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kaelatargaryen · 1 year ago

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Happy Monday lmao — hope y’all have had some time to process and figure out how you’re going to deal with what you’ve found out today, it wasn’t a good time.

All things considered, I got off pretty light. This is the meanest thing someone has to say about me? Cool

& I’ve seen some of the posts explaining all this, I’ve also gotten a message that said these are Bel’s words because she was jealous of someone else getting attention. These messages were sent to someone else to share with me but ultimately, they were still sent to me and I am the one choosing to share them so if Ange or Em, if you see this and don’t like it. Take it up with me, not them

This is the choice I’ve made, I do not believe Ange. She admitted that some screenshots were doctored and some were real, I fully believe this one to be the latter.

1. Bel didn’t unfollow me, we were mutuals up until I found out about the rat anons and I unfollowed her because it really bothers me to know she’d go that far for so long. We also didn’t stop interacting, in fact… she had me tagged for her Helen of Troy inspired Feyd fic recently and that wasn’t the first time she had me in a taglist for a fic. I often reblogged her fics and we interacted about them and the men involved. We became mutuals because of her fics and had been for like a year lmao — I very seriously doubt she was jealous

2. I say this very clearly, I do not think this because I think Bel is stupid but because I’ve seen that Ange has often used big vocabulary words in casual conversation and I’ve had enough conversations with Bel to know that despite her being in school and very smart, she would’ve been more likely to call me a bootlicker or a simp before she would’ve called me a sycophant.

3. This is not the first time Ange has unfollowed me and I did notice that she unfollowed me around the same time this comment was made because shortly after, my friend spoke of being in her discord server and I finally just mentioned that I don’t think Ange liked me.

We haven’t been mutuals so I’m not missing much and if she somehow proves that it was Bel, it doesn’t change anything tbh, I’ll just be a lil more disheartened by how fake some can be. This whole debacle is ugly and pathetic, especially coming from GROWN WOMEN. This went on for months, damn near almost a year and the thing that exposed it is that Bel & Fae got friendly with people Ange & Em didn’t like???? That’s the ONLY reason and y’all think it fucking matters who said what??? It’s ALL bad and I’m done with all of you. Y’all have some serious soul searching and growth to do, I hope you begin after this.

I’m gunna enjoy this fandom and the lovely people I’ve met, I’m tired of y’all’s black cloud asses ruining it and I won’t let you fuck with my vibes or change who I am. To everyone who messaged me, I fucking cherish you and I’m so thankful for those of you who made sure I knew she was wrong about me, especially when their own names had been mentioned. That’s community. That’s what happens when people care about each other as people and not just the attention they offer online.

Happy season 2 bitches, we’re gunna have so much fun 💚🖤

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #fandom tings #✌🏼✌🏼✌🏼

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hyruling · 1 day ago

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For domestic prompts, 10, 24 & 38 pls!

10. a cupboard of mismatched mugs - 24. cold tiles - 38. a blanket draped over a sleeping form

—

Buck’s absence is the first thing he notices when he wakes.

He reaches over, feels the cold sheets and knows Buck’s been gone for awhile. His side of the bed is unmade, pillow still dented from where he’d spent at least some of the night. Eddie presses his hand against the soft down and sighs.

He shouldn’t be surprised — for nearly two weeks now he’s woken up alone after falling asleep to the comforting sounds of Buck’s breathing next to him. It’s no less disappointing than it was the first time.

Still, he’s not going to push it. Not while Buck still walks around with a haunted look in his eyes when he thinks no one’s looking, and stares off into space more often than not when he’s not busying himself with some chore or errand he’s invented in the name of being useful. Eddie’s lost track of the number of times he’s run a casserole over to the Grant-Nash household.

Eddie swings his legs over the side of the bed and stretches. It’s a warm day in April but the house is frigid, thermostat set to Eddie’s liking even though he insists on turning it up for Buck every night before they go to sleep. He wakes up with it set back to 68 every morning, accepted it as part of their new nightly routine.

The tiles are cold on his feet when he steps quietly in the kitchen. The coffee pot is already prepped with fresh grounds, meaning Buck has already been in here. All Eddie has to do is start the water. He pulls out a mug from the cabinet while it brews, still bursting with all the ones he’d had to leave in Buck’s care — the U-Haul was only so big after all. It’s a homemade creation of Christopher’s, Buck’s name across the front in messy eight-year old handwriting with hand-drawn flames dancing around the white ceramic. Eddie has a matching one in back in Texas, packed and ready to make its way back home next week.

Buck is still asleep when he pads into the living room, the only sign of life the steady rise and fall of his shoulder. Eddie snags the comforter off Chris’ bed on his way and drapes it over Buck, hunched in on himself in the chill of the room.

Eddie perches on the coffee table and picks up Buck’s phone, intending to plug it back into the charger for him. Bobby’s name is there, a new text he pointedly doesn’t read etched across Buck’s background photo of the 118, taken just before Eddie left for El Paso. He stares at the small Bobby Nash 👨‍🚒 until it becomes blurry and locks Buck’s phone with a sniff, scrubbing a hand over his wet eyes for good measure.

The click of the phone wakes Buck. Eddie watches his eyelids flutter, listens to the pattern of his breathing change. It takes a moment for Buck to process his own consciousness — he blinks blearily at Eddie and rubs his eyes.

“Hey,” Buck says, voice thick with sleep.

“Morning,” Eddie responds.

Buck shuffles into a sitting position, stretching as he goes, still swathed under both blankets. He looks ridiculous — a six-foot two tall toddler wrapped in a cocoon of fabric, so thick he can only see Buck’s head. Eddie can’t help but laugh softly at him.

“What?” Buck asks.

Eddie shakes his head and offers his mug to him. Buck’s fingers are chilly when he takes it. “Nothing. You look comfy, that’s all.”

“Hmm,” Buck says, taking a sip. He grimaces at the sweetness of Eddie’s hazelnut creamer but says nothing, patting the cushion next to him. “You wanna get in on this?”

Eddie smiles. “I really do, actually.”

Buck nods sagely and scoots, lifting both blankets for Eddie to wrangle his way into. They end up pressed together, blankets tight around their shoulders and under their crossed legs. Eddie sighs at the warmth and accepts the mug back from Buck. He fits his mouth over the same uneven ridge Buck did, feels a little thrill shoot straight through his stomach when Buck notices.

“You know, you don’t have to turn the A/C down every night,” Eddie says for at least the tenth time, rather than linger on Buck’s eyes on his mouth.

Buck shrugs, eyes back on Eddie’s, the blue thrown into sharp relief against the pink flush of his cheeks. “Habit. I did it before too, when I would stay over if you forgot. I know how you and Chris like to sleep in the Artic.”

Warmth that has nothing to do with the heavy comforter or hot coffee sluices through him. Warmth that has always been there, just beneath the surface. Warmth that’s taken on a new meaning in recent months, that’s been beaten down and ignored because there were other things more pressing than letting himself burrow into it the way he wanted. He can’t exactly remember why right now, watching Buck snag the mug back with a soft brush of fingers. Pink mouth pressed against that same ridge, that same imperfect divot of ceramic from Chris and Buck’s unpracticed hands.

Buck holds his gaze while he drinks, gives him a tentative smile before it skitters away. Eddie hands him his phone, and then Buck’s attention is focused on the unread text waiting for him. Buck smiles again, a private thing for himself and for Bobby.

“Bobby okay?” Eddie asks. He takes the mug back so Buck can type out a response.

Buck glances up briefly. “Yeah. Just responding to my late night neuroses again.”

Eddie lets that sit for a minute, taking a long drawn out drink while Buck types. “You know what I’m going to say.”

“I know,” Buck answers without looking up. “But it’s fine, Eddie. Really.”

“How many nights have you woken me up from my nightmares?” Eddie asks. Buck avoids his eye. “How is this different?”

Buck just shakes his head, and Eddie sighs. They’ve had this conversation nearly every morning since that phone call came in, since the impossible happened and Eddie watched the light slowly return to Buck’s eyes. But Buck keeps swearing he’s fine — he’s over the moon, he’s perfect, and why wouldn’t I be, Eddie? — and yet Eddie continues to wake up alone, continues to find Buck hiding himself away out here.

Buck puts the phone down and accepts the coffee when Eddie offers. Another sip, another phantom brush of lips that singes in his blood.

“Okay. I’m not going to push you, Buck. But I just want you to know I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Buck traces over the lettering of the mug, says, “I know.”

It’s almost convincing.

“Bobby is okay. He’s home, Athena is watching over him like a hawk. He’s—”

“It’s not Bobby,” Buck interrupts.

Eddie pauses — this is the most he’s gotten out of Buck in days. He waits, watching Buck’s thumb trail over the rim of the mug where both of their mouths have touched, and scrapes a hand over his own lips unconsciously.

“It’s not about Bobby,” Buck continues at last, quiet in the early morning stillness. “Not completely, anyway, and I—I can’t talk about it. With you.”

Buck’s blushing up to his ears now, and Eddie feels like he’s falling, knocked clean on his ass while his body remains perfectly still.

“Oh,” Eddie says, punched out of his lungs before he can stop it.

Buck picks at a loose thread on the plaid comforter and refuses to look at him.

Eddie stutters to fill the silence, awkward for the first time in their friendship. “Um. That’s—I mean, that’s okay, I guess, but you know—you can talk to me about anything, though. You know that.”

“Yeah, I know but not—not this.”

Buck hands the mug back to Eddie, just enough left for one last sip. It tastes like ash in his mouth, lukewarm and too bitter, all traces of hazelnut sweetness gone.

“Do you want br—”

“Why?” Eddie blurts. He twists around until he catches Buck’s eyes. Buck looks like a skittish deer when they meet.

He’s angry, he realizes — it hits him like a freight train. Not at Buck, not really, but at himself, maybe. For failing to do something, or be someone, that has Buck’s unequivocal trust. Everything they’ve been through, seven years of friendship — a word that had never been big enough, important enough, to describe what they have — and now, out of nowhere, there’s something that has Buck doubting. The past few weeks alone have deepened their bond in a way Eddie wasn’t sure was still possible as they held each other through their grief. They cried together, held each other up literally and metaphorically; they cared for each other in ways Eddie’s never had with a partner, let alone a friend before. Buck had even yelled at him for the first time in seven years, actually yelled, when everything inside of him had boiled over at last. And Eddie just took it, and held him when the fight went out of him and Buck collapsed against Eddie’s chest, muttering, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” through broken gasps.

And when Bobby came back, he was still there; he was there through their shared euphoria and guilt and all the leftover grief they didn’t know what to do with. And now Buck can’t even look at him.

“It’s not—it’s just something I’m working through, Eddie. I don’t want to—you’re about to bring Chris home, it can wait.”

“No,” Eddie says, and the tense line of Buck’s shoulders deflates. “Come on, Buck. It’s me.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of the problem,” Buck admits, a little testy.

“I’m confused. Did I do something to piss you off?” Eddie asks. “Is it—have I been in your space too much or something? I can find a hotel—”

“No,” Buck interrupts. His knee knocks into Eddie’s as he turns to face him more fully. “That’s not it.”

“Then what, Buck? Don’t make me—I can’t leave you for a week and let—whatever this is fester.”

“It’s really okay, you don’t need to worry.”

“Well I’m going to,” Eddie pushes. “So you may as well tell me.”

Buck looks at him helplessly, eyes darting around the room wildly and landing on the blankets they’re wrapped in. And Buck’s never been all that difficult to read — not for him, anyway — so he puts the pieces together pretty quickly.

“Are you uncomfortable sleeping in the same bed?” Eddie hedges. Buck goes rigid, and he knows he’s hit the nail on the head. Stomach sinking, he asks, “Is that why you move to the couch every night?”

They’d slept in the bed together every night when he first came back, waking tangled up in each other more often than not, but he should have realized Buck may not want that now that Bobby was back — now that he didn’t need Eddie to hold him together anymore.

“I—it’s not what you��re thinking, Eddie, I swear.”

“You could have said something, I didn’t mean to assume, we just—after Bobby, I thought—I can move to Chris’ room until he’s back home, and then—”

“No, Eddie, stop,” Buck says. He puts his hands on Eddie’s bare knees, as if he can physically stop Eddie’s stream of consciousness. It works, turns Eddie’s brain embarrassingly fuzzy from the two small points of contact. “That’s not the problem. I-I’m not uncomfortable. The opposite, actually.”

“You’re… too comfortable?” Eddie asks.

“I want it too much,” Buck says, words slurring together in a rush. He pulls his hands back to his lap, and Eddie misses them instantly.

“Want what?” Eddie asks, his own voice barely audible over the rushing in his ears.

Buck looks at his hands, wringing them so tightly his knuckles turn white. Eddie’s own are gripping the mug so hard he has to consciously unclench so he doesn’t put a crack the ceramic.

“Bobby told me he loved me, in the lab,” Buck says. It’s not what he expected to hear, and he rears back a bit in surprise. Buck isn’t fazed, continues, “I didn’t say it back, a-and that stuck with me, the whole time he was gone. Tore me up, really, that I didn’t get to tell him what he meant to me.”

“He knew,” Eddie says reflexively, because it’s true.

“But he deserved to hear it,” Buck insists. “And it made me think about—about things… really think. About the people I love, and how quickly you can lose them.”

It’s quiet for a bit, early morning birdsong the only sounds he can hear. Eddie twirls the mug around in his hand, watching the dregs swirl, and says, “Yeah. Death has a way of doing that. Recalibrates your whole life.”

Buck’s eyes are already on him when he looks up again. The breath he releases is shaky, cheeks flushed, curls askew. He’s beautiful, always, but especially now, backlit with sunlight streaming in through the gauzy curtains. Eddie’s entire nervous system thrums with want, with anticipation.

“You deserve to hear it too,” Buck says softly, and Eddie’s heart somersaults in his chest. “But I don’t want to lose you.”

“Buck—”

“And—and I needed you, before, and I still do but—it’s too much, I know. I’m taking too much, and I was just trying to—to not be. Especially now, when you’re about to leave, and when you and Chris come back I’ll have to go, and I just didn’t want to—”

Eddie surges forward, catching Buck’s jaw with one hand, and kisses him. He tastes like coffee and hazelnut, and makes a sweet soft sound when Eddie tilts his jaw where he wants him. His eyes are still closed when Eddie pulls away and brushes his thumb against Buck’s birthmark.

“I love you,” Eddie says, and Buck’s eyes fly open.

“Eddie,” he croaks.

“You deserve to hear it too,” Eddie echoes. “You deserve everything, Buck. You could never be too much, or want anything from me that I wouldn’t give you.”

Buck shakes his head, dislodging Eddie’s hand on his face. He curls it around Buck’s forearm instead. “I don’t deserve you, Eddie.”

“I’ll decide that, thank you very much,” Eddie insists with a grin.

Buck slowly returns the smile, lets Eddie lean in and kiss it off his face.

“Please be sure,” Buck begs him when they part, his hands on Eddie’s face. “Because I want—I want you so much, Eddie. I want everything with you.”

“Okay,” Eddie agrees easily. Buck frowns a bit, and Eddie takes the opportunity to climb into his lap. Buck accepts his weight easily, arms wrapped around Eddie’s waist while he presses a soft kiss to his pulse point. Buck shudders and tugs Eddie’s head up to look him in the eye.

“Seriously,” Buck says. “I want to stay here when you get back, with you and Chris. Like, permanently.”

“Okay,” Eddie agrees, pressing a kiss to Buck’s mouth.

“And I want to sign all the HR forms at work calling you mine.”

Eddie shivers — Buck misinterprets and tugs the blanket up around his shoulders, and the gesture is so sweet Eddie has to kiss him again. “Okay, baby,” he says against his mouth.

Buck whines, and they get distracted for awhile, lost in each the slick heat of each other’s mouths. Buck breathes, “I want to marry you.”

Eddie swallows hard, but the thought doesn’t scare him. Buck kisses his jaw, nuzzles into his neck, and Eddie says, “Okay.”

Buck lifts his head, smile lighting up the whole room. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, Buck,” Eddie says. “I want it all. I want you in my house, my bed, everywhere. Everything.”

“God, Eddie, I love you, I love you so fucking much,”Buck says in a rush, and kisses him so hard their teeth clack together.

Neither of them notice the mug falling to the floor with a thump, staining the rug. It stays there for a month before Chris notices it, and Eddie watches with delight when Buck fishes it from under the couch, blush high on his cheeks when Chris asks how it got there. Chris quickly determines he doesn’t want to know when Buck stutters through an excuse, and rolls his eyes in mock disgust when Eddie snags the mug from Buck’s limp hand and kisses his cheek.

From that day on, it receives a place of honor on their windowsill. Buck deems it too lucky to drink from and plants some basil in it instead, and every time he cooks with it, Eddie could swear he tastes hazelnut.

—

prompts ❤️

#my fic #drabbles #buddie fic #911 abc #thank you lovely!!! not sure i love this but i needed to get some alive girl bobby out of my system i think #promise i’ll write something other than a getting together fic one of these days lmao ✌🏼#facewithoutheart

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