#it's kinda cracky

[weird-an]

hello! idk if you take prompts/suggestions for ficlets but I really love your writing and this idea just popped into my head so I figured I’d ask!

Billy or Steve (idc which) having a really goofy laugh. Maybe they’ve been told in the past that it’s an ugly laugh or people usually cringe and end the conversation once The Laugh jumps out. Billy/Steve have resolved to not laughing (or maybe changing their laugh) to avoid the embarrassment of rejection again. But one day when they’re hanging out together (as friends or as an already established couple whichever you prefer), Billy/Steve gets a little too comfortable and The Laugh slips out. Billy/Steve is mortified, but it turns out that the other absolutely adores The Laugh.

It can be as angsty or as fluffy as you deem fit, I trust your literary judgement.

tw: bullying, Billy hurting someone in response to that, mentions of (verbal) abuse.

Billy's laugh is too high pitched and when he laughs really really hard, it always chokes in a sort of hiccup and squiek.

"You sound like a fucking girl," his dad tells him. "Cut it off."

So Billy tries to keep his mouth shut. To not laugh at home which is easy because Neil gives him nothing to laugh about anyway.

The boy that shoves him into the lockers at school, calls him fat because of his chubby cheeks and the same slurs his dad uses at home, catches him laughing at a stupid comic someone drew at his desk one day.

"You laugh like a pig," he says. "Piggy Billy."

It becomes a nickname he never asked for. He hears it in the hallways, in the lockers, everywhere.

His mom tells him that he doesn't need to listen to them. But then she fucking leaves and there's no one else to listen to except them and their ugly words.

Billy stops laughing at all. But he starts pushing back.

The anger inside him is a friend, getting bigger with every insult thrown, makes him strong. It's like a tunnel that only leads one way. He nearly breaks the kid's arm when he calls him Piggy Billy one more time.

They stop calling him that. Billy doesn't start to laugh again. He feels bad for losing his temper, but it works in his favor.

He doesn't think about laughing. They move to Hawkins and now its even hard to smile.

Then Steve Harrington decides to hang out with him, because he sees something in him that Billy doesn't really get. Because he tries to make Billy grin even when he's so angry and just wants to lash out and break something until it's as broken as he is. Because it works when Steve tries to put a smile on his lips and Billy wants to return the favor.

One day, they're stretched out on Steve's bed, skin still flushed and nerves tingling from the aftermath of their orgasms.

Steve's breathes ghosts over his neck and his fingers slide along Billy's ribs.

It tickles. Billy laughs. Too high pitched, choking on the grunt on the end. His mouth snaps shut and his cheeks burn when he realizes it.

He stares at the ceiling, panting and waits for Steve to joke about it.

"Oh my God," Steve looks absolutely delighted. "This is so cute."

He tickles Billy again. Billy's laugh slips out again, with that much force like it has just piled up in all these years, waiting to leave his throat.

"Cute," Steve says again.

"Fuck off. I'm not cute." Billy gasps, trying to catch his breath. His cheeks burn.

"Of course not," Steve says entirely insincere. He sits up. "Why didn't I ever hear that laugh before?"

A careless question that sounds too much like an accusation.

"I don't laugh."

Steve falls silent. A hint of confusion on his face changes into something else. Pity, sadness, Billy isn't sure what. But it's gone in a second.

"Well, you should. I like it."

"Just suck my dick, will ya?" Billy rolls his eyes, when Steve tickles him again.

The laugh shakes Billy from head to toes.

"I like it," Steve repeats.

He fucking means it, Billy realizes. There is that weird feeling in his chest again he always gets when Steve likes something about him. Despite of Billy being Billy.

The next time he laughs is when they watch a movie, Billy is sprawled out on the couch, head on Steve's lap.

The movie is stupid. It's so stupid, it's funny. The Laugh bubbles up again and he wants to slap his hand in front of his mouth, but Steve catches it before he's there, intertwining their fingers.

It's easier to laugh after that.

Billy laughs and Steve kisses him. It feels fucking good.

[honeyhotteok]

HIIII I love your blog♡♡♡

I Was wondering if I could make a request, like the lookism boys (you can choose) react to an extremely beautiful and ethereal fem!reader who looks so pretty and feminine she looks like a princess from a fairytail

Of course if you want, remember to stay safe and healthy!!!

HI!! aww thank you sm!!!🥹🫶🫶 sorry this took so long this is my first time writing hcs instead of my usual fic format but turns out actually writing it took exponentially less time than the time i spent thinking about it lool but here you go anonie! i did the j high boys so ended up making it more specific to a school context :)

hope you're staying safe and healthy too!!!🥹💖

Lookism J High boys react to pretty new girl (fem!reader)

(Daniel, Zack, Vasco, Vin)

Daniel Park

Daniel looks up from his seat at you as you enter the room, everyone already murmuring about the gorgeous new girl.

He gets up to introduce himself to you and ask for your name, not paying any mind to all the positive attention you're already getting.

He knows firsthand how daunting it is to start at a new school and has had extensive personal experience feeling ostracized in his life. So he wants to make sure others don't have to go through the same thing if he has any say in it, and regardless of what you look like (although he of course notices how pretty and ethereal you look, too.)

Zack Lee

Zack would wake up from his desk nap from being blinded by a bright ass light flooding into the classroom as you walk in. Squinting and grumbling with dried drool on the corner of his mouth.

He would stare at you and your beauty in awe for a quick second, then-

"Wait. You're not Mira, the fuck."

Then he'd go back to sleep.

Vasco

"There's a new girl? In the Architecture Department?!" The Burn Knuckles members jump off of each other, quitting their horseplay to hover near the doorway in anticipation.

The moment you walk in, gasps and oohs and ahs can be heard from the guys. Your long hair flowing down your shoulders in the most perfect way and you dazzling the room with your pretty smile without even trying.

A single, fat tear rolls down Vasco's cheek.

"V-Vasco! Why are you crying, you haven't even tried talking to her yet!" Jace attempts to comfort his friend in vain.

Vin Jin

Vin rubs his hands together, smirking and plotting what he's going to say to you to charm your pants off. The usual should be fine-

"Don't even think about it." Mary says without looking up from her phone.

"What the fuck are you on abou-"

"Leave the poor girl alone, you fucking dimwit." Mary pulls Vin by the ear and leads him down the hallway away from you, ignoring his curses and whining.

She lets go, throwing him as he staggers further down the hall in the opposite direction.

Vin turns his head to look around, completely disoriented by being suddenly thrown into this dimmer, different section of the hallway. He squints through his sunglasses and reaches out, fumbling around with empty air.

"Mary?! Dammit, where are you?" He calls out helplessly.

[the-ace-with-spades]

the silliest of silly ideas but---i just thought despite Mav totally not being Slider's type, they'd make good fwb, and Ice would hate it. (tw: non-descriptive/implied sex)

Ice is usually very reasonable, always thinking more with facts than feelings and that sets his views into firm, neat boxes — Ron knows this, loves this about him, really, and he'd never say a bad thing about it, even if sometimes it can be infuriating.

But apparently, that whole 'go by facts not feelings' thing can also turn into being both oblivious and in denial. Maverick seems to bring it all out in tenfolds.

He's never seen someone as in denial about their feelings as Ice is about his feelings for Maverick. It's kinda sad to observe — he doesn't get the extent of the feelings they do have between each other (romantic, but what kind? the off-on kind? the short-but-intense kind? the forever-and-ever-despite-everything kind?) but he knows it's a lot and it seems like a complete waste not to act on them.

And, okay, he's not a fan of Maverick, but he's growing on him. He's a good guy, all that anger and rebelliousness is just so intense for him because there's not much space to fit all in (he's a tiny guy) and Ron is kind of almost fond of it now. Never to the degree Ice is, but honestly, he doesn't think anyone can be as fond of Maverick as Ice is.

Maverick is also, well, trying. He's not as in denial, and definitely not as oblivious to Ice's feelings toward him, but all his attempts seemed to be either going over Ice's head or being subtly stirred away.

No wonder Maverick still goes for casual one-night stands when they go out to clubs — Ron sees all of it and he'd have also gone along with his life if his attempts at getting somewhere would meet with The Brick Wall of Denial.

"You've got feelings for him, man," he tells him, after another of Maverick's flirting attempts that Ice just swiftly averted, too fed up to bother with subtly.

"I do not," is Ice's automatic response. This time, though, he adds something more, "And even if I did, he's not going anywhere, is he? I can just wait until it's serious enough to do something about it."

It's more than Ron's got the past few months, and still so full of semi-reasonable thoughts that he can't doubt Ice has thought about this enough to convince himself he's right.

If almost two years of pinning isn't serious enough, Ron doesn't know what is.

"You do realize he's hooking up, like, at least twice a month, right? It's not like he's going to be waiting for you to make up your mind forever."

"They're all women and they don't mean anything to him. They're strangers, I bet he doesn't even remember their names."

He's not exactly wrong but— "Oh, so you'd make a move if he slept with a guy you know?"

"He's not going to do that, and even if, I doubt he's going to be telling left and right about it. " Then, when Ron doesn't stop giving him the side-eye, he adds, "No, this means no, I wouldn't."

Ice is right, Maverick isn't going to be telling anyone if he sleeps with a guy, but he can fucking tell Ice is boiling at the mare idea. So this formulates a plan in Ron's head — there's only one way for Ice to see Maverick sleep with a guy and that is if this happens in their own house.

At this point, he'll try anything, and it's not like this is going to be a hardship.

Ron is an equal opportunity kind of guy — or any opportunity kind of guy, more like — but he isn't able to say he's thought of Maverick that kinda way. One, because Ice is his best friend and although he's in denial, he's got dibs, and two, because Ron's type for guys is usually more of tall and lanky and more fun and laid back. Though Maverick isn't hard to look at and Ron can bet he's got the skill to back up all the hook-ups he's had, so well, again, it's not going a hardship, it's going to be a fun night. Sex always is, as long as whoever you're doing it with isn't a terrible person.

It's just a matter of getting Maverick on board.

Which is easier than he thought. He approaches him on Friday, leaning over Maverick's cubicle in the office, when everyone is already on their lunch break so there's no one around.

"So, you up for something casual?"

Maverick doesn't even look up at him. "What kind of casual?"

"The kind of casual you were going to have tomorrow night," he supplies. He's not going to try too hard.

Maverick raises his head, eyebrows up and he looks at Ron like he's lost his goddamn mind. "With—With you?"

And okay, he didn't need to say it like that.

"Yeah," he just says. When Maverick's expression doesn't change, he adds, "Come on, you can't tell me you don't like what you looking at."

Maverick leans back in his chair, neck straining as he gives Ron a long once over. He chews on his lip as his eyes go up and down as he judges whether Ron is up to some of his fucking standards.

Finally, he just says, "Time and place?"

Ron smirks. "My place, seven-thirty, tonight."

"And Ice is not going to... mind?" God, Maverick almost sounds hopeful that he would mind.

"Nah," he replies. "He knows about, you know."

He doesn't tell Ice anything, not even when they're back home. He only needs to say, "Hey, I'm going to have someone over tonight," and Ice just packs his book at around seven and shuts off in his room.

Maverick arrives on his motorbike and Ron takes him to his room as soon as they're inside. It's been a while since he slept with a guy and he's, well, he'd never admit it but he's a bit worked up for the night.

There are a couple of snarky comments about how Ron tidied up and how he's put fresh sheets on — Ron is nothing but classy, alright — and they set up some rules and dos and don'ts and Maverick goes straight to the point.

Kissing with their height difference is a bit difficult on Ron's back so they don't waste time and move onto Ron's bed.

He doesn't know why he's surprised that Maverick is loud, but he is, and he thought he'd find it annoying, but it's actually doing things to him.

It's not unusual for Ron to bring hook-ups to their house and Ice is used to it — but guys are sparse since it's simply easier and safer to have casual sex with women — so Ice only bangs on the wall they share at the noises once and then puts on a some jazz record way too loud.

All it does is make Maverick roll his eyes before they continue.

It is a fun night. Ron is surprised how not awkward it is — Mav is very good with his mouth and hands and hips and just in general. He responds to Ron's moves like they're fighting to prove who is better but it also gives Ron great, great satisfaction when he finally lets him lead.

He's in bed the same he's in a plane — overly passionate, making a competition out of something that shouldn't be a competition, and a bit crazy. Sex works for them as well as it could for two people who have no feelings for each other — they had a goal and were both amazing at fulfilling that goal. It's hot and intense and all the things Ron's been missing in sex in the past few months.

They do it once, fall asleep, wake up at around one in the morning, do it again, also waking up Ice with it, and then fall back asleep.

He wakes up in the morning and Mav is not there, but his clothes are. He meets Ice, coming out of the bathroom, wet hair floppy on his forehead, and when he gives him a look and asks, "Busy night, huh?" Ron only shrugs.

They notice Mav in their kitchen at the same time and he can see how Ice's whole body tenses up.

It wouldn't be that unusual of a sight — Maverick knows where their spare key is and uses it to let himself in whenever he and Ice go out jogging in the strangest hours of the day possible. What makes Ice freeze like a deer in headlight, or his cool and collected equivalent of it, is that Mav is wearing Slider's Dire Straits t-shirt only, which is way too big on him, the collar sliding down to reveal the hickeys Ron's left on his lower neck and collarbone. It covers him up to mid his thighs and this and his messy hair and distinctive lack of pants are speaking for themselves.

"Morning," is all Maverick says as he continues making his coffee.

Ron bites down the grin at Ice's clenched fists.

Ice blinks and then blurts out at Mav, "Why are you wearing Sli's t-shirt?" And nothing else, is kinda implied in the way his tone turns slightly higher.

"What? I wasn't about to wear my own, I smell like a sweat bucket and Ice was in the shower," Mav explains.

Ice takes a deep breath through his nose as he continues to give Slider a side-eye.

"You...stayed over," Ice says slowly, addressing Mav.

"Yeah?"

"At Slider's...?"

"Yeah?" Mav replies once more, a bit weirded out now, looking way too comfortable for someone who looks well-fucked-out and better than half-naked in someone else's kitchen. "I just forgot to bring a change of clothes, it won't happen again, duh."

Ice's face is blank as he asks, "... Again?"

Ron is nothing but a man of an opportunity and a shithead so he says, "I wouldn't oppose if we made it a regular thing."

"You're joking," Ice spits out.

"I mean, why not? Maybe try to buy some earplugs, Ice," Mav says, shrugging and taking his coffee. "I'm going to shower now."

"Next Friday?" Ron pops at him before he's out the kitchen doorway.

Ice slaps his side but he ignores him.

"Saturday," Mav counters. "I'm taking Bradley and Carole out on Friday."

He disappears in the hallway and Slider hears their heavy bathroom door opening and closing with a bang.

Ice's stare is perfectly leveled on him, the equivalent of a glare for him.

"What? You said you wouldn't care."

"Mav isn't just—He's my—I—him—I—" Ron raises an eyebrow at him. "Ugh."

He might be gloating, just a bit, because people rarely get The Iceman cornered, and he's managed it. He is aware there isn't anything Ice can say without sounding like a jealous, pinning idiot.

"I'll keep sleeping with him until you get a grip," he tells Ice when Mav is out of their earshot.

"Slider," Ice says through his teeth.

"He's really good in bed, so who knows, maybe it'll be months or years of fun?"

Ice's expression doesn't change, he's too collected to show anything but his face is red, just a bit, and Ron doesn't know if it's because he's pissed off or embarrassed, and he doesn't care. He needs to get a grip and ask Maverick out and in the meantime, well — Maverick is a good and very convenient lay.

"Speaking of which, I need to change my sheets."

Ice breaths through his nose again. Ron gives him a month and if he's still a coward in denial, he'll ask Maverick out on an actual date and see how that will work on Ice.

[sky-kiss]

Well, since I'm here now, allow me to share a particularly stupid thought.

Imagine the party getting copies of the contract Raphael wants Tav to sign and everyone is just going over it in detail, reading all the fine print. Gale is examining it from his academic perspective. Wyll is looking at it through the lens of his prior experience with infernal dealings. Astarion is finally putting his legal background to use. And just when the gang has the revisions done and are ready to go back with their counteroffer, they find Tav already signed it because "ooo devil man pretty."

A/N: Oh, heck yes. We are pleased to have you. Have some wine. Also. I love this idea. It is glorious.

__________

Tav has enjoyed an unprecedented calm. Baldur’s Gate seems to have taken a breath, setting aside its propensity for careening towards the apocalypse for a single evening. No one is kidnapping their friends. No murder cults have attempted to waylay them in the streets. The Emperor is silent. It’s truly idyllic. 

The reason for this peace becomes at least partially evident when three of their companions barge into their half of the room. Wyll, Astarion, and Gale had headed off just after dawn, locking themselves away in one of the Elfsong’s side rooms. 

“Darling,” Astarion begins, his tone bright. “We were hoping to catch you before you dipped out for the evening.” Tav has no such plans, but why clarify? The vampire spawn holds out a scroll. “Here. Courtesy of yours truly. And these two.” He makes a vague gesture towards Wyll and Gale. 

“What’s this?” 

“Your contract, dearest! Well, potential contract.” 

Gale holds up a finger, grinning, handsome. “The three of us figured why not put our collective heads together. If two is better than one…”

“Yes, yes,” Astarion cuts him off. “Then three must be superior. The point is, dear, with Gale’s translation, my experience, and Wyll’s…well, debacle, we’ve fashioned terms far superior to what you might have expected.” The former magistrate rocks back on his heels. “Do you know, I even rather enjoyed myself. It’s been centuries since I put my skills to work and…” 

“I already signed the contract.” 

An uncomfortable silence stretches between the four of them. Gale breaks it. The wizard’s brows pull together. He opens his mouth first and closes it; it takes another two attempts before he can finally stutter his question out. “I…beg pardon, you’ve signed it?” 

“Raphael stopped by just before lunch…” 

“The devil stopped by? And you didn’t think to tell us?”

Tav purses their lips. In hindsight, it didn’t sound particularly well-advised. They scrub at their knees. “You were busy! You’d all rushed off!” 

“To rewrite your contract.” 

“You didn’t tell me that!” 

 Tav wonders if Astarion won’t just combust. The spawn makes a horrible sputtering noise, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Oh for the gods…why? Why sign it?” 

“It’s going to sound silly.”

“Stupid, dear. I’m fairly certain it’s going to sound stupid.” 

Tav worries their hands together. “He just seemed so hopeful. And his eyes are such a pretty brown?” At their friend’s collective groan, Tav pushes forward. “Look, I didn’t want him to be disappointed!” 

Gales says, “You should! You should feel free to disappoint the devil!” 

Astarion is more succinct: “Oh, you’re a fucking dolt.” 

[crash-tube-the-seawing]

The question is, should I write the CTS Aventio Pokémon Trainers AU or not?

(CTS = Crack Treated Seriously)

It’s not the fic itself I’m worried about, it’s the Cracki-ness of it

[atopvisenyashill]

my asoiaf crack ships

Jon/Sam/Gilly i KNOW the forced baby switching makes this uncomfortable i don't care they have my heart!!

Jon/Aegon Vi listen, beyond my jokey "jon finally finds a hot single twink to smush only to find out they're brothers" take, i think given all of jon's bastard baby brother issues re: robb colliding with general targ gender & sexuality fuckery AND aegon's short fuse + raised by a proud gay dad + is dornish and they're less uptight about that shit has the ability to give me a homoerotic toxic spiral to rival visaemon and throbb and i will hold onto this until i'm dead and buried

Jon/Arianne i just want my faves to smush + "we were both in love with the same man" bicon duos are my favorites

Aegon IlI/Gaemon Palehair i know there's a wonky age difference but it's bc george is a coward and he knew if they were the same age they would have kissed on the mouth

Willas/Ellaria they bond over both being lovers of Oberyn and missing him (Willas/Oberyn isn't a crackship they're friends in canon i’m justified in having a crackship offshoot for a non canon ship alright!!!)

Baela/Cregan my opinion on the pact of ice and fire is that instead of being this vague thing where Jace's theoretical first born daughter goes North, Baela has to marry Cregan even tho the regents hate the idea of this and she winds up defying them, which gets her cut out of politics, the succession, and generally pariah-ed in the South. Then she never has a living child with Cregan after all that. It just makes way more sense to me that Cregan would want a Targ now and not in the theoretical future (plus you still have the pact thing re: the main series bc they never have a living child, and Jace doesn't actually get to crown Sara)

Black Aly/Alyn Oakenfist they both love a war crime, they're opposites aesthetically so it would look hot, plus I think "i left my culture, my religion, and my home to be with you only for you to constantly cheat on me including with your incredibly young Valyrian relative" is less aggravating and more tragic if its Black Aly instead of Baela "is vastly superior to everyone yet is constantly cheated on by her shit ass, mid lovers" Targaryen

Grey Worm/Jeyne Poole i had a dream where Grey Worm and a large band of unsullied decided to stay in the North after the war for the dawn and they fell in love due to shared history of extreme trauma and Sansa gave Jeyne away and helped Grey Worm design a coat of arms for the marriage cloak and now I’m attached to this idea.

[eddiestightywhities]

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!)

[homosociallyyours]

56 & 63 👀

Hi Lauren!! THANK YOUUUUU!!! This is such a good one.

Awful First Meeting + Everybody Knows/Mistaken for a Couple

Harry and Louis meet when they're stuck in an elevator heading to their cars after seeing a double feature at the local movie theater. It probably wouldn't be so awful of a first meeting if Harry hadn't decided to eat nachos with extra cheese sauce and drink what felt like a gallon of soda PLUS his usual travel water bottle during the last movie. In short, he shits his shorts-- and then pees himself, because WHY NOT, at a certain point?-- in front of the hot stranger he hopes he never has to see again.

Unfortunately, the new hire in his department starts that Monday and GUESS WHO IT IS?? Harry's co-workers take his unusual awkwardness around Louis as evidence that they've hooked up in the past, and Louis' teasing banter only makes things worse.

Just when it feels like things couldn't get worse, the two of them get trapped in the elevator again, this time at work.

---

"We really have to stop meeting like this," Louis says, biting back a teasing smile, and Harry wishes he could laugh but all he can think about is the wave of shame he'd felt a few weeks earlier in nearly this exact situation. At least this time he used the toilet less than twenty minutes earlier and had been staying away from lactose since that day. Still, he can't stifle his groan as he shuffles forward and lays his pointer finger on the button for the lobby, pressing as hard as he can.

"Hopefully it won't be as--" Harry stops himself from using the word 'shitty,' because REALLY? "Bad." He turns to Louis, brow furrowed, and frowns. "As bad as that particular, um, incident."

"Y'know what? It could've been worse."

Harry huffs a laugh as he looks back at Louis expectantly. "If we'd been stuck there another five minutes, I would've been in exactly the same boat as you.

--

That's RIGHT, Louis is also an IBS girlie or whatever, and literally shit his pants in his car on the way home! PLOT? MEET TWIST!

[imbobthetomato]

Oh! I guess I’m supposed to make an introduction post? Ha ha, silly me, cutting right to the business...

[clears throat]

Hey there! I’m Bob the Tomato. You might not recognize me without my friend Larry, but I’m the other host of VeggieTales, heh heh! 

I’ve got an ask box set up so you can ask me questions, and I can even answer questions in character as character’s I’ve played on VeggieTales...if you’re into that sort of thing...

Anyway, thanks for having me on this neat little website. I’ll be around all day! I...I think.

[teabiscs]

I’ll draw top 3.

(Just no four way tie this time pls omg)

[sunfloo-wers]

This can only go well I'm sure

I'm going to do it, I'm going to open up a google docs and start writing the fic that has been plaguing me for the past month!

I hope this goes well, I have a feeling it'll either be months until I'm next seen with a novel that I don't remember writing or I'll be back in 20 minutes with a blank google doc

WELP

[found--family]

so i'm relistening to Bridgewater season 1 and i was looking at the real Bridgewater Triangle wiki page and the map of the area and out of curiosity i cross-referenced the area with this travel map of Supernatural and noticed that while Dean (and Sam) never ventured into the triangle they got close when they visited Providence, Rhode Island which is just over 10 miles away from the closest corner of the triangle on the other side of the Massachusetts state line, and why were they in Providence? well, the episode was 2x13 Houses of the Holy ie. the very first angels ep where Dean (a seasoned supernatural hunter) didn't believe in angels even though they later turned out to be real. meanwhile Bridgewater focuses on a seasoned folklore professor living in the Bridgewater Triangle who doesn't believe in the supernatural even though it later turns out to be real and is played by the actor who plays the angel Castiel who is the first real angel Dean meets.

[seas-of-silver]

For the ask game ❤️💛

// Ladybug thought she had had everything handled; it was only when the blond cousin revealed his true nature that she realized she'd tied up the wrong one!

Ladybug thought she had had everything handled; it was only when the blond cousin revealed his true nature that she realized she'd tied up the wrong one!

'Damn it, Félix!' Ladybug exclaimed. 'Why didn't you say anything earlier?'

'I was curious as to why you needed my cousin so desperately as to kidnap him,' he replied from his position slung over her shoulder, still bound by her yo-yo, looking as infuriatingly calm as ever. 'You know if you just asked him that he'd go anywhere with you, Marinette. Besides, he's in London right now.'

Ladybug growled and put him down on his feet, recalling her yo-yo as she pinned her boyfriend's cousin with a glare. She was tired, and now that she got a proper look at him, he was obviously in his pyjamas with bed head, making his hair look more like Adrien's. She knew Adrien was in London, but as she swung past him earlier, he looked too much like Adrien that Ladybug couldn't help but take the opportunity to rescue what she thought was her boyfriend, too exhausted to think straight and realise it wasn't him.

'You know perfectly well why I'd go to such drastic measures,' Ladybug retorted. 'Speaking of; why did you decide that a theatre performance was the best way to tell me everything? Why didn't you and Kagami just talk to me? Preferably before Adrien was forced to leave Paris?'

'That's the way Kagami wanted to tell you,' Félix admitted, 'but I thought that the most optimum way of delivering all the information was through a storytelling medium - we figured that us performing the story would hold your attention long enough to give us a chance to make you listen to what we had to tell you.'

'Well, it did work,' Ladybug conceded, 'but I also thought I had dreamt the entire thing and struggled to put it all together. But that doesn't answer the question of why you two didn't tell me earlier.'

'Rehearsals,' answered Félix with a light shrug. 'Kagami is wonderful, but a theatre major she is not.'

'How did you convince Kagami to perform, anyway?' she asked curiously, before shaking her head to refocus. 'Ugh, tell me later. Anyway! So - Gabriel Agreste is Monarch, and you and Adrien are both part-sentimonster?'

'Correct on both counts,' he confirmed.

'And does Adrien know about any of this?' she pressed.

'To my knowledge, no,' said Félix.

Ladybug groaned. Poor Adrien was being left in the dark about, well, everything. 'Why didn't you tell him all this?'

'We couldn't risk it,' Félix answered. 'Gabriel still has possession of Adrien's amok, and therefore has control over Adrien. Telling him could jeopardise everything, including any advantage we have to defeat my uncle.'

Ladybug nodded thoughtfully. Unfortunately, Félix was right. But sooner or later, Adrien deserved to know.

'Fine,' she agreed, 'but as soon as Monarch is defeated, you have to tell Adrien everything. And you won't disappear on him like you did with me - you stay with him and answer every question he has for you, and you will comfort and support him so that he can come to terms with the bombshells you'll be dropping on him. This is your shared history - I can't be the one to tell him. Got it?'

Félix grumbled, pouting. 'I was hoping maybe that you-'

'No,' she immediately cut him off. 'Not me - you. Copy?'

He sighed. 'Fine. Now, can you take me back? I'm kinda cold.'

Ladybug shot him a deadpan look.

'You and I both know you can transform into Argos and get yourself home,' she retorted.

'But you're the one who kidnapped me,' he fired back, smirking playfully.

'I wasn't- I was trying to save Adrien-' she blustered, before sighing. 'I'm too tired for this.'

'Maybe you need some melatonin if you're struggling to sleep?' Félix suggested.

'What I need is to stop my father-in-law from destroying the universe and for him to let my husband freely live his life,' Ladybug muttered dully. After a moment, her own words registered in her mind and her eyes widened. 'I- I mean- to stop Gabriel and- boyfriend not husband-'

Félix laughed lightheartedly. 'I understood, don't worry... cousin-in-law.'

'Go home, Félix!'

~/~

Ask game: Give me the first sentence and I'll write a short piece for it!

[voicestm]

#danny is actually clawing at the cage he's fuckin mad- @designedparadigm Daniel please. Completely different verses! Though if he's gonna fight for her. She might just forget about this entire thing. This is all gonna go right to her head.

[trans-girl-uchiha-itachi]

i wrote some househusband itachi today because i've lost control of my life

[welliguessimin]

"Kiss, marry, kill, A, B and C"

"Kill B by hitting them with a car when they're out walking with A and C. The other two become collateral damage. I give A CPR to make it seem like it wasn't on purpose. Afterwards I take C's surname claiming that we were planning on marrying but it's actually just because they have a good surname.