#also leave comments/reblogs

[detectivesparrow]

Title: Bounded by Resolve

Paring: Sanzo Party x reader (Saiyuki)

Word Count: 2.1k.

TW: gn!reader, platonic?, reader gets hurt, comfort, Sanzo crew gets worried

The demon's approach is relentless, its movements sinuous and predatory as it slithers closer to the Sanzo party. The dense forest around you seems to pulse with a sinister energy, the eerie backdrop only adding to the sense of impending confrontation.

Sweat beads on your brow as you watch, your heart hammering in your chest with a rhythm that matches the drumbeat of fear pulsing through your veins. The scent of sweat and fear hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the forest floor to create an atmosphere thick with tension.

Suddenly, a low growl breaks the tranquility, shattering the eerie stillness of the forest. It's the harbinger of the approaching danger, a warning sign that sets your nerves alight with a fierce urgency.

With a swift and fluid motion, you step forward, your movements propelled by a sense of fierce determination that burns within you like wildfire.

Your comrades, caught off guard by the sudden appearance of danger, instinctively draw their weapons, their faces etched with a mixture of determination and resolve. The glint of steel in their hands reflects the fierce determination burning within their souls.

Sanzo, with his signature aloof demeanor, grips his gun with a steely resolve, his gaze piercing through the shadows with a clarity that belies the chaos of the moment. His lips curl into a grim line, a silent vow etched upon his features as he prepares to face whatever darkness lurks ahead.

Hakkai's calm facade masks the storm of emotions roiling beneath the surface, his hands steady as he readies his chi with practiced precision. His eyes betray a hint of concern, but beneath the worry lies a steadfast determination to stand firm against the encroaching threat.

Gojyo's easygoing demeanor gives way to a fierce intensity as he brandishes his favorite weapon, the gleaming blade of his shakujo flashing in the dappled sunlight. His stance is one of unwavering readiness, every muscle coiled like a spring as he prepares to unleash his fury upon any who dare to threaten his comrades.

Goku, ever the embodiment of boundless energy and enthusiasm, grips his extendable staff with a fierce determination, his eyes blazing with an inner fire that refuses to be extinguished. His muscles tense with anticipation, his entire being a testament to the unwavering loyalty he holds for his companions.

Demons emerge from the shadows like a nightmare-given form, its grotesque features twisted into a snarl of malevolence. Their eyes narrow as they size you up, their predatory gaze flickering with a hunger that sends a shiver down your spine.

With every strike exchanged, the forest seems to hold its breath, the sounds of battle echoing amidst the ancient trees like a primal chorus. The clash of metal against flesh reverberates through the air, a symphony of violence and chaos that echoes through the ancient trees. Each strike is a dance of life and death, a testament to your skill and determination in the face of overwhelming odds.

Adrenaline courses through your veins, heightening your senses to a razor-sharp edge. Every movement of your adversaries is cataloged with meticulous precision, their intentions laid bare before you like an open book.

With a guttural snarl, it lunges forward, its claws slashing through the air with deadly accuracy. Pain explodes across your side as you take the hit, a sharp gasp escaping your lips despite your best efforts to suppress it.

As you stumble backward, the forest spins around you, disorienting and chaotic. The world tilts dangerously, threatening to swallow you whole as you struggle to regain your footing on unsteady ground. Every movement is an uphill battle against the relentless onslaught of pain that courses through your body, a symphony of agony that threatens to drown out all other sensations.

But you refuse to succumb to the overwhelming tide of pain. With a fierce determination burning bright within you, you push through the agony. The very fiber of your being screams in protest, but you steel yourself against the onslaught, drawing upon reservoirs of strength you never knew you possessed.

The world starts to blur around you, the sounds of battle fading into the background as you focus all of your energy on the task at hand. Each breath comes ragged and labored, every movement an act of defiance against the pain that threatens to consume you.

With each blow you deliver, you chip away at the demon's defenses, inching closer and closer to victory with every strike.

And as the battle rages on around you, you find yourself drawing strength from the unbreakable bond that binds you to your comrades. Their faces flash before your eyes, a reminder of the stakes at hand and the importance of your mission.

The battle rages on around you, a chaotic symphony of clashing weapons and anguished cries. Your vision swims as you struggle to keep pace with the frenetic pace of the fight, each movement sending waves of agony radiating through your wounded side. But still, you press on, driven by a single-minded resolve to protect those you hold dear.

As the last of the demons falls, a deafening silence descends upon the forest, broken only by the ragged gasps of your companions and the steady rhythm of your own labored breathing.

A wave of exhaustion washes over you, threatening to drag you into unconsciousness. You cling to consciousness by sheer force of will.

Your limbs feel as heavy as lead, each movement a Herculean effort that sends shooting pains lancing through your battered body.

Your muscles ache with a deep-seated weariness, every fiber screaming in protest with each faltering step you take. It's as if your bones are made of molten iron, dragging you down with each labored breath, each heartbeat a thunderous drumbeat in your ears.

Your vision swims in and out of focus, the world around you reduced to a hazy blur of muted colors and indistinct shapes. Each footfall sends shockwaves of agony radiating through your weary frame, threatening to send you sprawling to the forest floor in a heap of exhaustion and pain.

But still, you cling to consciousness. Every ounce of your being is focused on the single-minded task of following the Sanzo party back onto the road.

"Aw man, that was it?" Goku chimes out. "Man, I'm starving!"

"Shut up, you stupid monkey!" Gojyo shouts.

"Hey, that was a big fight!"

"Now, now, the next town is about a drive's breakfast" Hakai chides.

"All right! Let's go!" Goku says as he jumps in the backseat.

You move carefully with them, to avoid the injury being seen. Sanzo takes a small glance back at your unusual slowness, but chalks it up as exhaustion.

With every passing moment, your condition worsens, the relentless march of time eroding the fragile facade of strength you've meticulously maintained. The blood-soaked fabric of your shirt clings to your skin like a macabre second skin, a grim reminder of the toll exacted by the fierce battle you've waged.

Each movement sends jolts of agony coursing through your weary frame. Your vision narrows to a pinprick, the darkness at the edges creeping ever closer with each labored heartbeat.

The world blurs into a hazy blur of pain and exhaustion as you struggle to remain upright. Each breath comes out softly, ragged and labored, with the darkness at the edges of your vision creeping ever closer.

It's Gojyo who notices first, his sharp eyes catching the telltale signs of your distress. With a curse, he breaks away from the group, rushing to your side with a sense of urgency that belies his usual carefree demeanor.

"Hakkai, we've got a problem," he calls out urgently, his voice cutting through the atmosphere like a knife.

Hakkai's brow furrows in concern as he glances over his shoulder, his hands steady on the wheel as he maneuvers the vehicle through the dense forest. "What's wrong?" he asks, his voice a calm anchor amidst the rising tide of panic.

Gojyo's expression is grim as he gestures towards you, his movements urgent and decisive. "It's y/n. They're hurt bad," he says, his words clipped and to the point as he assesses the extent of your injuries.

Panic sets in among your comrades as they realize the severity of your condition, their frantic attempts to rouse you echoing in the recesses of your fading consciousness. Through the haze, you hear their voices, a jumble of worry and fear that cuts through the fog of pain enveloping your mind.

"Hey, come on! Wake up!" Goku pleads, his voice cracking with emotion as he searches desperately for any sign of consciousness.

Sanzo's jaw tightens with concern as he watches the scene unfold, his normally stoic facade betraying a hint of unease. "We need to get them help. Now," he declares, his tone holding no argument, directing Hakkai to pick up the pace.

Through the haze of pain and exhaustion, you struggle to make sense of the chaos around you. The voices of your comrades blend together in a cacophony of worry and fear, their urgent pleas a lifeline in the darkness that threatens to consume you whole.

As you faded out, succumbing to the pain, the group discuss their next action.

"Damn it. Why didn't they say anything?" Sanzo grumbles, huffing out a smoke.

"Hakai, hurry!" Goku shouts. "It looks really bad!"

"I'm trying, Goku. I can only go so fast!" Hakai replies, going as fast as he can, as he glances at you through the rearview mirror.

Gojyo remains silent, his hands putting pressure on your wounds. His expression laced with concern.

"This damn idiot" he curses. "When you wake up, I'll kill you."

Time loses all meaning as you drift in and out of consciousness, the world reduced to a series of fragmented impressions and fleeting moments of clarity.

As consciousness gradually returns, you find yourself enveloped in a cocoon of warmth and safety, the soft embrace of a bed cradling your weary body.

The gentle rustle of fabric and the faint scent of herbs mingle in the air, offering a soothing balm to your senses as you struggle to piece together the fragments of memory that cling to the recesses of your mind.

It's only when you finally awaken to the warmth of a bed and the gentle touch of bandages around your waist that you realize you've been saved from the brink of death.

Blinking away the remnants of sleep, you find yourself greeted by the familiar faces of your companions, their expressions a swirling mix of relief and concern.

As you shuffle yourself upright, the group quickly comes over.

Sanzo's gruff voice pierces through the haze, his words laced with a grudging sense of worry that he can't quite conceal.

"You're lucky you didn't bleed out before we found you," he mutters, his gaze flickering between irritation and genuine concern. "Next time, try not to be so reckless."

Hakkai's gentle touch brushes against your forehead, his hands deftly adjusting the bandages that encircle your waist. "You gave us quite a scare," he says softly.

Gojyo's worried expression speaks volumes, his usually jovial demeanor tempered by the gravity of the situation. "Damn it, don't you ever scare us like that again," he grumbles, his words tinged with a vulnerability rarely shown.

Goku's infectious grin is a welcome sight. "I knew you'd pull through!" he exclaims, his voice brimming with unbridled enthusiasm.

As the atmosphere lightens with shared relief, Goku's bright grin widens even further, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Hey, now that you're awake, can we eat?" he interjects, his stomach audibly growling in agreement.

A chorus of chuckles ripples through the room at Goku's typically straightforward request. Sanzo rolls his eyes in mock exasperation, but there's a hint of fondness in his gaze as he nods in agreement. "Fine, fine," he concedes, his gruff tone softening just a fraction. "But make it quick."

Hakkai smiles warmly, already rising to his feet to prepare a meal for the weary travelers. "Of course, Goku. I'll grab something simple yet satisfying," he assures, his soothing voice a calming presence amidst the lingering tension.

Gojyo's grin mirrors Goku's as he claps you on the shoulder, his touch gentle despite the underlying strength in his grip. "Sounds good to me. Can't have you starving after all that heroics," he quips, his tone light yet sincere.

As the aroma of food begins to fill the room, a sense of warmth and camaraderie settles over the Sanzo party like a comforting blanket. And as you gather around the makeshift table, sharing stories and laughter amidst mouthfuls of food, you're reminded once again of the unbreakable bond that binds you together, even in the face of life's greatest challenges.

[batfam-stuff-posts-0]

(Curious because I have 4 (this is my main one but I had a tumblr once before and realized putting all my obsessions in one blog doesn't really work for me))

[bubblegumflavor]

You look like a movie

You sound like a song

My God this reminds me, of when we were young..

Let me photograph you in this light

In case it is the last time

That we might be exactly like we were

Before we realized

We were scared of getting old

It made us restless

It was just like a movie

It was just like a song..

(Adele ~ 'When we were young')

[saintobio]

gojo, akemi, and sachiro all snuggled together in one giant bed, with sachi nestled close to auntie ‘kemi who’s softly singing him to sleep, while dada satoru watches them both, holding them in his arms and feeling this warmth in his heart at the sight of their bond >>>

[tophthedaydreamer]

my human versions of oswald and ortensia for valentine's day!

i hope everyone has a good day with their loved ones, and to all my singles out there, enjoy the candy!!

[lavenderfeminist]

For same-sex attracted people ONLY

Have been discussing this with the woman I'm seeing; I am personally only fine with lavender, but she made the good point that it was also very much a derogatory word. I think the origins are different and so the enduring sentiments are different, but am very curious what others think.

[louthestarspeaker]

it's almost 1am here's my essay about Dal and captainhood <333

I hath promised a Dal essay and I hath delivered… 

I've had this in the drafts for so long, but I just rewatched season two and it really allowed me to solidify a lot of my thoughts.

One of things that really strikes me about Dal's character and his relationship to command is that being in charge is a place of safety for him. He's had to be self-reliant and self-sufficient pretty much his whole life until the Protostar. It's something that was engraved into him since he was small, that the only person Dal could really depend on was himself.

And because he was never around anyone who actually cared about him until the Protostar, that was the right thing to do. This need to be in charge, to be in control really, is a learned survival skill. "I can tell you from experience, people in authority lie."

But in season two, his circumstances have changed (for the better!), and that's not the right thing to do anymore. Ultimately, to me, Dal's season two character arc is about vulnerability and trust. He's been in survival mode for so, so long, and now we watch him learn to heal.

You start with this boy who's spent the grand majority of his life alone or with people who are exploiting him, and the story takes him by the hand and tells him "now that you're safe, now that you have people who care about you, you can't live like that anymore."

All throughout season one he learns trust. Trust in his crew, in Hologram Janeway, in the Federation and in Starfleet as institutions that can and will help him and his newfound family. But as a captain,when he was guiding his crew through active crisis after crisis, trust looked like open doors. It looked like laying out all the variables and problems on a table so they could figure a way out together. 

Trust looks very different on the Voyager-A. It asks him to have faith in what he's not seeing, what he's not being told. He has to believe that they have his best interests at heart, that he's not trusting his family to something that will try to hurt them. 

Captainhood isn't just bossing people around for Dal. It's the responsibility of holding the lives of the people he loves in his hands. He trusts his own hands. He has the best interest of his crew at heart. 

To ask Dal to relinquish control, is to ask him to place the lives of himself and his family into someone else's hands. Which, historically, has not gone great for them. It prods directly at his trauma, asks him to take undo and ignore the survival instincts that kept them alive for so long. Is it any wonder he has trouble with that?

Dal's not going around crawling through Jeffries Tubes because he's a brat or because he thinks he's entitled to know everything. He's a traumatized kid whose self-sufficiency, independence, and ability to make his own decisions were once, for a very long time, the literal line between life and death for him and his crew.

And even if he trusts Starfleet and Janeway in his head on a logical level (which I absolutely believe he does), there's still this instinct that's written into him. It's a process to learn how and when to turn that off, and that's what we see especially throughout the first half of season two. 

This really culminates in the cafeteria scene after they return with the Protostar and Chakotay, when Dal advocates for the Starfleet temporal management guys to figure out a way to get the Protostar back to Tars Lamora. Dal was able to see that his hands weren't the best ones for the job, and trust Gwyn's life to someone else. That's huge for him. He trusts not just a person, but a branch of an institution he's never interacted with before, with one of the people that mean the very most to him. And Dal's able to give up that control, to place himself and his crew in that position of potential vulnerability, because he's finally started to feel it in his bones that he's safe here.

[slavhew]

fun fact the word "dirk" sounds exactly like the root of the croatian verb "drkati" which means to jack off

get the dirk brush here

[stabbyfoxandrew]

Here's my fic for the @aftg-paranormal fest! It's the beginning of a series that I'm gonna continue via WIPW. :) I hope you all enjoy it! <3

[pettytiredandjewish]

Wow… okay I don’t even know where to start with this. So you pretty much admit that you hate Israelis/jewish people. You also clearly don’t understand what Zionism is and how there are different sections of it. And you are openly supporting violence and attacks against Israelis/jewish people…. Did I miss anything?

Just a suggestion but maybe you should just log off for a bit and seek some help? If you can’t afford therapy- some places do offer free therapy and or pay what you can. Y’all are so obsessed with hating Israelis and Jews that it’s kinda concerning. What’s really concerning to me (and it’s kinda a blaring red flag) is that you and others are openly wanting Israelis and Jews to die and that you are calling for violence… that’s really messed up. Like how is that okay?!(If y’all haven’t seen the comments/reblogs, that’s where it gets worse). So yeah- maybe take my suggestion and seek some help about your obsession with hating Israelis/jewish people… cuz this is just getting ridiculous

[franky-y]

another painting

[calware]

new tumblr communities discovery: when someone reblogs a post to a community, you cannot see any of the tags made on that reblog if you are not in that community unless you are following the post. this thing, the bell:

which is really weird, because 1) that means that communities aren't actually 100% private and 2) you can't follow your own posts, only posts from other people. so you can't even see what tags people are leaving on your own posts, just other ones

[spacetimeconundrum]

Fuck it. I accidentally wrote fix-it spec fic.

I Think We Were In Love, Once [Buck/Tommy, 1.9k, T] Read it on AO3

aka Giving Oliver the goddamn slow burn he asked for: 

After Tommy walks out of his apartment, and his life, leaving him confused and heartbroken in his kitchen, Buck is just miserable. In fact, he’s more broken up about this breakup than he was for any of his other partners. 

At first, he tries to throw himself into his family, helping with Jee while Maddie deals with early pregnancy symptoms and doctor’s appointments, trying to be supportive of Eddie’s search for self-acceptance or enlightenment or whatever it is he’s doing to try to convince Chris to come home, his job, and his hobbies. He’s taken up baking with a fervor not seen in Los Angeles since the height of the early months of the pandemic, when millions of white-collar workers stuck at home with their remote jobs and under-utilized kitchens decided to become sourdough specialists on the side.

He also throws himself into the online dating scene again, and has a lot of sex, with men and women and a few nonbinary folks. Because fuck it, apparently he’s not experienced enough to know what he wants; he might as well see what else is out there. 

He’s not happy though. He saw a future with Tommy and he can’t with any of these people.

He gets off the apps after he has a condom break and nearly has a panic attack in the middle of a 24 hour pharmacy. They get her some Plan B, and they both get STI testing done (all good there, thankfully), and he sweats it for a few weeks until he gets a text confirmation that he’s not about to become a father (again).

When he hears that Tommy has a new boyfriend through the LAFD’s gossip channels, he throws himself into hobbies even harder. He’s starting to get the hang of pastry dough.

Tommy and his new guy break up? Buck doesn’t care. It definitely doesn’t make him want to call him. (Liar.)

-

Three months and seventeen days after receiving a text that reads, “I’m sorry. I’ll understand if you hate me right now, but I’d like to hope that someday we might be friends again,” that he leaves on read, they run into each other on a scene. 

It’s a pretty involved fire, not exactly much time to stop and chat in the heat of the moment, even if he wanted to. Later, as they’re wrapping up on scene, stowing their hoses, Tommy comes up to him, an expression on his soot-covered face like he wants to say something, but Buck doesn’t want to hear it right now.

“Firefighter Kinard,” he says with a curt nod and keeps walking. Tommy doesn’t try to follow him.

Buck goes out the night after his shift and hooks up with a stranger and then hates himself a little afterwards.

-

And then the 118 get the call to respond to the scene of a downed LAFD helicopter. 

High winds caused a tree branch to fly into the tail rotor of the bird, sending it spiraling into an uncontrolled descent. The pilot was able to wrestle with the controls enough to prevent a total catastrophe, but it’s pretty bad. 

Buck’s heart was already in his throat when he heard the call and it sinks when he sees with his own eyes who the pilot is.

They get Tommy out, but he’s badly injured, several broken bones and significant burns. Buck is distraught, but holds it together until they get him to the hospital.

He collapses outside the glass doors, Bobby has to pick him back up and reassure him that Tommy’s a fighter, he’s seen people survive far worse. (They’ve both seen people die from less.)

Bobby lets him clock out from his shift early. Buck sits in the waiting room until he’s out of surgery at least. 

It’s touch and go for a bit, but Tommy survives. But it’s going to be a long recovery and it’s uncertain if Tommy will be able to return to full duty ever again, he learns when visits him in the hospital. 

He’s not the only visitor. Tommy’s coworkers care, but they all have busy lives and families at home to take care of, so they keep their visits short. 

He doesn’t have anyone to stay with him during his recovery, no family who can help (or would come if he asked).

Buck doesn’t know what masochistic impulse comes over him that makes him say it, but he offers to stay with Tommy, at his house, for a while. He still has to work, but if he’s there at least part of the time, Tommy won’t need a nurse to visit as often, and Tommy has a spare bedroom that he can sleep in. He doesn’t mind sharing with the piles of new flooring stacked in the corner.

Tommy tries to argue with him, but Buck knows he doesn’t have any better option. It’s Buck, or a few weeks in a long term care facility until he’s safe to be released to at-home nursing.

“I think we were in love, once. Let me do this for you, as a friend,” he says. 

Tommy relents and Buck drives him home from the hospital a few days later when he’s discharged.

-

It’s hard. Tommy, like Buck, is a terrible patient, stubborn, impatient, always pushing himself too hard. Snappy and sarcastic when he’s in pain.

They have a shouted argument over how to correctly apply fresh gauze pads one night, and Buck finally leaves him to do it himself while he goes for a run.

Tommy’s been calling him Buck this whole time, but he apologizes when Buck gets back an hour later and calls him Evan.

Things get easier after that. Not the recovery, that still sucks, but Buck and Tommy are better together. They talk more. And share personal things about themselves that got glossed over in the glow of their relationship when everything was new and they spent more time flirting and having sex than having serious discussions.

Tommy’s recovery eventually progresses enough that he doesn’t really need Buck there anymore, he can always get an Uber or a Lyft if he needs to get to his doctor’s appointments or physical therapy, otherwise he’s mobile enough and has regained enough fine and gross motor skills to fend for himself at home, but neither of them talk about Buck moving back out of Tommy’s guestroom. 

It’s still unclear if he’ll be able to return to firefighting, but there’s more hope that he could return to flying at least, so if he has to work as a private pilot instead, that’s an option he’s working towards. 

Things come to a head finally when Buck gets an email from his landlord. His lease is up for renewal soon. He hasn’t been back to the loft in weeks.

He doesn’t say anything to Tommy at first, he’s not sure how he feels. He really should go back to his apartment, right?

He brings it up over dinner. Announces that he’s going back to the loft. 

“You don’t really need me anymore, Tommy,” he says. 

Tommy doesn’t argue. (Buck wants him to. He wants him to beg him to stay.)

Buck packs up his belongings. A lot more of his stuff has migrated over to Tommy’s place than he thought. It’s all over the house. 

“It’s okay, Evan, if you forget anything, you know where I live,” Tommy tells him.

Buck goes back to the loft. It feels sterile and empty, even though it’s actually a little musty inside at first, because it was shut up for so long.

He goes to work, feeling a little numb. It’s a long shift. He drives ten minutes the wrong way home afterwards because he’s gotten used to living with Tommy.

-

He’s halfway through cooking himself a meal for one, when there’s a knock at the door. 

“Hey, Evan,” Tommy says when he opens it.

“Tommy? What are you doing here? You’re not cleared to drive again yet.”

“I know. I took an Uber. Can I come in?” he asks.

“Sure, yeah. I was just making dinner.” Buck steps aside to let him in.

Tommy walks in slowly, like he’s nervous, Buck offers him a chair, a beer, for old time’s sake.

“Still not allowed to drink with the meds, you know that. But I’ll take the chair.” He chuckles awkwardly and sits down at Buck’s table with a groan.

Buck leans against his kitchen island, arms crossed. He still doesn’t know why Tommy’s here.

There’s a long pause where neither of them speaks. Finally, “You were wrong,” Tommy says.

“I was what?” Buck bristles.

Tommy shakes his head. “Sorry, sorry. I’m doing a terrible job of this. I meant…you were wrong when you said I didn’t need you anymore.”

Buck drops his arms and just stares at him, silently.

“I never should have let you walk out that door without telling you that.”

“Tommy…” he tries to interject.

“I never should have let you go in the first place. And I know, I know that’s all my fault. I let my own insecurities and fears get in the way of listening to what you were telling me. That you wanted me too. That you meant it.”

Buck wipes his face because he’s tearing up now, but he’s got something to say too.

“You weren’t… entirely wrong,” he admits, slowly, choosing his words carefully. “I shouldn’t have asked you to move in then. It was too soon. We needed to get to know each other better before we were ready for that. But you really hurt me, breaking things off the way you did.”

Tommy nods, looking miserable. “I know.”

“I wasn’t a teenager with his first boyfriend, Tommy. Or–or a guy fresh out of the closet after years of hiding who he really is. And I’m not saying this to judge you for your past or even make comparisons. I’m lucky that I got to come out the way I did, with friends and family who immediately accepted me for who I am, I know that. I’m just a guy who figured out that he’s bisexual a little later in life. But I have had relationships before, a lot of them, actually. And I know myself and I know what I want.”

He takes a deep breath. “And I wanted you.”

Tommy’s eyes are wide and wet, looking up at him warily. “Could—do you still want me?”

Buck comes around the table to be closer to Tommy, who struggles a little to stand up, but he manages it without Buck’s help and stands facing him, hope and fear shining in his eyes.

“Promise me that if you get scared again, we’ll talk about it, instead of deciding for the both of us what I’m ready for,” Buck says.

Tommy nods. “I promise. I don’t ever want to lose you again, Evan.”

Buck leans in to kiss him, but stops himself just before he closes the distance entirely, palms resting on Tommy’s heaving chest. 

“I’m not moving in with you…yet. My lease ends in two months, I’m not going to renew it, but I don’t want to just jump in without a plan this time. So for the next two months, we’re just going to date. And then we’ll see where we are. If we’re not ready, I’ll find another place. One with better guest parking at least. Okay?”

“That’s fair,” Tommy agrees. His eyes haven’t left Buck’s mouth.

And then Buck kisses him like he means it.

—

The 118 helps them move Buck’s stuff to Tommy’s–their house when his lease ends. They don’t end up keeping his couch.

[earthbovndmisfit]

@speedstarweek Day 2: Sports

I think Jonathan and Speedwagon worked out together plenty of times, even long after all the training with Zeppeli ended. Speebs even taught Jonathan some of his street fighting techniques🥊

[dailygutterman]

what if also. in addition to trans gutterman. lesbian gutterman?

I will NOT be disregarding lesbians!

Day 41: lebsian :)

[whelpimnauthuman]

Spouse and I are fighting so I need your help

Please reblog for larger sample size and lemme know what you do in the notes!