#as it currently exists buck is the only answer

[fiona-fififi]

could you explain to me why you think bucktommy forever would be narratively satisfying but there's no possibility of them introducing a love interest for eddie that would be satisfying? i don't understand

I DON'T think bucktommy would be narratively satisfying.

I DO think there is more potential in the current narrative structure for them to make bucktommy endgame work in a reasonably narratively satisfying way (IF Eddie's story wasn't a factor, which it is).

I also don't necessarily think it would be impossible for them to bring in someone for Eddie if I'm imagining they have all the time in the world to make that work. But the reality of the current narrative is that I don't think they have all the time in the world. And as talented as these writers are, I don't see any way they could introduce someone entirely new, with no connection to the current narrative, and make me buy that person as Eddie's endgame. There just isn't time. A couple of years ago, I would have said that I thought Eddie could have an interesting and satisfying ending to his story if he learned that he didn't need romantic fulfillment to be happy. Since then, however, they've really doubled down on Eddie's loneliness and desire for a romantic partner AND they went for the queer Buck storyline. When you add to that all of Eddie's history with Buck and the way he's welcomed Buck into his life and embraced him as a partner both in his own life and in Christopher's, I don't see any way for them to disentangle that story and introduce someone else (unless it was Tommy, maybe, but nobody's going to want to hear that).

It would just take SO much work and time that I'm not sure they have because it would take several seasons, I think, for it to really reach any level of satisfying.

The difference with bucktommy is simply that it would take very slightly less work (though still a TON of work) for a few reasons.

First, Buck is just Buck. With Eddie, there's also the Christopher of it all to contend with, which adds a complicating layer that extends the work that needs to be done in Eddie's story in a way that doesn't exist for Buck's story (as important as Christopher is for Buck, it's very different from what would need to happen for Eddie who is literally Christopher's parent). So Buck's story has fewer complications to contend with, especially since they've already gotten it off the ground with Buck's queer awakening and introducing his relationship with Tommy already at this point in canon. So there would literally just be less time involved.

Beyond that, Tommy is already an established character in universe. They don't need to do quite as much work to help us get to know him, because we already do, even if only peripherally. But he is established as significant to the stories of other characters beyond Buck. He had a role to play in Chimney's, Hen's, and Bobby's (and hell, even Eddie's!) stories long before he ever became significant to Buck's. So, developing his place among the team and their extended family is not nearly as complicated as it would be with someone entirely new—and even someone from Eddie's past wouldn't have the history with the team, so still, more complications there.

So, yes, I think bucktommy has more potential in the current narrative structure (if—and ONLY if—completely divorced from Eddie's storyline, which it can never be).

But not only do I not actually think either could be a satisfying ending for either Buck or Eddie in the current narrative, there actually isn't anything to suggest that the show is doing the work it needs to to make that potential a reality, either. Because they are not separating out Eddie and Buck (frankly, they're entwining them further). And they aren't even doing any work to flesh out Tommy’s character. I know fandom has grown really attached to him, but the reality is that the character is currently just being used as a pawn to move Buck's story forward. Tommy has a past with the 118 that creates a lot of potential, but that potential is not being used. The character is, frankly, pretty flat at the current moment. They haven't even tried to bring him back into the 118 fold—the only people he's really interacted with since his reintroduction are Eddie and Buck, when there has been plenty of opportunity to fold him back into the team in ways that would at least have him vaguely interacting with the others (like, I don't know, Chimney actually inviting him to the wedding or Hen even acknowledging him at the bachelor party). Their relationship is cute and sweet, but there's nothing that indicates it's any deeper than any of the other relationships Buck has had thus far, and they are actively juxtaposing the bucktommy relationship with the buddie relationship in a way that makes very clear just how surface level that relationship really is when compared to the depth of Buck and Eddie's relationship with one another.

So, no, I don't think bucktommy are going to be endgame, nor do I have any interest in them being endgame. But I recognize that there is currently—literally, in the canon narrative—more potential for bucktommy to work if the show really wanted to make it happen and put in the work, mostly because of Tommy’s history with the rest of the 118.

On Eddie's end, there is no current canon potential. There's no current love interest they could turn around (especially because Edy is a shit human being and people would riot if they actually made Marisol Eddie's endgame). There's no past love interest they could bring back that wouldn't somehow have to be worked into the rest of the team. There's the additional complication of the Christopher of it all and how much that changes where Eddie's story can go and how quickly it can be developed.

It's quite literally just the difference in time. If Buck's relationship with Eddie wasn't a factor, I think they could do it in two seasons for bucktommy. For Eddie and this currently non-existent love interest, I think it'd take a good three or more, and even then, I think it would have to be someone they introduce as a part of the team (Lucy? Ravi? Tommy?) because anyone separate wouldn't have any room to develop sufficiently.

But the reality is that, frankly, the ONLY narratively satisfying ending for Eddie and Buck is one another. Any other option would require dismantling so much beautiful storytelling that I cannot see how it would ever be worth it.

[whosyuno]

nerd!jaehyun is unexpectedly whiny when he’s turned on. 

usually, he’s soft spoken, quiet and fades into the background of any gatherings he’s at. you’d expect it because he’s the typical nerd with no life, who only studies and barely knows any current pop culture references (the only ones he knows are from minimally six months back). 

yet, when he’s under you, he’s a mess and babbles on incoherently. 

“oh my- please,” he begs against your lips. 

his body shivers at your every touch and he looks so completely fucked out even though all you’ve done is makeout with him. his cheeks are flushed and he’s breathing heavily. it makes you wonder if he’s so sensitive because he’s so sexually repressed from studying 24/7 and, if so, it makes you want to bully him more, to tease out of him sides that not even he knew existed. 

“please what?” you tease, half-knowing that he's too fucked out to even give a proper answer.

and like you predict, he whines but nothing coherent comes out of it. his head is fuzzy from the blood rush and all rational thought completely leaves his mind. instead, his hips eagerly bucks against your clothed core. 

you don’t make his life any easier; your hips match his unsteady pace as you grind yourself down against his clothed bulge. even when separated by your clothes, you could feel his hard cock throbbing. you’d bet that he’s already made a mess in his boxer brief from his precum leaking out everywhere.

your movements draws out a needy moan out of his lips, as he wraps his arms around your waist and guides your hips so that it hits the very spot he likes. his lips part to make way for a sleuth of whimpers punctuated by his pleas and oh-oh my gods, fuck- i’m g’na cum. 

his hips go from proper clumsy thrusts into a series of shallow, messy ruts. he’s unable to think straight but he imagines how tight and warm your pussy would be around his virgin cock. he wonders of how your lips would feel around his cock - will you choke on it or will you take it like the campus slut you are?

these obscene images push his teetering orgasm past the edge. 

“fuck baby- oh my… wait! i’-m gonna cum,” his lips tremble in desperate pleasure as his hips meet yours in a shaky thrust before he cums in his pants. 

he drools and whines and whimpers like a puppy as he rides out his orgasm, all while still rutting against your hips and you can’t help but think he looks so beautiful coming undone under you. 

nerd!jaehyun is unexpectedly a dirty puppy for you. 

[pellucid-constellations]

angstober (6)

Prompt: "Can't Go Home"

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

A/n: Whew 😮‍💨

angstober masterlist here ♡

~~~

“After this one, we’re getting our own place.” 

Bucky’s sweet words found a home in your head. They nestled into the unkind parts of your brain as the battle went on, fear and pain and confusion mingling. Threatening to take over. 

“I don’t care what the rest of them have to say about it. I’m sick of sharing you. Sick of living in this tower with forty million people.” 

“I don’t think forty million people live here, Buck.” 

“Shut up.” 

You could feel the smile against your neck, the memory of his lips there as he spoke. Something blew up a few feet away from the hand-to-hand fight you were struggling with. You felt the heat along your side. 

“I’ve always pictured a brownstone. Even back then.” 

“Back then as in… before you were as old as my great-grandpa?” 

“You’re awfully mouthy tonight.” 

A truck flew overhead. You had no idea which side threw it. Banner jumped over it, grunting at the force. Not your side, then. This fight wasn’t going well. 

“Well, back then,” Bucky playfully stressed, “I thought it’d be just me in there. Bachelor in New York City and all that. But now that I have you—” 

He rolled over, encasing your head with his arms. His nose brushed yours as he spoke next, eyes achingly soft. 

“Now that I have you, I’m thinking something else. Something far away. Maybe more upstate. We can get a horse.” 

“A horse?” you laughed. 

“Maybe ten horses.” 

Pain erupted across your ribs. A boot imprinted there, pressing and deepening the bruise that had already been inflicted. You cried out, arms tightening around the creature thrashing against you. It eventually went lax and the pinch at your ribs subsided. 

You hobbled into a sitting position, clutching your side. The battle around you raged on, screams and commands hurtled into the comm at your ear. 

“How will the team contact us while we’re out in this vast, open countryside? Carrier pigeon?” 

Bucky ran his fingers along your cheeks. “Don’t care. Hope they don’t contact us, actually.” 

You shot up as gunfire littered the ground around you. Your break was over. It had only been about thirty seconds, but that was enough time for you to be targeted. The bullets were different though—bigger, almost…charged? You didn’t have a word for the current that seemed to run through them. 

Didn’t want to have a word for it. 

“How do you propose we do our jobs then?” you asked, humoring him, loving being under his gaze. 

But Bucky became serious, brow lowering. After taking a moment, watching his thumb as is passed over your skin—

“I want to retire,” he whispered. “This is the big one, but then I want to be done. I want it to be just us. I want to be home. With you.” 

Your name ripped through the air like a siren. You turned, craning your neck to catch the call, but it wasn’t fast enough. 

You heard the shots before anything else. Your body braced for impact, braced for the end, but was met with nothing. A small groan was all you were left with, followed by the decimation of whatever had been shooting at you. Tony flew by in its wake, hands still flaming red from the blast. 

When you turned your eyes back down, the battle ceased to exist. There were no sounds, no guns, no danger. There was just Bucky, pressed against your chest, breathing heavier than you’d ever seen him. 

“Buck?” you whispered, reaching out to brace his arms. “Bucky?” 

Bucky didn’t answer you. His knees buckled instead, and you fell to the ground alongside him. Maybe if you were stronger, faster, anything other than what you were, you would have been able to catch him. But you weren’t, so you fell with him, beside him, as you would be with everything in life. 

You positioned him along your thighs, leaning back on your ankles as you examined him. You went to pull at this suit, but he stopped you, brushing your arm away. He reached up but didn’t make contact with your face like you thought he would. He grabbed your comm instead, missing it the first time in an uncoordinated shuffle. 

Bucky was never uncoordinated. 

“Steve,” he said into the device, urgency mixing with an incoherent slur you had never heard from him. “I’m down. I’m—pal, I’m done. You gotta get to y/n. She’s—” 

The rest of his words were nothing but a buzz. The entire scene, the world around you, turned into white noise. Later, you would recognize this as shock. In the moment, it felt as if you ceased to exist. As if everything was ending.

And maybe everything was ending. Because when Bucky put the comm down—when he gripped at the back of your neck and his lips began staining red from blood you couldn’t see yet—it felt as if there was nothing left of you. 

Your hands were shaking. Everything was shaking. 

“You’re gonna be okay,” Bucky whispered. His voice sounded distant, weak. “Stevie’s gonna take care of you.” 

His hands guided your forehead down to his. His labored breath brushed across your lips. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.” 

Something snapped within you. Something sharp and cruel. A panicked cry left your throat and you pressed back from Bucky in one quick movement. Your hands whipped around him in desperation.

“No,” you gasped, tearing at his vest. “No, no, no, no. You’re fine. I can fix it. I can fix it, Bucky.” 

But the more you shifted his clothes, the more you saw that you wouldn’t be able to fix it. There was so much blood and it wouldn’t stop flowing from his body. You pressed your palms to the wounds to staunch the flow, but it only ran in between your fingers. 

Bucky wasn’t normal; he could heal from most things. That fact had sent him into the line of fire more times than you could count. 

He had also been in this situation an infuriating amount of times, throwing himself in front of you to take the brunt of a hit more often than you had actually been injured. 

But this time… this time he had grabbed your comm before sending you a sheepish laugh. This time he had apologized and asked his friend to take care of you. 

This time he wouldn’t stop bleeding. 

“It won’t stop. It won’t stop,” you cried, shaky and broken and disbelieving. “I’m trying, Bucky, I swear. Why won’t it stop?” 

“Look at me.” 

You kept up with your ministrations, pressing into his stomach even when he had no response to it. Couldn’t he feel it? Didn’t it hurt?” 

“I can’t make it stop.” 

“Please look at me, baby.” 

With a ruined cry, you did as he asked. His eyes were lidded, but his mouth turned up on one side when you entered his view. 

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he breathed out, straining to touch you. “Love you so fucking much.” 

Your sob was harsh and painful. “I love you more.” 

A scream pierced the sky not too long after that. Steve was only able to find you because of it. 

Even if you moved now, you wouldn’t be able to go home. You’d never be home again.

[romance-rambles]

au - magic/knight!alkaid | can i ask: do you love me?

By a series of accidents involving love potions and cookies, you end up with a boyfriend.

k, fluff + one (1) background relationship, mentions of angst, accidental usage of love potions, reader is mc, series: none

WHEN IT COMES TO THE morality of love potions, there is usually no universally-agreed upon answer, in large part due to the sheer variance in what, exactly, constitutes such a thing.

The law, however, is as full of loopholes as it can be—as long as it doesn't seem to talk, walk, or act like a drug capable of inducing others to fall in love with you, it isn't. And so, if such a thing were to ever find its way into someone's food, it technically wouldn't be a crime.

Then where, you wonder, does the present situation fall under?

With horror twisting your lips into a grimace, you gaze silently at the empty tray of cookies, sat upon the table unsuspectingly. No crumbs remain on its surface, though that speaks more to the character of the man who accidentally devoured them than any skill on your part. Alkaid has always been like this, even when your delicious cookies were nothing more than chunks of coal.

Despite the conclusions you manage to draw so easily, a question—one qualified enough to be called idiotic—slips out of you.

"Did you…" You swallow the lump in your throat. "Did you eat all of these cookies?"

Alkaid chuckles, smiling warmly. "Of course. They were as delicious as always."

On the topic of love potions, sweet in taste as they are, they tend to be amber in color. Sugar turned into caramel, or honey gleaming in the sunlight, as your friend once described it. A treat perfectly suited to her tastes.

Food dye is what brings out the pink hue oft associated with love, and the association is such that there are those who believe that love potions in any other color are simply…

Defective.

It was this same association that led Ehlonna—who came to you in tears, her once-in-a-lifetime request as much a paradox of selfishness and selflessness as she herself was—to request a more natural approach. As the soon-to-be Princess of Leighton, even so much as a hint that a love potion existed in her possession could not only be damaging to her reputation, but would incite needless worry in her brother and father.

Her brother who has just inhaled a plate full of cookies made accidentally with the love potion you crafted for her.

You don't scream. For one, you can't scream, but it is a near thing. The devil whispers in your ear, isn't this a good thing? And it takes a frightening amount of time for your conscience to talk you down.

This is why you don't play around with love potions.

"That's good." An awkward smile. An even more awkward silence. "And you feel okay? They didn't taste…funny?"

The love of your life laughs again. You think it's deserved, a little. A lot. It takes the embarrassing sting off the joke that is your current existence. How does one accidentally put a love potion in a batch of cookies? They run out of sugar and attempt to make due with honey.

How does one mistake a love potion for honey? They put it in an inconspicuous jar and wake up to bake at three in the morning. All because of a nightmare, one as equally like to come true as the opposite, where the groom looked suspiciously like the man in front of you and a blob of colors substituted as the bride.

"Have more faith in your baking," he says gently, holding his teacup to his lips.

On average, knights are not the best at holding their own against magic of any sort. But Alkaid bucks the trend by being startlingly difficult to hex, which, by all accounts, should bode well for him.

Except for the fact that he did, in fact, succumb to the last potion you tested on him. Trust, after all, is a powerful thing. It knocked him out for a week, and when he woke up, it was to the sight of your inconsolable form at his bedside. Even his own family wasn't half as concerned, though his father did advise against using him as a test subject in the future.

"I do," you say numbly, resting your arm atop the chair. Soon enough, it is your entire body that the wooden dining chair—one older than even you—must support. "I really do…"

His amused smile fades, making way for an expression full of concern. Setting the teacup down, he asks, "Has something happened?"

You exhale.

Ordinarily, you would confess everything to him. But everything entails secrets that are not yours to give away. Like the part about Ehlonna nearly taking a lover, for one. How the prospect of marrying for duty terrifies her enough that she would sooner numb herself to the world. How the love of her life vanished at the start of the month, the only proof of his existence being the whispers of the townsfolk and the songs the children sing.

So, you play around with the truth instead, to the best of your ability.

"I think…" You slip onto the seat in front of you with a sigh and a careful bite of your lip. "I think I poured a truth serum into those cookies. It's not where I keep it anymore."

But no one said it'd be a good lie.

His eyebrows nearly disappear under his bangs. You've always appreciated the siblings' willingness to go along with whatever excuses you offer them. Call it gullibility, as some people do, but you think it veers on blind faith.

Whatever questions he has sit on the tip of his tongue—then he swallows them back down and places a hand over his forehead. Gently moving the tray to the side, you lean in close, upper body crossing half the table as you wait your turn.

Alkaid has always made note of your hands. How they often run cold, instead of warm. The telltale increase in body temperature that results from love potions, then, could be obfuscated by that fact.

Frustration knits your eyebrows together. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you ask:

"Do you feel like telling me anything?"

"Not particularly," he answers, looking concerned. For you, you suspect. Then, he takes your hands and squeezes them gently. "It's been a long time since that day. It isn't out of the realm of possibility that I've gained some resistance since then."

Your expression tells him all you'd like him to know. It wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility—if he was anyone else. You'd love to give him some other potion to prove your point, but you can't risk him getting knocked out before the delegation for the Kingdom of Leighton comes knocking on Eden's door for their new princess.

Which is…

Two days from now.

You feel yourself breaking into cold sweat again. The potion takes a month to make.

And Ehlonna is nice. Ehlonna is understanding. Ehlonna is your best friend, and with love troubles of her own under her belt, she will surely understand your circumstances. There's nothing to forgive, her saintly voice echoes in your mind.

On her part, sure.

On your part? Absolutely not.

The smile on your lips grows forced. At the same time, Alkaid reaches out and brushes your bangs out of your face—and you'd love to draw conclusions, but he's always been like this.

"Alright, why don't you ask me a question?" he proposes, half-exasperatedly. "If you've wanted to ask anything at all, now's your chance."

Do you love me?

You swallow the lump in your throat with great difficulty. "What's your favorite color?"

"Green." A lie. The answer is purple.

"What's your favorite season?"

"Summer." A lie. The answer is undetermined—his usual line is, Spring is the season flowers bloom, but Winter is the season we met.

"What's your favorite food?"

"Whatever you and Ehlonna make." A truth. He'd have to be the liar of a lifetime if it wasn't.

This back-and-forth continues for a while longer, his initial reason for visiting nearly forgotten by both of them. It's not as though they'd made any progress on coming up with a fun night for Ehlonna anyways. You'd preemptively rejected places that were sure to remind her of Yin, which left the two of you with almost no options in the nearby town.

Eventually, you run out of questions, but the soft smile on Alkaid's lips does not fade. The devil whispers in your ear, and, for some reason, he sounds a bit like Yin, Ask: do you love me?

You opt for a slightly different question. "Is there a girl you like?"

His eyebrows furrow at the question, and his lips purse. He looks a bit uncomfortable, really. But it's only for a brief moment before he smiles again.

"Yes." A statement, undetermined.

Taking a deep breath, you ask, "Is that a truth or a lie?"

"Which one would you rather it be?" he counters.

Silence engulfs the home you inherited from your mother. It's deep in the forest near Eden's capital, with enchantments cast specifically to keep it hidden from unwanted guests. If someone wants to commission you for a magical product, they must ask during your business hours, at the quaint little art store you own.

The lavender walls of the dining room seem quite intriguing, all of a sudden—even to an eye like yours, which has seen them since birth. There's a few scratches on the table from when you were a child, and the chair slats feel more uncomfortable that usual when you lean back against them.

It would be easy enough to pick the first option, you think. But if the end result is anything like your dream…

Eden—more specifically, you—can only handle one broken-hearted mage right now.

"Who is it?" you eventually spit out, to the tune of your heartbeat thrumming in your ears. Regret instantly floods your veins, but it's too late to back out. Your mother did not raise a coward, nor did she raise someone unaffected by sunk-cost.

"She's…" He pauses, seemingly at a loss for words. "Wonderful. Kind. The most beautiful woman in the world—"

You wonder if you can tune him out.

You wonder if you should.

Every little compliment functions like a dagger, repeatedly stabbing you in the heart. Even so, you count each one and wonder, Could that be me? Who else does Alkaid know who sometimes eats like a slob? You're not proud of it, but hunger often has a way of making you forgo niceties.

And it can't be his cat, either. Sparkles, despite his name, is not a girl.

"Is she sitting in front of you?" you blurt out finally, when it seems like he's about to stop. Then, to make up for your mistake, you bury your head in your hands and pray this ritual grants you invisibility.

"How'd you know?"

When you look up, Alkaid is smiling his usual gentle smile.

THERE IS A LITTLE FOOTNOTE in the banned potion's textbook that provided the recipe for this love potion. You learn about it that night, after pulling the book out of your shelf to occupy your sleepless night in a productive manner.

Half of it is written in a handwriting you've only ever seen in letters your father wrote before his untimely death—the one you modeled the curves of your alphabet after. The other half is written in your mother's handwriting, still in cursive, but with a definitive air of practicality to it, in that it would nearly be illegible to anyone else but you.

It says:

A love potion will not go into effect if the target of the ingester's affection and the first person they see are one and the same. In rare cases, with sufficient willpower, if the two people are separate, the ingester will be able to overcome its effects.

Biting your lips has no effect on your ever-growing smile. Neither does the prospect of having to tell Ehlonna about your mistake dampen your excitement about today's events.

Perhaps that makes you a bad friend. Perhaps wondering if the love potion would've failed anyway, owing to Ehlonna and her brother having an incredible willpower, makes you a bad friend too. In any case, in the following days, it ceases to matter, because your hunch about Ehlonna's fate happens to be correct.

Just not in the form you expected.

When you finally show her and her new husband the textbook—smuggling it into the manor carefully and quietly, though the Duke tends to turn a blind eye to your shenanigans—on the day after their wedding, the three of you can only laugh, as you did in the old days.

— happy (very) belated birthday to @chiefcroissantdeanbanana

[hippolotamus]

Hiiiii Hippo 💕💕💕

Buddie fic title:

If only I knew you had electric fingerprints

-❤️🪐

Hiiii Saturn!!!! So lovely to see you here! You said Buddie. Please know you have my eternal gratitude for forgiving my slip into Diaz Family Feels. 💞🦛

After the debacle of broken salad bowls, 'I think you should go home' and 'This is your mess now', Eddie thought that he and Chris had worked through the biggest tangles of dating in the Diaz household. Introducing Marisol was almost a non-event. Eddie might even go so far as to call it a success.

He will now admit that line of thinking was more than a bit premature and naïve on his part.

Maybe it was his own growth and evolutions in the relationship department that led him to assume Christopher wouldn't face the same issues. And, well, technically he didn't. No, Eddie's son dealt him an entirely new, foreign set of tribulations. A one-eighty of Eddie's nesting instincts where Christopher is leading on five different girls. Five!

Wasn't it just last year they were discussing how much shirt sleeve was acceptable to show? What the hell happened?

And, OK, it's a new world with new methods of communication and apps and how teenagers interact with each other. Eddie likes to think he isn't completely stupid, because he tries to stay informed about current trends that he would honestly rather not know about. But no article or discussion with the school guidance counselor - or Frank - could have prepared him for tonight. No tips, tricks, signs to watch for could have fortified him for the devastating blow of 'We loved her and she left us anyway' and 'I can't remember her voice anymore'.

When Buck emerges from Chris's room, Eddie is still leaning against the wall, crushed under the weight of a thousand emotions and questions, attempting to prevent his heart from spilling past the walls of his chest. To keep it from slipping through the makeshift cage where his fingers press bruises into his skin, just below his collarbone.

Buck squeezes Eddie's shoulder before wordlessly leading them to the kitchen where he pours them both a glass of water and he waits. Waits for Eddie to speak, because it's what they do. They don't press. And maybe they should - more or earlier - but that's another thought for another day. For another version of Eddie that doesn't feel like the ground has been ripped out from underneath him.

"I don't- How am I supposed to-" Eddie blows out a harsh breath, frustrated that he can't form a complete question. That there is no entry in the non-existent Parenting Handbook for how to tackle this scenario.

"Eds," Buck says the nickname so carefully, so gently, like his tongue is shaping it from the most fragile glass. His hand tentatively slides across the tabletop until it's resting on top of Eddie's own. "You don't need to have all the answers or know exactly what to do."

"I know I don't. It's just-" He cuts himself off, huffing out an unamused chuckle. Because he doesn't know.

And, look, Eddie is fully aware that he doesn't have to be one hundred percent in control all the time, but it doesn't make him hate whatever this is any less. This combination of lost and thrown off course; of sad, bitter anger muddled together with desperation. His own eagerness to bargain for a way to make this situation more palatable. A pathetic yearning for the chance to go back. To never enlist and close himself off. To splurge on the digital camera with video recorder so he could capture a truly ludicrous amount of everyday, mundane moments.

How many hours of footage might they have collected? Of simple things like Shannon chopping vegetables or putting on makeup before a night out. Her and Eddie slow dancing in the backyard to music only they could hear. Or her laughing, bright and bold, as she smudged dirt and filth across Eddie's cheek after he showed her how to change the oil in her car. The way he pulled her in with his own grimy hands, pressing their mouths together so he could swallow the sound.

He blinks rapidly to keep tears from falling as he wonders how many instances would have featured her rolling her eyes - exactly the way Christopher does now - and shoving her palm in front of the lens.

But he'll never know because he's stuck with the choices he made. That they made. He can tell their son stories, bring him for graveside visits, and offer small souvenirs of the time Shannon had on earth, but that's all Eddie can do. He can't replicate what it was like to be in her presence. He can't convey how she was soft and gentle and all the things Eddie isn't, while also being sharp and spirited. How she smelled like peonies and summer rain.

Whatever he has to offer is two dimensional. Framed photographs, memories stored in his mind. Some of them also stored in Chris's though Eddie suspects in a completely different way. Hopefully in a way that doesn't taste as much like guilt and regret for things left unfinished and words left unsaid. Words like-

Dear Christopher.

He swallows hard around the phantom taste of sea spray from the Pacific Ocean, has the urge to claw at damp, sun-warmed sand that isn't there. And god only knows how his best friend has any idea what's scratching at Eddie's brain, but he does. And Eddie is so, so grateful when Buck rubs his thumb across Eddie's knuckles and asks if he should stay or would Eddie rather it just be him and Chris.

As much as Eddie would like Buck to be present as an extra layer of protection, he knows this is something he has to do himself. Even though, as he walks Buck to the front door, promising to call later, he gets the distinct feeling he won't actually be alone.

In the low lighting currently casting shadows around his bedroom, Eddie's fingers tremble as he reaches for the small safe in the back of his closet. A simple design meant to hold important, precious things. The metal dial is cool under his fingertips, easily manipulated as he rotates it right and left and right again until the door pulls open.

It's been years since he read the words written in Shannon's flowing script, but he knows them like he knows his own name. He traces over her loops and arches, wishing, like always, that he had more time. That he could put off performing this errand for a few more years, decades, lifetimes. Even if he knows it's only for selfish reasons. Because he owes this to Chris and to Shannon. It's on him to follow her instructions and deliver this remaining link between mother and son.

He holds the folded pieces of paper in his hands, feeling something familiar wrap around him that isn’t the usual despair. Something that's more like spun gold flowing between the note and his skin.

Eddie bites back a sob as it dives beneath the surface to wind its way around nerves and spill through blood vessels on its way to his heart. As a calm takes root, anchoring in all four chambers, unfurling and flourishing. As the room, that typically smells like lavender fabric softener and the fancy vanilla linen spray Pepa bought for him, is permeated by the overwhelming scent of Texas nights - filled with crackling humidity wrapped in silvery starlight - and velvety pink peonies.

He squeezes his eyes shut, breathing it in, inhaling deeply to his core like it might allow him to hold onto this moment forever. When at last his lungs protest, forcing him to exhale, his eyes flutter open again.

Eddie closes the door to the safe, hearing it shut with a satisfying click.

"Thank you," he whispers, letting his gaze drift to the letter once more before he walks down the hall to pass it to its rightful owner. His son. Their son. A living, breathing tether between past, present and future.

He knocks on the doorframe, briefly saddened by the sight of Shannon and Christopher’s picture turned face down on the desk. It only makes him more sure he’s doing the right thing.

“Hey, buddy…”

For additional Feels™️ may I recommend

[gaytommykinard]

the actual couch metaphor as seen in canon events (and buck's loft from s2 to the present day)

evan buckley grew up in a home devoid of warmth and love.

evan buckley took the jeep and the money his older sister gave him, along with her blessing, and ran away from home.

evan buckley lived as a nomad for 6 years, travelling around the country and working odd jobs as he tried to figure out where and what he's supposed to be.

evan buckley found a group of friends who welcomed him into their fold and followed them to LA where they lived together. it was like having the family he always wanted.

he moved in with his first serious girlfriend without ever talking about it, because it was not a relationship where they talked about things, and they weren't ever on the same page. his girlfriend's brother pointed out that buck was living there. he continued living at abby's place even after she left to travel around in europe, waiting for her to come back — even though she hadn't asked him to. waiting for the relationship to resume. he thought it was weird he was still living at abby's place, and it took him a long time to admit that their relationship is truly over.

then he finally moved out and crashed at chimney's apartment for a while and then lived with his sister.

he moved into the loft he's currently renting at the end of s2, with his girlfriend's help, who probably helped him furnish it, too. the loft is the first place buck has lived in on his own, it's his first apartment he's moved into knowing he's gonna stay there for a while — because he lives in LA, where his job is, where his family is.

next plot point is him asking taylor to move in with him instead of coming clean about the fact that he got drunk and reciprocated a kiss initiated by an equally drunk coworker. he got insecure, he knew he fucked up, and he absolutely trapped her because he only told her about it after she'd already moved in — and replaced some of this things, namely The Couch, with her own. the relationship ends in the s5 finale, taylor moves out and takes her couch with her.

at the beginning of s6, buck is upset about not being chosen as interim captain in bobby's absent. he's talking to eddie about it when he wonders "what am i lacking" and christopher teases him about it saying "buck you dont even have a couch" — this is the point where the Couch Metaphor is brought into buck's arc. buck is worried about "choosing the wrong couch" (see: he's insecure about the choices he made with taylor, ali, and abby). he has a conversation about it with bobby, too, where bobby tells him that buck's not ready to be interim captain. so it's not just about buck's personal relationships: it's about buck himself, where he's at in his journey and his character development. he's still searching for answers.

buck buys himself an armchair. it's kind of fucking obvious but. he's pressing pause on the whole dating thing. it's a one-person armchair. buck is focusing on himself.

i've written about buck's coma episode and how it affects buck's opinion of himself and his relationships with his friends and his family. there is a moment in the coma dream where he hugs his parents and, for the second time, but perhaps on a more meaningful level this time around, forgives them and says goodbye to the version of them that exist in the parallel-universe where daniel survived. when he's out of the hospital, his parents are fussing over him, his mother is asking why doesn't he have a couch and that she's gonna buy him one. maddie points out that she's gonna re-decorate his whole apartment and buck smiles and says it's actually kind of nice. yeah, they're trying to compensate for the ways they failed their kids, and buck is letting them. so his apartment now has furnishings gifted to him by his parents, who are trying to insert some of that love and warmth that was lacking throughout his childhood.

at the end of s6, two things happen, but it's important to remember that these things were written and filmed at a point where the show was not being renewed, and it's blatantly obvious that they were trying to tie up loose ends before the finale. first, the baby who was conceived with his sperm donation is born on his couch (please allow me a moment to roll my eyes so hard they fall out the back of my head. the sperm donor arc should have ended in 6a). there's a moment where buck is very clearly emotional because he knows that he helped create that baby but he is not the baby's father. but okay, the couch is ruined. gross. second, he asks natalia, the woman he's started dating recently, to help him pick out a new couch, symbolising the depth of the relationship, i guess. again, they were tying up loose ends.

and that concludes season 6, and with it, the Couch Metaphor.

this essay has been a long time coming because i know buddie shipppers have lowkey appropriated the canon couch metaphor to fit their ship, and honestly, whatever, go nuts. i don't know if anyone has written any non-buddie meta about it so i decided to do it to set the record straight.

and what prompted me is the ideas i have seen from the bucktommy side that tommy is sleeping on the same couch from s6, that the writers forgot, or that they retconned anything from s6; in this post i have given an in-universe explanation if you need one, and something from a technical perspective. whichever satisfies your curiosity about why it looks like the same couch. the point is: it's not the same couch, and it means nothing — beyond the fact that buck had to sleep on the armchair because of his dislocated shoulder, and tommy chose to sleep on the couch to be next to buck (forgoing the perfectly comfortable bed up one flight of stairs) because he's a devoted (and ridiculously in love) boyfriend.

aside from the couch, though, people have pointed out that buck has decorated his apartment for halloween, something we haven't seen before, that there was a plant that appeared in 7x10 that wasn't there in 7x04, and the noticeable difference of his fridge decor (or lack thereof) between s7 and s8, and what it means for buck's character development. those hard-pressed for buck to "get out" of the loft should maybe pay attention to it now more than ever.

buck's character has been through tremendous growth since the beginning of the show. he seems confident, and settled and comfortable in his own skin like never before. i'm looking forward to seeing how that reflects his home environment, with or without tommy.

[letsfaceitimhereforthecultstuff]

okay so i finally finished the first 2 seasons of 9-1-1, it took a lot longer than i'd anticipated due to other things like assignment deadlines and the app not working getting in the way but i did it

so here are the cliff notes (i might make more in depth posts in the future about some episodes because i have THOUGHTS)

cliff notes after the break i meant to add bullet points but i accidentally added a question instead and i don't know how to get rid of it (i'm currently on mobile) 🙃 so imma just use it

if the answer is no I don't need to know

first i gotta get this outta the way ... i'm not liking tommy i've only seen what 2 episodes with him in and i'm so sorry but he's been kinda mean (imma put that down to him being repressed maybe) but i'm hoping he gets a nice redempetion arc and it's not just brushed over because from what i've seen on here he's such a sweet guy but i did not get that from his first two appearances (maybe the writers just weren't expecting him to because a recurring character later)

i'm LOVING athena and bobby's relationship they're such a good fit for eachother i have been blessed to be able to witness it

it hurts so much whenever someone says "you're not their/a dad" to bobby like why would you do that

when did the writers and producers decided they wanted buck to be a queer character because I've been getting vibes already and it's led me to wonder which came first them wanting queer buck or fans wanting queer buck and them responding in kind

i'm enjoying the new dynamics that eddie's addition to the team has brought i love exploring interpersonal dynamics in my TV shows i also love eddie as a character and cannot wait to dive deeper into that man's psyche

speaking of interpersonal dynamics MADDIE!!! the ghost whisperer herslef [buck thinking a ghost called 911 HAD to be a nod to that right?!] anyways i love love love maddie i'm holding out hope for her and chim they've been through a lot and they deserve happiness

speaking of happiness when will they let chim live!?! - i know that's an ironic statement to make considering technically they've let him live twice - but they cannot seem to give this guy a break he's my guy also he's got a set of pipes on him in his flashback ep working at the kareoke bar singing garth brooks I keep thinking I've hit my peek with my love for this character and then they add something that makes me love him even more

if chim only has one fan it's me and if he has no fans then i have passed because that man means so much to me

they've been putting hen through the ringer a little bit too tbh but i appreciate that they're allowing queer people to get a little messy and make stupid mistakes but not villanising them for it and just being like these are things that happen in relationships sometimes you either work through it or you don't

i have been really appreciating how this show deals with queerness in general too its not this big flashy thing like "hey look over here we have some gays for you shiny shiny gays in our show" they just exist they're loveable they're flawed and they also just happen to be queer

okay imma stop before i ramble too much but if you wanna hear my thoughts on anything specific that happend in the first two seasons hit me up i love talking about this show and need more outlets for it

[rambleonwaywardson]

Clegan Astronaut AU - Part 3

Masterpost

AU Summary: the boys as modern day NASA astronauts. Taking place in 2025, Bucky is about to head to the moon as mission commander of Artemis III while Buck is back-up commander and CAPCOM at NASA. Established relationship (obnoxiously in love).

Author's Note: Uh oh, the chapters are getting longer. Hope y'all will stick with me because I have plans for these boys. Heads up, this chapter does contain some expressions of homophobia. Also there's no new terms that I think need defining here, but I'm thinking of creating a term definition post for those I've already used.

--

‘John Egan and Alex Jefferson to make history as first queer and black representation on the moon’ 

‘Artemis III crew ready for liftoff in one month’

‘So three bachelors and a homosexual walk into a bar, er, a rocket…’

‘NASA targeting November 6  launch’

‘NASA’s diversity campaign’

‘What having a gay man in the space program means for the future of America’

‘NASA press conference gets heated after probing sexuality questions’

‘Biddick goes after reporter to defend fellow astronaut’

–

September 30, 2025

Johnson Space Center, Houston, TX

As NASA’s Artemis Public Affairs Officer, it is Marjorie Spencer’s job to relay information about the Artemis program to the public as well as to coordinate press events between the media and the crew and/or mission control. As Public Affairs Officer, it’s her job to wrangle a bunch of rowdy astronauts and convince them to play nice with the press, even when the press doesn’t play nice with them. With this particular crew, it can, often, be like wrangling a bunch of rambunctious, highly opinionated, and incredibly stubborn teenage boys. Or a bunch of selectively trained dogs whose selective training just happens to be whatever they feel like remembering in the moment.

A lot of people don’t truly appreciate how, as Public Affairs Officer, it is Marge’s job to make these boys – ahem, grown men – look presentable to the public when behind the scenes they are the bane of her existence. In the most loving way possible.

Public Affairs Officer, however, is only one of her jobs.

As Best Friend, her job often includes the emotional damage control that flies high above a PAO’s paygrade. 

As she finishes up welcoming a room full of reporters to Johnson Space Center, she reminds them that this will be the last press conference that the astronauts will take part in before starting their pre-launch quarantine process in just a few weeks. They will have another pre-launch press conference while in quarantine a couple of days before they board the Orion crew capsule, before they strap themselves to the top of NASA’s most powerful rocket ever created.

“Please welcome NASA’s Artemis 3 crew,” Marge says smoothly. “Major John Egan, mission commander. First Lieutenant Curtis Biddick, lunar module pilot. Dr. Robert Rosenthal, crew physician. Alexander Jefferson, mission specialist.”

One by one, the crew members, dressed in their NASA flight suits, walk up onto the small stage at the front and take their seats behind the table, which is emblazoned with the NASA logo. They each have a gold astronaut pin on their flight suit collars, signifying the fact that they have already successfully flown in space. These four men are some of the most qualified people currently in the space program, and they were hand-selected two years ago to fly this mission. Together, they have logged nearly 1,000 hours of training for Artemis 3, including crew module sims, lunar module sims, zero-gravity EVAs in the neutral buoyancy tank, and lunar terrain sims. In five weeks, that training will be put to use for the chance to put the next human footprints on the moon.

At first, the questions are typical, what the crew is prepared for. They’ve been answering similar questions through much of the training process. How does it feel to be going to the moon? What will each of their roles be on the mission? What kind of training have they been doing? Do they feel prepared? What does it mean for each of them to be on this mission? What do they think it means for the general public and for the future of science? For the space program? For Bucky and Curt, how does it feel to be the first men since the 70s to step foot on lunar soil?

The crew answers them all genuinely and professionally. They joke with the reporters, a trait that has made them endearing to much of the public. They wax poetic about flying to the moon and how they’ve all dreamed about it, how they’re honored to be a part of something so grand, what they hope it will symbolize for people all over the world. They say exactly what the reporters, and the public, generally want to hear. 

Until they can’t. Because at some point, no matter what you say, to someone somewhere it will never be right. 

To be honest, Bucky often stops listening to the reporters names and affiliations during these things. So he isn’t sure who asks this question, but he perks up when the man says “This question is for John Egan.” Bucky nods and the man goes on. “This crew has become well-known for being a crew of young bachelors, except for you. You’re getting married in just a couple weeks, correct? To Major Gale Cleven, also a NASA astronaut.”

Bucky nods again. “Yes, that’s correct.” 

“Do you or Major Cleven have any concerns about you going to the moon just days after the big day?”

Bucky smirks. “Well, which big day are you referring to? The wedding or the launch?”

The reporters in the room chuckle quietly. “The wedding,” the man says.

Bucky tries not to roll his eyes. You get married and suddenly it doesn’t matter that both spouses have been professional and highly trained adrenaline junkies for years before this. “Of course, there’s always concerns when it comes to hurling yourself off of a planet,” he replies. “But Gale and I have been through this together, more than once. We know the risks, and we support each other 100%. The only thing that will be different is I’ll have a wedding ring with me.”

As reporters clamor to get the next question, Marge points and a woman stands up, introducing herself. “Major Egan,” she starts. Two in a row. Bucky clenches his jaw, worried he knows where this press conference is about to go. “How do you think coming out as a member of the LGBTQ+ community affected your role within NASA and within the Artemis program?”

Bucky takes a quiet but deep breath. “My sexuality has never been a secret,” he answers. At least, it hasn’t been since high school. And yet the media still aren’t comfortable with words like gay or homosexual or queer or even LGBT. When they do say these words, it’s almost hushed, like it’s something terrible. “It wasn’t a secret when I flew on the ISS two years ago, and it isn’t now. My qualifications and experience, I think, speak for themselves as to why I am on this mission.”

“Do you consider yourself a role model for the queer youth of today?” Someone jumps in.

Bucky hears Curt stifle a laugh beside him, and he almost smiles himself. “I’m not trying to be any sort of role model or anything,” he says honestly. “God knows you could find better than me. But I am an Air Force pilot, I am an astronaut, I am an engineer, and yes, I am also going to marry a man next month. And that man has been the love of my life for over a decade. So if those facts can somehow align to give others the opportunity to dream, to believe in themselves and in a better future, then I’m glad.” He glances over at Marge, who looks a little wary of where things are heading, but she gives him a thumbs up for his answer.

“So this isn’t just a publicity stunt in NASA’s diversity agenda?” another reporter asks. At the same time, someone throws their hand up and says “what kind of message is NASA trying to send by putting you on this mission?” 

The questions and excited mumbling of other reporters jumble into some cacophony of muddled sound, and Bucky bites down on the inside of his cheek to keep from saying something out of line. Because as a public figure, anything he says now will be ‘out of line.’

Another reporter stands up, unbidden, before he can even think of an appropriate answer to either of the questions he was able to hear. “For the rest of the crew,” he calls out, before Marge can direct him to take his seat. “How do you feel about having a gay man in the spacecraft with you?”

Bucky can taste blood as he bites down harder. Marge steps up on stage in a hurry, saying something about that being enough questions about Major Egan’s personal life, and any further questions should be directly mission related.

But Curt has already moved to stand up, and Rosie and John simultaneously reach out from either side to push him back down. Alex leans forward at the other end of the table, intent on putting that question to rest with a facial expression that is as close to a glare as can be managed without getting called out for being ‘unfriendly’ by the media. “This crew is like family,” he states with an overwhelmingly exaggerated sense of calm. “John is one of the best pilots NASA has. We are all proud to call him our friend and our commander.”

Marge, now standing firmly next to Alex at the end of the table so she can moderate more directly, nods at him in approval. As she moves to select someone for the next question, though, one of the reporters near the front scoffs and not-so-subtly mumbles something under his breath that leaves Bucky dazed, his ears ringing. Next thing he knows, Curt’s chair is clattering backwards as he shoots to his feet – “What did you say? What the fuck did you say!” Rosie is holding him back from jumping the table with all of his grip strength, and the newsroom is erupting in shouts from the reporters. Questions and insults fly across the room, directed at one another and at Bucky, too. He just sits there quietly, his elbows on the table and his chin resting on his folded hands, letting the words slap him in the face and settle like stones in his chest. He forces himself to stop biting down on his cheek, and watches numbly as security barges into the frenzied crowd to begin escorting reporters out of the room.

When Rosie finally releases his grip, Curt grabs his chair and sits back down with an angry grunt, shaking his head. “Stupid fucks,” he mutters. Marge ends the press conference after that.

As the room is cleared, the crew is shuffled out of the newsroom and into Marge’s office down the hall. She sighs and puts her head in her hand, pacing the room, her heels clacking methodically on the tile. The men stand quietly in a line, looking anywhere but at each other. Finally, Marge takes a deep breath and looks them each in the eye. “Well,” she says. “That could have been… well. That was bad. Okay, that was bad.” She looks at Bucky. “You did great, John. Thank you for how you handled that. I’m so sorry. We’ll figure out a way to handle this better for your pre-launch press conference.”

Bucky just nods. “Yeah,” he says distantly. “Yeah, no big deal.”

If we’re lucky the fag will die up there.

“It’s a big fucking deal,” Curt mutters angrily. They’re used to this kind of thing by now; between John, a gay man, and Alex, a black man, the crew has become overwhelmingly and depressingly aware that the world has not yet changed quite enough to escape derision over difference being normal, over people existing outside the boxes that society has designed. They deal with it, they move on, they do their job. But today was more… well, it was just more than usual. Like the closer they get to launch, the more the media is concerned about all the wrong things. And the more comfortable they are with voicing it. 

“It’s fine,” Bucky insists. “Nothing that I haven’t heard before, really.” He can hear it in his own voice, though: He isn’t sure how much he believes himself.

If we’re lucky…

Rosie pats him on the shoulder. “Like Alex said, we’re family. We’ve got your back, and we won’t tolerate this shit.” Bucky tries to give a little half smile. 

…the fag will die up there. 

Marge nods and checks their schedule on her tablet. “Let’s, um, let’s all take a breather, okay? We don’t have any major press engagements until right before launch.” She looks up at them, and she fights a frown when she sees the varying states of anger, frustration, and dejection on their faces. She knows it’s not her fault, but it’s her job to coordinate and moderate these events. She tries to smile reassuringly instead. “I’ll work with each of you on your own interviews and media appearances over the next few weeks, but I need you boys to focus on the mission. I’ll take care of addressing how this conference ended, and I’ll work with public relations to make sure we can avoid things getting out of hand in the future.” She knows she has a strongly worded email from the director of the human spaceflight program – or possibly even an impromptu meeting – coming her way any minute. She has to work out how to tidy up this mess, but it can’t be her priority at the moment.

She hugs Alex, Rosie, and Curt as they exit her office. Then she looks at Bucky, who has barely moved at all. “Hey,” she says, putting a hand on his shoulder. 

He glances up at her before looking back at his shoes. “Hey.”

“You okay?”

Bucky shrugs, but doesn’t answer for a long, long moment. “I should be,” he finally sighs. “I’m used to it, really. It’s been the same since my astronaut candidacy was announced. Hell, it’s been the same my whole life.” He scoffs. “I don’t know. It just feels… worse somehow, this time.”

He looks up at Marge again, and Marge feels her chest tighten at the tired sadness in his eyes. Even the toughest men she knows have never been bullet proof. She pulls him into her arms and lets him hold on for as long as he needs as he tries to keep himself together. 

If we’re lucky…

“You’re one of our best,” she tells him quietly as she rubs his back. “Anyone who says otherwise is wrong.”

“I know,” Bucky says, but his voice chokes on the words. “I…” He holds onto her tighter, and he can’t bring himself to say anything else. 

If we’re lucky…

When he lets go, Marge squeezes his arm. Her assistant knocks on the door then, here to tell her that Neil Harding, the director of the human spaceflight program, wants to see her in his office. She thanks the woman and takes a deep breath. “Okay,” she tells Bucky. “I’m going to work on cleaning up this mess. But once I do, I’ll meet you at yours for some good old fashioned damage control.” Damage control meaning drinks, snacks, and general mayhem. Bucky kisses her on the cheek, thanks her, and watches her strut out of the room, off to fulfill her third role: certified badass.

–

Just minutes after Marge leaves Neil Harding’s office, Gale finds himself outside the very same door, wondering why he’s been summoned out of the blue in the middle of his work day. He’s greeted by a woman who he hasn’t seen in years, looking as prim and proper as ever even in her European Space Agency flight suit.

“Sandra?” He asks. 

She turns around and smiles politely at him, that charming and yet almost disarming way she always does. “Gale! Wow, it’s been some time hasn’t it?”

Gale nods, but eyes her carefully in confusion. “Sure has. Nice to see you again.”

Sandra looks unphased though, exactly as he would expect her to. This woman could be faced with a dead body or three or ten – and probably has been – and wouldn’t bat an eye. She is, perhaps, the strongest woman Gale knows, and NASA really is full of strong women. “How are you?” she asks. “And how’s John? Or, Bucky I believe is what people call him around here. You Americans and your funny nicknames.”

“Good, good,” Gale says. “He’s going up on Artemis 3 in November.”

Sandra puts a hand on his shoulder and almost looks… sad? “Oh I know. It’s all the buzz, isn’t it?”

Gale arches an eyebrow, not quite sure what she’s getting at. Before he can say anything, though, the door to Neil’s office opens and the man himself is ushering them inside. 

“Gale! Sandra! We have a lot to cover so get on in here.”

–

When Marge finally lets herself into Buck and Bucky’s home with a spare key, armed with ice cream and alcohol, she stops short as she walks into the living room. She leans against the doorframe, one hand on her hip and the other holding the groceries. It’s only 4pm and Bucky, who went home early after the whole fiasco with the media, is slouched down low in the middle of the couch, bundled in an old Yankees sweatshirt with Pepper curled up at his side, her head in his lap. The news is on, a clip from their press conference earlier. A reporter is talking in depth about the incident, and the entire “controversy” over NASA’s “agenda.” As he watches, he doom-scrolls on his phone, and Marge knows he’s digging himself into a deep, deep hole filled with social media comments. His eyes are red, but his face is dry.

“John,” Marge says. He looks up at her and smiles weakly. She motions towards the TV, where the reporter is now reading an official statement from NASA, saying that the organization supports Major John Egan and the entirety of the Artemis 3 crew 100%; that the crew was selected based on merit and capability; that each member has been extensively trained and has shown that they are highly qualified and prepared for a lunar mission; and that NASA stands by all of their astronauts and employees, regardless of identity, and will not tolerate attacks of any kind such as those that occurred today. 

Bucky watches the report blankly before shifting his eyes over to Marge. She sighs before walking over to the coffee table, where she sets down the bag of groceries and picks up the remote. The TV clicks off. “Enough of that,” she says. When she collapses down next to Bucky and Pepper on the couch, she peeks over at his phone. Social media comments, sure enough. Supportive and detrimental both. She plucks the phone from his hand and turns it off, placing it face down on the coffee table. “And enough of that.”

John just stares at it on the tabletop, idly stroking Pepper’s ears. He won’t look at Marge, so she reaches over across Pepper and places a hand on his shoulder. “John, look at me.”

He does, and he takes a deep, shaky breath. He opens his mouth to speak but closes it again, biting down on the inside of his lip. Pepper licks his hand. He takes another breath and looks Marge right in the eye. “There’s death threats,” he says. When Marge just frowns, he rubs a hand over his face. “For me. And for Gale. Not many, thank God, but they’re there. I read them.” 

“Oh honey,” Marge says sadly. She gets up to switch to his other side, so she can wrap her arms around him properly. He lets himself settle into the embrace and closes his eyes, letting his most trusted friend ground him on one side and his dog on the other. 

“Thank you for issuing that statement,” he mumbles. 

Marge lays her head on top of his. “Harding wants to talk to you tomorrow, and he wanted me to tell you that the human space flight program fully supports you and always has. I think he wanted to give you some space today. Once you’re up for it, we’ll bring the whole crew in to discuss how to handle this in the future.” Bucky gives a small nod of acknowledgement. “You know it’s not really about you, right?” Marge asks. “Those things that people are saying. It’s entirely about them. None of them know you, and no one can, in any meaningful way, deny that you belong on this mission. This is about their own problems and their own prejudices. You,” she squeezes him harder, “have done everything right.”

Bucky is silent for a long time, until finally he says, “I don’t really want to talk about it right now.”

“Alright,” Marge says easily. She leans away and looks at him, grinning. “Time for some damage control.”

–

By 6:30pm, Gale can’t get the door of their house open fast enough. He hasn’t heard from Bucky all day and needs to tell him about the meeting with Harding. When he gets inside, though, he’s greeted by loud music pumping through their stereo speakers. As he walks into the living room, he takes in the sight of half empty cocktail glasses and beer bottles, open ice cream cartons and abandoned spoons, a bag of chips and a plate of fruit, and the throw pillows strewn all over the floor. He pauses in his tracks, staring at the carnage as his excitement drains rapidly from his body. 

Damage Control. 

Fuck. 

Pepper runs out of the kitchen to greet him, tail wagging so hard her whole body goes with it. Gale tilts his head and smiles at her. Throwing his keys on the coffee table next to Bucky’s abandoned phone, he crouches down and scratches under Pepper’s collar. “What happened, Pep?” He asks her. 

She just bumps his hand with her wet nose and spins around once before trotting off back to the kitchen. He follows her tentatively and peeks through the kitchen doorway, where Bucky is sitting on the counter while Marge stands, leaning back against the center island across from him. There’s flour and dirty cooking utensils everywhere, and it smells like tomato sauce. 

Marge looks down at Pep and then up at Gale. “Hey there,” she says. 

They’ve been laughing and singing and dancing all evening, but when Bucky looks up and sees the hesitant half smile on Gale’s face, the furrow in his brow, he knows Gale has already figured out that something is wrong anyways. The smile falls from Bucky’s face at the same time it falls from Gale’s. “Buck,” he says, but it barely pushes past his throat as a whisper. 

“What’s wrong?” Gale asks. He looks from Bucky to Marge and back. “John?”

Bucky shrugs and averts his eyes, watching Pepper instead as she flops down dramatically on the tile floor. “I’m fine,” he says. 

“Come on, John,” Gale sighs. But Bucky won’t look at him, so Gale looks at Marge instead. 

She brushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Some things were said at the press conference today,” she supplies. “We had to end it early, with security pulling some reporters from the room.”

Gale frowns. “What kind of things?”

“Mostly about John’s sexuality. And your relationship. They were pretty innocent at first, but-“

“If we’re lucky the fag will die up there,” Bucky bites out. Gale feels frozen in place. He blinks, shoves his hands in his pockets, takes them out again. “There’s been worse online,” Bucky adds. 

“John,” Gale says quietly. He steps forward, one hand outstretched, but he stops short when Bucky crosses his arms protectively over his chest. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Bucky says, ducking his head. They both know that’s not true. ‘Damage Control’ isn’t for things that aren’t a big deal. Bucky shrugs. “At least, it shouldn’t be a big deal. Hey, I’m used to it right? I just gotta keep on going.” He laughs bitterly, but when he looks up at Gale, the hurt on the other man’s face squeezes his chest all funny and he looks away again. Then there’s a warm arm around his back, a hand on the back of his head. He feels Gale standing in front of him, and he lets his head fall forward to rest against his. Slowly, he lifts his arms to wrap around his fiancé, and he grips the fabric of his shirt in white-knuckled, shaking hands. 

After a couple of long, silent minutes, nothing but their careful breathing passing in the air between them, Bucky takes a deep breath. “Wow, way to put a damper on this little party, huh? Let’s uh, let’s go back to the part where I don’t have to think about this tonight.”

They both know they’ll have to talk about this later, but Gale nods and lets go. Bucky grabs tightly to his hand, though, wanting a tether to stop this feeling of drifting away. 

Marge motions for them to go back out to the living room. “Pizza in the oven. I’ll bring it out in a minute.”

When she does eventually follow them into the living room, carrying a tray of pizza, she walks in on them dancing in the middle of the room to “Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Elvis as it plays over the speakers. Bucky smoothly twirls Gale around before pulling him close again, and Marge is, not for the first time, in awe of the pure adoration that passes between the two of them. “Shouldn’t you save your first dance song for your actual wedding night?” she asks as she sets the pizza on the coffee table next to Bucky’s phone, still upside down, and Gale’s keys. 

They slow to a stop and look at her. Bucky shrugs. “Gotta practice so I don’t trip over myself and embarrass my bride.” 

Gale blushes and half-heartedly mumbles “stop calling me that.” 

Bucky grins. “What? My bride?” He gently pulls Gale down onto the couch with him, wrapping an arm around his waist and kissing him on the temple. “But I love the way it makes you blush.”

Marge gags dramatically and tells them to eat their pizza. 

As they’re polishing it off, even giving Pepper her own little piece, Gale licks his fingers and says nonchalantly, “I have some news.”

When he doesn’t go on, Marge rolls her eyes. “Care to share with the class?”

Gale is quiet for a second, but then a grin spreads across his face as he looks at both of them. “I’m going to the moon earlier than we thought. Artemis 4.”

Bucky jumps up so fast he bangs a knee hard on the table and Marge has to lunge forward to keep the pizza tray from falling to the floor. Pepper jumps up in alarm as Bucky spins to face Gale, ignoring the pain shooting through his leg. “You’ve been home for-“ he checks the clock on the wall. “An hour! And you didn’t say anything until NOW?”

Gale shrugs sheepishly. “There were more important things-“

“No!” Bucky cries. “No… Wait. How in hell did you get yourself onto the A4 roster?”

Artemis 4 is planned to launch in just over a year. Crew selection had been made months ago. Gale rubs the back of his neck. “Well, the two ESA astronauts that were supposed to go got bumped cause of health concerns. ESA was able to put in one other astronaut, but NASA wanted a more experienced pilot in the lander. Harding called me in today.”

“Gale, that’s amazing!” Marge says, crawling across the couch to hug him tight. “Oh my god, this is so amazing. Congratulations!” She’s in part already thinking about the press coordination and social media posting that this necessitates, but holy shit that can wait for now.

When she pulls away, Bucky reaches down and wraps his arms around Gale’s middle, pulling him up from the couch and spinning him around. Then he kisses him hard and spins him again, Gale laughing as he yells for Bucky to set him down. “What!” Bucky exclaims. “You gotta get used to being helpless in the air again, you’re going to the moon!”

Gale rolls his eyes as Bucky sets him down. “Who did ESA toss into the thick of it?” Bucky asks. 

“Sandra Westgate.” Gale raises an eyebrow as he says this, watching for Bucky’s reaction. 

It’s Marge, though, that jumps in as Bucky tries to process that. “No way, Croz’s old flame?”

“Yep.”

Bucky shakes his head, trying not to laugh. Harry Crosby, Houston’s best flight dynamics officer, had spent a hot summer a few years back – before he and his now-wife Jean got back together after a bit of a break – gallivanting about town with Sandra Westgate. She’s top class, one of the best astronauts in the European Space Agency. Gale is lucky to be flying with her, really. But damn. “Does… does Croz know?” 

Gale nods, chuckling. “Yeah, he knows. Saw him gaping at her like a fish as I showed her around this afternoon. They’ve both moved on, but…”

“Awkward,” Marge cringes. 

“She’ll be sticking around Houston for the next year, starting in a couple weeks,” Gale explains. “To train with us.”

“Plenty of time to un-move on,” Bucky muses. 

Marge throws a pillow at him, but he dodges it and watches as it crashes into a fake plant in the corner of the room. “Don’t say that!” Marge reprimands. “Croz and Jean are very happy together you ass.”

Bucky shrugs. “Sorry.” He looks at Gale, who is still standing facing him. “Now don’t you go getting any ideas either. Sandra’s a strong and lovely woman.”

Gale cups the back of Bucky’s neck and kisses him softly. “I would never,” he whispers, before he falls back onto the couch. Bucky collapses next to him, grabbing Gale’s hand again so he can fiddle with his fingers. 

They look at each other, and Bucky presses his lips to Gale’s knuckles. “I’m so proud of you.”

“I’m proud of you, too.”

Marge takes one last bite of pizza. “It’s sickening how in love you two are.”

Gale smiles shyly. “Always have been.”

Bucky smiles back at him, but too many thoughts are swirling around in his head, and he feels the words choke and fizzle on his tongue.

…

Part 4

[wilhelmina-tepes]

This is a fanfic dump

Finally decided to post some of the fanfic I've written. The current flavor is Adrian Tepes. tags for blood drinking and smut. Because why not.

 Alucard might not need it but he wanted it. You lay beneath him devoid of all thoughts, your mind purged by the pleasure he’s so willing to give. Your arms are pinned above your head, one of his hands on each of your wrists as he slides downward dragging touch and taste with him. You cry out his name in pure wanton lust and he feels it. Almost as if his fangs pulse with every thought, he swallows your moans and tries to not think about you unraveling beneath him while he drinks from you. For a moment he considers it, nipping at your bottom lip as his mouth travels downward. What would you taste like arching your back in ecstasy, his cock buried in you to the hilt as he sunk his fangs in? He knows you would love it. But he tells himself that it is too dangerous that he’s not like that…. Which only makes him want it more.

Lips, tongue, and teeth lavish your breasts with needy attention as he drags his nails across your thighs urging you to part for him. Alucard tells himself that if he can devour you as you come it will sate that craving inside him, that hearing you moan his name will tame the animal trying to claw its way out of him. But he knows you want this…you would completely unhinge.

No. He can’t entertain the thought. He loves you but… if it is wanted....perhaps.

Your belly is covered in kisses as he makes his way down leaving a wet trail with his tongue that traces directly to the slit concealing your innermost folds…he wants that too. He’s so careful to kiss you reverently along your hidden petals and you are so very wanting, liquid desire weeping for him. You cry out when he lightly tongues your clit before slithering inside to get a taste. It makes him want it more…no this was supposed to satisfy that craving. His tongue lavishes you with praise until you are bucking your hips against his mouth as you arch your back. can’t stop.... won’t stop….

You’re pinned again, his lithe but strong form holding you.

“Can I….?”

“Yes… mmnng what?" All you want is more of him.

“I want to drink you.” It’s a low whisper and he feels the shiver wrack through your body.

Alucard almost feels bad admitting it but he tells himself that he is good for asking and not just taking, but you wouldn’t have denied him anyway. You answer with a moan and a shake of your head, and he tells himself that’s enough.

As he slides inside you, so slick and wet for him, you moan in unison from the intrusion thick and tight at each end. Your back arches again crying out his name….his actual name….

“Adrian….” It’s barely a sigh followed by a silent moan at the sudden increase in his pace. 

He’s losing it. This will take him and he will have you. 

Alucard is driving both your pleasures as you spasm around him so close to unraveling. He thrusts rapidly and then loses himself pulling your head to the side and sinking his fangs into your flushed neck. Your pleasure takes you suddenly. The feel of his cock inside you coupled with the intense, overwhelming fire in his bite, the feel of his tongue against your skin as he drinks……you hold on to him as if all of existence depends on him. Alucard feels you spasming beneath him, coaxing him, his orgasm possesses his very being as he bites down a little harder trying to contain the animal inside him. 

             He releases his bite, lapping at the wounds he caused, tears threaten to form in his eyes, so afraid he will hurt you. 

             “Adrian, that….it felt so good.”

              He’s ashamed when his cock twitches at the idea of taking you like this again, so, so very afraid he will let go….but he knew you would love it. Alucard leans into you taking your mouth in a passionate kiss before sliding his newly hardened member back into your sore cunt. Lapping at the wounds on your neck he restrained himself from biting down again. Your moans and soft cries are the most beautiful sounds driving him to buck into you, greedy for more. 

               “Adrian, please….”

               “I can’t right now my love, I don’t want to take too much.” He whispered into your ear pleading, unsure if it is you or himself he is trying to convince. “But I will again, I promise.”

               Still, he struggled but knew he could taste you again. Perhaps next time he could nibble other places….

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Hi Cal!!! How are you I hope you’re having a nice week!

Lol I hope you know you never have to say sorry for not having finished all the asks yet because 1. The amount and speed at which you write is truly impressive and mind blowing and 2. Literally every word you choose to share is a gift whenever it’s published

I absolutely LOVED 🦷 🛏️ and ➰ they were all so so well done and fun to read and just a general delight!

I had fun doing the themed asks last week so I think I’m gonna keep it going. Lol warning the themes are definitely gonna get more and more contrived as time goes on but hey that’s part of the fun right?

First theme is then and now! Stories that connect the very beginning of the show to where everyone’s currently at.

🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞 (one sentence and I’m already fascinated by the concept! There are so many ways you could take this one and I can’t wait to see how it goes!)

⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️ (i literally grin at my screen like an idiot every time I read about how happy and in love they are in this story! And I’m so pumped to meet the next Buddie kid! You already got me to fall in love with Violet and Nico so I can’t wait for the next one!)

- PCA <3

HI PCA!

Thank you!!!!! You are so so kind as always! I'm glad you liked the fics <3

Love this theme!

30 for 🪞 (thank you!!!! I'm excited to share my vision):

---

"Yes, Dove is a great kid. Peculiar sometimes, but sweet and smart. The problem is, with the rising costs of living and raising a family, fewer people are likely to adopt a child with pre-existing health conditions who is already six. But, we’re in Los Angeles. Maybe some wealthy family will take interest.”

Her tone when she says this last part isn’t confident. Crap. That’s not good. 

“So someone could ask to adopt her specifically?” Buck asks. 

“In theory,” Angie answers. “It’s a bit of a process.” 

“Right, yeah. My friends are in the middle of it actually.” Buck explains. “I hope Dove finds a family.”

“Yeah, me too. She deserves one.” 

When they end the call, Buck is all the more determined to solve this problem for Dove. 

iii.

He starts with Maddie and Chim. 

It’s not a hard decision. Maybe it would be harder under different circumstances. 

The person he thinks of first when he thinks of the ideal parent is Eddie. But obviously he’s not going to go there with this. Not the time. Like at all. Hen and Karen obviously would have been the perfect choice as far as taking in a foster kid with specific needs. But that’s no longer an option. Maddie and Chim have their foster license, though. And they’re good people! Chim was just as involved in saving Dove! They’ll want to help her. 

---

66 for ⚡️ (I am very excited to introduce them!):

---

All this to say, by the time they’re on one of their final trips, and the back of Eddie’s truck bed is loaded with stuff, Buck is tired. He’s sore from lifting, would very much like to get off his feet, and relax with a cool beer. But this is moving. Moving sucks. That’s a universal human experience. So Buck doesn’t complain. It’s only when he’s done securing the truck bed and walks back into the house for what is surely one of the last times, and calls out for Chris, who was gathering the last of his things from his former bedroom, that he begins to allow his fatigue to turn into frustration. 

Because Chris does not answer. 

Ten seconds pass. Twenty. Christopher doesn’t respond. 

“CHRIS!” Buck calls again. He figures Chris just has his headphones on. “Time to go, buddy!”

Again, nothing. 

Sighing, Buck tromps down the hallway towards Christopher’s room. The door is shut. Buck knocks on it.

“Chris?” He asks. 

“I don’t want to go yet!” Chris shouts from the other side. 

Buck, who could probably fall asleep if his head so much as touches a pillow, physically pouts at this. He wants to go back to the new house, where their mattress has been left on the floor of the bedroom while they set everything up, and power down like a house-moving robot that needs to recharge. 

“Uh, why not?” Buck asks. 

“Because this is my room and I don’t want to leave it!” 

Ah. Okay. 

Well, that’s interesting. Considering how he’d been excited about a house with a bigger bedroom. And not having to share a bathroom with Eddie and Buck. Literally, two days ago he was going on and on about how excited he was. So what gives?

“Can I come in?” 

“No,” Chris says. “I want to be alone right now.” 

Well… What the hell is Buck supposed to do with this right now?

He checks the time on his phone and tries not to groan. 

“Okay, Chris. I can give you ten minutes and then we need to get going, okay?”

“No! I don’t want to go in ten minutes. I want to stay here.”

Buck takes a deep breath. “Bud, there’s no furniture in there and there’s no food in this house. We’ve got to go home event-”

“THIS IS HOME! I like it here, just the three of us.” 

“It’ll just be the three of us at the new house, too. Where your room is bigger, remember that?” Buck tries. 

“Yeah, until you have another kid!” Chris replies accusingly.

Fuck. 

Buck really wishes Eddie was here for this. 

They haven’t actually said to him that they’re having another kid. They were going to wait until there was a more concrete plan. Not the nebulous idea of a kid, someday. Though Buck supposes it’s a bit less nebulous now that they’ve gone as far as choosing a name. 

“Alright,” Buck says. “I’m coming in.”

[dearestwaves]

CONTAGIOUS SOUL

After Fright Night Dynamite, there's only one person Jack wants to talk to.

jackdanny (jack perry/daniel garcia) oneshot - 1.5k words - crossposted on AO3 here

Jack sits alone in The Elite locker room, the TNT belt laid over his lap as he stares at the wall across from him, content to ignore his current circumstance for as long as he can. The bucks left him here. They left Okada too, but it seems as if Okada is actually in on the plan. He’s not all that surprised he isn’t. Jack has no idea what he’s supposed to do from here. 

It’s not that he’s mad about the bucks abandoning him. He had just expected their betrayal to happen to his face, not as an afterthought once they’d finally faced their worst nightmares. Jack mulls over Kenny Omega’s reemergence, and wonders if he’s existing in The Elite on Kenny’s borrowed time. 

It’s just him, now. He doesn’t think Okada would have his back if it came down to it, and he would never ask, so he leaves that in the ‘fat chance’ box of allies (which is most of the company anyways). All he can do is try to avoid the murder spree making its way down the roster and defend his title. Maybe he’ll wake up to a text from Matt tomorrow explaining everything and he won’t have to worry about going through the effort of finding a new faction. 

And like he said, it doesn’t really hurt. It’s like the pit that tore open in his chest two years ago is just filled with apathy.

Jack breaks his dead-stare at the wall and looks down to the TNT belt. He runs his fingers over the front, down the sides, basking in his own creation. He thinks of Danny. Daniel Garcia. Who touched his belt and told him he’s next. Danny, who’s run rampant in his mind ever since he’d confronted him last week. Who pinned him to a wall an hour ago on live television. Daniel Garcia, his polar opposite. 

He doesn’t know why exactly, but he finds himself slinging his title over his shoulder and standing up. He doesn’t stop his feet from wandering to where he knows Danny will be. He blocks out any thoughts second guessing whatever he’s doing, letting his emotions get the best of him, just this once. Survival instinct can take the backseat on the decision-making for the night. He lets himself knock 3 times in rapid succession on the door of Private Party’s locker room. 

It’s quiet behind the door, and Jack assumes that the newly crowned tag champs had already left to celebrate their victory. The sight of Zay and Quen holding the belts and being paraded by the crowd didn’t irk him like he thought it would. It tugged at his heartstrings more than he would ever admit. 

 Jack was gambling that Danny stayed behind. As he received no answer he began to think this was a fluke and a bad idea in the first place. Until he heard shuffling behind the door. He felt a little panic rise in the bottom of his stomach, knowing there was no backing out now. There’s nowhere plausible to run without talking to whoever is behind the door. 

To his luck (or misfortune, he hasn’t decided) the door opens and he’s left face-to-face with Danny. The person he’d taken time out of his night to come find. The aforementioned was looking at him sideways, his shoulders squared like he was ready for whatever tussle Jack had brought to his door. When Jack couldn’t bring any threats from his lips, or any words at all, Danny’s shoulders sagged as he wordlessly pulled the door open wider, extending an arm as a motion for Jack to come inside. 

Jack slowly takes a step inside, making sure not to turn his back on Danny as a precaution. He watches as he closes the door and sighs before turning back to Jack with an exasperated look on his face. “What do you want? Was the disrespect not enough?” 

Jack tightens his grip on the belt sitting on his shoulder while staring blankly at Danny. “I… I don’t,” He doesn’t know what to say. He’s not even entirely sure why he’s here. “This was stupid. I’ll leave you alone,” He mumbles and attempts to step towards the door to leave. 

It seems as if Danny has other plans, though, stepping in his way. “No man, you’re not just gonna show up and then make your grand exit like this is the Jack Perry show. Why did you come here?” 

Jack’s shoulders instinctively pull up as he attempts to make himself look bigger, a contradiction to his dedication to avoiding eye contact. “I just— I don’t know, okay? I don’t have anywhere else to go.” 

Danny huffs out a laugh. “Well I’m glad to know you think so highly of me.” 

“You know that’s not what I meant.” 

“But it’s true though, isn’t it?” Danny steps back, eyeing Jack’s stance. “Put the belt down and look at me. I’m not gonna do anything.” 

“Am I supposed to believe that?” Jack’s eyes dart up to Danny with a sarcastic smile pulling at his lips, before they quickly dart back to the door. 

“Today’s full of surprises. I’m shocked you haven’t tried anything yet.” 

Jack lets fifteen seconds or so pass, before slowly sliding the belt off his shoulder and setting it on the bench and letting his eyes finally trail up to meet Danny’s. He doesn’t like the way his stomach flips when he isn’t met with anger. For the first time, Danny looks at Jack and it isn’t entirely disdain. Soft on the edges, like it hasn’t been left out to thaw for long enough. 

Danny laughs. “You look like yourself without that belt. Makes it harder for you to puff your chest out like you do.” 

“What do you mean I look like myself?” Jack questions, crossing his arms over his chest. “You don’t know me.” 

“Yeah, I don’t. But I know you don’t fit with the Elite. You look like you’re playing dress-up when you’re with them.” Danny cuts into him, and Jack begins to contemplate the choices that brought him here. “They don’t seem to think you fit either. Where’d they go? Left you behind?” 

Jack takes a step towards Danny with a growl, shoving him at the shoulder. “I fit. At least I did. I don’t know what they’re doing.” 

Danny seems stunned that Jack was confiding in him in some measure. “So you’re here because your contingency plan didn’t work out?” 

“No, Danny,” Jack throws his hands in the air before running them down his face. “I just don’t know what to do and I’m really tired of not knowing what to do. And I didn’t know where to go, and this is probably all a horrible idea because you want my title and you’re gonna use all of this against me—“ 

“Slow down,” Danny cuts him off, stepping forward and pulling Jack’s hands away from his face. They’re once again inches from each other, just like they’d been in the hallway earlier. This time, though, there’s no cameras instigating, Danny isn’t pushing and Jack isn’t scratching. “Just because I want your title doesn’t mean I won’t listen to you.” 

“How am I supposed to trust that?” Jack whispers, low in his throat. Danny looks taken aback at his words. 

“Because I’m not them.” is all he says in response. Jack isn’t sure which they he’s referring to, which should make him sadder than it does. 

They stand almost pressed together for a few more seconds until Danny breaks the silence. “But when I say that, I mean it in all senses. I will be here, but only next to you. I am not above or below you, do you got that?” 

Jack nods, finding himself unable to break the eye contact he dreaded only five minutes ago. “You’re not below me.” 

“Glad you finally figured that out,” Danny laughs. It’s soft, tumbling from soft lips and he’s still holding Jack’s hands. “I’ll show you when I take that belt—“

“You’re not above me either, Danny,” Jack banters, a smirk on his face as the other man raises his eyebrows at him. “That stipulation of yours goes both ways, doesn’t i—“ 

Danny cuts him off with a quick peck to his lips, chaste and short. Something you’d see Moxley do in the ring a year ago. It leaves Jack stunned, color rising to his cheeks. The longer Jack stares at him wide-eyed, the more the sly smile on Danny’s face grows. 

“What’s wrong, Jack, I thought you were the better—“ 

It’s Jack’s turn to cut Danny off, his hands breaking free from his grip to hold his face. He kisses him passionately, something taboo and desperate, pulling back as his heart beats through his chest. 

It’s Danny’s turn to look dumbfounded as Jack searches for words. “If you’re gonna do something,” Jack mumbles, his face still so close to Danny’s. “Commit to it.” 

Danny’s smirk returns like it had never been wiped clean in the first place, his hands finding home on Jack’s waist. And for the first time in days, under Danny’s eyes, Jack feels like he knows what to do.

if you read this i hope you enjoyed it!! ahahaha somewhat nervous to post it here as i am new 2 tumblr :3

[gingerteaonthetardis]

wanna prompt me? go for it! my ask box is currently open.

what i will write for:

DW: timepetals in all* forms (nuwho and classic); doctorjackrose; rose x any companions who give off even an ounce of gay energy (bill, ace, charley, martha, clara, donna, idgaf i will write it); charleightrose (iykyk)

DWxTTOI: malcolm tucker x rose tyler (let's face it, none of you know what i'm on about with this one. but i live in hope.)

BTVS: spuffy

TXF: msr

TWILIGHT: bella x jacob; bella x paul; bella x really any of the wolves because tbh the cullens don't exist to me; bella x jessica

ORIGINAL STUFF: ???? (i will literally just spitball about the high context shit that lives rent free in my head. werewolf polycules, bisexuals in the underworld, regency dramas, girls who accidentally made god fall in love with them... like, it will truly just be Whatever I'm Thinking About Today. no idea why you'd want that, but it's an option.)

*with one exception—i do not currently take tentoorose prompts, as i've done a lot of them in the past and am honestly just burnt out. sorry, guys.

do i accept nsfw prompts? yes! if you want your fill to be nsfw, please be sure to include that in the ask! (if you specifically ask for something that is a squick or trigger for me, i might have to pass and i'll let you know, no hard feelings.)

do i write quickly? no! please be patient, i do this in my free time.

how long will the prompt fill be? depends on a variety of factors! how i'm doing mentally/physically, how much time i have, what i want the fic structure to be, how inspiring the prompt is... safe answer is more than 1k words, but less than 5k. (unless i go buck wild for some reason. it's happened before.)

do i only write shippy stuff? no! i accept prompts for platonic dynamics, though usually not for characters i write as a couple. (for example: platonic doctorrose would be... challenging for me and i'd prefer to write something else, but platonic rose and mickey? other friendships, canon or fanon? i can do!)

"i have a really specific prompt in mind, not something from the prompt lists you've shared. will you accept it?" if it's about the characters we both know and love, probably, yeah! send it and see!

"i have absolutely nothing in mind, but still want to prompt you...?" that's totally fine! here are some prompts for your perusal:

three words + a character/pairing

august prompts

october one word writing challenge

doctor x rose christmas prompts

a hundred assorted prompts

physical affection prompts

two characters + a prompt

blossoming romance prompts

"accidentally turned on" otp prompts

"i want to ask for a pairing/character you didn't include, though." for now, please don't (unless you are a treasured mutual and we've discussed this beforehand). there are plenty of wonderful writers in the world who might be better able to give you what you want!

finally, to read past prompts or other fics, check out my AO3! (there's no spuffy there, alas. but i'm trying to fix that...)

[david-bearman]

For the prompt kink list 29 with Carlando or Landoscar? 🥺🥺

idk what has gotten into me today but extremely bottom/sub Oscar focused I’m terribly sorry. not helped by that drawing that Oscar posted with a dog bowl in the corner

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Oscar can only truly calm down and let go of all of the tension in his body when he is in puppy headspace. There is often not enough time to truly indulge in a full day of puppy play, so he doesn't ask for it often, not wanting to inconvenience their schedule. The winter break however, is a beautiful moment to indulge in a way he rarely does.

Lando had sensed his restlessness as he had woken up and had promptly ordered him to kneel and tell him what was wrong. With deeply flushed cheeks and refusing to meet his eyes, Oscar told him.

Which was exactly the reason why he was now in between Lando's legs by the couch, a black collar with orange details around his neck, two mittens covering his hands and a thick orange plug that had a curved tail end, moving every time he slightly shifted.

He laid with his cheek against Lando's uncovered thigh, his owner was currently playing videogames, giving him the occasional head pat. It soothed Oscar to not have to think about anything, to just exist and let Lando make all of the decisions for him.

Lando readjusted on the couch, making it so that Oscar's nose was suddenly a lot closer to his crotch. Curiously Oscar eyed Lando who seemed to be fully concentrated on the tv. Slowly he pushed his nose in further up until he could smell the musk of Lando's groin, sweat combined with the leftovers of come. It had Oscar whine deeply inside the back of his throat as he pushed his nose in further, nosing the fabric to get a better smell.

He put his paws on top of the couch to give himself some leverage, just as he was about to nose behind the seam of Lando's underwear a hand in his hair roughly pulled him away.

Oscar whined loudly, upset he was not allowed to nose his owner. Lando tightened the grip on his hair, "Bad puppy, you're not allowed up on the couch, you know that."

Lando maneuvered him until he was down again, both paws on the floor as he continued his game.

Oscar hopefully shuffled forward, realising he had only been put off for getting on the couch, not for smelling his owner. So he leaned in closer until his nose was touching the inside of Lando's underwear and laid his head down, letting himself enjoy the deep breaths of musk.

Lando happily allowed him, occasionally stroking his hair away from his forehead. He fell into a haze, falling in and out of consciousness with the smell of his owner surrounding him.

By the time he realized Lando was done with his game, both of them were rock hard. Oscar whined when he felt the arousal in his pelvis, a reminder of the plug inside of him came when he clenched down and was met with resistance.

"Oh, is my naughty puppy hard?" Lando said in a taunting voice, making Oscar shiver all over.

Oscar nosed Lando's balls, still covered by a thin layer of underwear, as an answer.

"Yeah? Does my puppy want to suck some cock?"

He widely nodded at the sound of that, flicking his tail in excitement when Lando pulled down his underwear until behind his balls. Almost instantly he was on Lando's cock, licking off the pre-cum and groaning at the taste.

Lando held his head with one hand and with the other guided his cock into Oscar's mouth, "There we go, such a good boy."

Oscar bucked his hips at the feeling of Lando guiding his cock down his throat, his eyes rolling back into his head. He let Lando fuck his throat, tears swelling up at his eyes but determined to take it until Lando said it was enough.

"Does my puppy want to come?"

Oscar's eyes winded at the sound of relief, he whined the best he could with a cock in his mouth until Lando moved his leg. Suddenly a hard shin was pushed against his leaking cock, the pressure heavenly.

"Go on then, good puppies get themselves off."

With doubled efforts Oscar loosened his mouth, letting Lando fully take control while he rubbed himself against his leg. The sounds were absolutely heavenly and before Oscar knew it he had lost himself, coming all over Lando's leg without any warning.

Immediately after, his owner came down his throat, forcing him to swallow or choke. Oscar took it all, his belly filled with warm come as Lando finally pulled him off. He tucked himself away before laying Oscar down on his thigh again, smoothing down the sweaty hair stuck to his forehead.

"There we go, such a good puppy. Did so well for me."

Oscar whined softly in acknowledgement, letting himself drift in the pool of his orgasm.

send me a number and a ship and ill see what I can do for you!

[lover-of-mine]

When do you think Marisol will leave?? How do you think the breakup will happen or some to be?

The thing with Marisol is that Tommy and Eddie have more screentime together than Eddie and Marisol. I have no idea. Because Marisol doesn't exist for us. Literally. She only exists as an actual love interest in flashbacks. I know nothing about her besides the fact that I'm definitely NOT that close with my brother and she likes to diy. Ideally, she would be gone by 7x05 because I want Edy gone asap, but I don't know. I seriously have NO CLUE. There are some openings to make her say something fucked up about Buck and Tommy and Eddie breaking up with her over it, and I know some people wanted her to be messy, I'm one of them, just for the hell tbh, but she's so inconsequential for the story I don't even see her being messy anymore. She adds nothing other than Eddie can say he's "taken at the moment" when he gets hit on during calls. That woman is so irrelevant to the plot right now that if 7x05 opened with Eddie being like we broke up, no one would bat an eye (I know it's not what's gonna happen but it would work). I can't figure out her purpose in the season for the life of me. Eddie looked happier in that hangar about to go on a helicopter ride than he does with her at any point. I wish I had a better answer for you but I don't know, the show didn't give us enough on her for me to be able to make any sort of spec that would have any basis on anything other than the voices in my head. The voices in my head say Eddie will be single for the wedding, but the voices in my head want Buck and Eddie to slow dance so badly they are ignoring logic, so like, I don't know. Hopefully she will be gone next episode. My current bet on a break up is her making a seemingly inconsequential comment that doesn't sit right with Eddie and him just leaving her. But this is based on nothing tbh lol.

[illusivesoulgaming]

"Directions"

Yesterday I saw an re music video on Youtube and one of the comments said "The alternate reality where the Raccoon City outbreak never happened". That was my inspiration for writing this short little thing.

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Summary: "In a world where the Raccoon City outbreak never happened, a cop in the subway gets asked for directions"

Relationships: Leon/Claire

Word Count: 699

Read on AO3

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The subway never had many people at this hour. All the better for him, he thought as he rubbed his eyes. The hangover from last night’s party with Jim was killing him. Downing half a vodka bottle after losing a coin toss didn’t seem like a good idea today, but it had certainly seemed good enough for him last night.

“Train arriving soon”

The computerized voice and the short jingle made him rub the sides of his head. Everyday he spent posted to the subway, the more he wished to get out of there. But rookies went wherever they were sent, not where they wanted to be.

“Just a few weeks and then we’ll have you in the streets. You’ll like the subway, Leon. Not a lot goes on there” Marvin had said to him. 

“ “Not a lot goes on there” Understatement of the century” the cop said as he stretched his arms, barely containing a yawn as he did. Still had to keep the appearance of professionalism.

“Why does a city of a hundred thousand even have a subway?” Leon said to himself as he watched the few people that went in and out of the arriving trains. There were a lot more around rush hour, but still, he didn’t think it justified the number of trains or even the existence of the system in the city. “And Warren said they’re going to expand it even more next year. Must be laundering money or something. I should look into it”

“Give it up, mayor Warren! You’re under arrest” Leon said with his gun drawn as the door from the mayor’s office fell to the floor after he kicked it, a squad of police officers and the S.T.A.R.S unit behind him backing him up as he entered the office “You’re nothing but Umbrella’s puppet, taking their dirty money in exchange for letting them do as they please with this town, but it ends now!”

And just as he was exiting the building with the mayor in cuffs, ready to give his statement to the waiting reporters and their flashing cameras, a strong pull in his shoulder snapped him back to reality and out from his daydreaming.  

“Hello? Civilian contacting planet cop. Anyone in there receiving me?” 

Leon shook his head as he turned to see a redheaded woman in a leather jacket that left her toned arms exposed, black fingerless gloves and long brown boots staring into his soul with a very annoyed expression set on her face.

“Yes, ma’am, how can I help you?”

“Glad to see the city officers being so aware of their surroundings. Only had to stand here for a minute before you noticed. Do you know what station goes to the police department? I’m going to see my brother?”

“Take the train to Redstone Street Station. Once you exit, it’s only a short walk to the department”

“Good. Thanks” the woman replied “By any chance, do you happen to know if Chris Redfield is currently there?”

“Sure is. At least was when I left 2 hours ago” Mentioning the time made him remember all the hours he still had ahead of him before his shift ended. He complained mentally as usual. "Huh, did Chris ever mention he had a sister? Can't remember"

A bright white light began filling the tunnel, and shortly after the big red train arrived and stopped at the station.

The woman stepped into the train, and shortly before it closed, Leon spoke.

“Hey, tell Chris he still owes me 5 bucks”

The woman chuckled “Will do. He owes me money too. What’s your name?”

But before he could answer, the doors slid close and the train moved away from the station.

“Meh, whatever. I’ll tell Chris the daydreaming blondie cop at the subway station told me that you owe him money” Claire said to herself as she watched Leon slowly fading away into the distance as the train entered the tunnel.

“He’s cute. In that dorky way kind of cute” she thought as she sat down and turned on her walkman, put on her headphones and lost herself in the music as the train took her to her destination.

[toons-inkwell]

Misery Loves Company Chapter: 5

Warnings: Blood, mentions of violence/murder, self-harm & suicide, cussing

Words: 2,994

Het hummed a jaunty tune as he descended the stairs of Euthanasia's basement. He knew exactly where everything stood and by the looks of things not an inch had changed since he seen it last. It was years but his eye picked up every little detail that he could recall, the creaky wooden stairs that threatened to give way under his paws but never would, the corners of the ceiling compact with cobwebs, even the smell was the same. Damp and cold, like a swamp in the dead of night, the air was murky from the rusted pipes that hadn't been used for months and fixed for years. The smell itself was actually somewhat pleasant to the cat, a far cry from what he had subjected to himself before. Not only that but unlike the air up above which stung his nose hole with the faint smell of that bitch who used to live there, the basement was free of that. It was clean, untouched, a capsule capturing a moment just right before—

THUNK

Het threw his bag onto a wooden bench near the back of the basement, the expansive space inside filled with tools, a few leftover parts of his victims, and some miscellaneous items jostled about. The bag of "tricks" of his was a mess inside, he hadn't cleaned it in ages. Maybe that's why he couldn't find something to kill Euthanasia with last time. His own disorder and useless junk prevented him from finding a proper tool to use for mutilation. That was a damn shame. He had no interest in killing the buck—well, not now at least. Still, back when he did plan it he kinda wished he could have found something good to use instead of beating Euthanasia with his own appendages. Granted, it was hilarious, but he could have easily prevented himself from getting shot.

"OH!" Het snapped his fingers and looked around, his eye able to perfectly see in the darkness of the room "Oz kept a mirror round here somewhere, now where did he—aha!"

Past a few boxes that cluttered up the scenery was an object propped up on the wall covered by a thin white sheet. Had the boxes always been here? He'd check them in a moment, for now he had to deal with the little issue of his disability. Well, it didn't *start* as a disability, but over time and the repeated blows to the head, body, and everywhere, he had grown numb to most sensations both externally and internally. At first it was neat not feeling pain, then it slowly became troublesome until it was a downright pain in the behind—which he would not be able to feel. As it would turn out not feeling things leads to injuries going unnoticed, honestly it was a surprise internally bleeding hadn't taken care of him sooner. Maybe it was a sort of divine blessing in a way for him to continue his work and continue making that rabbit's life miserable. It was strange how he consistently attributed his continued existence to blessings and what not, he didn't actually believe in the divine and constantly mocked the belief in a god. It was just a saying though, he shouldn't think too much of it. What was he doing? Oh! Mirror, that's right.

Het walked over, yanked the cover off the mirror, and examined his appearance. The light on sure as hell would have helped his examination—but he didn't wanna walk all the way over to the light switch. Why didn't he just switch the light on when he walked down? That was a good question. A darn good question he didn't have the answer to. He was already at the mirror, it wouldn't have killed him to walk over but he just really didn't want to. Cats could see in the dark after all, why waste the gift he was born with by using lights? Speaking of things he was born with: there wasn't anything out of the blue on his face. The cold bone of his skull was relatively intact, even the cracks from where Euthanasia shot him were thinning. It would probably take a day or two—give or take—but the bullet hole that was currently covered by two band-aids would be sealed as well. That just left his body to be looked at and so far everything was good? His fur was scruffed, it had been so long since he brushed or groomed himself, but he couldn't think of the last time it had returned to its original fine, silky texture. His tail was probably good? He gave it a good wiggle to make sure and nothing looked off or broken. He had grown adept at making sure the bones in his tail were fine, he couldn't tell if they were cracked but if they were broken it would make the way it moved rather limp. Breaking others’ bones also helped him understand if his body had something wrong with it. You don't torture a few people without learning a few things about the human body. That was a bit of an issue, he really only knew about the human body rather than his own. Toons and humans weren't that different though, his knowledge wasn't totally worthless. Now the only thing left to check was his lower half to make sure there was no-

"Blood"

Het's ears twitched and his gaze shot back to the mirror. The dim light that emanated from his eye bounced off, basking him in a very small glow. It was this glow that caught his eye that made him do a very quick run over his figure, finally spotting the pool of blood that seeped from under him. How did he not see that sooner? He could still feel whenever his fur got wet or temperature changed, they weren't as numb as pain. Either way, now that he realized it now he had to do something about it.

"You need to fix that"

Het's ears twitched again and he glared at his reflection "can't fix something when I don't even know what needs to be fixed"

The cat sat on one of the boxes on the floor. Resting one leg on the other, he dragged his hand across his blood drenched paw searching for any wound. The calloused pads of his scraped against his fingers, the texture making him tense up. He couldn't let himself be bothered by such a thing, he had to make sure the bleeding would stop or bare minium check if it was a type of cut that would fix itself. The fact that he was even bothered by the texture in the first place was a tad bit strange. He had explored all the squishy bits that someone had on the inside and constantly tested what different things such as organs felt like. Why was the feeling of his paw pads something that concerned him?

"Could be glass"

"No... I think I would have felt the shard" Het replied, still searching himself "wait-" he looked up, meeting his reflection's stare "why would it be glass? It's the countryside? How many rednecks do you think there are bashing bottles or other bullshit out here of all places?"

"There's lots of blood. Broken glass causes lot's of blood"

Het pressed his fingers to his head, smearing the blood on himself as he rubbed temples that weren't there "Lots of things cause blood ya know? Correlation doesn't equal causation"

"Imply"

"What?"

"It's correlation does not imply causation. Not correlation does not equal causation"

"Oh for Christ sake!" Het stood up, the platter of his paw sinking itself back into the blood making him already regret getting worked up. Still, he persisted, pointing to his reflection with a snarl that his face couldn't physically make "I really do hate smartasses like you, equal and imply are interchangeable in this circumstance, what's the difference!?"

"Difference is ones the saying and ones something you said because you forgot"

"WHY DOES THAT FUCKING MATTER!" Het grinded his sharpened teeth against each other "you're not my English teacher, why are you lecturing me on useless bullshit like this!?"

"You never paid attention to your English teacher in the first place"

"BECAUSE I FOUND HER AN INSUFFERABLE CUNT!" He turned away, pacing back and forth a few feet away from his reflection"all the damn time I gotta deal with morons who just plague my life! Person after person, it's just a stream of ignorance that I must subject myself too! I swear if I ignored each and every idiot on my way through life I would be living high and mighty, maybe I'd even be like one of those elitist pricks up in the Hollywood hills partying, living an actual good life instead instead of being forced down here in some musty basement that's air is the only reprieve I got from the contamination this house is ripe with!"

"Do you hate it?"

Het paused, slowly turning to the mirror his voice lowered "... Hate what?"

"Your life. Currently living down in the basement of the only person you ever l-"

"DON'T!" The cat raised a finger, his eye twitching at his accursed reflection's sentence "I don't... Need... A lecture from you..." He took a step forward, eyeballing that smile that mocked him "I know what you're gonna say, and you're wrong... Deeply wrong"

"Mistaken"

"..." Het's eye twitched again "... What..."

"The saying is mistaken, deeply mistak-"

CRASH

The full force of the feline’s fury came crashing into the mirror. His fist shattering it into dozens of tiny pieces that scattered all around him. He couldn't feel the shards stabbing into his knuckles, instead all he felt was unadulterated fury. How dare it. How fucking dare it try and lecture him. Where did it get off trying to tell him what was what? What gave it the right to ask him or correct him with this useless garbage!? Most importantly: why didn't it stop! Why did they just get louder, why are there more of them!? He couldn't fathom why but they just kept coming, like disgusting roaches emerging from a rotting carcass they swarmed him. Dozens of little voices running rampant making his skin crawl, no matter how much he scratched and clawed at his skin none of which would go away

"Do you feel happy?"

"Shut up"

"Does it satisfy you?"

"Shut up"

"Do you really think your making a difference doing this?"

"I know what difference I'm making, just shut it!"

"Where do you think this will lead you?"

"I don't care! Just shut up!",

"You deserve it. Not them"

Tears swelled in his eye. Looking down at the shattered glass he could see the abhorrent demon mocking him. Eyes like the devil, one black the other yellow, sharp teeth like a beast, a skeletal face where normalcy should have been. There was not one but thousands. Thousands of these awful creatures staring at him from each individual shard. He could feel them staring, he could feel them trying to grab at him. They were insects, insects with words that would crawl into his pores before burrowing into the deepest parts of his flesh.

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!"

Het shouted—nay, screamed repeatedly, stomping on the glass fracturing more of what used to be the mirror. He couldn't feel the shards lodging themselves into his feet but even if he didn't he wouldn't care. He could still hear them, he could still see them. They only seemed to grow and multiple, each shard fracturing into several others. A pool of red smeared across the floor, the demons swimming about in the sea of blood in their sharp boats. What once was dozens of voices multiplied as the faces did, hundreds possible thousands swarm about. He hated it, he hated each and everyone that spoke to him, questioning what he did. He didn't need a reason to explain himself, he had no reason to tell those assholes ANYTHING! Why didn't they just leave him alone! Why didn't EVERYONE just leave him alone from the very beginning!? If no one was there he would be fine. If he stopped anyone from getting close this would have never happened, he would have prevented EVERYTHING and it was so simple to do!

"You know there's one way to fix everything"

Het fell to his knees, a singular piece of shattered glass that looked extra jagged catching his eye.

"Go ahead... Do it"

He picked it up, blood already coated the edges.

"What's a little bit more?"

He looked down to his wrists.

"One more cut, one more slice in a more... Vital area"

His mouth felt dry. He couldn't argue, he couldn't say anything back. It was right, they were all right.

"If you know what's good for everyone"

The world would be a better place without him, one less hideous pyscho.

"Oswald would be better off without you"

The words hit him like a truck, the whisper's finally getting to him. All at once reality came to a halt, his senses returning to him and his surroundings falling back into view. He was bleeding profusely, his legs and paws drenched in his own fluids as dwelled in the basement of his worst enemy.

Slowly he stood up. The gravely scrape of his voice now replaced with a raspy laughter. He held his belly and threw his head back, it wasn't funny. It was downright HILARIOUS

"HAHAHA!" He wiped his eye that leaked tears down his face, flinging the water on the floor "Oh god...your right...your so right!" He proclaimed proudly, tossing away the shard and pacing once more "that's exactly why I'm NOT gonna do that!" He removed his tail and curved it into a hook, pulling over his yellow sack to rummage about "Why the hell would I slit my wrists and die down in some dingy basement!? I still got a whole lotta work to get done!—I mean, the irony of me killing myself while that poor unlucky fuck up there can't is funny, but me kicking the bucket would bring him too much satisfaction, I couldn’t do that, Oh god, how can I ever repay ya for reminding me?"

"..."

Het looked around, nobody there to accompany him. He was alone. Absolutely and utterly alone, down in a basement completely in the dark. He was always alone to begin with.

"Oh yeah... Ain't nobody down here but me" he rubbed his chin and looked down at the puddle, taking note how his legs started to tingle "mmm... Gonna assume that's the blood loss"

Deciding he didn't want his abode for the foreseeable future to be a complete mess, Het began to clean up. Honestly, he didn't even remember what he did. The last handful of minutes were a blur—was it even a handful of minutes? Could have been just a singular minute, could have been an hour, he didn't know. There was no real way to judge time, that would probably be one of the things he needed. A clock, some cleaning supplies, maybe some furniture too considering he had nothing to sit on but boxes of junk he didn't really care to dig through at the moment. For now though he could at least use his bag of tricks to tidy up, retrieving some tools from the bag he sweeped up the glass and then mopped the blood into one side of the basement. He had no way of actually cleaning up the blood but he decided to just leave it, one way or another the room would stink of iron due to his plans so he, might as well start now. Speaking of starting, he figured it was best to start patching himself up before he suddenly passed out from blood loss.

"One-two-three-fou–oh no, five" Het counted, yanking each shard from his foot, occasionally one piece fracturing into more "six-seven-eigh–"

DINK

Het's ears flagged up, his eye snapping upwards "the hell's that!?"

DINKDINKDINK

Repeatedly some irritating noise blared, one after another. It was a grating and sounded something familiar, something that bothered him. What bothered him the most was knowing that the only possible sound it could be was that rabbit. That awful, irritating, fuck of a rabbit that had started all this. Just the thought of him made the cat's eye twitch and tail curl, violent thoughts surge through his mind. He'd get up there and strangle that bastard back into unconscious if it meant he could get some peace. He didn't want to sleep, he didn't like too, but the most he could get was some peace and quiet in his own damn—

oh, wait...This wasn't his house....

Whatever! It didn't matter, the second he'd walk up those steps he'd silence that lagomorph and make sure he stays silent!

"That fucker is gonna have a surprise for him when I get up th–"

crunch

"...."

Het looked downwards, the sound catching him off guard—it probably shouldn't have considering he knew what it probably was. And sure enough just as he thought when he heard the noise, he had stepped on each and every piece of glass he had yanked out. More blood seeped out from both new wounds and old ones that were made deeper. He probably had a good 20 minutes before he passed out so that would have to be the number one priority for now as much as it hurt him. It wasn't the glass that hurt him though, it was the non-stop noise from up above. What even was that!? He heard screaming now but it was incoherent and strained, the noises no doubt coming from the rabbit he had the displeasure of ever meeting. For now though? He'd sit and wait, plucking out each shard and imagining how happy it'd make him to shove it down Euthanasia's throat.

It would be the first bit of happiness he had for a long time.