#i'm so glad we're saying it now | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

leashybebes · 3 months ago

Note

🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

tommy must live in a perpetual state of confusion over buck

do you think the longer buck allies the more tommy realises that "oh, he really is like this but he's definitely some flavor of queer"? because i see tommy maybe gently testing buck's jealousy to see what it'll take to make him break

oooookay once again this is not a snippet (sorryyyyy) but is more me attempting to understand wtf is going on in tommy's head throughout all this that he keeps "sure, okay"-ing himself into ridiculous situations with buck, so apologies for just unloading the contents of my brain on you

there are a few things i've been chewing on in terms of figuring out how tommy reacts to the buck of it all, which i hope will make it make sense that i actually don't think tommy pushing or testing for jealousy is on the cards in this fic (although i do love the idea!)

so first of all, this is a younger tommy than we've seen interact with buck in canon (of course), so whatever happened to make him Like That in the breakup hasn't happened yet (and won't, because i am a slut for a HEA). he's newly out and in my experience, a lot of newly out people, particularly people who are a bit older have something of a second adolescence. so yeah while this means he's incredibly horny (horny enough to let a self-proclaimed straight guy give him the absolute best sex of his life) it also means he just wants to have fun!! and buck is SO. MUCH. FUN. he's spent so long so tightly controlled that he's trying really hard to just go with the flow.

second, when i say newly out tommy, i mean newly out. like, it's one thing to "stop lying about who i am" - to me, there's a non-zero chance that just means "stop making up girlfriends" rather than "actually grapple with the life-long process of coming out (again and again and again)". so in my head (and it might come up in the fic, idk yet) the scene early on where he tells buck he doesn't want the cute girl's number because he's gay is probably one of the first times he actually said the words out loud. which ties into...

third, we know tommy was work friends with sal (at least and again, don't know that it'll come up in the fic but for the record, he 100% had a monstrous crush on him, like it made him ILL how much he wanted sal, i will hear no arguments), and that he developed good - again, work-based - friendships with hen and chim, but i feel like for a deeply closeted guy under dadt with a shitty childhood buck might be his first actual friend who knows all of him and likes him. spends time with him. doesn't care that he's gay. actively supports his gayness. doesn't recoil and in fact actively encourages tommy to talk about it. so i think tommy is just...deeply, deeply grateful for this confusing train wreck of a man

fourth, while i think there are definitely times that tommy thinks "he...he's flirting with me, right? is something gonna happen here?" this is a guy who has spent his entire adult life not looking at that kinda thing. not letting himself wonder if a guy (particularly a friend) is into him. or really, even if he's into them. he's really, really good at compartmentalising, and buck's pretty insistent that he's straight, so tommy's taking that at face value. hey, buck makes compelling arguments ("tommy, straight men have prostates too!")

aaaaand there we have the contents of my brain as it relates to one tommy kinard. even in my own incredibly stupid AUs, i am frankly obsessed. i want to gnaw on him. i'll settle for having buck do it instead.

#bucktommy #my writing #sorta #allying too close to the sun #the tommy edition #welcome to my ted talk #obviously this is dialled up to eleven for the benefit of a ridiculous fic but story time:#around ten years ago i had this friend - gorgeous and cool and SO AWESOME - tiny part of me was down bad from the second i laid eyes on her #funny and flirty and interested in my dating life. told me she'd slept with a couple of women. and straight.#that word from her own mouth to my own ears. every now and then i'd think #“hey this seems...kinda charged. i wonder... nah she's straight she said that with her own literal mouth”#so i was genuinely entirely happy to be her friend #like no qualifiers no “what ifs” just “god i'm so glad i know you”#anyway we're married now #c'est la vie say the old folks it goes to show you never can tell

90 notes · View notes

teddybeartoji · 3 months ago

Text

ariiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii:33333333333333333

”won’t you pray with me?” a young boy calls, in the visage of your mind — an ever-fluctuating memory. you can hear it, when you close your eyes; a voice far less tailored, dipped in drops of sunshine. the kind of voice that tastes like citrus on your tongue. younger, warmer. (not yet tainted by the family.)

we're off to a great start i feel like i wanna rip my hair out already (affectionate) "A VOICE FAR LESS TAILORED, DIPPED IN DROPS OF SUNSHINE. THE KIND OF VOICE THAT TASTES LIKE CITRUS ON YOUR TONGUE" RRRRRRRRRRAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH i think this is so perfect for him. the citrus specifically .

”won’t you pray to me?”

sunday tilts his head, in rhythm with the glide of his fingertips along your pulsepoint. he’s smiling, just barely, and you can tell that he’s not asking.

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCKKKKKKKKKKKK it's always the throat it's always the throat that gets me okay god it really is the most vulnerable place and now you're pairing that up with "you can tell he's not asking" HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH YOU'RE SICK IN THE HEADDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD i love you so much

you’ve learned not to question his late night visits. sunday never leaves you alone for long, never has, though when he was a child it didn’t feel anywhere near as suffocating. even when he’s out of sight, you feel his eyes on you — one of them, all five of them. feel the phantom weight of his hands on your shoulders, guiding you in the right direction.

what the fuck............................................. the weight of his hands on your shoulders................... him guiding you the 'right' way......................

a chartreuse glow in the dim light of your room, glimmering faintly, a crystallized firefly. he fills your cup, then his own. there’s more in one than the other.

i wish i could eat you and this piece . THE WAY YOU DESCRIBE EVERYTHING IS JUST SOO??!="="=!"!="!="!?"=!?="!??!?="?"!=? I NEED TO GET INSIDE YOUR HEADDDD I WANT TO LIVE IN THERE

his fingers wrap around the glass, one after the other, raising it to his pursed lips. taking a sip, dipping his tongue out to catch the droplets, feel them trickle down his throat; the residue paints his lips burgundy. you picture the sweet, weighty wine flowing through his esophagus, intoxication taking root inside his veins, eager to break into his bloodstream.

jk i need to devour you actually what is this god-like speech you have hm?????????????????? OHH I'M SORRRYYY "THE WINE FLOWING THROUGH HIS ESOPHAGUS, INTOXICATION TAKING ROOT INSIDE HIS VEINS, EAGER TO BREAK INTO HIS BLOODSTREAM" ????????????????????????? HELLO???????????????? you live in another world as everybody else like you're on another level in another dimesion this is beautiful ari. IT FEELS SO FUCKING GOOD TO READDDDD FUUUUCKKKK MEEEEEEE IT JUST FLOWS SO WELL THE WORDS ARE ALWAYS THE RIGHT ONES EVERYTHING GOES TOGETHER LIKE IT'S JUST ALL A BIG PUZZLE YOU'RE A LITTLE MASTERMIND AREN'T YOU HM my beloved little word genius i really do admire you so fucking much

(overpowering, to know he’s picturing you below him. on your knees, at whatever altar he fancies himself.)

sickening. absolutely fucking sickening

”ask me for guidance,” he implores, demands, and you can tell the words are borrowed, stolen from a lesser man. ”and i will bestow it upon you.”

I'M SHAKING YOU BY YOUR SHOULDERSSSS HE DEMANDSS!!!!!!!!! "THE WORDS ARE BORROWED, STOLEN FROM A LESSER MAN" AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

sinners can’t be angels, but gods can’t be saints, so where does that leave him?

sunday wants you to make him holy. he wants you to expect nothing less.

a promise of rot.

oh why don't you just crack open my ribs and take my heart it wants to be with you anyway WHAT THE HELL WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCKKKK "A PROMISE OF ROT"? "A PROMISE OF ROT"? "A PROMISE OF ROT"? "A PROMISE OF ROT"? "A PROMISE OF ROT"? you two are both genuinely making me want to tear my hair out this is insane i hope you know that i hope you know how fucking good you are . i mean that

moonlight dances on his skin, reflects in the glass of wine he puts to his lips — every single one of his eyes gazing down at you. pools of gold, the same as you remember, but infinitely colder — infinitely sadder. they look like solemn, broken windows, but there’s nothing behind them. what you see is what you get.

i've said it before but you really do paint the most beautiful pictures. every sentence and every paragraph of yours is like a painting, a watercolor one

you, on your knees, at the altar of his sins. feeding into them, picturing them in your mind’s eye; flowing out of his eyes in tender rivulets, down the curve of his lips. dripping, dripping, dripping down his wrist — (soon, the cup will overflow.)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

i loved it. i'm IN love with it. with him with you with this piece. i can taste the wine on my lips and i, too, can feel his hands on my shoulders. everything you write always feels so real, it feels like i'm right there like i'm breathing alongside with the characters. i can taste everything they can and i can smell everything they can. idk i just fucking love it okay i love being here i'm glad i'm alive at this very moment i'm glad i get to experience your writing

you made him so extra tasty too like mmmmmmmmmmmmm i want to gnaw on his bones he's so sick . the cold eyes and the smile. the demanding tone and everything. he still loves you but it's just.. different now. he's sad and he's broken but he's trying to act tough in a way - he wants you to make him holy as if that'll change anything.

ANYWAY . i'm building a shrine for you . this a very fitting comment under this piece but ghsadhgsahgdashgah i mean that. you are so fucking amazing and i adore you and i love you and i wish i could just inject your writing into my veins i know the sun would be brighter the sky would be bluer (???) the birds would sing better (sorry birds) and all in all everything would be more beautiful. thank you for existing thank you for writing thank you for sharing your writing with us and with me THANK YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU<333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333

sunday seems so distant, these days.

younger, warmer.

(not yet tainted by the family.)

you had prayed with him, then. had clasped your hands together and wished for mercy.

for him, for robin, for you. for the three of you.

it feels like centuries ago. mountains of rubble, burning stars, two pairs of hands clinging onto yours for dear life. and then the prayers — endless, relentless, yielding to no one. you don’t know if anything is as enduring as a child’s heart.

that was then, and this is now.

”won’t you pray to me?”

sunday tilts his head, in rhythm with the glide of his fingertips along your pulsepoint. he’s smiling, just barely, and you can tell that he’s not asking.

whatever dream you were just in, whatever memory — it’s no more. the boy, the angel, fades away, leaving only a vague imprint on your muddled mind.

and your gaze overlaps with that of a certain halovian.

he still looks the same, fancy clothes aside. the same halo, the same feathers — only clipped, only slightly severed — the same honeyed golden eyes, piercing through the veil of whatever dream you find yourself in. his hair is the same, his bony fingers, his rosy lips.

it’s his smile that’s different.

the way he speaks to you.

you can’t tell when the change began. can no longer remember when he started behaving more like a god than an angel, when this distance was born.

his hand slips from your slender neck, slithers down, comes to rest on the bottle of wine he brought with him; a chartreuse glow in the dim light of your room, glimmering faintly, a crystallized firefly. he fills your cup, then his own. there’s more in one than the other.

you picture sin as a beverage.

it’s not just in the smile, not just in the voice. his whole demeanor has shifted — the elegance he moves with, the calculation, the presence of something that demands reverence even without words. it’s overpowering, to have him so close, yet so out of reach, overpowering to have to sip from your cup and feel the sting in your throat afterwards.

(overpowering, to know he’s picturing you below him. on your knees, at whatever altar he fancies himself.)

when he parts his lips, it’s with decision. his voice flickers in the shadows of the room; you can almost see them, the words flowing from his lips, can feel them echo through the deepest parts of your soul.

”ask me for guidance,” he implores, demands, and you can tell the words are borrowed, stolen from a lesser man. ”and i will bestow it upon you.”

bestow.

the word rings inside your skull, crawls along your spine. he’s silent, now, unmoving. not even blinking. as if he’s trying to turn into a statue, a pillar of salt. moonlight streams in, illuminates his features, too beautiful to be human. sinners can’t be angels, but gods can’t be saints, so where does that leave him?

when you look into his eyes, you do not see a savior. you do not see your childhood friend. you see an overseer, the man at the end of every dream you have — a man yet to be quenched of his thirst.

you see a bird with its wings ripped off.

(when you flick the light switch of your mind, and squint your eyes — you see a god. your universe.)

the dreamscape outside your window glimmers and gleams, seeps through the translucent fabric of the curtains, licks along the walls; his cheekbones, your fingers. clasping them together comes easy, it’s muscle memory, you’ve done it all your life. it’s the prayer that’s difficult — the lack of a focal point.

you’ve always prayed for his protection, always. but you know that’s not what he wants from you.

sunday wants you to make him holy.

he wants you to expect nothing less.

he wants you to ask him for mercy, and he wants to give it to you with his own two hands. that’s all that lies in these late-night rendezvous — a promise of rot. the overseer watches you from across the table, and you know it would hurt less to simply walk away.

but you don’t.

you do exactly as he says.

with elegance, you clasp your hands together, and pray to him for guidance. sunday smiles — a finely tailored, made of silk, barely there kind of smile.

(the smile of a broken bird.)

absolute order.

gone are the days his slender fingers would search for your own, slipping into the valleys between them, a prayer on his tongue. gone are the days where mercy was the only thing you’d think to wish for.

this is all there is, all you’ve got.

(soon, the cup will overflow.)

#ARIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII #I WORSHIP THE GROUND YOU WALK ONNNN #I WOULD DIE FOR YOU I WOULD KILL FOR YOU #EVERYTHING AND ANYTHING #THIS IS SOO FUCKING BEAUTIFUL GODDDDDDD #YOU'RE JUST #INCREDIBLE OKAY #I'M WRAPPING YOU UP INSIDE A BLANKET AND I AM BABYING YOU AND I AM KISSING YOUR FOREHEAD YOU'RE LITERALLY THE BESTEST EVER #I'M SO GLAD I KNOW YOU I'M SO GLAD I GET TO CALL MYSELF YOUR FRIEND #GODDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD YOU'RE SO AMAZING WHAT IF I CRYYYYYYYYYYYYY #you are my biggest inspiration in this world there's no doubt abt it and i will always remind you of that okay #i will be begging for an autograph even when we're a hundred years old #!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#ILY ILY ILYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#i'm making you a cup of tea rn btw please get all snuggled up i'll be right there okay #:3333333333333 #MWAH MWAH MWAHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#sunday #loserville's library #sweet treat #came back to say that . i only now realized that today is literally #sunday .#it's so perfect omfg #wow

309 notes · View notes