#cracky crack crack

[ninjasmudge]

Maid-fu Lamba

here is some context for why theyre maids

[fireflysugarpie]

Dumbass thought but shizun (sy) x Tony the tiger

hmm, this raises some interesting questions that I need answered anon.

why are Shen Yuan and Tony the Tiger theoretically in the same universe in order to pursue a romantic relationship with one another? what would draw them to each other? if Shen Yuan is a furry in this scenario, would that make Tony the Tiger a fleshie?

if this is another transmigration situation, who would Shen Yuan transmigrate into? An unsuspecting extra or actor that appeared in the commercials? The bowl of cereal? or would he also be a weirdly hot anthropomorphic animal?

maybe in this universe, Shen Yuan dies while furiously cranking it to rule34 Kelloggs cereal ads and transmigrates into a furry's paradise. if so, even though I love the depiction of crane!shen yuan, I think I would have to go with the fandom depiction of a housecat lmao

then the ship would turn into twink housecat shen yuan x buff hunk tiger tony. both would be mammals and roughly the same species, so I think it could work out.

"but Firefly!" you may say, "shen yuan is attracted to pathetic pretty men! he wouldn't go for the beef cake, successful actor, and married father of two!" (and yes, Tony the Tiger is canonically married with two children, I had to deep dive into the lore of this fictional hunky tiger in order to make this post just for you anon ♡)

but my solution to this is to make Tony the Tiger go through a messy divorce. think about it, a divorcee single father trying his best to raise his kids, fighting the court system to get full custody, whilst juggling his responsibilities as a third generation actor and as an athletics coach? dude would have to have a mental breakdown eventually

maybe during a bad set of takes for a new commercial, Tony would be hiding away in a supply closet crying, the pressures of his home and professional life becoming too much for him to bare at the moment, when an extra also into the same supply to also have a mental breakdown.

that extra being shen yuan obvi, probably freaking out over being a furry version of himself. but of course, he has to help this poor guy before he can deal with his own shit! he isn't heartless after all!

his eyes would be so kind, his voice so soft, and his ass so fat that Tony the Tiger would be all over that catboy

and shen yuan would come to the slow realization that this attractive tiger man was actually the living breathing version of the 2d animated tiger he used to jerk off to hahahahaha

[firewolf111]

Might I request dark side QPR? 100% fluff, just Virgil, Janus, and Remus being chaotic together.

Thanks for the request <3

Hope you enjoy!

................................

Janus: Come on, Virgil. You agreed to Friday movie nights.

Virgil: *groaning* But do I have to?

Janus: Yes.

Virgil: Fine.

Janus: *rolling his eyes* Good. Now, where to begin?

Remus: I call building the blanket fort!

Virgil: Guess I'll go get the snacks.

Janus: I'll go set up the movie. Since I'm the only one capable of working the DVD player.

Virgil: *rolling his eyes as he walks to the kitchen* Still don't understand why you won't just stream it like a normal person.

Janus: *glaring at him before going back to finding a movie*

Remus gets the blanket fort built. It's big and fluffy and somehow structurally sound (even though it doesn't look like it should be). Virgil returns with bowls of popcorn, cups of hot chocolate, and some small containers of candy. Janus picked some random cheesy horror movie. They get comfy together in the fort. Things start calm, with each of them commenting on the movie. Remus gives gruesome facts and talks about the gore. Virgil makes fun of the effects and picks apart the plot holes. Janus makes fun of the characters and their choices. They make it until about halfway through the movie.

Janus: Oh yes. Go towards the screaming. That will clearly go well.

Virgil: *rolling his eyes* Yeah. Characters like her never have any brain cells. Though... *glancing past Janus towards Remus* guess we can't say much since Remus is currently shoveling glitter into his mouth.

Janus: *looks towards Remus, who was in the middle of shoving another handful of glitter in his mouth. His face was a sparkling mess.* Remus! I thought we agreed, no more eating glitter! Last time, it took weeks to get all the glitter out of the blankets, and I'm still finding some in the carpet!

Remus: *stares Janus in the eyes as he eats another handful*

Janus: *tackles Remus*

The two of them roll around on the floor for a few minutes, glitter puffing out from them in tiny little clouds. Virgil cackles as he records them. After about five minutes, Janus sits up with a triumphant look on his face. He holds up a now empty glitter container.

Janus: *smugly* Ha! I win.

Virgil: *snorting* You sure?

Janus: *looking over at him*

Virgil: I mean, look at you two. *He glances between the empty container, the two of them, and the mess of glitter on the blankets* Both of you are covered in glitter and the blankets look like a disco ball. You kinda just made it worse. Just saying.

Janus: *rolling his eyes before making eye contact with Remus. They both smirk at each other with a mischievous look*

Virgil: *glaring* Don't you dare.

Janus: I don't know what you are talking about.

Virgil: I know that look on your faces. Don't.

Remus: Now, now my emo nightmare, whatever are you talking about?

Virgil: You know exactly what I'm- *He gets cut off by Janus and Remus tackling him*

The three of them roll around a bit before it evolves into some strange combination between a glitter fight and a pillow fight. By the time they calm down, the movie had already ended, and the living room was a mess of blankets, pillows, and glitter. It takes a while for the laughter to die down. When it finally does, Janus speaks up.

Janus: You guys do realize that someone has to clean this up, right?

He barely gets to finish his sentence before Remus is sprinting to his room.

Remus: Not it!

Virgil and Janus: Remus!

Now I wish I had friends I could have a glitter fight with :(

[lurafita]

Evilist of all evil, Magnus the Evil

(Super crack)

Magnus was evil. The big bad. The evilist. The biggest, baddest most evilist around. Totally. Super evil, diabolical genius with magic who was gonna rule the world!!!

... right after he gets that little girl's kitten out of that tree.

Or, how a possibly slightly crazy-ish Magnus fails at being evil, and instead finds a familiy of choice and the love of his life, in these people he keeps accidentally helping out.

(Originally posted in a Malec Discord server, where one other member added this little jewel):

Magnus is like "But I needs to do the evil today?!?🥺"

Alec: "Umm…I saw you get up to help an old lady with the groceries not 10 minutes ago AFTER you were done feeding kittens on the street…?"

Magnus: "��� But…evillll"

Alec: What if you were evil to the bad guys?

Magnus: They're not bad they're just misunderstood 😔

Alec : 😒

(Which made me add this as well):

(Magnus saying the bad guys are misunderstood got my brain going like): Magnus: "Like those guys that kidnapped me earlier." Alec: "You were kidnapped?!" Magnus: "Yes, see, they lured me into this white panel van with promises of 'a good time'." Alec: "Hasn't anyone had the 'stranger danger' talk with you?!" Magnus: "Of course. I'm a danger to the stranger, because I'm evil. Now, back to the gentlemen in the van. As soon as I was close enough, three of them grabbed me and one tried to chloroform me. Which of course didn't work, because I'm much more evil and therefor stronger than them. So after I beat them, we had a long talk. Turns out they got me confused with some rich heir to some family fortune, who they wanted to ransom back to his parents for lots of money. Money which they then wanted to use to pay off the hospital bills for the kid of a dead friend of theirs. Turns out the widow is badly in debt because of that and might lose the house, and then she and the kid will be homeless. But you know how much can go wrong with kidnappings, especially of people who are very rich and well connected. And these guys clearly weren't cut out for that. So I helped them rob a bank instead." Alec: "…"

(And another)

Alec gets home one day to the sight of Magnus rocking a toddler on his lap. The toddler is giggling happily, inbetween sucking a big lolly pop. Magnus has a similar lolly pop between his lips. Alec is… concerned. Alec: "Magnus? Why is there a child?" Magnus: "Well, it all started with me stealing the lolly." Alec: "You stole candy from a kid?" Magnus: "It's the evilist thing one can do, so I had to. It's the law. Anyway, I swapped out the kids lolly with a new one, because I may be evil, but I'm not a monster. And then I realized that the kid's lolly had been poisoned." Alec: "Oh my god are you okay? Should I call Cat?" Magnus: "Don't worry, Darling. I'm much too evil for this weak kind of poison to affect me. But the kid would have bit the dust, no question. A little investigating then led me to the kid's uncle, who is the legal guardian of the little one, and tried to get rid of him to get his hands on the money the dead parents left the kid in their will. So then I sent the uncle to my father and stole the kid."

[eri-pl]

But what about the Silmaril's rights?

Or "the erason why the Feanorians shouldn't get them, which may be somwhat compelling even to the more pro-feanorian of you (because it's not about the Sindar)" (to be clear: my goal is not to invalidate the Sindar)

So, the Silmarils are alive. They do have feelings: they enjoy the light (I will not give quotes because my book is in Polish, but it's in their description). This may be a hyperbole or something, like Balrog's wings of shadow, but I'm not sure it is. Elves, with their ability to perceive other minds, would probably not attribute feelings to something that doesn't have them. Not in a serious text like the Annals of Aman.

How did Feanor make them, you ask? He cannot create life. Yes. He didn't create them in the strict sens, or even in the typical artistic sub-creation sense. He bred them. He created them like an artisan gardener creates a living chair from a willow. He bred them from the light of the Trees, and they are offspring of the Trees.

Does it mean they belong to Yavanna? No, I don't think so. In the logic of modernday agricultural corporation or dog breeder they would, but I don't think she would see them as more hers than every plant is hers. More beloved by her, maybe. Maybe not. She has no problem with the idea of them dying, so probably less.

I'm not going to make claims on who they legally belong to under this or that law, that's not the point of the post.

The point is that they are creatures with feelings. And they love light, they metabolize light, they probably need light to thrive. And Feanor in his later days keeps them closed in a dark treasury. And Melkor keeps them on his evil face (considering their nature I would be very unsurprised if the burning of the evil caused them as much pain as the burned person) in a dark fortress.

That's animal magical jewel abuse.

And the sons of Feanor who want to claim them, would also all cause pain to them. Sure, ok, maybe they would keep the gems in a bright, uncovered place where they could see their cousins (sun and moon) and shine for all to see and not be closed like a pupy in a cage. Maybe they would not touch them.

Both of those seem extremely unlikely, considering all facts. SoF are reasonable, and the reasonable thing to do with the Silmarils is to keep them secret, keep them safe in a dark, closed place. (And if you think they would give the jewels proper enrichment, look into my eyes and say: "Yes, I think that the sons of Feanor would put empathy for other living being over their oath".)

(Yes, I know thay have trauma. This post is not about hating them. It is about whether they are fit to take good care of magical jewels. Unprocessed trauma doesn't help in that. they need emotional support jewels, and the Silmarils are not trained for that, they do have a trauma of their own.)

And the Silmaril loved Luthien, oh how itloved her, she shone so bright and the gem drank it and gave it back and it was wonderful it was killing her but she loved this little creature too much to care.

It's complicated. You have a (magical and somewhat holy puppy) who one guy bred and abused (because he didn't know how to care for it and was made distrustful of the people who could teach him, and he had unprocessed trauma), then he died and now his sons believe they'd all go to hell if they don't get the puppy and keep it safe in a tiny cage, and there's the girl who stole the puppy from a terrible guy who abused it (because he's Like That), and it's so happy with her and then there's all that mess.

(I imagine them as some weird thing between animal, plant and magic... they don't talk or move, but they do feel a lot.)

So, as I asked in the title: what about their rights?

[tennessoui]

i ALSO finished chapter 2 of a more perfect union so I’m on a roll today 🎉🥹

[lolli-says-stuff]

Yassen : You know, I really wish you’d just admit you made a mistake. 
Alex, stirring his tea: I prefer it with salt.

[darthstitch]

Contrary to popular opinion, Hob Gadling knew exactly what he was going to be in for when he ended up arse over teakettle for one broody, mysterious and completely adorable anthropomorphic personification of the collective human unconscious.

Try saying that first statement five times, fast.

Dream will protest at the "adorable" business and will make pointed comments about "impudent humans" and "respecting the dignity of his station." Sure. There is nothing adorable about having one's husband curl up on one's lap like the oversized cat that he is, snuggle close and make biscuits on one's shirt. Purring is entirely possible because Hob knows exactly where to kiss and nuzzle him to produce said sounds.

That being said, Hob was completely unprepared for the kilig and gigil that came over him when he found Dream in deep conversation with Miette, using purrs, trills and on Miette's part, meeps.

Hob is a wise husband and does not enquire any further on what mischief his darlings are up to now.

[ruiniel]

thought about the time I drew Sauron messily eating Angband fast food chicken wings for a post I can no longer find

[facedock]

yes i used ai to make a facedock song no i'm not sorry yes i also set it to clips and made it seem way more dramatic than these two have any right to be no i'm not sorry about that either

[queerweewoo]

CRACK (TO THE HEAD) WITH A CAPITAL 'C'

(AKA The Written at 4am Buddie Crack-ish Fic Starring: Thirsty Song Lyrics, National Treasure Christopher Diaz, and Way Too Many Feels For Its Own Damn Good)

.

It's Friday morning, two minutes to zero-ten hundred-hours, according to Eddie's Timex Indiglo watch which is never even a half-second out, when he unlocks the door to Buck's place to drop Christopher off for his overnight stay—Chris refuses to call them sleepovers anymore because age thirteen is apparently The Number of The Beast—before Eddie will have to bail pretty sharpish to kick-off his twenty-four shift that begins at eleven.

On entering the apartment, they're met by the sound of raucous, upbeat music.

Eddie scans the loft for his friend and has to do a seriously comical double take when he catches sight of Buck, who has one hand spread palm-down on his the couch cushions, and the other behind his back as he performs shirtless one-armed wonder press-ups (with perfect fucking form, as always) to the punky beat of The Offspring's Pretty Fly For A White Guy that's currently blasting from Buck's bluetooth speaker—riiiiiight as the Give it to me baby! A-ha! A-ha! part of the song hits and the whole scene has Eddie's brain record-scratching and stopping him dead in his army issue steelies.

Dead, fucking dead, ¡Santa María, salva mi alma!

His jaw instantly drops through the floor and into the apartment below without his permission as if there are lead weights attached to his teeth, his mouth now fully hanging open and catching all the damn flies in a completely horrifying display of blatant, lust-filled shock.

Buck is breathtaking at the best of times, but right here, right now, he is heart-stoppingly unfuckingreal.

READ MORE BELOW OR HERE ON AO3

Eddie's bestie (best friend-shaped, Eddie! Eddie thinks, Buck is best friend-shaped!) is carelessly grunting like some sort of sex-machine that's been built to Eddie's exact specifications, and each grunt is louder than the last with each new, hard push upwards of Buck's swollen-thick torso, glistening sweat beading on his—well, on his absolutely fucking everything, Jesus fucking Christ on a bike, and Eddie's washing machine brain is at once stuck on an eternal spin-cycle and may well break down any second now and have him collapsing like a shabby old rag doll dressed in Eddie's Henley and Eddie's ripped jeans and falling to his now-violently shaking knees if he doesn't grab the fuck onto something, STAT.

He's about to shamefully steady himself with a hand to his son's shoulder when Christopher starts yipping like a madman then joining in with the song lyrics by positively shouting out the chorus.

“Give it to me baby! A-ha! A-ha!” he screams in a deliberate and absurd soprano, and Eddie's mind is screaming in Shut-Down, having first upgraded to an aneurysm, or at least a stroke, and he has to slap a hand over his kid's mouth, pronto, because he doesn't know what the fuck else he possibly could do at this point in the fantasy-laiden world that is currently unfolding before his probably now bloodshot eyes; nothing else he can think of to stop himself from ending up in a drooling heap that will become known as The Reduction Formally Known As Eddie Diaz's Gay Panic when he melts onto Evan Buckley's kitchen linoleum at possibly one minute to ten on a Friday afternoon in June in the year of our Lord 2024.

Eddie just barely manages to squeak out a truly pathetic, “Nope! Nuh-huh! No!” before that particular Cartoon Network-esque slapstick disaster becomes an unfathomable and inescapable reality.

Christopher obviously protests his outrage with a muffled but still impressively indignant, “Daaaad! I'm thirteen YEARS old, not thirteen MONTHS old!” just as Buck spots them both and smiles his big, adorable smile, immediately abandoning his exercises to turn the music off (oh, thank the Heavens!) and jumping up to stride over towards Christopher and Eddie to meet them where they're standing around like kitchen gremlins by the central island in Buck's kitchenette.

Sopping wet, wide-spread sweat patches are darkening the majority of Buck's once-light grey jersey short-shorts (holy crap, they are short and are leaving nothing to the imagination), those unfairly long legs of his slick and shimmering with dewy-fresh perspiration, just like the rest of his devastatingly gorgeous half-naked body, and Eddie wouldn't be joking if he regaled this moment to somebody at a later date (as if he ever would) by telling them that his entire life flashed before his eyes—because it absolutely balls to the wall no fucking shit just did.

He blinks approximately seven-hundred and thirty-three times in the less-than-four seconds it takes for Buck to reach them.

Christopher is flailing under Eddie's death-grip like a traumatised kidnap victim, while Eddie is continuing to freak the fuck out in Narnia like the crazed Closet Case that he is.

Edmundo Diaz—First Responder; Lapsed Roman Catholic—finds himself praying for a natural disaster, or an act of God, or, or, or, just... Something! Anything!

¡Por favor, Dios, por favor!

Resolute to the fact he has absolutely one-hundred percent secured his place in the very lowest circle of Hell, Eddie plasters a surely maniacal pearly-white grin onto his stupid and definitely reddening face, and says, “Howdy!” far too loudly in his thickest Texan accent for some unknown fucking reason—which is far, far louder and far, far thicker than any he ever sported while actually growing up in Texas—because he's clearly gone bat-shit fucking insane. Then he's breaking out into even more of a full-body sweat than Buck who has been working out for what is probably around the half-hour mark or more, by this point, because Sweaty Adonis Buckaroo is now right fucking there right in fucking front of Eddie so fucking close almost close enough to reach out and touch—

Ohshitohshitohshitohshitohshit!

And isn't this just aces?

Eddie thinks, Fuck fucking push-ups, fuck The Fucking Offspring, and fuck fucking Eddie's fucking life so fucking hard, godfuckingdammit.

Eddie is so Bucked.

Buck's smile is turning inquisitive (and somehow even more adorable) at Eddie's clear display of Buck-induced brain damage, before his baby-blues are twinkling with something... Mischievous? Cunning?

And then he's answering Eddie's dumb as shit greeting with, “Aloha, cowboy,” his brows snaking up his forehead, tongue lolling out of his mouth to rest on that sinfully pouty-pink bottom lip in a way that is the complete fucking opposite of innocent, leaving Eddie wondering if it's possible to die twice in the space of—well, ever.

(He knows all too well that it is, but he's been Bucked, remember, so how about giving his brain a break, hmm? THANK YOU SO MUCH).

Then Eddie wonders: Is this the ghost of Buck 1.0 that's come to say:

Hi, babygirl, I'm here to Buck you up good, real good, so you better hold on real tight because you're goin' downtown faster than a whore's panties, you slutty little—*GUNSHOTS*

About to possibly kick the bucket for the third time in as many minutes, Eddie realises he doesn't really know what Hawaii could possibly have to do with the Wild West (Aloha Cowboy?) but that he honestly couldn't give any amount of fucks, flying or otherwise, because unless his head has been cruelly hoodwinked with a massive serving of Wishful Thinking, he is also realising that...

That...

Buck is seriously flirting with him right now?!

He ponders briefly over how hard he actually hit his head when he'd banged it into the doorframe of his truck, maybe five minutes earlier when grabbing Christopher's crutches from the backseat just after they'd arrived.

Eddie then notices Christopher's teenage Smirky McSmirkerson features in his periphery (Chris had managed to prize Eddie's numb hand from his face a moment ago) and also the way his son's own head is snapping between his now fully-loco father and his Buck, and Eddie thinks of tennis matches, and flying pigs, and how stiflingly hot it seems to have become in the loft in the last thirty or so seconds.

Then Buck is licking at those lovely lips of his, turning to Christopher and saying, “What do you say we go out on a breakfast date on Sunday morning, after your Dad has slept a bunch, huh Christopher?”

Only, when he says the word 'date', Eddie doesn't think he's imagining the way Buck's eyes flicker pointedly in Eddie's exact direction.

“Because I'm off the whole weekend,” he continues, “so the three of us could drive the jeep out of town and I could buy you both giant syrupy waffles with maple bacon and Horchata milkshakes from Fosselman's and then... And then we can go visit the the Greek Theatre, and then maybe Griffith Observatory later on in the evening, when the stars come out, and we'll hold hands,”—again, his eyes bore longingly into Eddie's for a split-second that feels like a lived lifetime—“all three of us, like we used to when you were tiny, Chris, you remember that? And it'll be the best day that we've ever, ever had together, I absolutely know it.”

Buck is looking at Eddie again, only Buck isn't looking away this time and Eddie is almost positive that his eyes are screaming: Yes, Eds! Yes, I want you, too, man! So let's do this!

“Ew, no way,” Christopher instantaneously complains—before he's quickly backtracking and amending his statement with, “To the hand-holding, I mean. The rest sounds pretty good, though, Buck. What do you think, Dad?” and he even manages to sound marginally appreciative at the tail end—appreciative for a sharp, snarky teenager, that is.

Christopher then fully turns to Eddie (Eddie who's body is now sans soul) and says, “Can we really have waffles and milkshakes for breakfast Dad? Can we? Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease don't be a major Joy Assassin and say 'It's not a proper meal if there's no vitamins involved, Mijo', because it'll be a Sunday, and it sounds so awesome, like the rest of the day does, too, actually. And you love Buck, Dad, so maybe just you and him can be sappy Sallys and hold hands and be all gross together, and I'll secretly snap your picture when you're mooning at Buck with heart-eyes, like you always do, and Buck will give you heart-eyes back, like he always does, too, except this time you can both do it while you're actually looking at each other, and then I'll send the photo to Aunt Maddie and Uncle Chim who can maybe finally convince you two to move in together and get married like I've been trying to get them to for years, now!”

Eddie doesn't know where the hell the kid got the breath from for all those truths.

Because that's what that was; Eddie's truth, all of it.

But was it really Buck's truth, too?

Like they're rehearsing in a play based on their lives, Buck, on cue, lets out a really happy-sounding gasp that quickly morphs into a happy-sounding laugh, and Eddie bottle-rockets right out of the fucking apartment and off into the fucking stratosphere.

He is very much back in the room, though, when Christopher takes his hand to gracelessly slam-join it with Buck's, which is calloused like his own due to the life-saving work they proudly tackle together day-to-day—always together, every day they can be, always, partners in everything they do—and Buck's hand is big, and warm, too, and all kinds of wonderful, and then Eddie is not only thinking about all the skin and the hot and the sweaty and the gorgeous, but also about how Buck has saved Eddie's life, so many times, now, and saved him in so many different ways from practically the first week he and Chris spent in LA after leaving El Paso, has saved him in every way possible, actually, every which way under the sun and the moon and the stars, even the ones they can't see from Griffith Observatory. And even though Buck has just murdered Eddie twice already this morning in the silly-short space of time he and Christopher have been here, with his push-up grunts and sexy-swagger and his 'Aloha, Cowboy' (whatever the fuck that even means) and, most of all, above everything else, Buck's Over Nine-Thousand level of Adorability, Buck's boundless generosity and kindness, Buck's inherently thoughtful nature, and Buck's twelve-sizes-too-big heart, he is saving Eddie again with the way he's letting Eddie Eddie love, love, love him.

And the fact that he is taking care of Eddie's son today, tonight, is absolutely everything to Eddie. Buck is Christopher's Buck, Christopher's hero, and he's Eddie's hero, as well, and Eddie wants to claim him as Eddie's Buck, too, because Buck thinks Christopher is awesome and always genuinely looks forward to looking after him, to loving him all of the time, just like Eddie loves Chris, and like Eddie loves Buck because Buck cares about Christopher just as much as Eddie does, and Eddie knows—he knows without a shadow of a doubt—that Buck's love for the boy they're raising together is a type of love that no other person, bar Shannon, has had for him, for them, before or ever will again.

There is nobody else like Buck in the universe.

Nobody cares or loves like Evan Buckley, or more than Evan Buckley, and being on the receiving end of that love is worth more than solid gold, or oxygen, or even spicy pepperoni pizza and a cold one after pulling a gruelling shift as a Firefighter on the never-sleeping streets of Los Angeles, CA.

And then just like that, Eddie is able to put a timely yet abrupt stop to any and all of his panic (gay or otherwise) because there isn't a shred of anxiety left inside of him, now, not about this, at least, because he knows he's got nothing whatsoever to be scared of with Buck.

So addressing his son (their son, really) Eddie nods his head emphatically and tells his boy, “Yeah, Chris, that does sound awesome; Waffles and milkshakes and all of it,” and then squeezes the hand in his, Buck's hand, and leans over Buck's kitchen counter and says easily, “I love you, Buck—I mean, I'd love to, Buck! Shit—”

“Swearbox!” Christopher chides smugly.

Eddie pulls a face at his slip-up and at his son, then clears his throat and continues a little sheepishly with, “But, um,” before looking up to remind himself of that adoring that look Buck is giving him, and then saying more decisively,“ But yeah, that other thing, too, actually, because yeah, yes, you know I love you, Buck... At least, I hope you know it,” and then he huffs a little laugh as he adamantly says, “I love you, Evan Buckley,” and thinks 'In for a penny' and strains his neck to reach across and kiss Buck shyly on the cheek.

Only his aim is a little off and he ends up planting a kinda sloppy one right on the corner of Buck's slightly parted lips, but it turns out he's glad about it and is even sort of proud that he misjudged the angle and got to feel Buck's unabashed smile against his own upturned lips, because he's wanted to do that ever since he first laid eyes on the man standing in front of him who is radiating the sun's rays out of his very core, as if he actually owns them and the sun only has them on a loner for sunny days.

Buck is smiling like he's just won the World Series—which is funny because Eddie has just won the Being Gay With a Capital 'G' award, and that means they are both Imaginary Winning Title holders, now.

Except no, fuck that, because Eddie's win isn't imaginary at all, it is very much a beautiful and viscerally Real win, actually.

Real with a capital R, muchas gracias.

Apparently, all Buck has to say about all of this right now is, “Okay, alright, you get your fine ass to work now, Eddie Spaghetti, and Christopher and I will see you on the flipside for sleep and cuddles and, and, and a Real with a capital R adventure on Sunday,” and Eddie is looking at the universe sideways for the first time in the entirety of his non-believing life. “Oh and by the way, honey—and I am so calling you honey from now on, also by the way, just so you know—I absolutely one-hundred percent, honey,” he pauses for second and and winces a bit, “Christopher I will also be adding to the Swearbox for this one... Love the shit outta you too, Edmundo Diaz.”

Christopher just claps and laughs and laughs and claps and then shouts, “My two Dads love each other, universe, did you hear that?!”

Somehow managing to smile even bigger than he was a moment ago, Buck then lightly grabs the now half wolf-whistling, half dry-retching thirteen-year-old matchmaking genius who goes by Christopher Diaz, in a loose headlock and starts scrubbing gentle knuckles through his curls, before literally kicking the happiest man on the whole damn planet out of his apartment with a ridiculously big and adorably bare foot.

“Go! You'll be late! We'll see you tomorrow, honey.”

Eddie (said happiest man on the whole damn planet) waits until Buck's door has closed behind him and then till the elevator door has slid open and shut again before fist-pumping the air like the dorky First Place In The Game of Life winner that he is, smiling what is likely his biggest smile since his darling Christopher came into this world.

Then he pulls out his tongue at nobody at all and thinks, Fuck you, first place is first place; dork or not.

As he leaves Buck's building, he also thinks, I'll have to crack my head on random shit more often, joking with himself and chuckling like a prize idiot as he crosses the side road towards his truck.

Then he's immediately cursing himself out with every swear words he knows, in both English and Spanish, for somehow allowing himself to be pulled into Buck's nonsensical woo-woo Cosmic Universe bullshit.

Vida, vida, vida.

Although...

Maybe—just maybe—he could forgive the slip, just this one time, just this once, when he recognises his chuckle as the being the very same, gloriously happy-sounding laughter that Eddie had unbelievably managed to pull from the chest of the best man he's ever known (who also happens to be the hottest man in the whole frickin universe; cosmic or otherwise).

It's the man Eddie has loved for years who—apparently, amazingly—loves Eddie right back.

Evan 'Buck' Buckley.

Christopher's Buck. Eddie's Buck.

And when he's climbing into his truck and inexplicably clocks his head on the doorframe again, for the second time today (seriously, what the actual fuck is going on here?), Eddie looks around suspiciously and surreptitiously before taking a minute to peer hesitantly up at the sky-blue sky and its cotton-candy clouds and the hot, hot sun with its borrowed rays, out into the universe, or to God, or who—or what—ever is or isn't out there, before finding himself about to mutter a few choice incredulous words from under his breath.

He takes a gulp of air, and says, “Yeah, okay, muchas gracias, oh cosmic powers that be, yada yada et cetera et cetera, if you do in fact exist, not that I really think you do,” whispering the statement and feeling like a first class clown, “But, just in case?” Eddie swallows the lump in his throat and soldiers on. “Just in case, here it is: Yes, I obviously wholeheartedly appreciate whatever it was you might or might not have done for me back there, like, I really, honestly, seriously, do, but just—will you just please do me a solid and...” Eddie can't believe he's thinking this, let alone saying (albeit whispering) it for realsies, “...don't let Buck or Christopher or Hen or Karen or Chim or Maddie or Bobby or Athena or Ravi or, hell, any other fucker on the planet know that I actually said any of this phooey out loud, alright? Not ever. Or Santa Mierda, I will seriously come for you like a rabid Nordic Goat Herder on a mixture of bath salts and crack cocaine and crazy because I would never, ever be able to live this shit down if it got out. ¿Entiendes?”

Completely fucking done with that, Eddie starts up the engine and pulls out of his parking space outside of Buck's building, while annoyingly hoping that the universe understands at least a smidgen of Spanish, and begins the first day of the rest of his life, mumble-humming a not entirely unenthusiastic tune...

“Give it to me baby! A-ha! A-ha!”

.

(this had barely one skim-over edit so please be kind!)

[sneakyswag]

Marino study! (Beta just happens to be there a few times)

Love her so! Want to study her hard and develop her character in some fics I’m gonna write!

*Aggressive breakdancing*

Also sorry about the ugly scan

[onepiece-polls]

About the crack ship creteria...

I should have asked about this before probably, but I thought 'no interaction means it's a crack ship' and that was that. But...

Btw, here's the submission post.

[lurafita]

Superhero cracky AU thoughts

Cracky thought of the day:

in case of superhero au, Magnus would straight out refuse to fight a villain wearing shorts. (… think about it, doesn't really scream "intimidating", right?… is there ever a villain wearing shorts?)

Magnus: "No. No can do. I'm out of here." Alec: "Magnus! You can’t just leave! We need to fight the bad guy!" Magnus: "My dearest Alexander, I'm sorry. But you cannot expect me to take this man seriously. Who robs a Bank in shorts? And… are those crocs? Oh my god they are." adressing the Bank robber "Have you no self respect, sir? This should be beneath you, and it is certainly beneath me. Now be a good boy and return the money and then you can try again once you have figured out your wardrobe." Alec: "Magnus!"

Alec actually isn't much better. His highly trained soldier sensibilities are offended™️ by most villains organizations. Alec: "This was your exit strategy? Really? Did you not think about the silent alarm and police response time? Did you study flight routes? Back alleys? Have you even looked at a blueprint of the building before storming in here with a gun? This is pathetic. Next time, do your homework first. "

[answrs]

okay! have a possible thought on Ingo & Eelektross falling together. specifically if you go with lost memory identity shenanigans for them both:

-

Ingo looks at eelektross and knows that its trainer is blunt. quiet. to the point. smiling. so why isn't he the way he remembers him being?

eelektross looks at Ingo and knows his partner is graceful. beautiful. outwardly calm but with a roiling, angry power hidden under soft chimes. so why does it not feel anything like that?

they don't remember enough to realize they're mismatched, only the vague impressions of what their fellow faller's partner is supposed to be like. (important thing i need to clarify: no, eelektross doesn't think it's a ghostly light fixture. it knows it’s an eelektross but remembers certain personal qualities of Ingo's ace and thinks that's supposed to be them. ingo doesn’t think he’s emmet, he just knows eelektross’s trainer didn’t act like he’s behaving now, like he ought to.)

so they try to act like they "should" as the other's companion but keep failing miserably. Ingo tries to smile, to be quiet, offer only brutal honesty. the facade fails quickly and often but he tries to do it for his friend, give it stability in this unknown world. eelektross forces itself to keep still, tamp down its curiosity to investigate shiny rocks and strange pokemon, not squirm and tangle and cover Ingo in wet sucker kisses when it's excited or happy or worried. it wants to give ingo whatever comfort it can through being the partner it remembers of him, with both of them lost as they are.

and their attempts make the other confused and upset, not matching the person/pokemon in their minds. but each take it as they must not be trying hard enough and need to act better. so the other one can be happy they have their Normal partner back.

and the thing is, it’s not like they’re unfamiliar with battling with each other! the subway bosses’ teams were really just one big group that mixed and matched on the regular - they’re extremely proficient at reading each other’s commands and strategizing on the fly while staying in sync, just like a normal trainer and their partner. so rather than clue them in it just makes things more confusing whenever there’s doubts that come up in the “I should act like this” schtick. if he’s not its trainer, if it’s not his ace, how else could they possibly know each other so well, be so practiced at fighting together?

-

this was supposed to be a funny thing about eelektross using flamethrower instead of any other sparky worm moves and then whoops i made them both total messes because Of Course I Did. 🙃

(also yes. emmet and chandelure are Very confused when they rip arceus a new one and stomp their way through spacetime to a very oddly acting duo.)

[syneilesis]

The air is tense between you and Nobunaga. You and he sit across each other in the council hall, the other warlords watching with apprehension in the background. There's no sound except breathing—even the twittering of birds can pierce through the artful walls of this quiet council.

Finally, Nobunaga speaks.

"This cannot continue."

You agree with him, a first in the recently bitingly sharp hours. "Yes, it cannot."

"This is truly a regret, but it must be done."

"So be it. Divorce it is."

There's a collective gasp among the warlords, sans Nobunaga, who's just looking at you steadily.

"M-My lord...!" Hideyoshi said, shocked.

He is ignored. Instead, Nobunaga addresses you. "How shall we settle this?"

You think for a moment, remembering modern family settlements, then say, "We split custody of our children."

"Children?" Ieyasu pipes up grumpily behind you. "Do you think we're chil—ugh, nevermind. I don't know why I'm here." He rises from his seat in a display of being done with everything when a hand shoots up to grab his shoulder and shoves him back down. Ieyasu squawks.

Masamune grins, his hand firmly staying on Ieyasu's shoulder.

"Fine," Nobunaga says. Then surveys his warlords, deliberating. "Who shall remain with me?"

Naturally, to the surprise of no one, Hideyoshi jumps to Nobunaga's side. "I will remain loyal to you, Lord Nobunaga! It pains me to see you end your relationship with—" He casts you a sad glance. You blink back, unimpressed. "But I will always stand by your side, my lord!"

Nobunaga only nods, but that is enough for Hideyoshi.

"My, such a heartfelt confession," Mitsuhide says with that foxlike grin that unfailingly causes Hideyoshi's blood pressure to rise astronomically. "Do you believe that Lord Nobunaga will fall for your unending fidelity?"

"Mitsuhide, you—"

"Mitsuhide," pronounces Nobunaga, and the man in question straightens, which still indicates the level of respect he has to his lord. "I take it that you will stay with her."

When Mitsuhide sidles up to you, he's smirking with such glee that Hideyoshi calls him out on it.

"You traitor! You snake! You—" and then Hideyoshi unleashes crunchy words that blight Mitsuhide's reputation and lineage. Mitsuhide just relishes that calculated entertainment.

Of course, where Hideyoshi goes, so does Mitsunari, who spares you an apologetic look and a bow before going to Nobunaga's side. Ieyasu, at first, reluctantly trots in your direction, but one word from Nobunaga and he pivots grudgingly, standing on the other side, far from Mitsunari, grumbling all the while.

Ranmaru, by virtue of him being Nobunaga's page, is stuck standing between Hideyoshi and Mitsunari.

"Five against two? You're outnumbered," Masamune tells you and Mitsuhide, his eye gleaming. Then he takes a step towards you. "The lass knows how to keep things exciting. Sorry, Lord Nobunaga, but I'm with them."

Hideyoshi is now vibrating in what seems to be stress.

"Five against three?" Keiji chimes in, that sunny grin ever-present. "Make that four!"

"Why does this sound like we're teaming up for a fight," Ieyasu despairs.

"It's not evenly split," Mitsunari comments. Ieyasu casts him a baleful look.

"Then I'll make it even," a voice cuts in. Everyone looks around to find Kicho next to you. He's giving Nobunaga an elegantly defiant frown, but the rest are stunned and aghast to see him.

Then the Azuchi warlords (except Nobunaga) draw their swords and point them at him.

"Kicho!" Hideyoshi snarls, Ichigo Hitofuri glinting under the menacing light. "How the hell did you get here?!"

"I was once a vassal of Nobunaga," Kicho responds calmly. Then he turns to you, his gaze softening. "So I'm here to even the odds."

Everybody screams their dissent, even the ones under your custody.

Finally, Ieyasu snaps. "Why are you even divorcing?!" he shouts over all the barking. "What happened between you two?"

At the question, you look away guiltily. Nobunaga zeroes in on that action like a hawk.

"I have found," he begins with great severity and gravitas, and the rest of the warlords pause to listen to him, "that the number of konpeito in my stash has decreased by three. I did not eat them."

The council hall stills. Everybody lies frozen facing Nobunaga and his grave countenance. For a few seconds, it seems as if time has stopped.

And then everything breaks into chaos.

"'By three'?" you cry, indignant, "I only ate two—and I already said sorry but you weren't listening!"

"My lord—where did you get that stash?! Is that different from the ones I'm keeping from you?!"

"Hideyoshi, was it you who ate the other konpeito?"

"What—"

"My, my, Hideyoshi. Who's the traitor now?"

"Shut up, you—! Lord Nobunaga, it wasn't me who ate that one konpeito! I swear I'll find the culprit for you, my lord! But you have to give me that stash for safekeeping—"

"Hey, Kicho—where are you taking the lass—"

"Ugh," Ieyasu says amidst the din, "I'm done. I'm so done with all of you."

And then he leaves the hall, away from all the crazy people, for peace of his mind, never looking back.

The end.