaze that makes Buck ache for when he could respond to that by dropping to his knees.

"That's a lot of bread," Tommy notes, eyes focused somewhere over Buck's shoulder.

"Why'd you break up with me, Tommy?"

Tommy freezes. Shifts from foot to foot. Sighs, and takes a few steps to the fridge, swings it open to grab a beer of his own. It's still the stuff Tommy likes. Buck's not picky, really, and it'd been habit to grab the six pack he always kept for Tommy.

The last five times he'd restocked.

Tommy takes half a step back to lean against the island, just off center from Buck, so they both have to twist their necks just a little to actually look at each other.

"You terrify me," Tommy murmurs, a few swigs in, when the silence is just starting to make Buck's skin itch. "Evan, I'm not -." He grimaces, frustrated. "I'm not some Super Gay who fights for justice and equality and the ability to make horrible television with Hummel doll sopranists."

"I don't know what that means."

Tommy's smile is wry. He'd had a running list of movies Buck's never seen on a note on his phone - every time Buck missed a reference, he'd added it to the list. They'd gotten through maybe twenty before -

"I led on a good woman for years because I convinced myself I could live my life ignoring a huge piece of myself. I hurled slurs with my buddies just to make sure no one noticed me. I fed into every toxic stereotype I could just to avoid anyone realizing I wasn't one of them. I'm not - I'm not some Gold Star Gay, paragon of the community. I didn't do shit. And even when I made the decision to let myself just be who I always was, I waited until no one in my life was close enough to me to question that I hadn't always been this way. I -." He winces. Shakes his head. "I run instead of fighting. I hide every time someone tries to see me. I'm not - this comfort you're so convinced I have I took at the cost of other people who were braver and stronger than I could ever be. Do you - is that an admirable quality, to you?"

Buck wishes they'd sat, like Tommy seemed to have been hinting at. He wishes he'd spent the ride over preparing himself for this, instead of stopping himself from crawling into Tommy's lap and getting a horrible rider rating for his trouble. He wishes -

"Do you think I don't already know all those things about you?"

It's - actually, it makes him a little furious, to think that Tommy spent six months thinking he'd successfully hid all those things from Buck. And - sure, he hadn't exactly been forthcoming about more than a few of those things, but like -

It wasn't like Buck didn't actively find ways to pry stories from Howie and Hen, even Bobby on occasion. It wasn't like Buck hadn't noticed the clipped way Tommy spoke of his past, his family, always tucking away more than he revealed. It wasn't like Buck wasn't well aware that Tommy Kinard had the capacity to be a total fucking asshole, if he wanted. Just because he'd kept it cool around Buck, made it just flirty enough for plausible deniability -

"You deserve better than that. Than me."

"Then be better than that, Tommy." It's not the best way to get his point across, but... "I've had multiple serious relationships, Tommy. I'm - I've been in love, before, and I've had my heart broken before, and I've had my trust broken before, and I've made people I love feel like shit. You weren't new and exciting, Tommy, we were - we were boring and domestic and it was the best six months of my life. It was what I -."

And this, of course, is where the words start to crest over, too many at once while his mouth tries to keep up and his throat is too tight to -

He swallows. Stares at his toes until his vision swims. Maybe those are tears, or maybe he's just stared long enough to go cross-eyed. His throat feels like he might be able to scrape a few words out

"I go too fast sometimes. I - I get scared I'm falling behind and so I clear a few hurdles too fast to catch back up and it -." Frustration rises through him as he remembers the way Tommy had levered himself up, spun away, broken things off without even a hint of the careful consideration Buck had grown so used to. "And you just - you tell me you want more than anything to be my last but you can't even give me the closure of a clean break! What the hell was that about?"

"Evan, I -."

"No! Okay, no. It's my turn to - it's my turn to be mad. It's my turn to - do you know how lonely I've been? How - how much I'm in my own head about where I went wrong, and what I could have done differently, and why you won't just fucking text me when you clearly want to? Do you know - do you know what it's like to think you've finally found something worth the humiliation of being known and then have it vanish in a single night? Over - you never talked to me about any of the shit you brought up that night, Tommy! You never - if you were so scared of not being enough to keep me interested, or so sure you weren't a good enough man, or so sure I couldn't possibly know what I wanted out of this, you could have saved us a hell of a lot of time and - and hurt by not being exactly the person I thought I could spend the rest of my life with! If that was all a - a smokescreen, some act, then why did you - are you actually so cruel that you convinced me we were falling in love while you had one foot out the door the whole time?"

Tommy's grip on the bottle looks painful.

"It's your turn to talk," Buck snipes, and he takes a little satisfaction in the way Tommy blanches. Just a little. Just enough to ignore how much he wants to rip Tommy's suit jacket at the straining shoulder seams and bite a bruise into that spot below his collarbone that even Tommy's undershirts hid well enough to keep the team at Harbor from putting him on blast for coming to work covered in hickeys.

"Six months with you was more devastating than two decades of hiding who I was, Evan," Tommy says, and it's a horrible opening that makes Buck feel like he's being drawn and quartered but he'd given Tommy the floor, so -

Tommy's eyes are a little too misty to call them anything but welling, and Buck hates it as much as it satisfies the pieces of himself he's spent weeks trying to pick up and glue back together.

"Evan, I lived with Abby for years and I don't think I saw her as much as I saw you. You -." He swipes a hand through his hair, and rustles one of his Superman curls loose to drape tauntingly over his forehead. Buck wants to bite him. He wants it to hurt. "You burrowed in and you just kept digging and I didn't take a second to question it until it was too late."

"Too late for what?"

"For me to take the cowards way out and leave before it hurt."

"Maybe I should have dug further," Buck snaps, and Tommy's gaze flits to his. Holds, for the first time all night. He's breathtaking in the best and worst way possible. He's spent weeks now trying to imagine anyone else ever making him feel the way prolonged eye contact with this man makes him feel.

"You did," Tommy admits, a confession that sounds like it's been gut punched right out of him. "You still -." Another grimace, Tommy pulling back, pulling away, hiding, running, and Buck can't -

"So what is this, Tommy? Is this - are you -?" He shakes his head to clear the cobwebs. Rears up, pushes off the counter, and Tommy's eyes widen like he's just now realized he doesn't have an easy exit. Buck just stands there, though. "If this is it, let this be it. If you don't want - if you're not willing to fight for this with me, tell me now. I know I'm - I know I'm a lot. I know I push for more when I'm scared. I know I'm overwhelming, and I sometimes can't stop talking to save my life, and I know I'm jealous and petty and - I know I'm not perfect."

Tommy sets his bottle on the counter beside him. Worries his lip between his teeth and rolls his jaw.

"You snore. You're a bitch sometimes and every once in a while it's not even charming. You hog all the covers and then you complain that it's too hot. You're vague about every single thing in your past that you think makes you seem like a bad person. You always think food needs more garlic and sometimes you're wrong. Sometimes when I spiral you just give me that stupid indulgent smile of yours and I know you stopped listening two reddit threads ago. When you're grumpy sometimes it takes everything in me not to pick a fight because you're such an asshole. You get cagey every time I pick at a thread you don't want to unravel and I - I hate it. I wanted a life with you and you couldn't stick around long enough to tell me why you were too afraid to go for it. So if - if you think I'm seeing you with rose colored glasses, or whatever. If you think I'm not - if you think being the first guy makes you too special for this to be real then just..." He sucks in a breath. Blows it out through his nose and feels the ache in his chest that's half remnants of his earlier panic attack and half fear that Tommy will actually turn and walk out at the end of this. "If you don't wanna fight for this I'll fill in the hole I dug as best I can and I'll leave you alone, okay?"

The look on Tommy's face is one he's never seen before. They've done this dance, or parts of it, at least. Tommy'd left him outside Micelli's, breathless and confused and aching, before he ever knew what it was like to hold his hand, to press his nose into the join of his neck and shoulder, to curl a hand in his hair or be filled by him - with attention, with affection, with the weight of his body and the stretch of his cock. Even then, this had felt different. Real, in a way the misty edges of his time with Abby, or the way Buck's puzzle pieces had never quite fit with Taylor's had never been. Even then, he'd just wanted so desperately to know and be known by Tommy that he'd taken his second chance and run with it.

"I don't snore," Tommy says, when the silence gets too heavy, and Buck - god, Buck has missed that tone, the snappy little tilt of his head, the blatant lie that passes over Tommy's lips so smoothly it's hard to tell sometimes that he's not being serious.

"I have audio proof," Buck says, and then doesn't immediately admit that he'd played it on a loop two nights into the breakup when he'd wrapped his entire body around the spare pillows on his bed and still hadn't been able to sleep alone in his bed.

"It bugs me that you spent days following scraps of information about a dead outlaw you convinced yourself cursed you, but you didn't even know what a Kinsey scale was."

This is - progress. This is... not Tommy bolting.

"I'm a two. If that's - is that, like, gay enough for you, or...?"

"You go too fast for me, Buckley," he says, and Buck knows that's a fucking reference to something he doesn't have context for just as well as he knows he's willing to spend the next decade waiting for the reference to pop up on Tommy's list. It's a terrifying, exhilarating thought and it's probably exactly what Tommy means.

"I can slow down," Buck says, and he tries to mean it. Nothing about how he feels about Tommy is slow.

"I don't want you to," Tommy admits, and then lets the silence stretch. They're two and a half feet away from each other and the distance feels like the farthest he's ever been from Tommy and the closest he may ever be again. "Living together, making a life together..." He swallows. "Marriage." That stops him short just long enough to recall how he'd blazed right past the I love you and straight into how he could keep Tommy. "You scare the shit out of me every goddamn minute of every goddamn day and I've never missed being terrified as much as I have since I walked out that door."

"I'm in love with you," Buck tells him, and Tommy blinks back tears. Takes a shaky breath and nods.

"That's what scares me. It's never - it's never been enough, before."

He'd sort of expected this to end with either the echo of his KitchenAid or a frantic rush up the stairs, but when Tommy meets him halfway all he does is sink his nose into the curls behind Buck's ear and breathe.

His arms drag Buck closer, his feet shuffle beneath them, his chin hooks over Buck's shoulder and he breathes, and breathes, and breathes.

---

"Your morning breath is rancid," Tommy tells him, palm centered on Buck's nose when he leans in for a kiss, pads of his fingers curled just slightly so that his hand is nearly encasing Buck's entire face. He wants to be annoyed but it's mind numbingly hot and Buck has missed it. Missed the snark, and the comfortable way Tommy will shoot him down when his head is in the clouds, and exactly how fucking large Tommy is.

"I'm so tired of avocado toast," Buck bats back, and Tommy is distracted enough by his need to make a face at that for Buck to swoop in and press a kiss to his cheek. He makes sure to make it a little wet just to watch Tommy's face crinkle in mock disgust.

He's in one of Buck's hoodies, is wearing the pair of his own sweats Buck had buried in the back of his closet in a fit of pique three days post breakup. He still looks properly debauched and Buck wants to drag him right back to bed.

Except -

"You don't have to go," Buck repeats, for the fifth time since he brought it up somewhere between peeling Tommy out of his suit pants and rolling out of bed to warm a hand towel under the sink so that Tommy could clean the cum off his abs. "But I need to shower and leave in like - twenty-seven minutes."

Tommy catches him by the waist and drags him in. "I won't be able to stay. You baked and I took as much holiday overtime as I could, but if you seriously want me there -."

"I seriously want you everywhere."

Tommy raises a brow.

"I mean that in a horny way and a codependent way."

Tommy snorts. "Good to know we're approaching this in a healthy manner."

"You told me not to slow down," Buck reminds him, and he gets a smack to his ass for his trouble.

"When Maddie pulls me aside, do you think she'll just slip me a poisoned glass of wine, or is she gonna get up on a step stool and make me stand there while she strangles me to death?"

"She won't do that." Buck leans in again, rolls a loose curl between two fingers. "She'll just stab you in the middle of the kitchen and warn my parents not to step in the blood."

"That's comforting."

Tommy takes a utilitarian shower in the downstairs bathroom and doesn't let Buck join him, and then rifles through Buck's closet until he finds all three of his button downs Buck had tucked away.

He has to borrow a pair of Buck's slacks and Buck absolutely does not mind that his ass is definitely gonna stretch them out.

With about seventy seconds to spare, Tommy presses Buck to his front door and kisses him just long enough to screw up Buck's meticulous timing - by the time he pulls back and gives Buck enough room to glance at the time on his stove, Buck knows they're gonna hit just enough red lights to make them late.

"I love you too, by the way," Tommy murmurs, and just this once, Buck decides not to be a brat about being five minutes late.

[drawnfamiliarfaces]

[starry-bi-sky]

Blood Blossom Au: Baby's First Commissioner Meeting :)

TL:DR This Post: Danny (orphan) gets poisoned with blood blossom extract by Vlad. He runs away from him and ends up under the care of one Pre-Robin Battinson Batman! Starry is loudly pushing her batdad agenda.

(Also known as "Late At Night, When The Nightingale Sings" on my ao3!)

This was a fun rough idea I've been sitting on for weeks, thinking about how Commissioner Gordon and Nightingale's first meeting might go.

---------------

Commissioner Gordon likes to think that he's adjusting to the new normal of Gotham very well, -- the new normal being grown men running around dressed like bats, in military-grade strength body armor, committing acts of vigilantism, -- and slowly, little by little, he was no longer being surprised when this new normal pops up out of the shadows like the world's most terrifying daisy. His shaving lifespan thanks him for it.

....

The kid is a surprise though.

Granted, he seemed to be a surprise to the Bat too.

There's been a string of murders lately, -- which, in Gotham, is kind of like saying there's been another storm during monsoon season. And there's just been another; in some dilapidated building down in south Gotham, with the broken, boarded-up windows and mildew-crawling walls to match. The victim is a man in his thirties, multiple gunshot wounds to the chest, left in the center of the room for the blood to pool out around him.

The place is already secured when he arrives, the building swarmed with officers and the forensic detectives. The Bat emerges shortly after he does -- or, he might've been here the whole time, hiding someplace dark and shadowy. For his own sanity, Gordon doesn't think about it too hard.

The kid is a surprise, and he appears like a bolt of lightning.

He shows up in the middle of a conversation Gordon is having with the Bat.

A whistle, sharp and loud, slicing through the air, meant for open air rather than a confined space. Gordon's ears pierce and protest the sound, and the solemn, murmured chatter floating through the room abruptly cuts off like the swing of a gavel. As he turns towards the sound -- as they all do -- he swears, up and down, that he sees Batman's shoulders jump, just slightly.

At the source, perched on the window, is a boy. A boy in a gray-blue scarf and an oversized black hoodie, one that hangs off his frame and has ace bandages wrapped around the wrists in some attempt to cinch the sleeves. The hood is up, big like the rest of it, and threatens to swallow the upper half of the boy's face whole in the fabric. What upper half Gordon can see, is smeared with some kind of opaque, black face paint. He's holding onto the side of the frame with one hand, on his hip is a grappling hook. A familiar grappling hook.

Gordon has multiple questions, and his officers tense up.

Martinez puffs up, brows furrowing as his face shapes into a frown. Shoulders rolling back. "You can't be here, kid--"

The reaction is immediate, like a spark to gunpowder, the boy yanks his fingers from his mouth and his mouth twists into a scowl. Head snapping over to Officer Martinez, his hood manages to stay on but Gordon swears that as he bares his teeth, the glint makes them look sharper than they should be. His voice is rasp and quiet and harsh; snappish in its hissing; "Put a fuckin sock in it, Martinez. I'm not stayin."

Martinez reels back, and the boy immediately veers his attention off him. Like a switch, his demeanor drops. Despite half his face being covered, his mouth twists into a cringing, apologetic smile. Slanted and off-beat, embarrassed. It'd be disarming if this wasn't Gotham, and if he didn't just hiss at Martinez like he was about to bite his head off.

"Sorry." He whispers, voice deceptively polite and softer now. Gordon has to strain his ears to hear him. "I was looking for him."

He points his finger towards-- Gordon? No, Gordon follows the direction, and finds himself looking at -- the Bat.

The Bat, who always looks stiff as a pole, now looks even stiffer. Somehow. Well, the explains the grappling hook attached to the boy's waist.

"What are you doing here?" The Bat says, gruff and unable to completely smother the stumble of surprise in his tone.

The boy still holds a sheepish smile, and slips off the window ledge. His feet hit the creaky boards with a near-silent thud, the Batman finds his feet and rapidly begins crossing the room.

Gordon notes the slight tremble in the boy's legs as he straightens. He adjusts his scarf, which droops close to his knees now that he's standing, and slings a backpack -- how long has had that? -- off his shoulders. When the Bat reaches his side, he does as he always does, and looms over the boy like a spectre. A threatening mass of shadows cloaked in all-consuming black. Standing next to him, the boy looks teeny in comparison.

The Bat is a man who terrifies even the most hardened criminals, Gordon has seen grown men shiver in fear at the mention of his name. And yet when the boy looks up at him, he doesn't even flinch.

Instead, his sheepish smile melts away like ice under the sun, holding only traces of his previous embarrassment. It remains as a shadow on his face, a small upturn at the corners of his mouth. The boy pushes his hood back just enough to reveal glinting, ice-flint eyes surrounded in tar-black face paint. He holds the backpack up with one arm. "You forgot this."

[every-moment-a-different-sound]

Painland week day 3: love confession/first kiss For the First Time Twice by @likemmmcookies

An encounter with an enchanted puzzle box locks up most of Charles’ memories and leaves him thinking he and Edwin are in love. With a recipe from Tragic Mick for a potion to counteract the spell and strict instructions to go along with Charles' delusions, all Edwin has to do is keep up the ruse for three days. He can make it three days. Right?

gifset inspiration: 1 2

[leons-art-pit]

honks at you!!!!

my favourite part about sky is just spam honking at my friends :3

get honked at <3

i'll throw the fit under the cut:

i hadnt decided if i wanted the season pass or not when a friend gifted it to me and i gotta say, i really do love this cape

it took a while to grow on me, but i love the colour blue, so it was an easy win once i actually unlocked it

i think the nine coloured deer horns would match the colour scheme better, but the orange works with the cold accents in the belt, mask, and shoes so i dont mind it <33

if i actually draw this fit as a chracter, with will be much more detailed, but this animation was done in like an hour or two and the colours were very much a last minute addition aldskfjaldskj

[becausebuckley]

michelle's buddie fic recs: week 49!

oh, how time flies... i can't believe the end of the year is this close already! not a massive fan of that, not gonna lie, but i am a fan of all of these fics, so let's focus on that, shall we?

this is a mix of fics with all ratings, so some include NSFW content. please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading! some might also contain spoilers for season 8.

if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

built a house in the middle of your chest | LongConvolutedSimiles | 5.3k | M

Five times Buck and Eddie touch platonically plus one time they realise it's not platonic at all. i do love a good platonic-to-not-platonic-touching type fic and this hit the spot so perfectly <3

carpe diem | writingcap/@gibuckaroo | 2.6k | GA

Eddie rests his head on Buck’s shoulder and he lets himself follow. eddie's love language might be physical touch but my love language is reading about physical touch <3 so good!!

everything is fine (everything is perfect) | Kwills91/@kwills91| 4.1k | GA

Buck gets sick and Eddie takes care of him. Then Eddie bares his soul and Buck takes care of him. Because that's what they do. because that's what they do!! i love how they take care of each other here, written so perfectly <3

hen wilson's four part guide to making your stupid friends date | songbvrd/@songbvrd | 25k | M

When Buck and Eddie aren't speaking, Hen decides to take matters into her own hands. outsider pov!! hen wilson!! buddie being idiots in love!! what else could a girl (me) want (nothing) <3

i can tell just what you want (you don't want to be alone) | Talls/@tallsinspace | 12.6k | E

In which Eddie keeps secrets and Buck is incredibly normal and rational and even brave about his reaction to this. buck being so normal and rational and brave is my absolute favourite <3 love his inner dialogue here!

i don't swim and you're not in love | hattalove/@hattalove | 32.4k | T

eddie cooks, chris domesticates a slug, and buck tries to figure out why he hates his best friend's girlfriend. to everyone's immense shock and surprise, it goes badly. blanket rec for an author whose work i've really been loving this week <3 been making my way through hattalove's entire profile and having such a good time. this one in particular has such a delightful buck and such lovely buddie and all of the yearning!!

i have had enough of crime | lamardeuse/@lamardeuse | 8.1k | T

Josh's view of Eddie's journey in 8A and beyond through the gay Olympic sport of competitive brunching. this fic captures josh so so perfectly and the josh & eddie dynamic is just brilliant <3

i should be pushing daisies | 42hrb/@exhuastedpigeon | 5.5k | T

Eddie goes to Texas to fix things with Chris and Buck pines. pining buck <3 this is such a brilliant character study and i love it so very much!!

practice makes perfect | greenbergsays/@greenbergsays | 6.5k | E

When the subject of Buck 1.0 arises, Buck worries that the reminder will make Eddie rethink their relationship. Eddie reassures him. oh my this is such a perfect way of buck 1.0 coming up in buddie fics... genuinely unmatched i saw the ao3 email in my inbox and audibly gasped. so good!!

properly | EiraLloyd/@unlifeira | 3.9k | T

“’ve got it, Eds,” someone murmured close to his ear in a way that made him shiver, and oh, that was Buck’s voice. Eddie would know him anywhere. This time, his questioning noise sounded a little more like a hum. “‘ve got it,” Buck repeated, attempting to truly drive in the message. “Y’can sleep in.” this is the loveliest mutual pining/sharing a bed/misunderstandings fic ever <3 honestly everything this author writes is just incredible, i know i'm in good hands when i see her name pop up

somethings said (to turn you inside out) | taegyungie | 12.2k | E

Buck catches Eddie on Grindr and now he can't stop thinking about it. i need ALL of the buck and eddie on grindr fics honestly they always hit the spot <3 this is hot and perfect and so so good!!

the arms of the ocean | anatargmova/@anatargmova | 9.7k | T

after Christopher leaves with his grandparents, Buck notices just how much touch-starved Eddie is — and decides to fix it. listen okay we all know by now how much i love a fic about touch starvation. however what you might not know is that i especially love a fic about touch-starved eddie. and this one has exactly that, but is also buck POV, which is just incredibly well-written and so soft and lovely and feels like a hug <3

trade all my tomorrows | ipretendtobesane/@userbuddie | 74k | E

Buck’s the god of love and was cursed to never fall for anyone, Eddie’s just trying to explore his newfound queerness with someone he trusts, striking up a friends with benefits agreement is the perfect arrangement. this is hands down the most beautiful fic i've read in a long long time. it's so well-written, so fleshed-out, just so good! i'll be rereading this many many times, i just know it <3

[tennessoui]

wine party au morning after ficlet

thank you so much to the person who donated to my ko-fi and asked for a wine party au ficlet in exchange!! this fic takes place the morning after obikin's first meeting (and after they've fucked) - i hope you enjoy!!! (also btw i'm still doing fic trades for donations on my ko-fi because it's really stupidly expensive to get my laptop fixed and i need it for school stuff as well as fic stuff but im flat broke)

The first thing Anakin notices when he wakes up is the pleasant ache in his muscles along his back and in his thighs. It’s the sign of a good night, that feeling, and Anakin can admit it’s been a while since he’s felt it.

He wants to roll over on the disgustingly soft mattress, languish in the warm morning light wrapping around his bare shoulders, tangle his legs in the sickeningly plush duvet, and sleep for several more hours. It’s what he deserves after all he did for the owner of this bed last night.

Or, all he let the owner of this bed do to him last night. Whichever.

But he can’t, because the moment he cracks his eyes open to peer across the expanse of the  mattress, he realizes that he’s alone, the other side of the bed gone cold.

The lack of Kenobi makes Anakin wake up all the way, one part indignant and another part…worried. Or, not worried, really, but something like it. His chest gets tighter as he scans the large room for signs of the other man and comes up empty. Doesn’t Kenobi know the first thing about sleeping with someone? You don’t let them wake up alone, unless you’re just an incredible asshole.

Which, well, Anakin knew Kenobi was, but he’d thought maybe Kenobi knew the basic etiquette of fucking someone.

He’d certainly pretended to last night, at least, after all the other guests had left and it was just Anakin and Obi-Wan sitting on the white patio furniture by the pool. It’d been almost a masterclass of unnecessary seduction, the way Kenobi had taken the wine glass from Anakin’s hand and set it on the table by his elbow; the way he’d slid closer, thigh to thigh, and tucked a loose bit of hair behind Anakin’s ear; the way he’d rested his hands so lightly on Anakin’s waist when he’d given the urge to swing himself into Obi-Wan’s lap…. 

It’d been weird, the sex. It’d been surprisingly gentle, when it happened, nothing at all like Anakin had expected by the way they’d treated each other fully clothed. He’d been the one to initiate, the one to push Obi-Wan into grabbing his hair and tugging him to his knees, manhandle him up the stairs to his bedroom. Kenobi had almost seemed like he’d be content with heady kisses by the poolside, sipping at his mouth like he’d sipped at the wine all night.

But it hadn’t been bad, the sex. Anakin can admit that in the safety of his mind and with Kenobi wherever he is. It had been good. All of it. Even when Kenobi touched him carefully, wouldn’t fuck into him without first opening him on four fingers, wanted him on his back with his legs around his waist instead of on his hands and knees like Anakin had been expecting since he met the man.

It had been good, and Anakin had gone to sleep still vaguely tipsy from the wine with Kenobi’s spit and come drying along his inner thighs and he’d felt fine. He’d felt good. Satisfied, the way only a really good one night stand can make him.

But all of that’s gone now, bled dry and wilted under the morning—early afternoon?---sun, scattered away the moment Anakin woke alone. 

It’s just bad etiquette, Anakin thinks to himself as he grabs a shirt from the floor and pulls it on. It’s Kenobi’s, the same dark oxford he’d been wearing last night. It doesn’t fit, too tight in the shoulders, and Anakin doesn’t even try to button it up properly. The idea of stretching out one of Kenobi’s perfect shirts, probably tailored to his weirdly proportioned frame—lithe and muscular, defined chest and narrow shoulders, thick arms, thicker fingers—makes Anakin smile as he finishes dressing and leaves the room.

Kenobi’s house is as big in the daytime as it had been last night, maybe even bigger. Anakin has to take a double staircase down to get to the ground floor. Anakin didn’t even realize grand foyers even existed outside of palaces and movies anymore. To think, a house like this has existed in his town all this time. It’s disgusting is what it is, all this white paint and marble and—and sandstone.

It’d seemed beautiful last night, winding these corridors from the kitchen through the sunken living room, the foyer, then up to Kenobi’s bedroom. Obviously that’d been the wine and the lust talking, Anakin can see that now in the morning light. It’s just a waste of space and money now.

Obi-Wan probably doesn’t even use half this house. Certainly not the elevator.

Anakin’s made a list of twelve cutting remarks he can’t wait to tell Kenobi by the time he makes it to the kitchen. 

All of them die on his lips the moment he actually enters the room and sees Kenobi there amongst the luxury, moving about among the appliances like this is his true home. He’s shirtless, clad only in a pair of loose pants that hang on his narrow hips like the only thing keeping them up is a wisp of a prayer. Anakin’s mouth goes embarrassingly dry as he watches Kenobi’s forearm flex as he mixes something in a bowl.

“Uh,” Anakin says, groping around in his mind for something to say. This Kenobi is not a Kenobi Anakin had expected to find. This Kenobi, with his soft, unflattering hair falling into his face, wearing thick-framed glasses and no shirt, humming to himself—it’s not any kind of Kenobi Anakin wants either. “What are you doing?”

Kenobi looks up at him, eyes soft and face unguarded for a moment before it smooths out. He arches an eyebrow. “Making breakfast.”

Anakin glances at the bowls around the man, taking another step into the kitchen and crossing his arms. Kenobi tracks the motion carefully, probably concerned over the state of his shirt. 

“What, are you making the cereal from scratch?” Anakin asks, peering at the counter. He wrinkles his nose at the bunch of spinach sitting in one of the sinks. 

Kenobi wrinkles his nose in return. “Don’t tell me you actually eat that,” he says in such a snobby manner that Anakin is pretty sure no jury made of his peers would actually convict him if he drowned the man in the yellow sauce Kenobi’s got in the bowl.

“What, should I be pairing it with a sauvignon blanc? A merlot?” The words taste awkward on his tongue, and he’s sure he’s butchering the pronunciation. Not that it matters. To be honest, Anakin’s surprised he remembers these names, surprised he learned anything at all last night. He’d spent half the time staring at Kenobi from various points in the room and the other half making fun of the room full of snobs in his head.

But he’d also apparently spent at least some of that time learning something about wine. Like its types.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kenobi is saying, but he also deposits the bowl on the counter beside his hip and crosses his arms over his bare chest. It’s distracting. “Your average cereal is so packed full of sugar, you’d want a dessert wine.”

His voice is scathing, but it’s like he’s speaking another language for all Anakin understands him. “Well, the average cereal’s about three bucks a box, so unless you’re about to offer me a job or whatever, I’ll stick to my Lucky Charms.”

Kenobi’s eyes narrow and he mouths out Lucky Charms as if the words personally offend him. “Eggs Florentin,” he finally says, which is a nonsequitor and also definitely not English.

“Is that another kind of wine?” Anakin asks, wary. He can’t imagine spinach and alcohol going well together, but maybe rich people have discovered a new level of hedonism.

“It’s breakfast,” Kenobi says. “It’s my understanding that one usually serves breakfast to their partner the…morning after.”

It’s Anakin’s turn to narrow his eyes as he looks from the counter to Kenobi and back to the stove. It looks, to his quite discerning eyes, like Kenobi has decided to make breakfast from scratch. Which is—not what one usually does.

The last time Anakin had had a one night stand, he’d slid the guy a bowl of cereal from across the counter, feeling all fancy that he could offer him either oat milk or regular milk.

“Oh,” he says. He was raised to be polite, but he doesn’t know what counts as polite in this scenario. He so obviously probably shouldn’t be touching anything, and it’s not like Kenobi needs help. It looks like Kenobi’s made his own bread. How long has he been up? How long has he been cooking? For Anakin?

His chest feels weird, and he rubs at it absentmindedly. “Alright,” he adds. “Cool.”

“Cool,” Kenobi repeats, eyebrows raising up again. 

“Well, I’ll just—I mean…do you want…?”

Kenobi keeps his face unreadable, arms crossed, unhelpful and snobbish and incredibly attractive all the same.

“Help,” Anakin finishes lamely.

“That looked like it hurt,” Kenobi says, lips lifting like he’s trying to smile but only remembers how to smirk. Anakin sneers back automatically. It’s weird, being around Kenobi. Weirder than any other one night stand Anakin’s ever had.

Mostly because it feels like there’s still a fire burning under his skin, thousands of ants crawling all over him. Mostly because he thinks–he still wants to touch Kenobi. Usually he sleeps with someone and that’s that. It’s out of his system and he can treat them the way he’d treat a roommate, a stranger on the street. But with Kenobi, it’s like his hands are begging his brain to be allowed to touch him again and it’s weird.

“Well, fuck you then,” he says faux-cheerfully, tugging at the edge of Kenobi’s shirt in hopes of stretching it out further and ruining it beyond repair. “I’m gonna take a shower. Still got, you know. Stuff. On me.”

“Please do,” Kenobi agrees, voice tight, turning his back on him as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. “It’ll be on the table in twenty.”

Anakin doesn’t think he’s ever been so summarily dismissed in his life; he’d be impressed if it didn’t send him reeling into a foul mood.

Fine, maybe Kenobi understands one-night stand etiquette, but he definitely doesn’t understand how to be human. How to not be a dick. Treat others the way he wants to be treated and all.

Anakin doesn’t even know where the fucking bathroom is, let alone a towel. And he’s not gonna ask, that’s for sure.

Maybe it’s better if he doesn’t take a shower, he thinks as he stalks away from the kitchen. Maybe it’d serve Kenobi right to have someone dirtied up with dried sweat and come sitting at his pristine table. He’s probably never had to deal with that before. Serves him right.

Two wrong turns take him out to the poolside, where the party had been last night. It looks…well, familiar in a way that settles something in Anakin. Maybe he can’t help Obi-Wan making a fancy breakfast and maybe he can’t navigate his way through this fancy marble mausoleum of a mansion, but this—he knows this. This is what every morning after a party looks like, in the history of the world maybe. There are empty bottles of wine laying about, pieces of litter and dirty plates. Cups still, on the side tables, displaced cushions on the ground, someone’s forgotten sunglasses discarded on a sofa.

Maybe Anakin doesn’t know anything about wine; maybe he doesn’t know anything about making bread from scratch. But he does know how to clean up after a good party.

So he starts doing that instead.

An indeterminable amount of time later, he’s interrupted by a throat clearing behind him. He sits up on his knees, abandoning his effort to sweep under one of the sofas, and turns his head up to look at Kenobi.

“I have people for that,” Kenobi points out, eyebrows furrowed as he stares down at him. There's something considering in his face, like Anakin's genuinely surprised him.

“Wasn’t doing anything,” Anakin mutters with a shrug.

It’s hard not to think about the last time he was on his knees in front of Kenobi, just last night. It’s hard not to think about what happened. About how it felt to reach up and untug Kenobi’s belt from his pants, unbutton them and roll his briefs down his hips to free his cock.

Kenobi clears his throat like he’s having a hard time thinking of anything else too, and Anakin’s eyes flash up to his.

The fire beneath his skin is back.

“I’ve plated the food,” Kenobi says. “We can eat out here, if you would like.”

Anakin blinks and clambers to his feet. He wants to ask Kenobi if this is it. If, when they’re finished with breakfast, Anakin will be kicked out the way Anakin’s kicked out all of his own one-night stands at the conclusion of the post-sex meal. It’s the etiquette.

It doesn’t feel like enough.

Anakin wants more of Kenobi. More of his touch, more of his sneers and smirks. He doesn’t have the words to ask for it though. “Yeah,” he says. “I mean, I just cleaned though. So you can’t be messy or spill anything on the cushions or anything.” 

Kenobi blinks, and then his face lightens, his mouth tugging up into a smile as he recognizes the same words he’d said to Anakin the night before. “No promises,” he says.

[twofunerals]

WEAK HERO CLASS 2 (2025)

[lovesickeros]

☆ even the gods bleed [ pt 2 ]

{☆} characters furina, neuvillette {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings none {☆} word count 1.9k {☆} previous [ 1 ]

This had to be a punishment of some sort – some kind of divine punishment.

She was bored out of her mind just watching the sleeping body – she hadn't blinked once in the past five hours, her eyes were really starting to hurt. Yet they still hadn't moved so much as an inch since she sequestered them away to the only place she had known to be safe.

But it'd been almost a week since then.

The only solace she found was that Teyvat had seemed much less hellbent on collapsing in on itself like a dying star.

That counted for something.

Not much, but something!

..Even if their position was no better then it was a week ago.

There was, after all, still the issue of what to do about the false Creator – the actual imposter – and the Archons following them like blind lambs. The other Archons wouldn't listen if she tried to reason with them, and it would only risk the life of Divine One if she spoke of their location to anyone else.

She also was pretty fond of having her head still attached to her shoulders.

So she avoided them all together. Partially because she wasn't sure she wouldn't have a breakdown at the sight of them..she'd never been a fighter, and fighting an Archon? Easy pass.

Instead she was forced to babysit the sleeping Divine until they woke up while Neuvillette handled taking care of the nation and dealing with the other Archons – and by extension the false Creator.

Really though, she would almost think them dead if not for the subtle rise and fall of their chest.

Though..this also left her with a lot of time to herself. A lot of time to think.

She really didn't like it.

There wasn't a lot to occupy her mind and what little there was only distracted her for a scant few moments before her eyes drifted back to the Divine like she was locked in their orbit, unable to escape.

She closed the same book for the twelfth time – she kept count – and returned it to it's meticulously designed place within her bookcase. A low, barely audible huff of frustration escaped her lips before she could bite it down, her stare boring a hole into the body of the Divine One with a sharp intensity she rarely showed.

She was tired, bored and constantly on edge, fearing that at any moment someone would find out about their presence here.

That, at the drop of a hat, she would be powerless to stop the greatest tragedy of her time play out before her eyes.

Neuvillette would have scolded her for being so petulant, especially around the Divine One, if he were here.

But he wasn't.

He was out running her nation, instead.

And what was she doing? Nothing!

She grit her teeth, nails digging harshly into the palm of her hands as she took a deep breath – now was not the time to think about that. She had..much more pressing matters. Sulking and letting her thoughts spiral helped no one, least of all herself.

Yet her attention was caught by a harsh inhale, the rustle of fabric – were they finally waking up? She was exhausted, but it all vanished at the sudden drop of life within the otherwise deathly still body of the Divine.

Her eyes followed the subtle twitch of their fingers, watching as their brow furrowed and their features twisted in something almost like..pain.

..She wasn't ready.

What was she supposed to say?

Should she even say anything? Would that be considered impolite? Does she wait for them to speak first? Should she kneel? Bow?

She doesn't get much time to find her own answer before their lashes flutter, chest heaving with every strangled breath. Every single thought vanishes from her mind the moment she meets their eyes.

For a long, silent moment she thinks that her heart must have stopped.

Their eyes glow like the cresting of the sun over the horizon, painting the world in hues of gold – yet it also reminded her of the dipping of the moon below the waves, casting the briefest, most gentle of lights upon the world engulfed in darkness. In the depths of their eyes was the birth and death of stars in the infinite cosmos – glittering stars in a sea of empty, blank space that left her feeling lightheaded and breathless.

Beneath the splendor is a spark of recognition in their eyes so vibrant it was like a shooting star piercing through the dark night sky, leaving nothing but the wonder in the eyes of the observer as the only proof it ever existed – brilliant in it's beauty, however brief.

It is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen.

"Focalors?"

The lilt of their voice nearly made her knees buckle beneath her – euphoria so consuming it left her feeling she was starving swallowed her whole, her mind blanking in a moment of utter bliss. It was..an indescribable feeling that she doubted she could ever hope to put into words – not in a way that could properly express it, try as she might.

She swallowed the words that threatened to spill from her lips – she couldn't make a fool of herself. Not in front of them of all people. She'd never forgive herself.

"Divine One," She rasps, clearing her throat and covering her mouth with a hand to mask both her nervousness and the small smile that creeps across her face. She quickly regains her composure, hand resting on her hip as she puffs out her chest with every bit of pride she can manage. "I am sure you must be confused, but worry not– your most loyal acolyte has seen the truth!"

The silence is deafening.

She opens one eye, peaking at the bewildered and almost distraught expression of the Divine.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

That..she was not prepared for. Surely they knew who they were! Surely they knew. They had to– she's been praying to them for as long as she's breathed, she's dedicated every hour of her life to living up to their ideals, they can't just–!

"Lady Furina?"

Neuvillette, thankfully, spares her the embarrassment of having a meltdown in front of the Divine, the gentle rap of his knuckles against the door making her and the Divine pause, the soft lull of his voice soothing her nerves and yet setting her on edge at the same time.

"Neuvillette." She clears her throat again, her steps hurried as she marches to the door and pries it open none too gently, a forced smile pulling at her lips. She wastes no time tugging the man into the room, shutting the door behind him with a short huff. The silence is, somehow, even worse then before as the three of them stare at each other in absolute exasperation.

Neuvillette, for his part, manages to get his act together with a sharp clearing of his throat, bowing so low even she looks unnerved. She steals a brief glance at the Divine, and she's taken aback by the uncomfortability twisting their features into a grimace.

Their expression is schooled back into one of empty apathy when he stands back to his full height, but she saw it – she knows she did! Did they not like their worship? Were they not respectful enough? For a moment, she feared the Divine would smite Neuvillette down on the spot..but they just stared at him like he was a ghost.

"Why aren't you killing me?"

The defeated, resigned tone combined with the way their voice cracks makes her heart ache in her chest – it feels as though her entire world is crumbling down at her feet, and she cannot explain why she feels such emotions so strongly, but it is suffocating. It is almost as if Teyvat itself is weeping, bearing down upon her shoulders like a heavy weight.

She feels the urge to weep herself, but she powers through, gritting her teeth long enough for Neuvillette to take his place at the side of her – though it feels more like their – bed, kneeling like he was going to pray.

"Divine One," He offers a hand with a quiet rumble of his voice, the words slipping off his tongue like honey. It's like trying to soothe a stray cat..though she'd never voice such comparisons of the most Divine out loud. "I..we mean you no harm. I swear on my authority as the Iudex of Fontaine and Chief Justice that you are safe with us."

The skepticism she expected, but the reverence in which Neuvillette must convince them – or perhaps they are simply so tired that they simply did not care any longer if it was all some ploy to drive a knife between their ribs. She didn't expect them to actually place their hand in Neuvillette's.

He didn't either, judging by the way he visibly brightened – not that they'd notice, but she did.

..Not that she could really blame him, her heels clicking against the floorboards as she shifted her weight to the other foot with a nervous energy that was practically bursting at the seams, more then a little jealous of the attention he was receiving. She was the one who found them, she was the one who stayed with them the entire time..but he gets all the attention?

How unfair.

"O-of course! We would never lay a hand on our creator," She adds, her voice a little higher pitched then she would have liked as she placed her hands on her hips, puffing out her chest and brushing off the sting of jealousy. "Least of all I– your most loyal, most devout acolyte!"

She felt baffled when she heard the sound of their laughter, her shoulders hunching and her cheeks flushing on mere instinct – she was expecting mockery, but the look in their eyes, still dulled by a pain she cannot even begin to imagine, made her hesitate.

..It was, perhaps, the most genuine thing she'd heard from them ever since before the hunt began.

She wasn't sure why her heart hurt at such an idea, but it was enthralling to see the beginnings of a half hearted smile on their lips.

For a moment, her mask of theatrics was forgotten as she stared at them in a mixture of awe and adoration– and though she didn't look at Neuvillette, she could imagine he must've shared such an expression.

Had she any doubts that they were her Creator, that they alone were the most Divine..they would wiped clean now. There was no mistaking the way the world itself seemed to grow clearer as they glanced up at her like she was worth something.

For a moment, she realized how cold the false Creators gaze had been now that she has felt warmth so gentle it almost made her knees buckle beneath her. It felt like a pale imitation, now.

Nothing could compare to the warmth that spread through her body at the mere semblance of a smile upon their lips. She didn't even mind if it was her they were laughing at anymore, she just wanted to hear them laugh again.

She'd make a fool of herself, if she had to.

She'd never felt so..ravenous for such a thing, but just the briefest glimpse was addictive.

She simply couldn't help herself from striding across the room and clasping their free hand in her own, her smile wide enough to unnerve as she leaned her weight onto the bed. For a moment, she considered pulling away at the way they startled, but her mind was made up by then – there was no going back.

"Again."

[megacarapa]

i am once again back with another extra comic for my dumbass fic anyway au where senku fucking snaps

[epersonae]

putting this on its own post now that I have had a decent night's sleep

two days ago I read a post wherein someone proposed a very different sort of soulmates AU. I immediately had shivers, and it felt terrifyingly real. For an hour or two, I rotated various sorts of soulmate world-building concepts, and then I realized that it needed as little world-building as possible, just all vibes.

I sat down with my laptop, and in an hour or so had jammed out the first ~1400 words, barely slept all night, and then wrote the rest yesterday, with a break for a walk, another to rewatch some bits of s2, and then to watch a completely unrelated video while @veeagainsttheday beta'd it.

Every fugitive hour leaves its mark (M, 4622 words)

There’s a mark. And if you have the mark, well, that means there’s someone out there that has it too. Not everybody has it, and there’s a lot of stories about what it means: particular gift, isn’t it, to know there has to be someone who is drawn to you, bound to you, you need them and they need you? But his mum had the mark, and his dad had the mark, and well. In which having a soulmate isn't necessarily a good thing, and the distinction between fate, grace, and love.

thank you anon for the genuinely brilliant idea; if you ever want to chat, asks and DMs are open, and if you ever write yours, I'll be the first to hype it up. (let me say that I have only gotten just amazing comments, so don't let the haters deter you!)

[space-signals]

That time Max found out

Max finds about her brother and babysitter. warning for light smut? It's just Billy + Steve making out and teasing each other idk how else to describe it aldjflsdj

Susan and Neil were gone for the day, going on a date since today was everyone’s day off. Billy was told by Neil to stay home with Max and because he had no plans to go out today, he was going to be obeying those commands and staying in the confined space of his Hawkins home. He was working out in his bedroom with the music blaring loud and trying to distract himself from the burning in his body and the sore bruise on his lower back after Neil had slammed him into the kitchen counter. A knock at his window threw him out of his zone. Despite the blaring music, he would always hear a knock at his window, because a knock at his window meant only one person was there. 

He let the dumbbell bar drop to the floor, adding to the dozens of dents in his hardwood floor, Neil never really went into his room so he could do whatever he wanted here, which included acting out his silent anger against stupid Hawkins, Indiana. He pushed aside his curtains and found a doe-eyed Steve Harrington looking back at him. Billy groaned with annoyance, but in actuality, he couldn’t be happier to see the fucker. 

Billy opened the window and Harrington climbed in. Thankfully, their house was only one story, so Steve didn’t need to worry about climbing several feet just to reach his boyfriend. “You know,” Steve said as he entered the room. “I don’t think your muscles can get any bigger than that, dufus.” Steve lightly punched his boyfriend’s exposed arm. 

Billy raised an eyebrow at him. “You wanna bet?” Billy was completely ready to show off in front of Steve how much he could bench press. 

“Yeah, I do.” Steve shoved Billy’s shoulder as the man moved closer to him. “I think you need a new exercise than just… weights.” 

Billy wasn’t getting what Steve was talking about until Steve’s legs hit the side of Billy’s bed and Billy was about 2 inches away from the freak. That’s when it finally hit him and he got an impressed look on his face. 

“Harrington?” Billy wrapped his hands around Steve’s waist. “You’re nasty.” he gasped.  

Steve blushed and put his hands on Billy’s chest. His hands felt so cold on Billy’s hot chest covered in sweat, it felt like he was in one of those cheesy pornos he watched. “You’ve said worse.” 

“I’ve said a lot worse.” Billy agreed as he leaned Steve down onto his bed. “But you’re the prude in this relationship and you barely say any dirty shit.” Billy pressed Steve into the bed, holding down his waist as Billy straddled his boyfriend. “But I like this new attitude on you, Harrington. I wanna see you more freakish.” 

Billy leaned down and started making out with Steve’s neck and his hands found Billy’s curly hair. Steve let out a moan that only furthered Billy’s passion of making out with his neck. 

“Have I ever told you how pretty you are?” Steve said through his moans. 

Billy pulled away to look at him. “You really are a charmer, aren’t you, Harrington?” 

Steve’s hands traveled from Billy’s hair all the way under his pants to press against the man’s underwear covered bulge. Billy leaned his head back with a groan as a smirk pressed to Steve’s lips. 

“Some would say so.” 

Billy’s smile and eyes turned dangerous as he looked at Steve. A fire of pure lust clouded his vision as he leaned in and the two lovers shared a passionate kiss. 

“Hey Billy, do you-” Max opened the door and everyone shared a quick loud scream as they all jerked away from their positions. Steve kicked Billy off of him and Max slammed the door shut in all what seemed to be a second. 

Steve and Billy stayed frozen where they were until the seconds turned into minutes and it seemed they were safe when no one else was coming to the door. Billy looked like he was 5 seconds away from crying when he looked up at Steve and said. “You need to leave.” 

“Yeah, I know.” Steve said as he stood from Billy’s bed and began brushing himself off because Billy’s smell or anything might’ve transferred over to him. Billy stood to his feet and his chest was heaving as they both looked out the window that Steve was about to climb out. It was pouring rain. 

Billy really did not want to make his boyfriend run through the rain back to his car, but then again his heart was beating faster with every second that Max could be walking towards the phone to tell Neil what she had just seen. Max had known of her brother’s… ‘unnatural’ ways and never really had a problem with it, but maybe she had suddenly changed her mind. Steve then looked at him with those big sad eyes and Billy crumbled. He sighed and grabbed his jacket off the rack attached to his door and outstretched his hand to give the jacket to Steve. 

The man’s face got even redder, and he gingerly took the jacket from Billy, like this was something illegal.

“I’m gonna need that back.” Billy grumbled. 

“I’m aware.” 

Billy watched with childish glee as Steve put on the jacket and covered his head as he opened the window and began running through the rain to his car, parked somewhere deep in the woods where no one would find it. 

Steve was working the counter when a very awkward and sheepish Max walked into the ice cream shop, and Steve froze. Billy had refused Steve coming over his house after what happened with Max, like Billy had angrily refused. That didn’t stop them from hanging out, of course, it just gave them one less option to run away to. 

Max had yet to confront the boys about what she had seen. She had actually been avoiding them since that day. Max refused to speak to Billy or really look at him and every time the kids wanted ice cream, Max would go shopping while they got her the flavor she wanted. 

But now she was here, standing in front of Steve, and looking down at the floor. 

“Um…” He stuttered. “Would you like something to uh… eat?” 

She swallowed. “I actually needed to talk to you.” 

“About what…?” 

She looked up at him and mentally said, ‘really?’ Steve knew what this was about. He turned around and opened the sliding doors to the back room, where Robin was reading something. “Hey Robin.” He whispered, and the girl looked at him. “Can you cover the counter really quickly?” 

She gave him a confused look. “Why would I do that?” 

“Because you love me and I really need you to do this.” 

She gave him a dead eye stare, so in return he gave her this pleading look that he used with Billy all the time. And like Billy, it always worked. Robin sighed and got up out of her chair to switch places with Steve while the sailor boy opened the counter door for Max to walk through. Robin gave the two a suspicious glare while Steve led the teenage girl all the way into the back hallway, where they got their shipments. 

The two leaned up against opposite walls as Steve waited for Max to talk and Max struggled to find the right words. 

“So are… Are you and Billy like… together?” She asked, and Steve’s face went a bright red. 

He had never really thought about it if he was being honest. Yeah, he loved Billy, and he hoped Billy loved him back, but he had never really asked if they were really dating. That was something scary to Steve, dating a guy. Steve had never seen himself dating or really ever being in love with a guy, well… he had thought about it, but he had never seen that as his future. Billy wasn't supposed to be the one Steve fell in love with. Steve, as per everyone around him, was supposed to fall in love with someone like Nancy. 

“I uh… I guess?” His entire body felt feverish. It was like saying yes to this question was something illegal. Well… it was technically. Steve had no idea how these types of people lived. Maybe some place like California would be more open to it, but Indiana? No, not at all. “I mean, we like each other.” 

Max nodded and swayed her body side again, sliding against the drywall of the hallway making this droning scratching sound. Steve thought he was going to pull his hair out. It was so quiet and he was so uncomfortable.

“I don’t think that’s weird or anything.” Max comforted his worries with her tiny voice. “Back in California there were a lot of people like that… They hid it pretty well, but sometimes you could see tiny things and it gave it away if you knew what to look for.” 

Steve nodded. “You haven’t told anyone, right?” 

Max shook her head. “Billy would kill me, and I think Neil would kill Billy.” 

Steve didn’t know the extent of Neil’s violence. All he knew was that Billy absolutely despised him. Every time he talked about Neil, he would get overwhelmed and lash out, like he threw Steve’s basketball so hard the ball ended up popping. Steve now knew not to ask about it because it was such a sensitive subject. 

“Billy loves you.” Max said out of their silence. Steve looked at her with surprise in his eyes. “I think you’re the first person that he really loves… besides himself… and his mom.” Steve knew that Billy’s mom had left him when he was really young. Billy had come to his pool one night with his face streaked with red because he tried to celebrate his mother’s birthday in peace, but his dad wasn’t letting that happen. 

“Like… whenever you come over to pick him up to go somewhere or- or if you’re just anywhere near us anytime and he looks at you? It looks like he’s staring straight at the stars or something. Like he’s seen the face of god and he can’t pull away from it.” Max seemed slightly disgusted with how enamored Billy was with Steve. Steve was shocked. “It’s like he’s never seen someone like you before.” 

Steve’s breath made a small hitch, and he really hoped Max didn’t notice. He was in love with Billy, he really was. And to hear that Billy looked at him like he had hung up the moon and stars? It was exhilarating. It was so much more than any ‘I love you’ to come out of the guy’s mouth. 

“You really think so?” Steve whispered. What if this was some set up? What if someone was peering around the corner and listening to this entire conversation just so his dad can come out and beat his ass? Steve was scared to death. 

Max nodded. “Yeah, it’s kinda gross.” 

Steve chuckled and hung his head, trying to head the painful blush that had spread more across his face. 

“I was just telling you so you know I’m cool with you guys.” Max said. “And because I wanna embarrass him, since he probably doesn’t say he loves you enough.” 

Steve shook his head. “Yeah, but… he has a lot going on, so I don’t blame him.” It was only in the darkest of shadows or the quietest of places where Billy whispered to him and he loved Steve. Other times, it was in his actions. Like when he lets Steve win basketball or gets him water or drives him places or gives him a gracious tip. Steve didn’t care though, he was just happy Billy was with him. 

“So uh… Does this mean I get free ice cream?” 

“What? No.” 

“What if I blackmailed you?” 

“Why would you do that? That’s not cool, man.” 

“True… What if… You give me free ice cream or I blackmail you?” 

“That’s the same THING.” 

“Oh… Can I just get free ice cream?” 

“Oh, my god…”

[itischeese]

He's so small when you put him up against all he's lost.... Happy (late) birthday, Kakashi!