#ive been feeling good today!!! good enough to think this up :)

[typicalopposite]

sentences on sunday

Sharing some from the next chapter of Hopes & Fears! And hoping to have the chapter up today — been sick and fell behind 😮‍💨 but I’m hoping to get caught up and get it finished SOON! 🫶

Ow. 

There is pain in his— everything. 

He tries to think back on what happened… The baby soaps… Hen screaming… The car… Then the pain… so much pain.

“Ow…” he tries again, and actually manages to say it this time. He hears a chuckle, then movement beside him… the soft clattering of something getting set down on a table— beads— rosary beads? “C- Cap?” 

“Yeah, I’m here kid,” Bobby says softly, taking one of his hands, giving him a quick run through of what happened, and his injuries. “Just keep resting, and don’t worry about anything… it’s all been taken care of, everyone has been notified.”

“T- Tommy?” 

“I called him myself. He’s on his way.”

Buck tries to smile at that; he thinks maybe he is… but even the slightest movement hurts and so he feels like his face is stuck in a permanent grimace… He’s too tired to try harder, and so he just lets himself succumb to unconsciousness again. 

The next time he wakes up it’s from his monitors beeping at his nurse, who is changing over his bags of IV medications and fluids. The elderly woman looks at him and smiles, “Hey there handsome,” she says. 

“Whoa now…” Buck replies, sluggishly; he barely has the strength to lift his hand up in a mock defensive manner. “You can’t be— be flirting with me like that… I’m a taken man.” 

“Oh? Well my deepest apologies,” she quickly says back. “She’s a very lucky girl.”

“It- It’s a guy, a- actually,” Buck corrects. “But… he— he’s not the lucky one… that would be me.” 

She finishes off with what she was doing and then leans on the railing to his bed, an intrigued smile on her face. “Really now?” 

“Mhmm…” Buck does his best to nod. “He’s— He’s great. He’s a— amazing, even. He’s a firefighter pilot…”

“Ooo… fancy.”

“Right? He’s so cool! And— And he is tall and built like a tank— I didn’t even know I was into that until him; and he— he has a cleft…” Buck pauses, feeling winded just thinking about it all. “But it- it’s not about any of that, you know. It’s his heart. He has the biggest heart. He’s— he’s so thoughtful and caring and kind…” The nurse smiles as he rambles on. “He puts up with me— all of me…  He listens to me… He makes me feel special… No one has ever really done all that before.” 

“Well you do sound extremely lucky to have someone like that in your life.” 

Buck nods, already feeling the effects of the medication flowing into his veins. His eyes feel heavier with every blink. “I— I love him…” he says… and he’s never said it out loud before. It feels good; it feels right. He says it again. “I love him. I really— really love him. Why— Why didn’t I lead with that… maybe— maybe then he wouldn’t have left…” He tries to focus on the nurse's face, tries to stay conscious long enough to get her input… “I— I should— should have told him that, huh? That I loved him…” 

“You never told him?” she asks, sounding amused. 

Buck sighs heavily, lolling to the side towards her; his eyes finally fall closed and he doesn’t have the strength to reopen them. “It’s… com- complicated.” 

When he wakes again his room is quiet; he guesses it’s empty. 

He isn’t sure how long he slept, or if he slept at all… it definitely doesn’t feel like it. So he keeps his eyes closed and listens to the sounds of the machines, the ticking of the clock, the footsteps outside the door as they come to a stop at his room— 

He hears a sharp gasp, and cracks open his eyes to see Tommy standing in the opening. “H- Hey…” he says tiredly, hoping he said it loud enough Tommy could hear him. “You came…” It’s not that he doubted that he would… it’s just that he didn’t have to. Tommy has no obligation to Buck anymore… besides perhaps growing their kid, and he doesn’t need to be around Buck to do that. He could have sent a get well soon card and it would have been enough. 

Yet here he is… “Of— of course,” he says, like him being there is the most obvious thing in the world.

read from ch 1 on ao3 <3

some no pressure tags for: @30somethingautisticteacher @sunnywithachanceofbi @nine-one-wanton @judymarch15 @herrmannhalsteadproduction

@somethingaboutfirefly @silversky9 @bucksxkinard @mmso-notlikethat @quintessenceofdust88

@littlepaws9 @bidisasterevankinard @lavenderleahy @bangpop91 @weewookinard @beanarie

And anyone else who wants to join in!!! 🫶🫶🫶

[skunkes]

reaching a point where im liking my art and range and flexibility with styles (kinda !) and stylization and its like ok now what do i do with that. I wish my ocs were more interesting/that i could MAKE them so...!

[todayisafridaynight]

i’m pretty surprised that you can be in a fandom without really checking the tags regularly for new content or discussions that’s pretty impressive

ive got twitter for that and twitter has shown me enough as is

[nickbutnodick]

.

[girlivealwaysbean]

sometimes my boobs hurt so much i think they're gonna bleed surely this is normal right

[salsa-di-pomodoro]

If lady sneasler went back home with Ingo i think eventually she would want to try battling with him. I mean it looks fun, everyone tells her it's a good bonding moment for both trainer and Pokémon and it's a golden opportunity to show off, why not? Who's going to stop her, the pearl clan?

Ingo takes a bit of convincing, out of respect for both her and the traditions of the pearl clan, but he relents eventually. He can't deny he's been wanting to do this as well. After a bit of training they have the time of their life destroying people's (read: Emmet, the elite four, other Frontier Brains and generally just other strong trainers (sorry i didn't include Elesa. I love her very much but she is not on their level methinks 😔. Id love to be proven wrong tho)) teams, with a mix of Ingo's old and new team and her as the ace for once in unregulated matches. (Turns out, noble Pokémon naturally have insane stats and therefore cannot partecipate in league matches or official battles. Ingo has to nerf sneasler/the rest of his team or use less Pokémon as a result, but he loves the challenge. He's thrilled when people defeat him.)

(Emmet takes this as a challenge. As long as his Pokémon are on board, he's building his way up to defeating Ingo when they're not holding back. He gets scarily close every time.)

I ran out of space in the tags but blankshippers dni pls. Let's stay in our respective lanes and not interact

[phagodyke]

ah shit only just realised its september now.... lets hope the rest of this month isn't like this.....

[thedeviljudges]

how am i supposed to go back to work on monday like my life hasn't literally changed this past week lmaooooo like what

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[just-spacetrash]

💔

[alxclaremont]

there are two wolves inside of you: one feels impending doom at the thought of tomorrow’s race. the other feels immensely hopeful that oscar will get his first win tomorrow or at the very least a mclaren 1-2. you are a formula one fan.

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

writing poetry sometimes feels like you gotta cut yourself open to express it idk smear all your organs all over the page and hope somebody else reads something beautiful. is that like divination the way it's expressed in various places and things? I dunno. poetry never slides off your skin like water off a duck's back. it's from within I think. sometimes you have to tear yourself apart to get at the words and sometimes it just wells up from within and gushes out. always from somewhere deep inside. sometimes it's difficult and horrible and painful but the alternative would be worse. sometimes it's from sheer joy that must overflow into words. I think that's beautiful personally. skin splitting from joy. it happens, I think, to us all at some point. or maybe I'm just a creature of extremes. maybe that online test I did because a friend recommended it is true. it said my symptoms were high. I don't know. maybe it is true, maybe it's not. I read a book once where there was a character named Nathan Hill-and-Dale, and while I'm not nearly as extreme as he was portrayed, in my extremes, I know I'm a fairly volatile person. funny, for most people who see me IRL seem to think that I'm fairly calm. nope, I'm a volcano. watch out, even when I'm apparently calm I might blow up one way or the other. one of my residents' family members said today that I was young and bubbly and she was glad to see it because happiness is the prerogative of the young. a part of me wished I told her. I have actively tried to kill myself once; I have come extremely close to the same actions countless times including yesterday; I would sooner hurt myself than others; if I had my own choice I would simply starve. of course I didn't tell her. sometimes I think I'll never get better. at this point I would consider it a very high chance that I will either die by suicide or end up in hospital following an attempt. not now, of course. but despite my fierce love for my course it has stress associated with it and I think that it's very likely that no psych help on earth would fix my mental health enough for that not to be an option mentally in this short time. I think it's possible to recover from all of the things I struggle with. God help me, I hope it is. the real question is whether I will survive long enough to recover from them. and the answer? I know not. I was reminded of a past interaction with the boy today, where he called my name - I turned - his grandfather, a photographer, was waiting to see if he could get a decent photo, for we were at a church conference and he was trying to get photos everywhere. they were laughing. I could not help but laugh. that memory is tainted now, for he would not look at me now, let alone try to pull such a stunt again. I don't blame him. I don't blame anyone for it. I wonder what would happen if I blocked all my friends on discord; who would seek me out? part of me hopes people would, another part hopes they would not. sometimes I just want to be left alone to curl up and die. it would be easier. so much easier than living, and living, and living. I tried writing poetry just now. it felt like trying to cut myself open, I couldn't get the words out. it only made me feel rather wild. I'm desperate for change, for something. something. what is that something? I don't know. did you know I'm a sadist? I would not in a public place express the thoughts that led me to that conclusion. but I am. I wish I wasn't. there's an obvious solution to that. quick, and easy. so easy. too easy. I tried writing poetry, and then instead of writing anything coherent, I wrote this.

[waywardsalt]

anyways. holding linebeck gently

[dinopant]

Gonna watch doctor sleep, jerk off and forget im lonely

[qumiiiquinnquin]

ill never be good enough at anything

[widevibratobitch]

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