#and also noted for the fanfiction

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

hot

[gingiekittycat]

I forgot how lonely it is to write original fiction.

Where are the kudos? The subscriptions? The comments? The people cheerleading me chapter to chapter? Where are the kind words and compliments and reassurances that what I'm writing isn't complete crap? Where are the unhinged emojis? The asks on Tumblr? Where are my mutuals in my dms apologizing for not reading the latest chapter right away (side note, you know you don't have to apologize at all, right??). Where is the fanart? Where are the recs?

Where is my motivation to keep going?

It's something I've been thinking about a lot, actually, lately. How the experience of writing fanfic is so unique. How you already have an audience, willing and waiting and captive. And that's really it, isn't it? You have an audience. It's almost performative, writing fanfic. It's being on a stage, a one-person show (or two, if you do it with a friend); it's getting live reactions to your performance, it's feeding off the energy of the crowd and informing it back in a feedback loop; it's improvised, sometimes, in almost-real-time. It's building something that you couldn't have built by yourself. A thing that takes on a life of its own.

It's an experience you can't get writing original fiction, and, honestly, not having it is making it hard to write something original at all.

[steddie-as-they-come]

everybody talks

i could not tell you what this is. i wrote it all in one sitting. enjoy or whatever

It starts with the graffiti.

Scribbled in thick, permanent marker across the boys' gym lockers.

STEVE HARRINGTON FUCKS EDDIE MUNSON

The custodian tries half-heartedly to scrub it off, but he only manages to get about a letter and a half off the locker before his shift is over. It's back up by the next day anyway.

Half the school is walking on tiptoes around Steve, waiting for him to blow up and demand a manhunt for the culprit.

The other half is snickering and laughing as he walks by in the halls.

Steve doesn't give two shits. He holds his head up high and walks onwards, ignoring the laughs and the kissy noises. He needs to graduate. He needs to not get eaten by a terrifying monster from an alternate reality. More pressing things happen to Steve Harrington than grade school graffiti.

Until he turns the corner and sees Eddie Munson glaring furiously at his closed locker.

He doesn't speak to him. Even if the graffiti isn't a big deal, there's no need to add any fuel to the fire.

Eddie finally steps forward and wrenches open his locker door. The crowd milling in the halls begins to laugh.

Papers spill out, dozens of them, cascading over the floor and burying Eddie's shoes. One slides all the way to Steve's feet.

He looks down automatically.

There's an atrocious drawing of two stick figures bent over each other. The one on the bottom has two lines of curly hair, while the one on the top has a singular swooping line of graphite.

Great.

Steve swiftly scoops it up and crumples it in his fist, shoving it in his pocket. He'll toss it out later.

As he hustles past Eddie, steadfastly not looking in his direction, he thinks he hears Eddie mutter, "Every class period."

Steve turns a corner, and the train wreck that is Eddie's locker is gone.

He slides into his seat, knowing the band girls who sit in the back corner of the classroom are whispering about him, but finding he couldn't care less.

The teacher starts class.

He reaches into his pocket and slides the crumpled paper between his fingers, over and over.

Steve raises his hand. "Can I go to the bathroom?"

The teacher nods and waves him away, and Steve scrambles out the door, rounding the corner.

Eddie's still there, kneeling by his locker, trying to scoop up papers.

Steve kneels next to him. "Hey."

Eddie jumps like an alley cat that's been spooked. Steve could swear his hair starts bristling, puffing up.

"Your majesty," Eddie finally says, glaring back at the pile of paper like Steve'll disappear if he doesn't look at him. "To what do I owe the pleasure."

It's not really a question.

Steve answers it anyway. "Came to help," he says simply, picking up a piece of paper that has EDDIE MUNSON X STEVE HARRINGTON written on it in bold letters, surrounded by stupid little hearts. "After all, my name's on half this stuff."

"How kind," Eddie said. "Keeping me distracted while your buddies key my van or something?"

Steve reels back. "Huh?"

"I'm not dumb, Harrington," Eddie says, crumpling up another sheet of paper. Steve can barely catch EDDIE HARRINGTON on it before it's balled in Eddie's fist. "I get this is a prank or whatever. I just can't understand why you'd involve yourself with me. The King and the Freak."

"'Cause I'm not the King anymore." Steve says, standing to drag a nearby garbage can closer. It's already half-full of papers. "You sure don't listen to gossip, Munson. Billy beat my ass and I lost every friend I had. So. I think it's a prank on both of us."

"Oh."

Eddie, wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, shuts the fuck up. Steve had seen people lose their meals to his impassioned school cafeteria rants, but it only takes Steve Harrington to shut Munson's infamous mouth.

Wait, that sounds wrong.

They keep cleaning in silence - relatively. Steve starts balling up the papers and tossing them at the trash can, unable to stop himself from hissing out a yes! if he makes the throw.

"Impressive," Eddie says dryly. "Can you do this?" He raises one hand in the air like he's about to take a pledge, and in the other he folds and rolls a slip of paper until it's shaped like a joint.

Steve chuckles. "Nope." He takes the fake joint, and it comes undone in his palm, revealing the same crude stick figure couple from earlier.

Right.

Steve had forgotten what they were doing here.

Evidently, Eddie had too. He looks down at the drawing, then snatches the paper from Steve, tossing it in the trash, two spots of pink high on his cheeks.

He scoops the last of the papers into his arms, dumping them in the trash can. "You can go back to class," he tells Steve, settling down with his back against the locker.

"What are you doing?" Steve says, slightly caught off-guard by the dismissal.

"Seeing if those pricks will try to do it again." Eddie says, folding his knees up to his chest. "They do it all the time. I think there's a jungle's worth of trees just being used to make shit for my locker."

"You're just gonna guard it?" Steve asks.

"Sure," Eddie says, picking at a piece of lint on his shirt. "What else have I got to do?"

Steve plops himself down next to Eddie. "I'll guard with you," he says stubbornly.

"Seriously?" Eddie asks, like Steve's particularly slow. Steve's gotten that tone of voice a lot in his life.

"Yeah." Steve says. He parrots, "What else have I got to do?"

"You're just gonna fuel the rumors, dude." Eddie says. "My name's mud around here. You know that damn well."

"Sure," Steve shrugs. "But it hasn't been half-bad hanging out with you, and I don't care what these jackasses think of me anymore. Bigger things to worry about."

They settle into a comfortable silence, watching the students pass by, their whispered comments and curious glances bouncing off the duo. Eddie taps his fingers rhythmically on the ground, humming a tune Steve doesn't recognize but finds oddly comforting.

He reaches into his pocket to feel the small paper, then tugs it out. Is it dumb that a stupid drawing is making him think about himself this much?

"Hey, Eddie," Steve starts, hesitating. "Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot," Eddie says idly.

"How do you... I mean, when did you know you were gay?" Steve asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Eddie's expression turns to one of suspicion, but he answers anyway. "I guess I always knew, deep down. But I really figured it out in middle school." He looks at Steve out of the corner of his eye. "Why?"

Steve bites his lip, considering his next words carefully. "I think I might be... different too. I mean, I've only ever dated girls, but lately, I don't know. I feel... something."

Something means he worried for weeks when Billy beat the shit out of him because suddenly all these feelings were tugging at his brain. Feelings for people like Eddie Munson.

Eddie's eyes widen slightly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. (What? Steve's not looking at his lips. Huh?) "Steve Harrington, the former King of Hawkins High, might not be straight? Now that's some gossip I'd actually pay attention to."

"Shut up," Steve mutters, but he's smiling too. "I'm serious."

"Well..." Eddie trails off. "We can try it out?"

Steve's heart skips a beat. "Huh?"

"We can try it out." Eddie repeats. "But, uh," he leans close, his breath ghosting over the shell of Steve's ear. "Just so you know, I prefer to be the one on top."

Weeks later, the school is overtaken by a new kind of graffiti. Papers plastered to every surface, a spiky handwriting (usually used to write setlists and D&D character sheets) adorning each and every one of them.

EDDIE MUNSON FUCKS STEVE HARRINGTON

[steddiehyperfixation]

with blonde hair and a tan

steddie brainworms so bad i wrote this silly little thing immediately after watching the rocky horror picture show for the first time the other night lol @steddie-spooktober day 30: "where in the hell did you find that costume?" | 1083 words | T |

Eddie can hear Steve and Robin squabbling as he makes his way up the stairs to Steve's room. 

“I just don't know about this, Rob.” 

“It was your idea!” 

“It's too much. I should wear something else.” 

“Little late for that now.” 

“Well-”

“Where in the hell did you find that costume?” Eddie stops in the doorway, frozen in a state of shock at the scene in front of him. His mouth hangs open, eyes wide, and a sudden heat rises in his cheeks. 

Because Steve is standing in front of his mirror wearing only a tiny metallic gold speedo and matching gold boots, his great expanse of tanned skin and muscles and body hair on full display. Robin stands next to him with a spray can of wash out bleach-blonde hair dye at the ready. 

Steve looks over at Eddie. “It's too much, isn't it? I knew it. I told you,” he says to Robin, gesturing at Eddie as if his reaction proves his point. “Look at his face, even he's embarrassed for me.” 

Robin snorts. “Yeah, I don't think that's why he's blushing, Steve-o.” 

“No one’s even gonna know who I am,” Steve continues to complain, thankfully ignoring Robin’s comment. 

“Rocky,” Eddie says. His voice comes out weird and cracked; he clears his throat. “You're Rocky, from The Rocky Horror Picture Show.” 

“See?” Now it's Robin’s turn to gesture towards Eddie in vindication. “Totally recognizable. Totally good. It's just one party, and you've got all that unwarranted jock confidence, you'll be fine.” She pats Steve on the shoulder, then turns and tosses the spray dye at Eddie. “Here. You can take over spraying his hair. I have to finish getting myself ready.” 

Eddie fumbles trying to catch the spray can, his attempt to stammer out a protest falling on deaf ears as Robin pushes past him out of the room. “Okay.” He sighs. This is fine. He can totally handle being left alone with this literal golden adonis without getting heart palpitations. He can be cool and chill and normal. He can. 

Steve looks amused. “You don't have to. I can probably manage spraying my own hair just fine,” he says when Eddie still hasn't moved. 

“No, I got it.” Eddie shakes his head, shaking himself into motion. “You won't be able to get the back right on your own anyways.” He approaches Steve - with great restraint, he might add, because there's a part of his brain that's all animal right now and it's just raring to pounce on him. “So are you done trying to talk yourself out of this costume, then?” 

Steve chews at his lip as he studies his reflection again. “I think so,” he decides. His gaze flicks up to meet Eddie's eyes in the mirror. “You really don't think it's too much?” 

Eddie breaks the mirror eye contact before his face can turn any more red, fixing his focus singularly on starting to spray the blonde dye onto Steve's hair. “No, you uh, you look good. You really should've warned me- told me, I mean, what you were gonna be. I would've matched your theme, could've gone as Dr. Frank N Furter.” (His current costume in comparison is quite boring, just a basic vampire - albeit with some pretty impressive fake blood around his mouth if he does say so himself, but ultimately nothing special.)

“Now that would be something,” Steve mutters, the words a little breathier all of the sudden, but Eddie still doesn't dare let his glance wander from his hair. His voice is back to normal in a second anyway. “Well, there's always next year.” 

“Yeah, next year,” Eddie echoes. That really would be something, both of them in flamboyantly skimpy costumes. He's not sure if that would make this situation better or worse for him. 

He pushes up some of Steve's hair to make sure he's covered all the layers in the back, his fingers accidentally brushing along the skin of his neck, and Steve shivers. Eddie finds himself watching with an odd satisfaction as the goosebumps ripple up in the wake of his touch. 

“I think I might freeze to death like this, though,” Steve comments with a self-deprecating chuckle that just barely conceals that weird breathiness that's returned to his voice. “I probably should've considered that before I decided to go out half naked at night in the middle of fall.” 

“I bet you could easily find someone to keep you warm tonight,” Eddie tells him, forcing detachment. He locks his attention back on his hair dyeing work. “You walk in there looking like this and you'll have all the girls at the party falling at your feet. Probably even some of the guys too,” he adds, remembering Steve recently came out as bisexual. 

“Yeah?” Steve sounds like he's smiling, or maybe smirking. He tries (unsuccessfully) to catch Eddie's eyes again as Eddie moves in front of him to get to the last few pieces of hair. “And what about you?” 

“What about me?” 

“Would you be one of them?” 

Eddie finishes with the hairspray, nothing left to keep using as an excuse to avoid his attention. He finally looks at Steve's face and raises an eyebrow, deflecting. “You want me to fall at your feet, Harrington?” 

Steve shakes his head almost imperceptibly. He glances down for a moment, then looks back up at him from under his lashes and takes a step closer. “I want you to keep me warm,” he clarifies in a murmur as he reaches for Eddie's free hand and guides it to hold his waist. Eddie's blood ignites at the touch and the look Steve's giving him, flames racing along his veins. 

That's as good an invitation as any, and Eddie's restraint shatters. He draws Steve hungrily to his lips. How could he not? The spray can falls from his grip in favor of using both hands to pull Steve closer and roam his body. And if Eddie's wandering hands linger for a while in their investigation of that perfect gold-clad ass, well that's between them and the lovely little sound Steve makes against his open mouth. 

And Robin, who has the misfortune of poking her head back into the room right then. 

She yelps and jumps out of view of the scene, banging her fist against the wall just next to the doorway to get their attention instead. “When you guys are done being gross,” she shouts, “there's a party we're gonna be late for!” 

[courfee]

little poster for the fic Operation Walburga's Arbitrary No Kissing Ever Rule :) 10 things i hate about you, but make it jegulus

[buckevantommy]

What about all of this is real? We are.

This is not how they end. 

It hasn’t even been a week but it feels like a fucking eternity. It’s not the first time Buck’s been dumped, not the first time someone has walked out on him when he wanted more, but it’s the worst heartache he’s ever felt and he knows– he knows it’s because this isn’t how things are supposed to go for them. 

He’s done feeling sorry for himself. He’s not giving up on Tommy, on what they have together. 

And he doesn’t think Tommy is done with them, either. 

* 

The drive to Tommy’s house isn’t fast but it passes in a blur; between the peak hour traffic and usual gridlock he has plenty of time to ruminate on everything he wants to say, and all the arguments Tommy can throw at him and all the ways Buck can rebut them. 

Pulling into the drive, he doesn’t notice the unfamiliar car parked next to Tommy’s truck. He’s walking up the front path and knocking with insistent force before he even registers leaving the jeep. He’s on a mission. 

Soon as the door opens Buck is barging his way inside. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me or how I feel!” 

With a resigned, if somewhat bitchy sigh, Tommy mutters, “Come on in,” and closes the door behind him. 

“I know how I feel about you and it isn’t some passing infatuation, Tommy– I love you!” He goes harder than he means to, and heavier on the blame, but he thinks he gets the main points across. 

Tommy stares at him for a moment, not saying anything. Buck starts getting restless again. If Tommy has nothing to say to that then Buck has plenty more. He gears up to lay the rest of his cards on the table–

When someone clears their throat behind him. 

Buck whips around to find a strange man standing in Tommy’s living room, beer bottle in hand. 

“Oh.” A pang of something ugly lances through Buck’s heart. “Guess you moved on faster than I did,” he mutters darkly.

The mystery man cracks a humorless laugh. “Not fucking likely.” 

Buck doesn’t know what to do with that.

“Sal Deluca,” the man says, stepping forward and extending his hand. Buck takes it, incandescent jealousy and the throbbing heartache that’s made breathing difficult all week making way for a numb sort of recognition. He’s heard mentions of Sal, and the face clicks with some old photos he’s seen in Tommy’s photo albums; because Tommy’s old school like that and has printed photos in physical albums people can flip through. Sal is an old friend of his who moved away years ago. “Worked with this lug back at the 118,” he says. “And we are not boning or romancin’ each other.” 

Buck catches Tommy rolling his eyes. 

“In fact, I’m in town for the first time in almost a year and what do I find? This idiot throwing away the best thing that’s ever happened to him.” 

“Sal.” 

Sal ignores Tommy’s warning tone, trains his eyes on Buck, his voice pitched low and sincere. “I don’t even know you, but I know that much.” 

He leaves with a clap to Tommy’s shoulder and something muttered that sounds like, “Don’t screw this up again,” and then he’s out the door. 

“You should go,” Tommy says quietly, when it’s just the two of them standing there, too far apart.

Now that Buck gets a better look at him, Tommy looks tired. Ragged. Like he hasn’t slept in a week. Buck can relate. “No.”

“Buck–”

“Don’t you dare.” He tries sounding fierce but it just comes out broken. He’s never been ‘Buck’ to Tommy and he sure as hell doesn’t wanna start now. That name means they’re over, and he’s not letting that happen without a fight. “I said, I love you.”

“I heard you.”

“And, what? You don’t believe me? Or you think I’m too dumb to know when I’m in love with someone?”

“I never said that–”

“I’ve been in love before, Tommy– more than once. And just because they were women and you’re the first guy I fell for doesn’t make what I feel any less real!” 

“But it doesn’t mean it’s going to last.”

He sounds tired, too. Like maybe he’s been up all night every night thinking about them. Maybe he leaned on Sal like Buck’s been leaning on Eddie; a good friend who lets you pour your heart out until there’s nothing left but a hollow ache in your chest, drained eyes and confusion. 

But the worst part is how resigned he seems, like it’s over and there’s nothing to be done about it. There’s a lot Tommy hasn’t thought through properly. 

“I may be new to being bisexual, but that doesn’t mean my heart is new. And frankly, it’s pretty insulting of you to assume I don’t know what I’m feeling, or how I’ll feel months or years from now.” 

That seems to land like a blow, Tommy’s already creased brow pinching as he looks away. “You don’t have experience with men–” 

And that fucking does it. “I’m not a kid, Tommy! I don’t need you to tell me what I need! And I’m not any of those guys who hurt you– doesn’t matter if they were gay, or bi, or whatever!” Buck wants to yell at him some more: call him a coward, an asshole for predicting the worst in people.  

Tommy shakes his head. He still doesn’t look at Buck.

“You don’t get to just end this because you’re scared. That’s not how this works– we’re supposed to talk about it.” It’s been a constant in their relationship: talking things through. It’s the first relationship Buck’s had with such an open and honest line of communication, and there’s no way he could go back to anything else. 

Tommy looks up, then, and meets Buck’s gaze. His eyes are watery and his words come out choked. “I don’t want to end this.” 

“Then don’t,” Buck pleads, daring to close a bit of the distance between them. 

Tommy pulls back. Not far, and not much with his feet, more with his shoulders, but it’s enough to make Buck’s heart sink. 

Because Tommy is denying himself – like that night before he first kissed Buck and changed his life for the better; he was so hesitant to believe that he was part of their team, too – he’s not letting himself have something good because he doesn’t think he deserves it, doesn’t think it’s real. “We’re not too good to be true.”

“What?” 

“You said that, about the parking space,” Buck recalls. He’s run the conversation over in his head a thousand times since that night.

“That’s.. not what I meant.” Tommy seems less convinced by his own words, now. 

“Every other relationship I’ve had has fallen apart because I didn’t see the end coming,” Buck admits. “Because we weren’t compatible. And part of me was worried with you, at first, because I’d always been the one who ends up alone.” It’s painful to think about, to think Tommy could be just another in a long line of people Buck wore his heart on his sleeve for but who didn’t want him as much in return. “But you kept proving to me over, and over that you were there for me, and you wanted me around, and you didn’t think I was too much.” Buck has to swallow around the desperate rasp coming through in his voice now. He blinks to keep his vision clear.

There’s something there, then: a look on Tommy’s face telling him plainly that he could never be too much for him, that that’s not what this about. And there’s something else familiar, too: fear. The same glimpse of fear Buck saw that night before Tommy walked out on him. The same kind of fear Buck’s seen in the mirror his whole life. 

Tommy’s afraid they won’t last. 

Tommy’s afraid he’s not enough. 

“Please don’t think like that,” Buck pleads again. “Like there’s an expiration date for us.” 

“I can’t help it.”

“Yes, you can!” Buck erupts again, frustrated with how willing Tommy is to just roll over and let their relationship die. “Just believe in us! Tell me what I have to do to get you to believe how serious I am about you– how much I care about you, and see you for who you are, and want all of you for as long as possible.” 

Tommy shakes his head, eyes downcast, and Buck can’t take it anymore– he closes the remaining distance between them. Stands toe to toe with Tommy, proximity alone silently demanding he listen to what he has to say.

“Hey,” he says softly, but with that same dogged determination that’s been distilled over the years into something less reckless and more mindful. He curls a finger under Tommy’s chin, gently nudging it up until he looks at him. 

There’s armor in place, but Tommy’s peeking through. And he hasn’t moved away. He hasn’t given up, not completely. He needs Buck to fight for them, to know they’re worth fighting for. Maybe then he’ll finally believe they can make it.

“I love you. I’ve been searching my whole life for a love like this, so don’t tell me this isn’t real– I know how I feel,” Buck insists, then calms. “And I think you feel the same.” 

“Evan–”

“I’m not giving up on us. So you can fight me, or you can fight for us.” 

Tommy exhales a shaky breath, averting his eyes again. Buck can see the tears making them wet, tracking down his cheeks as he ducks his head. He can hear them in the way Tommy’s voice wavers. “You think too highly of me, kid.” It’s not a jab, the name. Tommy’s protecting his vulnerable underbelly. 

“Do you trust me?” 

Tommy takes a beat. “I want to,” he confesses, quiet in the small space where their bodies don’t touch, could touch but not yet; he’s holding his breath. 

Buck braces himself. “Do you love me?” It’s a simple question, one he’s pretty sure he knows the answer to. But those few seconds before Tommy speaks are nerve wracking as hell and long enough for a thread of doubt to try to weave its way back into his mind – the same doubt he’d finally quashed before he jumped in his jeep and drove across town: what if he read this all wrong? What if Tommy doesn’t actually love him? His own breath catches painfully in his lungs; he’s on a precipice, heart balanced for a freefall that could see him plummet to the ground, or.. or spread wings, and.. fly. 

Tommy lifts his head, his beautiful eyes rimmed red and making his irises that much bluer by contrast. “Evan, I’m so in love with you,” he breathes out; a sigh of anguish, like truth and painful honesty, airing grievance out into the world so that it might ease the weight sitting on his chest, the kind that makes it hard to breath, hard to exist. “You’ll be the death of me, kid.” 

It’s not the first time he’s said that, although the other times were under very different circumstances. But it was always playful, and Buck can see the words for what they are now: a defense mechanism. Buck’s heart aches for him, but Tommy’s admission also sets something aglow in his own chest, something warm and pure and precious. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he promises. 

“You don’t know that.” 

“I do know it. We’ve both been hurt before– but we don’t need to hurt each other. And, I get it– you were trying to protect yourself when you walked out on me that night.”

Tommy moves to turn away, ends up just shuffling in place. He still wants to be close to Buck. 

“Why can’t we just try? ‘Cause if you think you’re the only one who’d be heartbroken if this doesn’t work out, you’re wrong.” He’s realized some things this past week: he doesn’t adhere to whatever bullshit stereotype there is about men who are bi or people who come to terms with their queerness later in life – he doesn’t need to play the field or experiment or whatever crap Tommy tried to pass off as reason enough to justify his fears. He also realized that he loves Tommy – more than he’s ever loved anyone, more than he thought was possible to love someone but maybe always secretly hoped was in his future, even when that dark voice in his head tried to convince him no one would ever love him as much. 

But Tommy does. Tommy loves him so much the thought of Buck breaking up with him scared him into ending things before he could get his own heart broken. But what he feels for Tommy isn’t some kind of puppy love or something he’ll grow out of or get bored of; it’s real, and Tommy thinking he’s not enough, that he’s not forever-kind-of-love material doesn’t dissuade Buck any; he’s intimately familiar with issues of self worth.

Whatever insecurities Tommy has about being someone’s last love doesn’t apply to Buck. “You’re enough, for me. You’re everything, actually. Everything I ever wanted and more I didn’t know I could want.” 

A heavy moment passes between them where Buck sees his words sink in. They seem to weigh Tommy down, even more. 

He wants so badly to reach out, to speak the words into his mouth, press them into his skin until Tommy can’t deny how real they are because he’ll feel them with every breath, every movement.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Tommy admits, voice soft and more vulnerable than Buck’s ever heard it. “I can’t lose you, Evan. If you ask me to try, and then–” he cuts himself off, shakes the thought away, tries to barricade himself back behind his armor. 

Maybe Buck can’t fully understand Tommy’s fear because he hasn’t experienced what he has, but he knows what it’s like to try and fail, to love and be left. But the two of them are on the same page this time – for everything that matters – not reading from separate books like Buck and all of his exes. “Did I ever tell you about Thomas and Mitchell?” 

“Um, no. I don’t think so. Friends of yours?” Buck can see Tommy’s still raw, still hiding, but he goes along with it, gives him the opening, like he’s always done.

“No, they uh.” Buck swallows, the memory still affects him even all these years later. “They were an elderly gay couple I met on a call a few years back. Well, I met Thomas. Sat with him after he watched his husband die.” 

Tommy tries to look unimpressed with having to listen to a sad story – he’s more of a romcom guy; lighthearted storylines and happy endings, Buck knows – but his face crumples a bit in sympathy. 

“He said, Mitchell was his heart, and that they wanted to go together. I could see how heartbroken he was, and the thought of loving someone like that and then losing them? I couldn’t imagine what that must be like.” 

Tommy doesn’t say it but Buck can almost hear his gently snarky tone: we’re not dead, Evan. He can see the words held back behind the purse of Tommy’s lips. 

“I told him I hoped to find a love like that some day. And he told me something I’ve carried with me ever since.” Tommy searches his face, and Buck feels the truth of Old Thomas’ words in this moment. “He said: you don’t find it, you make it.” 

Tommy blinks. “Are you saying you want to grow old with me?”

Buck can’t help his smile; it’s the first real one he’s had because of Tommy all week– one not tinged in pain and regret. There’s the Tommy he knows and loves. “I’m saying, I want to make it with you. Because these past six months have been the best of my life, Tommy. And I realized it’s because I found you– my person– and I want to make a future with you.” 

And there’s that tentative smile – the same one Tommy wore on their makeup coffee date all those months ago when he gave Buck a second chance. 

They deserve a second chance, now. They deserve to try. 

“I can’t move in with you,” Tommy settles on, and it sounds like a but, like: I can’t move in with you, but I want to be with you. 

Buck shakes his head before Tommy even finishes. “That’s okay, we don’t have to live together.” He knows the unspoken yet doesn’t go unnoticed for the way Tommy’s narrowed eyes assess him. There’s no use hiding it. “I do want to live with you, some day. I want to build a life with you. But, we can take it slow.”

“I don’t think ‘slow’ is in your repertoire.” It’s a joke. Tommy’s smile is less fragile, his armor lowered. 

Buck smiles again, hopeful; Tommy’s coming out of hiding. 

He reaches out, fingertips grazing Tommy’s, his movements unhurried. Tommy lets him tangle their fingers together. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Tommy says, “Okay.” 

Buck’s falling, diving, soaring. And he’s not alone. “Would a kiss be out of the question right now?” 

That crinkly smile that Buck loves so much finally makes its return, creasing around Tommy’s eyes like rays of sunshine. He didn’t realize just how much he missed the sight of Tommy’s joy until he’s faced with it head on, bright and gorgeous. He feels nourished in its presence, especially knowing he’s the cause of it. He thinks it’s okay to be a little proud of that. 

Tommy kisses him. Oh– this.. he’s missed this: the press of Tommy’s lips on his, his stubble scraping against Buck’s skin– catching on Buck’s own scruff. He slides a hand up Tommy’s chest, feeling the warm, toned bulk of him. Hooks his fingers around Tommy’s neck to pull him in more, bring their bodies flush, slip his tongue into Tommy’s mouth and get a proper taste of him.

One of Tommy’s large hands fits tentatively to Buck’s hip, one last show of hesitance. Buck disentangles their fingers and covers both of Tommy’s hands, moving them to rest heavier, grip him firmly, with no room for uncertainty.

“No more running away,” Buck murmurs, nose brushing alongside Tommy’s. He feels more than sees Tommy shake his head.

“No more running,” he agrees, following with another lingering kiss that’s begging to be deepened.

Buck breaks it to add: “We’re in this together.” 

Tommy nods. “I’m with you.”

It’s not how he thought their first love confessions would go, but they’ll be stronger for it, he knows that much. And he knows Tommy loves him. And Tommy knows Buck loves him in return. And that’s a pretty good starting place for a second chance. 

[justaz]

morgana and arthur have a sleepover when they’re teenagers and morgana brings out this summoning spell and arthur is all “magic?!?!?! :o thats wrong we cant do that” and morgana just says “pussy.” and then arthur is helping her set everything up. they light the candles and chant in the old tongue and then BOOM a figure appears but it’s not the mighty god emrys the text talked of, it’s just a boy a couple of years younger than arthur, scared and confused, who answers to the name merlin rather than emrys. while they’re arguing, merlin goes stiff and is like “do you hear that?” and then trails out of morgana’s chambers in a trance and obviously morgana and arthur follow him and they end up way beneath the castle where theres a fucking dragon???? now emrys, the once and future king, and the witch are chillin w a dragon and talking about destiny. none of them are happy about this btw

[drgnflyteabox]

Has anyone thought of single mom reader on Halloween night, walking door to door with her child in a homemade costume, who comes upon a super dark house :O

Where you try to discourage them from running up but the temptation for candy is too strong and they drag you with them up the steps towards the bowl, balanced on the knee of a frankly giant skeleton decoration...

Only for Simon to have been sat all night waiting to scare people, especially pretty girls like you, and hey- you kids laughing while Simon drops a huge handful of treats in their pumpkin-shaped basket, already thinking about how he's gonna become the dad that stepped up... and how easy it is to find out where you live by following you home :')

[maaxverstappen]

help me hold onto you | T | 8/13

f1driver!max and streamer!charles

The man—Charles, Max assumes—sounds French. He loves that. He should be used to a French accent, he was forced to converse with Pierre often enough, but it sounds different coming from Charles. More melodic. Almost similar to someone he used to know once. “And that made me think,” Charles says, voice bellowing from Max’s speakers. “That it was stupid that we didn't have carrots before. Like, come on, it's a farming game.” Max has no fucking idea what the hell he is on about.

or: Max is lonely and finds Charles streaming on Twitch.

based on this prompt sent to @f1prompts

[idliketobeatree]

[cukrkandl]

why does everyone suddenly want fanfiction to be realistic. i just see takes like "oh it's not realistic for the marauders to all be gay, it's the 70s" and like SO WHAT? like did i miss the memo that fanfiction is supposed to be realistic now like why would it be. it's FANFICTION

[minus-plus-zer0]

Vigilante Bakugou Headcanons - Part 1

| Part 2 | ♡ Genre: Angst ♡ Pairing: Vigilante!Bakugou x Normal!Reader

You met him when he saved you from a dark alleyway robbery.

He was one of the few superheroes around and was much scarier in-person. But despite this, he makes sure you're okay before telling you to run while he deals with the rest.

Your university classmates gossip about your city's superheroes, but they're not keen on Dynamight. His explosions are destructive and his personality doesn't help.

You totally disagree. In fact, you tell your classmate Bakugou Katsuki that you like this superhero quite a bit after he saved you! But you ask Bakugou not to tell a soul, you're confiding to him alone because you don't wanna get Dynamight into trouble.

Bakugou looks at you with an indescribable expression, but agrees.

You'd think Bakugou hates the guy by how he reacts, but that'd be so, so strange! Dynamight saved your life!

Bakugou was so relieved to see you back in one piece, so you'd think he'd respect Dynamight a little more.

But Bakugou has the darkest look on his face when Dynamight comes up. You comfort him, thinking that he's still just shaken up after you almost got hurt.

You're not entirely wrong…

Soon after, you see Dynamight again. When he's not doing hero work, he's meeting you in private places. You bump into him on your dorm rooftop one day (even though it's off-limits) and things kept rolling from there. He's got a voice modulator obscuring his true voice, but he doesn't sound too robotic.

At first you try to comfort him and tend to his injuries, which he rejected not because he didn't appreciate you but because he didn't want you seeing what's under his costume.

However, one day his injuries are a little too severe and he lets you tend to his wounds with medical supplies. You see the muscles he's worked real hard for, but you don't get too distracted.

From then on, he lets you in even closer. He likes hearing about your day, and he's really interested in what you think about your classmates. Especially Bakugou.

He starts telling you about his superhero life, as if he's been dying to tell someone (or at least you) about it all. Initially he feared sharing this would risk your safety, but he realized it's safer to keep you close than to keep you away. He's been thinking that since the day he rescued you, he tells you. Your heart skips a beat!

You know this lifestyle makes him lonely. It's awful holding onto that many secrets. You rest your head on his shoulder, showing him you care, that you're here for him.

He's hesitant, but he holds you close. He looks torn as to what to do.

You start developing a little crush on Dynamight. Eventually, when it grows big enough, you tell Bakugou about it!

You're busy gushing about the superhero until you notice that Bakugou isn't really amused.

(He's never amused when you talk about other guys but this time it's worse)

So you stop the gushing but still discuss Dynamight like any of your classmates would. It's a natural part of the news cycle by now and it's hard to escape when superhero incidents happen.

And after meeting Dynamight again and again you can't help but fall for him even more.

One week you spent more time with Dynamight than with Bakugou (not counting shared class time).

You admit to Dynamight that you only see Bakugou as a friend, hoping that Dynamight will know that Bakugou is not competition in your budding relationship with the superhero. You haven't confessed any feelings to Dynamight, but you're just preparing for the day you do.

But Dynamight doesn't seem happy to hear that. It's hard to say what's going on underneath his mask, but he's clearly not responding immediately. He's very still. He's not looking at you.

You're afraid of being rejected by Dynamight, so you put your feelings on hold. Maybe you were coming on too strong. Maybe he doesn't like you. That's a blow to your heart, but you'll still support him and stay friends, if what you think is true.

So next time, when you finally hang out with Bakugou again (who was mysteriously absent last week doing something), you hope it'll take your mind off of Dynamight.

But Bakugou seems more out of it than usual. He looks sad when you call upon him. You catch him staring at you more than he usually does. He doesn't speak as much.

You wonder if there was some sort of accident in the city that made everyone get all sad. You feel bad for Bakugou and want to comfort him, but for once you don't know what's bothering him.

As time goes on, Bakugou gets better. He's still always close to you, always your best friend, and only occasionally giving sad stares. Whatever problem he has isn't gone, not by a long shot, but he's hiding it better and maybe that's worse.

Eventually, you see Dynamight on the rooftop again. He's seems normal, but his mask hides his expressions so it's not clear.

You baked him some cookies, which he loves. He pulls his mask up to eat it like always. Once you're finished chatting about his superhero work and your university life, you broach your issues with Bakugou.

Dynamight listens without saying anything until you finish. He doesn't give any perspective on what Bakugou thinks or feels, probably 'cause he doesn't know the guy. Instead he just comforts you, sees how much this is hurting you, and wishes that you would stop worrying about him. He assures you it is not a big deal.

It is.

But you don't know that, so you agree, taking comfort believing that you're worrying for nothing.

You thank Dynamight for always being there for you. You cuddle up to him. He could never push you away.

Reluctantly, he pulls you further in.

Eventually, your heart can't really take it. You're face is flushed as you confess your feelings to him.

All his attention is on you as you confess, and by the way his chest feels, his heart is beating faster than ever before.

Somehow, he manages to speak.

"…Are you sure? You don't know who's under the mask."

"I know you saved my life, and many others! I know you from your heroics, from everything you've shared over the past months. Dynamight, I want you."

Suddenly, he can't keep himself from kissing you. He's desperate, like he's wanted this for a while, and you wanted it too. You don't know how long it takes to resurface for air because your lips are lost in him.

Once he's finished, he's pressing his forehead against yours.

"I love you," he says, a little sadly.

"Love you too, Dynamight." You hope your words will heal his sadness.

Afterwards, your heart is full and happy after your loving moment with Dynamight. You're eager to return to university.

But at school, you notice something different.

Bakugou isn't really talking to you anymore.

[courfee]

“Regulus would be proud of us,” James whispered quietly to no one in particular, still gripping onto the painting like a life raft. 

— Tender Curiosities, Baby!  @otrtbs

[chessb0r3d]

i cracked the code.

[your-local-asylum-escapee]

remember when the lizard with wings was being cryptic about when Arthur will return, saying ".. 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝘼𝙡𝙗𝙞𝙤𝙣'𝙨 𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙨 𝙜𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙨𝙩, 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝘼𝙧𝙩𝙝𝙪𝙧 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙣.."

what if Merlin was so distraught and desperate that he 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘈𝘭𝘣𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘴 with the wishful thinking that Arthur would return while he's just rampaging across the five kingdoms