#please excuse any errors

[hijacksecrets]

I couldn't draw the frosty cheeks without giving Jack something to blush about xD

[paigestrap]

i need you.

paige bueckers x fem!reader

warnings? smut (minors dni), light angst and fluff, swearing

summary - you and paige are friends until you aren’t 🤭🤭

enjoy!!! (please?) even if u don’t pls don’t tell me i’m sensitive.

you couldnt identify the point at which your friendship with paige grew into something more. meeting her in one of your soc classes when she showed up late and sat next to you, you two became friends almost instantly.

you knew who she was of course, had gone to many of the uconn women’s basketball game. and you would never tell her, but you were definitely a fan from the start, her game and personality being a major draw, and maybe also the fact that she was beautiful, like really really beautiful (a fact you would also never tell her).

you two started hanging out pretty much everyday, whether you were doing work, going out to eat, or hanging out with her and the rest of the team at a bar after games, the two of you had become quite comfortable in each others company.

but one day, things started to change. when your shoulders would touch watching your favorite show with her next to you, it sent electricity throughout your entire body, you felt yourself looking forward to the times when your hand would brush hers while walking side by side with her to class, your mood would lighten when she would text you to hangout or simply tell you about her day, and the time you spent together felt more and more intimate as your fondness for the blonde grew.

sometimes, it felt like paige was feeling the same thing you were. her eyes would linger for longer than you felt a friend’s eyes should, her touches felt more intentional, her compliments more frequent, and her words gentler. there were times when you both were alone where it seemed like the two of you were so close to crossing that line. like the first time she asked you to spend the night, and you woke up the next morning in her arms. or when she asked you to wear her jersey to her game the next day, and of course you obliged. she asked you afterwards if you would wear her jersey for every one, justifying her request by saying you’re her “good luck charm” and of course her good luck charm needs to rep her jersey, and of course, you obliged. when you were out with her at the bar and the two of you had been drinking she would constantly be touching you, hugging you, and telling you how much you meant to her. you couldn’t tell if this was paige being paige, or if she was truthful in her words and actions.

these moments were always left unspoken, as neither you nor her felt confident enough to ever cross that line. but your heart yearned for her. her touch, her voice, her laugh, her beautiful mind. and it was getting harder and harder everyday to hide your feelings.

now, with her returning to campus after the uconn women’s basketball team lost to iowa in the final four, you feel those inhibitions being lifted. your phone screen lit up as her contact appeared on your lock screen.

p: need u rn. can u come over?

you: of course, i’m on my way

as you walk out of your apartment to make your way to your friend you realize now the extent to which you feel for her and you want nothing more than to hold her in your arms and comfort her.

“hey,” she says, opening the door for you, her face betraying her overwhelming grief. you don’t say anything, you just pull her into a hug as she lets out her first of many tears.

“i know. i’m so sorry paige. you deserved the win, you all did” you say, comforting her while also holding back tears of your own.

“can we go to my room, just wanna be with you right now,” her tear stained eyes meet yours, and your heart swells at the urge to kiss her tears away.

“of course, i’m here for whatever you need, always” you say, grabbing her hand as the two of you make your way towards her room.

“i wish you’d been there, missed you so much it’s crazy,” she admits as you both lay down side by side in her bed. her eyes never breaking away from yours.

“i missed you too paige, im so sorry i couldn’t be there for you. i hope you know how much i wish i could’ve” you pull her into your arms and embrace her as her tears begin to fall again.

“i think,” she starts, but stops herself and pauses for a long time. you are about to ask her about it before she continues, “i think i realized something about myself this weekend”

another pause. your heart beats faster, you curse yourself knowing paige could feel it too. “what’s that,” your voice is barely audible as you struggle to get the words out.

“i need you, like i really really need you. ever since i met you i just wanna be by you all the time. when we lost i just wanted you to be there and,” she propped herself up to look at you before pulling you in to a tight embrace “i’m scared that you don’t need me too” her voice breaks at the end, shattering any hope of disguising her emotions.

“oh paige, you have no idea,” you say, feeling yourself breaking at her words. you pull away from her embrace and stare into her eyes, searching for a reason not to let your walls fall. you don’t see one, “i need you like i need oxygen to breathe. the world feels muffled when you’re not next to me, i admire everything about you and i’ve never felt this way about another person before. i’ve been so scared these past few weeks that i’ll lose you if you find out how much i want you, but i can’t go on pretending i think of you as my friend when you are so much more than that.” there it is. there’s no going back now. your eyes move away from hers as you await her response.

“baby,” she whispers, hand moving to caress your cheek as she gently pulls your face in her direction, “you’ll never lose me,”

suddenly, the space between you feels so small, and in a swift motion she closes the gap between you and kisses you. the world around you begins to spin as all of your senses become heightened. you feel yourself kiss back, not too hard, not too soft, and suddenly the emotions brimming for the past months come flooding to you all at once.

her hands meet your waist as she shifts her weight to be positioned on top of you, your legs opening as she places herself in between them, never breaking your kiss.

she eventually breaks it to look down on you, a million emotions displayed on her face. she reconnects your lips with hers and you feel yourself giving in completely, desire for the blonde blooming as her kisses grow hungrier. “i want you so bad” she says breathlessly in between kisses. her tongue grazes your bottom lip, requesting entrance, and as with all of her requests, you oblige.

“please, paige,” you let out, suppressing the moans threatening to slip out as her tongue explores your mouth. you tug on her shirt, needing to feel her body closer. she takes it off and removes your shirt as well. leaving you in only your bra on top. she smiles as she looks at your now exposed body.

“god, your tits are fucking amazing,” she remarks, staring at them lustfully. you blush, suddenly feeling so exposed. her hands reach your back as she unclasps the final layer, removing your bra and revealing your bare chest. she fondles your tits and the sudden touch elicits a moan you didn’t have the restraint to hold back. her hands feel so good, and you desperately need them somewhere else, “i wanna fuck you so bad babe”

“god paige please i need you so badly” you whine, so far gone at this point to even try to hide your burning desire.

“yeah?” she grins, biting her lip and licking her lips, “where do you need me, my sweet girl, show me”

you pull yourself up and remove your bottoms, leaving you in nothing but your underwear. you grow increasingly aware of how wet you are, and embarrassed at how obvious it is. her hands roam your body and she grips both of your thighs, her gaze lowering to your heat. “you’re so wet, all because of me?” she asks like she doesn’t know the answer and lets her finger graze over your clothed pussy. you moan as she touches your clit, grinding your hips desperate for more. “so needy baby, i’m gonna take these off now alright?” you nod as she removes your panties, leaving you completely exposed and at her expense.

her hand meets your bare pussy, rubbing in between your folds and onto your clit, eliciting a loud moan from you as your body reacts to her touch. you move your head to the side and close your eyes, letting the pleasure take over. but you are quickly brought back to reality when she stops touching you and takes your face into her hand, bringing it back to face her, “i want you to look at me when i fuck you, do you understand baby?” she plants a kiss on your lips and you nod in response, unable to say a thing.

her fingers move back towards your heat and she slides one into you, “how’s that sweet girl, does that feel good?”

“yes. please. more.” you whine, your body burning at her touch, desperately needing more.

“oh yeah?” she teased as she slipped another finger in you, slowly pumping them in and out of you, curling them so she could feel them stretching against your walls.

you were done for. your body twisting and rutting against her, only causing her to quicken her pace inside you, never breaking your gaze for a second. “god you’re so fucking gorgeous like this, all mine”

your senses overloaded by her hungry words and quickening pace, you felt yourself nearing your climax “paige, please don’t stop. i’m so close” you beg, causing her to fuck you harder and faster.

“yeah? come for me baby, you’ve done so well, my pretty girl,” that was all it took to force you over the edge. you come hard, screaming out her name as the pleasure enveloped your entire body. she fucks you through your orgasm, whispering in your ear the entire time telling you how pretty you look and how good you are.

the wave of pleasure subsiding and your senses gradual coming back to you, she slides her fingers out of you, licking your wetness off of them and falling back onto your smaller figure.

“holy shit” you breathe out, panting. suddenly feeling very sleepy.

“yeah, holy shit.” she laughs, “you’re so fucking hot, you know that?” you blush at her compliment, burying your face in her chest.

“do you still think i don’t need you?” you ask, looking up at her with a shy smile. she grins, giving you a sweet kiss and looking at you with so much endearment it makes your heart swell.

“no, i’m pretty sure you made yourself clear” she laughs, pulling you closer.

[firewasabeast]

Prompt - Drunk buck or Tommy !

“Bu- you didn't have ta cut me off!

Make it lie it never happen n that we were nothin'!

N' I don't even need your love!

You treat me like a strange an it feels so rough!”

Buck and Eddie watched as Tommy drunkenly sang, or slurred, up on stage. Buck had gotten the call about thirty minutes ago. The bartender had known Tommy for a few years now, him being a regular on karaoke nights, and had gotten to know Buck since they'd started dating.

“I'm confused,” Eddie said, nearly having to yell over the music, “did you two break up? I feel like you would have told me that.”

Buck shook his head. “No. No, we're fine.”

“Then what's with the Gotye?”

“-ow an then I think of all the time you screwed me over.

But had me believin' it was always somethin' I'd done.

I don wanna live that waaay! Readin' into every word you saaay!”

Each sentence was beginning to get more and more drawn out as he glared into the crowd.

Buck sighed. “I think he's singing to his dad.”

“Like that?” Eddie asked with a grimace.

“Yeah. He- They talked yesterday and I don't think it went well.”

“Oh, really? What gives you that idea?”

After giving Eddie a glare, they looked back to Tommy, who was now stumbling over the microphone cord as he headed back into the chorus.

“Should we?” Eddie nodded in his direction. “You know, before he breaks his neck.”

They walked up to the stage, and as soon as Tommy laid eyes on them he gasped, smiling widely. “Evan!” he exclaimed into the mic. “Oh, Evan you came for me to sing?”

Blushing, Buck stepped up onto the stage and took hold of Tommy's arm. “I'm here to take you home, Babe,” he whispered, trying to ignore the crowd of people staring at them.

“Ev, Ev, Ev, I need to sing for the people. People!” He stared out at the crowd, “This is my Evan. He is my boyfriend and he is smokin'!”

Eddie stepped on the stage next, coming to Tommy's other side. Tommy gasped again, even though he'd already spotted him before. “Eddie!” he wrapped his other arm around him, the microphone ringing as it knocked against Eddie's back. “And this is Eddie!” Tommy yelled. “Oops.” He pulled his hand away from Buck to grab the mic and try again. “This on my left is Eddie. He does not have a wife.”

“Okay, that's-”

“Where's my single ladieeees?!” He asked with a smile, then his eyes widened. “I should do Beyoncé next!”

“No!” Buck exclaimed. “No, we're gonna go home, Tommy.”

“Aw!” he whined with a frown, sticking out his tongue. “Bummertown USA.”

although annoyed, he didn't fight against Eddie taking the mic out of his hand. He didn't try to pull away from either of them as they held onto him and helped him off the stage. And only once did he try to bow to the crowd as they led him out of the bar.

“Alright, into the Jeep you go,” Buck said, helping Tommy into the backseat. As he leaned over to buckle Tommy's seatbelt, Tommy stopped him. “Evan, your eyes are the bluest eyes of anyone to ever know them.”

Buck paused, blinking a few times as he tried to figure out exactly what that meant. “I'm gonna take that as a compliment.”

“Goody goody gumdrop.” He reached out and booped Buck's nose as he finished buckling up.

“Eddie, you sit in the back with him while I drive.”

“What?! Why don't you sit in the back with him?”

“Because you'll get to go home after this and I get to stay with it all night.”

*****

“Eddie?” Tommy started, head lolled back on the headrest as he looked over at him.

“Yeah, Tommy?”

“Why're you here?”

Buck glanced back at them in the rearview. “We had that poker game tonight, remember?”

“Oh, right, right, right. I hate poker. B-o-r-r-r-i-n-j.”

“Excellent spelling, Man,” Eddie said, giving him a thumbs up.

Tommy smiled, then turned his head to look out the window. He squeezed his eyes shut when the streetlights that kept passing by made his head spin. “Eddie, you're such a good dad,” he mumbled out.

Eddie hummed. “I dunno about that, Bud.”

“No, no, no, you are.” He whipped his head back around to Eddie and reached out, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “You are a good dad. Isn't he, Evan?”

“Yes, he is.”

“Okay, alright. Thanks, Tommy.”

Tommy groaned. “You don't believe me.”

“I believe you, Tommy. Just rest, okay?”

“No, I- I can't rest, Eddie. Because you think you're a bad dad and you're not a bad dad and that makes me sad. So sad I rhymed.”

“Tommy-”

“No.” Tommy reached out, pressing a finger against Eddie's lips to shush him.

Eddie moved the finger away, but stayed quiet, letting Tommy talk.

“You're a good dad,” he repeated. “You- You made a mistake. Psssh, so what? You... You're trying. That means something. That-” he hiccuped. “That matters, Eddie.”

“He makes a point,” Buck agreed.

“I do! I do make a point, Evan. Thank you, Baby.”

“Yup.”

“See, my dad,” Tommy continued, sitting up straighter. “My dad does not try. Never, ever tried. An- And I told him, I said. I said, Dad, I am happy. I am in love with love of my life. I have good friends. Eddie, Howie, Maddie, Hen, Karen. God, I love Karen. Where is Karen tonight?”

“She's with her family,” Buck replied.

“Oh, right. Yeah, family. Issat what I was talkin' about? Yes, yeah. Eddie, listen to me.” He waved his hand, trying to get Eddie to move closer. “Come here, listen. Listen, listen.”

“I'm right here, Tommy, I hear ya.”

“I- I ran away from home at seventeen. Joined the army. You know this.”

“Mhm.”

“Dad had to sign to okay me into army. He signed. I never- I didn't hear from him again. Not until I came back home. Then- Then he was only mad that I didn't stay and I-” he cut himself off as his eyes started to burn. “Anyway, I talked to him yesterday and I said, I said I am happy, and he- he laughed at me. Laughed right in my ear. Said he didn't care tah hear it cause I... because of all of it. It's not enough, never enough. It's just- Eddie, do you love Christopher?”

“Of course I do,” Eddie answered softly.

"No matter what?"

"No matter what."

"And you- you keep talking to him. You keep," another hiccup, "you keep trying, okay? It will- he will know you love him. You'll keep trying?"

"Mhm." Eddie cleared his throat. "Yes, I'll keep trying. I'll never stop trying."

“Yeah, I know you won't. That's good. That- That matters. Mine, he. He's never said I love you. Not once. And he didn't keep tryin'.” He reached his hand out and wrapped it around one of Eddie's fingers, giving it a squeeze. “You're a good, good dad, Eddie. Believe it.”

"I- I believe you, Tommy. Thank you," he replied, and this time, he meant it.

[deliciouskeys]

I threatened to write something for Butchlander week and well... I have written, uh, something. *skulks back into the abyss*

Written to accompany this wonderful art I commissioned from @semains whom I love dearly-- thank you for indulging my requests for setting and exact pose as well! Commission them!

Butchlander Week NSFW Saturday prompt: Roleplay/Roles. Because it might be the role of a lifetime for Butcher, but you know Homelander is having the time of his life pretending he can't escape / pretending it hurts sooo much.

(yeah, double dipping) Cozy Corner Kinktober prompt #5 Buttplug (sort of. I can't explain myself. I have no excuses. It might be disturbing, so apologies in advance. Pure Id, aka wtf).

My header is getting longer than the ficlet, gdi

"Harder." Homelander's tone is haughty and whiny all at once–  so grating that Butcher wishes he could deliver on the request. Who'd have thought that this grandiose straightedge little cunt would get so hard having a stranger smack him over and over? Who'd ever guess that this supe celebrity– maybe the world's most famous person, and definitely the darling of the American public– would be into this kind of shit behind closed doors? That he wouldn't be bloody ashamed of himself whisking Butcher off to his bizarrely decorated apartment every single night.  Bypassing all of Vought security, so that Vought's public enemy number… if not #1 then at least top 10… could make himself comfortable sitting on his bed. Not all that comfortable, since the bed is a strange upholstered leather number and stiff as hell, but Butcher supposes a supe might not feel the difference between this and a Tempur-Pedic.

He brings him here every night, and every night the script stays largely the same. Homelander plies him with some alcohol, sometimes a glass of whiskey, but more often just a bottle of Heineken. Butcher sits down, Homelander eagerly drapes himself over his lap, pulls and folds his cape underneath him, as if he doesn't trust Butcher enough to spread it out next to him. wiggling his hips, insisting Butcher pull down his pants and spank him. And Butcher obliges every time, even though it's clearly hurting his hands much more than it hurts Homelander– they alternate sides every night but Butcher suspects he already has stress fractures that don't heal because his hands ache all the time and never quite recover between sessions. But despite the pain, and despite the very little to no pain he's actually inflicting on the spoiled brat who always asks to be hit harder, there's just something irresistible about it. About finally being allowed to take out his aggression on the man he hates most in the world. The man he hates most in the world, who also happens to have a surprisingly perky ass that jiggles hypnotically if you hit it hard enough and just right, so Butcher hits him with his full strength not because of the cunt's whiny demands, but because he just wants to see the flesh wobble.

"I said harder!" Homelander's voice cuts through Butcher's thoughts, and Butcher can't help it any longer.

"You want me to hit you harder, you're gonna have to find a paddle."

Homelander's breath hitches and he says nothing in reply. No, this sick cunt clearly craves skin on skin contact to get off, Butcher already knows this, which is why he knew what to threaten him with to get him to shut up.

But he does wish he could hurt him. The achy joints of his hand plead he stop. Butcher stares down at the well defined muscular globes, skin turned a nice blush color where he's been hit but Butcher wishes he could turn it black and blue. Purple and green. He wants the cunt to really feel the intensity he's supposedly asking for, just to prove how wrong he is.

"I'm waiting," Homelander reminds him.

"Just taking a breather, alright? Enjoying the view." Butcher tries to squeeze a handful of flesh, but it's never as soft as it looks. "Look like one of 'em marble statues you got out in your lounge area."

Butcher hears Homelander's breath hitch and sees him take a peek at the mirror above, clearly checking himself out. This is all a game to him. It flatters his vanity that Butcher does this for him. Butcher would like nothing more than to turn this around on him, make it less of a game and more of an actual punishment.

A strange idea creeps in. Butcher leans back to reach for the Heineken bottle he emptied earlier and put on the nightstand, always on a coaster Homelander insists he use. God forbid he get a water ring on the antique looking furniture, with the creepy little cameo portraits of people who died last century. The beer is mostly just to take the edge off before Homelander lies down over his legs– he and Homelander mutually figured out the session goes better if he's slightly buzzed and maybe just a little numb to the pain in his hand. And they figured this out because Homelander happened to whisk him away right after he stumbled out of a bar on a late Saturday night, after which point Butcher understood that Homelander would come and find him wherever he was– even if he wasn't at home past midnight. It's sexual slavery, is what it is. Butcher would resent it more if he didn't somewhat enjoy getting to beat this cunt on a nightly basis before being dropped off at home.

Homelander shifts, growing impatient while waiting for another round of spanking to start after the breather. "Come on!" he says through gritted teeth, and he sounds angry, and fucking self-righteous, as if he's complaining about customer service he's paid for. It's not Butcher's fault that the cunt only seems to come after he's gotten spanked for minutes straight, at some point his body finally deciding that this is such an enjoyable moment that his hips start grinding forward into Butcher's leg and he comes, the same pathetic little hitched moan escaping his lips every time, the same toe-curling Butcher can see because the cunt does take off his boots to lie on the bed. Thank god he never pulls his pants far down enough, because he never gets any jizz on Butcher's jeans. Homelander seems to think Butcher doesn't notice, or at least they both pretend they haven't. As if Butcher can avoid noticing his leg being humped violently, wondering if this is the night the cunt breaks one of his limbs out of pure excitement. As if it's not clear what just happened from the flushed face and glazed over eyes the supe has when he rises off the bed, finally satisfied. But if no one tells and no one asks, it didn't necessarily happen, and both seem content to keep it at that. Homelander takes a quick shower and suit change before dropping Butcher off at his apartment, without any further ceremony or pleasantries, and by morning Butcher is half in denial about any of it even happening.

"Are you fucking deaf? Why did you stop?" Homelander says and starts to turn his head to look back at him, but Butcher shoves his face back to face forward. 

They have an unspoken agreement not to look each other in the eye when they're doing this, ever. Homelander almost broke the agreement, but obediently looks away again after the lightest push.

"Shut your fucking trap already. I heard you the first ten times just fine," Butcher growls under his breath, and his mind is made up about what he was hesitating to do. He forces the neck of the empty bottle into the cunt's tight crack, moving it around, looking for give.

Homelander's back arches, clearly not expecting the sensation. "The fuck are you doing?"

"GIving you something harder, like you were whining for, you spoiled brat." Butcher gives up doing it blindly and pulls one of the cheeks towards him. "Now where's your fucking chocolate starfish? You even have one?" And as if to punctuate that last word, Butcher finds the place and  breaks the initial resistance resistance, the bottle neck beginning a slow slide in.

Homelander breathes harder. "I don't like it," he mutters, and his ass flexes in protest.

"You better like it and accept it, or else you're going to end up with a pile of glass shards inside you."

Butcher is skeptical that glass could really do anything to this supe's internal organs, but it seems Homelander wants to avoid the mess anyway, and his muscles relax.

"That's right. Now stop whining and take your punishment."

He tries to push the bottle in even further, feeling more and more protest.

"I don't like it," Homelander repeats, sharply this time, as if it means something.

"You ain't supposed to like it," Butcher says and decides to finally smack him on the ass with his other hand after keeping him waiting. Butcher doesn't anticipate that Homelander's body will convulse, shatter the bottle, grind into him, and come all at once.

"The hell was that?" Butcher asks, pulling back the jagged bottle's bottom half that survived. Homelander's body is still twitching underneath him and he's panting. Maybe this was going to be it. Butcher overstepped the line. Homelander was probably immersed in some unresolved childhood trauma or fantasy or whatever the fuck about having a father figure who would discipline him with a firm but loving hand. This must have ended the illusion for him. Maybe enough that Butcher is about to meet his end– sometimes it's hard to remember that the whimpering quivering pathetic mess draped over his knees is the selfsame terrifying force of nature that can take out an entire army if he ever just chose to do so.

But the cunt won't even pick his head up. He's buried his face in the crook of his elbow. Is he fucking crying? Butcher wonders for a second if it's possible that he's actually fucking done it. Actually hurt him. Maybe a plug of C4 won't kill him but maybe it'll make him feel the hurt? A whole assortment of images races through Butcher's mind. He wants to try everything now. His crowbar, a bat studded with rusty nails, maybe the same bottle but a Molotov cocktail this time. Payback for thinking he can just force Butcher to indulge him, to make every night about getting him off. This opens up a whole new world of possibilities.

But Homelander stirs and starts to sit up, and Butcher winces and his teeth are set on edge when he can hear the crunching sound of glass grinding against glass, and tiny green shards start dropping out of him as Homelander tilts to sit back on his heels.

"That was— amazing…" Homelander whispers, breathless. His hands are folded demurely in his lap as if he didn't just orgasm to being diddled with a bottle of Heineken. "You want another beer?"

"No!" Butcher says, sounding more emphatic and more disturbed than he intendedto let on. "No, you sick fuck."

"Does your hand hurt?" Homelander asks, and it's without any impatience in his tone, maybe even a note of real sympathy, completely ignoring the insult just lobbed at him. Before Butcher knows what's happening, Homelander leans down and licks the hand that had just been spanking him. Butcher jerks it away defensively, but Homelander follows it licking it, laving each finger with his tongue before leaning into it with his brow ridge, then his nose, rubbing himself into it. It feels soothing and takes away some of the sore feeling, Butcher is loath to admit.

But he needs to regain what little control he has in this arrangement. "You want me to pet ya? Then lie back where you belong," he says. It's gratifying to see the supe cunt immediately obey him. He stretches himself back into his former position, and Butcher kneads the flesh of his ass.

"We can do the bottle again if your hands hurt," Homelander says, sighing contentedly and breaking the rule– looking back at Butcher with a look that is disturbingly similar to fondness.

"We can," Butcher agrees, trying to ignore the glass that's spilled out on the sheets and forget the crunching sound the bottle made when it snapped in half at the neck.

(AO3 link)

[kbluebirdart]

Do I ever tell you all that I love angst and yearning stories (with a happy ending!)

I like to imagine a world where they are friends for so long time before calamity. Please excuse any grammatical errors! and thanks for reading!

[portraitofalinkonfyre]

I beg of thee 🙏 please please please anything Hyrule for requests!!!

Coming right up!

A Head-astrophe

Pairing: Hyrule x Reader

Warning(s): Scenes with nudity but no smut :)

Notes: So I read a headcanon about Hyrule having lice by @final-fantasy-xiii-fan and was instantly inspired. Set in modern!au.

Masterlist

You were watching Family Feud when the soft pad of footsteps drew closer, and a weight settled on the couch beside you. You managed to tear your eyes from the screen just long enough to greet Hyrule, who looked especially shy as he sat, somehow managing to simultaneously maintain a respectful distance and be close enough that the end of his pinkie was poking the side of your hand. "Hey, Rulie. Need a break from the screeching?"

As Hyrule's grin turned sheepish, the sound of loud whooping continued to reach your ears, emanating from the backyard. you weren't quite sure what the others were up to, but it was undoubtedly exciting to them, which meant you absolutely did not want tot get involved. Part of you wondered if it was truly the right decision to make Wind aware of your frisbee's existence.

'Yeah," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, and the TV blared as a contestant attempted to assault Steve Harvey with a pen. You ignored it in favor of your curly-haired friend, whose eyes bugged out when he caught sight of the spectacle. "Oh, um– is that allowed...?"

You spared the barest glance at the television and shrugged. "Nope."

"...Then where's the... what did you call your hero again?" asked Hyrule with a dissatisfied expression, and you sighed.

"The Prime Minister's not going to do anything, Rules."

His brows furrowed and he scratched the top of his head. Again. They all did, but Hyrule did it to an almost unnerving degree. "But--"

"Hey," you laid a hand on the hero's shoulder just as the offending candidate was dragged out by several security guards. Steve Harvey remained largely untouched. "He's fine, see?"

The hero was still for a long moment, but eventually acquiesced with a hesitant nod. "...If you say so."

"I do say," you snarked, though it was gentle; he had obviously come seeking peace and quiet, so you weren't about to ruin the moment. You reached over, ruffling his hair in a moment of spontaneous camaraderie--

What the hell?!

–Only to yank your hand back with a terrified gasp. Fuck, fuck, fuck, how could you have been so blind? Being from what was essential the medieval era meant many of the boys–save for Warriors, who, in your opinion, was leagues above most modern men in terms of both attitude and cleanliness–had lower hygiene standards, but this... this was too much, even for you.

"Link, do you have lice?!" You blurted in abject horror, a millisecond away from leaping back and burning everything he had touched.

Hyrule winced at the use of his real name, looking slightly hurt by your reaction, which you would have felt bad for had his hair not been absolutely swarming with the small insects. Eventually, he seemed to settle on an answer to your horrified query. "...You mean the head rice?"

Your jaw dropped.

"You knew?!"

"It's not a big deal," Hyrule raised his hands defensively. "Lot's of people have head rice!"

"Lice," you corrected with a hiss that turned into a terrified whimper when you realized he had been walking around your home like this for... well, you didn't actually know, but his nonchalance suggested it had been a while. "Nope, nope, we're fixing this. Now."

"Fixing what?" A new voice joined the fray, and you turned pleading eyes to Warriors and Wild, who had ambled inside mere seconds ago.

"He has lice. Lice," you stressed.

Recognition flashed across Wild's dirt-smudged face. He snapped his fingers. "Oh! You mean he has head rice?"

Just as all hope left you, Warriors elbowed the Champion in the ribs with a grumbled: "Don't call it that," before he set his sympathetic gaze on you. "It's okay, we have herbs–"

"–And I have fire," you hissed, already inching to the kitchen where you kept the matches. Hyrule looked instantly nervous.

"Wait, hold on, let's talk about this–!"

You dodged the Traveller's outstretched hand and continued to back away. Until you stopped, realized Hyrule was still sitting on your couch, and oh god what else had he contaminated--

"Nope, no talking," you said, breathless with terror. All three of them were looking at you with varying expressions of regret, curiosity, and apprehension, but it was all relative at this point. You pointed to Hyrule, who sat to attention like he was awaiting imminent execution. "You. Bathroom. Now," and, in an effort to not sound like a total jackass: "Please."

It was a small mercy that the Traveler hadn't the will nor courage to refute the very obvious command. He stood, choosing not to dust himself off when your glare reached maximum intensity, and scurried to the bathroom like the little (adorable) rat he was. Warriors and Wild silently watched as you all but sprinted to grab several large garbage bags from the kitchen, holding them like the holy weapons they were. "Wars," you stared the blonde Captain straight in his little blue eyes. "Give it to me straight: who else has head ri– I mean, lice?"

Wild, never one to overlook a good joke, looked on with a shit-eating grin. "He can't because he's not–"

–Only to be elbowed for the second time that day as Warriors successfully retained his last bit of dignity. "Not that I know of," he admitted, and you sighed in half-hearted relief. A pointed look was sent in Wild's direction. "Though some of us could benefit from a bath."

The Champion opened his mouth to retaliate, only to be silenced by Warriors' hand (gently) slapping over his mouth. The Captain's expression was unamused. "Don't even try. You smell like a corpse."

A betrayed look was shot your way in an attempt to garner sympathy, but you had none, raising your hands in surrender. "Listen, man, as long as you don't have head rice–sorry, lice–"

The door swung open and Legend barged in, catching the tail end of your exasperated sentence. His brows furrowed in bafflement. "What the fuck is head rice?"

You ran a hand down your face and sighed.

"...Are you sure this is necessary...?"

"Absolutely," you interrupted, rolling your sleeves to your elbows in preparation for the grueling task of cleaning the errant hylian, who somehow managed to shrink further into the warm water. It hadn't taken much to strong-arm him into the tub, though not before making sure his clothes were contained in a garbage bag in preparation for a very deep cleaning. You sat on your haunches, hip pressed to the glossy ceramic barrier, and reached for a pair of gloves.

Hyrule's ears pressed to his hair when you slipped them on, the black latex snapping against the skin of your wrists, and he looked seconds away from drawing blood from how hard he was gnawing his bottom lip. Hazel-green eyes flicked to the thin comb you retrieved next, and it took everything in you not to pat the rounded curve of his shoulder from where it peeked above the soapy water. The bubbles hadn't been necessary, per se, but it did create a rather masterful 'cover up' that ensued you didn't feel quite as bad for staring in the general direction of his body.

"Hey," you paused, letting his gaze return to you. Despite your initial reaction, you were far from mad at the Traveler, just... concerned. For his health (obviously) and the preservation of your lice-free life, but you liked to think that your heart was in the right place. "You're going to be fine. We'll fix this together."

Hyrule blinked slowly; like a cat, or a rat. Suddenly, he didn't look as apprehensive. "Promise?"

"Promise."

You brandished the comb with a grin, hand already reaching for the bottle of special shampoo, leftover from the last time you babysat your neighbor Cindy's little demons. The Traveler watched you, the muscles in his neck still glaringly taunt. Time to fix that. "Ready?"

A pause.

"As I'll ever be," murmured your victim with the ghost of a smile. You returned the expression before gently descending on his scalp, using the comb to separate the tangled mess he called hair into two... well, it was a bit presumptuous to call them sections, but you were getting there.

"Jezus, Rulie," you muttered under your breath when the comb caught on a particularly matted section. You could have sworn his hair wasn't this crazy the last time you touched it. "When was the last time you had a trim?"

"Er..."

You tugged on a knot and, yup, those were lice eggs. Ew. "Actually, don't answer that, I need to save my screaming voice for Wild."

A soft chuckle was all you needed to hear to know that, after all these months, you were somehow still funny. Or he was just an incredibly kind soul who liked humoring you. Both were equally likely.

After a few grueling minutes, you set the comb on the tub's rim and grabbed the plastic cup from the floor, dipping it into the bath to fill it. While leaning over him like some clean-freak specter was fine and dandy, you really didn't want to get lice-water anywhere near his face, prompting you to tap both his shoulders. "Can you turn your back to me? I'd hate to get stuff in your eyes."

Hyrule obliged with a small nod, shifting so his freckle-dotted back was facing you. You thanked him with a pat to the bicep, then carefully knotted your fingers in the curls by his neck, coaxing his head to tilt upwards. "Oooookay, and stay just like that until I get the soap going."

There was a huff of acknowledgement as the Hero quite literally bent to your will, the muscles in his back flexing–not that you were looking, obviously–when you poured a small amount of water on the crown of his head, using your other hand to smear a very generous dollop of shampoo into the middle of his scalp, slowly massaging it in with the concentration of an over-caffeinated neurosurgeon and pretending not to hear the pleased hum leave his lips. He hardly flinched when you maneuvered his head back up. "Good?"

"Mmm," said Hyrule eloquently. You rubbed firmer, further aggravating the very overactive lather his head had become, and the Traveler's shoulders went wonderfully slack. You didn't comment on the way he seemed to be leaning into your touch, whether intentionally or otherwise. "Thank you."

"I live to serve," you joked, grabbing the comb and raking it through his wet locks, which somehow managed to retain most of their curl despite him probably never having even fathomed the existence of curl creams before. "But don't fall asleep on me yet, Traveler. I can't guarantee I'll catch you in time."

That earned you a chuckle. You tugged through a fading knot, flicking the spare foam into the already soapy water, only to start all over again because, by Hylia, you did not want to do this half-assed.

Hyrule cleared his throat, though it sounded more like a wet squeak than anything. "...Do we really have to burn everything I've touched?"

Oh dear, the apprehension was back. "What, no? Who said that?"

There was a pause. You managed to brush another full line through his hair, slowly eradicating any trace of the vile creatures that had taken residence on his head. "You did...?"

"Well, obviously I was wrong, because I spent money on this house and it's more Wild's speed to burn things down," you simultaneously explained and defended.

"You're not wrong," Wild acquiesced from his place against the doorway. The comb fell from your grip, plopping into the water as you whirled around on unsteady knees.

"Hylia– how long have you been there?!"

"Long enough," was the Champion's response. You had the distinct urge to bury your face in your hands, but that meant risking contracting the dreaded head rice, so you reigned yourself in with a sigh that hopefully conveyed just how exasperated you were with being spied on. Wild raised a brow, grinning. "You're good with your hands."

"Gee, thanks."

"You're welcome! Warriors is wondering if you're planning to shave him, by the way. We're building a fire pit."

Hyrule went stiff beneath your hands, peeking over his shoulder with a very apprehensive expression. You held your hands up in surrender, hoping it was enough to salvage the fragile trust between the two of you. "Oh, god, no. No shaving, and– hold on, did you say you're building a fire pit?"

Obviously, this was very concerning, because you knew for a fact that you did not have one.

Wild was unfazed. "Yeah? Time's digging it right now, since you mentioned fire–"

Hylia have mercy, you brain whispered with mounting horror. "You're joking. Tell me you're joking."

"Okay, I'm joking."

Your eye twitched. You knew that guilty look anywhere. "Are you?"

A swift silence befell the bathroom; Wild's ears tinted strawberry. "...You told me to tell you!"

...You were done. The scent of smoke filtered in from the likely ajar backyard door. "You know what? Go wild."

Wild's face lit up like the Fourth of July. "Really?!"

"Fuck no, tell Time he can either fill it back in or those apple turnovers are going back to where they belong: my imagination!"

"But you never made any–"

"GO!"

The Champion obediently scrambled out. You turned your attention back to the man in the tub, only to realize you had dropped your comb when Wild entered. "Oh, for the love of–"

You promptly shut your mouth when the item was brandished from the suds. Hyrule's smile was apologetic in the few seconds he had before you were turning his head back around. "I'm sorry," he said; softly, like any wrong word would send you into another aneurism. "I can make sure it's filled when we're done."

You tilted your head and chuckled, combing a long, satisfying line down the center of his scalp. "I wouldn't be so hasty, did you see Wild's face when I told him that?"

He hummed, and your eyes caught the tell-tale curve of a smile on his face. It was nice; you were grateful for the quiet.

Many minutes passed before you felt proud enough to rinse the soap out with the movable shower-head, poking around his head to check for any stragglers. When you were confident there were none, you stood, grabbed the plastic bag of clothes, shucked your gloves into the wastebasket, and turned to the door. "Wait right here, I'm going to toss these in the washer and I'll be back to condition you."

Hyrule regarded you in that way teenage boys did when they were trying to find the joke in your words. You weren't. His tone was meek. "Not that I'm complaining, but is that really n–?"

You crossed your arms over your chest. "Just let it happen, Link."

"Okay," said the Traveler quickly. The water sloshed when he lifted his hand, slicking a few wayward strands away from his forehead. He shifted a bit beneath the water. "Should I just...?"

"Hm? Oh, just stay there. I'll have you rinse off in a bit."

Was it just you or did he seem a bit... dare you say, disappointed? You readjusted the bag in your grasp and, there it was, the tell-tale slump of freckled shoulders.

"Hyrule, you're cute," you said without missing a beat.

His ears perked. You pretended not to notice the flush staining tanned, freckled cheeks. "...But?"

A shrug. "There's no 'but', I'm just not keen on seeing anyone naked right now."

His blush darkened. "Ah..."

He watched as you flashed a bright grin and left.

A beat passed. Hyrule buried his head in his hands, cheeks flaring a big, bright shade of crimson.

Clunk!

Your skin jumped when the washing machine shuddered once again. Beside you, an ever-vigilant Hyrule–dressed in your Frog and Toad graphic tee and matching shorts, uncaring of how the collar hung low over his sternum–scanned the basement once more for threats. He was sweet like that.

"You don't have to watch," you told the hero softly, tearing your eyes from the rattling machine to steal a glance at his freckled face. Brown hair, curled to perfection. Clean. Happy. "It'll finish when it's finished."

Hyrule returned your gaze for the barest moment. Hyrule resumed watching, tugging his knees a bit closer to his chest. You found yourself copying the movement, if only to relieve the numbness in your backside from sitting on the floor for so long. "You're here," he told you; matter-of-fact, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

"That's it?" you responded, tone teasing. Maybe you wanted to alleviate the tension in your belly, or inject a bit of humor into the frankly insane situation. You didn't even want to think of all the washing you'd have to put your poor machine through.

"That's it."

You exhaled a breath. The machine shuddered once more. This time, Hyrule made the first glance. "Thank you," he said.

"I live to serve," you parroted, hoping your grin was enough to wash the sentimentality from your expression.

"Don't say that."

Full-stop. You nearly gave yourself whiplash from how quickly you turned to face him, palm landing on the cold floor to steady yourself. "Huh?"

"You're more than that," Hyrule continued, gaze surprisingly hard. His eyes flicked to the machine, then back to you. He took a breath, eyebrows softening into a wistful slant. "I mean, we're just heroes, but you treat us like..."

You knew where this was going; he didn't need to finish. You could do all the work. "...People worth knowing?"

"Something like that," the Traveler smiled, and you felt your heart throb when this one reached his eyes.

A thick silence blanketed the room. You sat back slightly, using your arms to stay somewhat upright. Chewing on your lip, you stretched your legs out, toes pointed against the rumbling metal of the machine. "Because you are."

There was a rustle of fabric, and you nearly jolted out of your skin when a pair of lips pressed against the flesh of your cheek. You blinked; once, twice, thrice, but it was useless against the butterflies taking flight in your belly.

"Thank you," whispered Hyrule. Link. He returned to his spot, reinstating the modest two-foot distance between the two of you. Your stomach clenched for an entirely different reason; mouth agape, heart hammering a hole through your ribs.

"I..."

"You don't have to say anything," he was looking at you, and not even the kiss of death could have stopped the flush that bloomed across your cheeks, caressing the curve of your neck in a way that had goosebumps springing forth like flowers. He coughed, suddenly looking a bit red himself. You were glad you weren't the only one. "I just... wanted you to know."

The Hero of Hyrule didn't say much else.

The washing machine dinged with completion, but neither of you moved to pick up the slack.

You worried your lip. You scooted closer, bringing an arm around his half-bared shoulders, earning a soft laugh and even softer blush. Somewhere down the line, your cheek was pecked again.

This time, you didn't fight it.

This time, you let yourself smile.

Why can't he be real?? 😭

[vagueeyes]

here's everything i wrote down for STAGE/FRIGHT - apr 5 matinee.

‼️ spoilers ahead ‼️

ok thank you AGAIN @somuchwatersoclosetohome for letting me tag along. i fully expect this to be a collab between us, so anything i couldn't get (both in terms of observations & references), please feel free to refer to her eventual post!!

the seat this time was in the stalls, so closer to the stage than where i was on mar 27!

a house divided/bcdr:

-seeing gaby french & mark extance come on as theatre attendants! on my first show i didn't recognise anybody other than r&s so now that i did know who's who, it was good to catch this.

-seeing the makeup tape close up was kind of funny lol

-during len's hat & coat routine, on first watch i was kind of just staring at reece (lol), but on this watch, from my angle i could only see len, so it was nice to be able to fully appreciate steve acting this part out!

-(crap now i can't remember if this comes first or the prev bit) during the vincent vomit sketch, i didn't realise tommy mouths along to vincent's lines! iirc they don't do this in the ep so that was a nice surprise!

-was able to watch the screen come down (sideways?) when len disappears - ty @wintersoulwitch for pointing that out!

-the leanne/tommy hug was quite 🥺 this time

the kidnappers:

-reveal of the guest: immediate reaction was - "this man is TALL". louis theroux is definitely someone i've heard of but not familiar with, so a lot of the references went over my head i'm afraid!

-once louis was revealed, he looks back and forth between len & tommy for a long time. when len gets louis to say what he's been in, reece (at this moment i saw him as reece tbh) just smiles at them while biting his index finger. what the hell was that!!

-for a while louis still had his hands behind his back, len reminds him that his hands have been untied 😂 louis & everyone had a good laugh at that

-he did well with the spanish and the trumpet playing actually!

-"it's onnnlyyy a stick of celerehhh!" this one was steve doing a big wave of his hand (the one that's holding the celery iirc?) while delivering the line lol

-at the end when louis bursts out of the wardrobe, the tirade was something like "i was on BBC2, around the same time as THE LEAGUE OF GENTLEMEN. we would've seen each other in the canteen! i'm not a stage actor - i'm a television national treasure. i have 3 BAFTAs as well, i don't need this. my agent talked me into it."

-last line going up the stairs: "mark gatiss was the best one anyway" - len nods in agreement here. does he always do this whenever a guest namedrops mark?

interval:

-while i was queueing in the washroom, two ladies behind me were gushing about steve! one of them mentioned his puffer jacket(!!) and the other said "he's still got it" !!! cute to hear this chat irl lol

-at the 20mins mark, the theatre manager came to the front to announce that there was a technical issue and they were looking into it! definitely everybody thought this was a bit at first, but he assured us that it wasn't.

-he said fingers crossed for 10mins, but it went on for 1hr!!! we theorised that it was either the safety curtain not being able to come back up, or something to do with the video wall. then someone came out to chat to the people behind us, and she confirmed it was indeed the video wall not working.

-at the 1hr mark, the associate director came out to explain that they were going to carry on doing the show as is but that it was going to be "a bit different". which was actually quite exciting!

act ii:

scene started as is. at one point, @somuchwatersoclosetohome leaned over to say the video/screen in the background wasn't on, which i hadn't even noticed tbh! so here's what was missing:

-when goudron explains how he killed his wife, we don't see this happen - we only get the sound effect

-when marcus says "let's bring the video wall down", vincent says "i don't think we should do that" here he pauses and everyone laughs & cheers!! then something about how "video never fucking works anyway!"

-reece definitely flubs whatever new line they came up with, because he says "oh is it my line now?" this kinda gets drowned out by the laughter

-when the stage that vincent/steve is standing on moves, steve seemed to forget to step down so he was startled by it moving!!! 😂😂

-marcus definitely says the "grammar" line twice, not sure if this was reece flubbing or an actual last minute change/edit.

-during the trepanning scene, they do still bring the camcorder(?) on stage and they act eveything out as if the video wall is there - but we the audience have to watch the actors, rather than flick up to the screen.

-same with the self-taping scene. it's all played out as is and we watch the actors act/react. here we felt they amped up the sound for when they think they see something on the screen.

-when abby/gaby leaves the stage, sherrie/miranda does everything as is - but when she leaves the stage, ofc we don't get to see the backstage part. there's like a <1min beat and they drop the head in the centre of the stage.

-everything is as is when sherrie comes back out and is scared off stage, and the abby/marcus part is also the same.

-when abby kills marcus, she picks up the camera and does the 360 around the stage - here we don't get the audience disappearing & the jumpscare on camera. instead, bloody belle comes up in the box (as per) and she does the scream when the light is shone on her! end scene

stray observations:

-good to spot marcus mouthing along to the lines during the trepanning scene! such an ollie moment lol

-some people still stood up to clap during the first curtain call lol

-same audience reactions that i still think are cute: gasps when tommy points the gun at len & reactions to the foot sawing part. the man sat behind me did go "oh my godd" when they do the "will he be long"/"about average for a man his height" line exhange lmao

-i love how much the audience loves hugo!!

-we both wondered how the toby/reece switch was done but forgot to look out for this! too focused on seeing what changes they made to act ii!!

alright that's it for now! might add more about this show later if i can recall. starting the day early bc i've been up since 6am lol it'll be good to go outside and clear my head a bit.

[taiso]

yukihiro takahashi with ron and russell mael of sparks !

taken sometime during the boxing match in promotion of whomp that sucker, circa 1981.

scanned from ymo book: young muzak ojisan (1983)

[al-the-remix]

TikTok Chef!Buck AU: several sentences sunday (or something like that)

I'm close to finishing the fic I've been working on so I finally felt like I could write a little something based off this headcannon without feeling too guilty about it, lol. 2k of mostly crack, please enjoy.

It all starts when Tommy’s stuck on his couch for a week with a sprained knee. He wishes he could claim it happened doing something heroic–or at the very least badass–but in truth it was the result of letting his ego get the best of him at the squat rack. 

Lucy stops by a few times to keep him company, which really means letting herself in unannounced with her spare key, eating all the leftovers in his fridge, and offering an unsolicited running critique of whatever show he’s watching. Today it was Below Deck reruns. 

“If I ever decide to take a vacation on a boat, tackle me, this shit does not look worth it.”

“You really don’t have to be here you know,” Tommy says, leaning over to grab some chips from the near-empty bag she was cradling before they were all gone. He’d been looking forward to eating those for dinner and feeling sorry for himself. 

Lucy just snorts. “Please, if I wasn’t here you’d already be up to something ill advised. I caught you looking up deck chair patterns earlier, power tools don’t go well with injuries, Tommy, even if it’s only carpentry.”

Well, she had him there. 

At least she had the decency to order them Chinese take out for dinner so he wouldn’t have to Instacart a can of soup or something equally pathetic. 

Before she left she made a grabby hand at him. “Give me your phone.”

“Why?” Tommy asks, already suspicious. 

She met his suspicion with boredom. “Don’t ask stupid questions, just do it.”

Rolling his eyes, he hands it over, giving into her whim, and maybe he should find it a little more unsettling that she already seems to know his password off by heart. 

She clicks around for long enough that Tommy starts getting nervous: what was the last text message he sent? Was it embarrassing? Were all his nudes still in that locked folder? Did she know the password for that too? Just when he was going to start asking questions she tosses his phone back. “Here, this should keep you entertained for a while,” she explains as he scrambles to catch it. “My niece wastes hours of her life on this crap.”

“Such ringing endorsement,” Tomy grumbles, she’s downloaded some kind of video app onto his phone. TikTok. Perfect. He’d heard of that one, apparently it was single handedly ruining a whole generation’s attention span and the Chinese government was using it to spy on the inner lives of teenagers with stupid haircuts and a critical lack of social skills. 

“Are you sure you didn’t just give me some kind of virus?” Tommy asks, clicking around the home page arbitrarily, the UI didn’t make a lick of sense. 

“Har, har. You were always good at picking up new skills, I’m sure you’ll figure this out in no time. I have faith in you,” she says, clapping him hard enough on the shoulder to make him wince. 

He finds his profile page by total mistake. His username reads: benchedcockwrangler.

“How do I change this?” he asks, waving his phone at her as she makes for the door. 

“You don’t,” she says, without looking back. “Don’t stay up on that thing all night, it will ruin your sleep schedule!”

Tommy winces as the front door slams and sighs. He’ll figure out how to change it later. After all, beggars can’t be choosers and three days into his mandatory medical leave he’s already so bored he’s ready to stab his eyes out with hot pokers just to mix it up a bit. 

He scrolls through the app, and based on most of what he sees he finds himself unable to justify its existence in the first place. It feels like every video he watches drags him into a deeper alternate universe where everyone’s wholeheartedly competing for the top of the podium at the Darwin Awards. 

There’s a woman digging tunnels under her apartment that Tommy is positive are not up to code (that’s a call just waiting to happen); and two young ladies mixing cocktails of a concerning hue and variety at random local establishments (not necessarily anything that would warrant a trip to the ER but potentially a health code violation); and what seems like an ungodly number of men hosting podcasts (Tommy is pretty sure that even during his darkest days rotting in the closet he had a better batting average picking up women than any of these bozos.)

Tommy’s eyes start to glaze over as he scrolls past comedians, and political commentators, and people reviewing romance novels, and–how has it already been forty minutes?

He’s about ready to give up and throw his phone across the room and leave it there until Lucy shows up tomorrow and he can make her delete it off his phone, when catchy music, an arm roped with muscle, and a criminally tight shirt sleeve catches his attention. 

It’s some kind of cooking video and his first impression is: how is anyone supposed to understand what’s going on with edits that fast? His second impression is: hot man. Man hot.

Soon his brain is catching up with his eyes, kickstarting like a toddler being exposed to sugar for the first time. 

Cooking might be a generous description for what’s going on here. The man is obviously skilled, but the main focus of the video seems to be how hot he looks in an apron (very) and whether it’s possible to bring half a peach to completion by finger blasting the pit out of it (not like, whether or not you should pre-bake your tart crust to achieve an ideal texture). 

Tommy has to watch it twice just to fully absorb everything that’s going on. He’s making some kind of deconstructed peach crumble topped with an obscene amount of whipped cream and steak with fries that looks fancier than anything Tommy’s ever eaten at a restaurant. 

Half way through the video the man wipes down the worktop shirtless with a cloth sudsy enough to make Tommy’s mouth go instantly dry then suddenly wet enough he’s forced to swallow. 

He clicks through to ChefFirehose’s profile just to, you know, get a better sample size. Tommy’s not above letting himself be manipulated by a man with biceps like melons and a cute smile. 

His profile description reads: LA resident, self-taught, putting out fires and saving lives in my spare time. Just here to give the food the appreciation it deserves. Let me show off for you 😉.

Tommy thinks this guy must be new to town, because living nearly a decade even in a city as sprawling and overcrowded as LA, he doesn’t know how he could miss running into this guy on the job. There was no way he wouldn’t remember a guy this hot even through turnouts, a helmet, and smeared in a thick layer of soot.

He starts working his way back through ChefFirehose’s videos, and some are admittedly a little less chaotic than the rest, but all of them are just tongue-and-cheek enough that Tommy feels confident he’s just one in close to a million people in on a joke and not enabling someone’s very real personality disorder. 

He’s stuck somewhere between disbelief and admiration. He definitely wouldn't have the balls to post this on the internet for everyone to see and so obviously thirst over. He braves the comment section on a few of the videos and it’s just a litany of horned-up men and women trying their best to make ChefFirehose laugh, or get in his pants, or both. He replies to almost all of his comments with either a smirking emoji or acting deliberately oblivious when someone tries to bait him into giving up the bit. Tommy finds him funny and maybe a little more endearing than he should after ten videos. 

Tommy can’t really blame them for trying to shoot their shot so shamelessly. ChefFirehose’s wardrobe consists of polos plastered so tight to his skin that Tommy was mildly concerned about restricted blood circulation, dress shirts buttoned dangerously low, and slacks that wrap snugly around miles of long, toned leg. 

Those weren’t Tommy’s favorite looks though. No, every so often a video would start and he’s be dressed down in soft looking sweatpants, a baseball cap pushed on backwards plastering his auburn curls to his forehead, and a white tank top–or if Tommy was really lucky, no shirt at all (sometimes not even the apron which Tommy had mixed feelings about...), his muscled arms and shoulders on full display. He’s got tattoos decorating his forearms that Tommy can’t quite make out, a collection of fine lines on pale skin like thin ribbons of chocolate drizzled over a crape. 

Those videos are most often breakfast related and ChefFirehose is barefoot in his kitchen, the warm sunlight casting his face in gold. He paints such an enticing tableau it’s all too easy for Tommy’s brain to plop himself right down in that scene, imagination running wild. He can so easily picture what it would be like: in that kitchen, feeling the warm cast of sun on his face and getting to watch built, handsome man make him breakfast with that flirty confidence of his. 

Tommy bookmarks a video of him making an omelet, the way he handles the eggs making Tommy blush like he’s a schoolgirl and not a man pushing forty. He feels less guilty about getting hard over it on the sofa surrounded by takeout containers than he probably should.  

The screen goes suddenly black and Tommy’s faced with his own reflection in the finger smudged screen, chin rolls and all. Fuck. He reaches for his charger. God, his life was depressing at the moment, and apparently he really needs to get laid.

So yeah, by the time his two weeks of recovery are up he’s feeling a little stir crazy in an entirely different way than before. He’s never been more glad to get back to work, put some of this weirdness behind him and get some much needed distance from his phone.

That’s only part of the reason why he doesn’t even think twice when Howie calls him for a favor. A big favor. And that was only the first of many surprises the universe had in store for him, apparently.

Even fully clothed in his LFD uniform Tommy recognises him. Evan. Evan, Evan, Evan, (Tommy repeats over and over in his head until it drowns out every other name Tommy’s assigned him the past few weeks: slutty egg guy, ChefBigDick, totally off limits boyfriend material–just to name a few).

“So you’re the guy who’s gonna fly us into a hurricane.” Evan sounds a little breathless, like maybe he jogged all the way here, and Tommy chalks it up to the high that accompanies stealing government property. “Chim said you were the best pilot he knows and good in a pinch, but I still thought there was no way anyone that good would agree to something this crazy.”

Tommy’s definitely starting to feel a little crazy. Evan’s still shaking his hand. His grip is solid, his fingers long and nimble, surprisingly soft against this palm (he must really lather on the hand lotion) and Tommy can’t stop thinking about all the talented things he knows they can do. 

 “That’s me. Though I’m pretty sure I’m just the only pilot Howie knows who's in town at the moment.” 

“You look good to me–capable, I mean.” Evan gives him a solid smack on the shoulder with his free hand. His mouth does something funny like he's trying to hold back the sheer force of his excitement by his teeth. “Solid.”

His eyes are even bigger and brighter in person, smile softer, even taller than Tommy presumed. Howie’s giving them a weird look from over Evan’s shoulder. The other man with them, Eddie, isn’t paying them any attention, checking out the other helicopters parked on the apron instead, and Tommy forces himself to pull his hand out of Evan’s warm grip. 

Tommy clears his throat. “Good to know. I’ll show you guys the bird we’ll be taking. I've got her all gassed up and ready to go.”

He just met his (internet) celebrity crush and the man of his dreams, and now Tommy was going to get him killed in one of the most spectacular ways imaginable. It seems like they’re all headed for the Darwin Awards this time.

[sonic-the-hedgehog-2006]

One of the first NPCs Silver interacts with upon initially being sent back in time mistakes him asking where to find the Iblis Trigger as him asking where to find rib roast.

While "Iblis" and "rib roast" are somewhat phonetically similar, it's unlikely for one to mishear one as the other. However, this particular dialogue makes more sense in the Japanese version:

リブロースなら、肉屋で見たよ。

えっ、「イブリーストリガー��だって？

それは一体、どんな肉だい？

In Japanese, the term for "rib roast" (リブロース "riburōsu") is more directly similar to the term for "Iblis" (イブリース "Iburīsu").

Special thanks to @sonicshuffle2000 for helping me discover this.

[skyburger]

My dealer: got some straight gas 🔥😛 this strain is called "Teo: the other earth" 😳 you'll be on a magical planet in a faraway galaxy 💯

Me: yeah whatever. i don't feel shit.

5 minutes later: dude i swear i just watched some clippys & shulu birds fly through the skies

My buddy Finfin pacing through the Tsubu woods (where the little bells and the shell flowers grow): *dolphin-bird chirp*

[firewasabeast]

The Things I Cannot Change

I made this post a couple days ago then had to write a fic about it. Enjoy! Read below or on ao3.

“Wait a minute, you're datin' Kinard?” Gerrard asked mid-swing. He had taken Buck out to Topgolf as a thank you for saving his life. Although, Buck still wasn't sure that was actually his intention at the time.

“Yes, Sir,” Buck replied, steeling himself for whatever was going to come out of the man's mouth next.

“He got a sister or something?”

“No, Sir.”

“Didn't think so.” Gerrard planted his feet and swung, unsatisfied by where the ball landed. “So you're a... one of those?”

“Bisexual, yes.”

He rocked back on his heels. “Oh, you swing both ways? Interesting, interesting. You didn't hear about all that back in my day, Buckley. The world has definitely changed.”

“We've always existed,” Buck replied, a part of him wondering why he didn't shove Gerrard to the ground just a little bit harder.

They each took another turn before Gerrard spoke again. “Kinard,” he said, contemplatively. “Gotta say, don't see you two matching.”

Buck closed his eyes, inhaling deeply before turning to Gerrard. “Why's that?”

“Don't get me wrong, Buck, he was a great firefighter when he worked under me. Dotted his I's, crossed his T's. But he wasn't always that way. There's a lot about him...” He shook his head. “Hm. What am I saying, I'm sure you know everything about him anyway, right?”

“Y- yeah,” Buck replied. He knew Gerrard's mind games. Knew better than to fall for it. At least, that's what he kept telling himself.

He walked over to his golf carrier, straightening the firefighter club cover.

“That Operation Thunderbolt was something else, wasn't it?” Gerrard asked.

It took everything in Buck's power to not start asking questions. “Mhm.”

“Mistakes like that can't happen in the firefighting world. Told Kinard as much when he started. Damn, he was a mess back then.” Gerrard let out a laugh. “I whipped him into shape real good. Made him who he is.”

“Mm, yeah. I- I'm sure.”

“That Thunderbolt though,” Gerrard sucked in a breath. “Not good, Buckley. Not good.”

*****

“I think Gerrard is still playing mind games with me,” Buck said to Eddie as he plopped down on the couch. It was a rare shift they had without Gerrard, meaning they could actually sit down and relax.

“Of course he is,” Eddie replied, not bothering to look up from the magazine he was reading. “He took you golfing, Buck. And to lunch, twice.”

“Yeah, but it's more than that now. He, uh, he found out I'm dating Tommy.”

Eddie peered over his magazine at that, eying Buck closely. “He found out? How'd that happen?”

“I... kinda told him.”

“And you think that was a wise decision?”

Buck sat up straighter. “It was the only decision, Eddie. He asked if I was seeing anyone. I- I wasn't gonna lie and say no, or- or make it seem like I was seeing a woman just to make him-”

Eddie raised a hand to stop him. “Buck, not judging. Just asking.”

“Right, well,” he settled into the couch again, clearing his throat. “He knows now.”

“And?”

“And he said he didn't see us matching.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Big surprise there. You can't let him bother you, Buck. Gotta let that stuff roll right off ya.”

“Yeah, I- I did. But, he just... Do you think I know everything about Tommy?”

“I don't know,” Eddie answered, confused. “I'm not a fly on your wall, Buck, I don't know what you two talk about.”

“But, generally speaking, do you think I know him? Because, he knows all my stuff. Like, Daniel, and my parents, and the way I acted when I was younger to get attention. He knows all the different versions of Buck, ya know? And I just, I don't know if I know all his versions.”

“I don't think you ever really stop getting to know someone, Buck. You might think he knows all about you, but I'm sure you surprise him every day.”

Buck sighed. “I'm talking the big stuff, Eddie, not whether or not I enjoy whipped cream being licked off me-”

“Okay, no.”

“Eddie.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh. “I don't know what you want from me, Man. What are you trying to get at?”

“Gerrard mentioned something to me about Tommy that I've never heard of, and I have no idea if he's is lying or not.”

“If it's about Tommy, I'd say he's probably making something out to be worse than it is. Gerrard doesn't seem to fond of the guy.”

Buck nodded. “Yeah. No, no, yeah, I- I agree.”

“So, all good now?”

“Mhm. Yeah, all good. It was stupid anyway.” He grabbed a book from the coffee table, flipping to a random page. “Something about Tommy's time in the army. Operation Thunderbolt,” he shrugged. “I'm sure it's nothing.”

He wasn't sure what made him look up. He hadn't expected Eddie to respond anyway. But when he did glance over at him, he saw Eddie with his eyes practically frozen as he stared at a spot on the wall. Buck knew that look.

Avoidance.

“Eddie?”

Buck's voice seemed to break him out of his trance. He returned to his magazine, eyebrows furrowed. He clearly wasn't reading the article in front of him.

“Eddie?” Buck repeated, louder this time. “Do... Do you know something?”

There were a few more seconds of silence, Eddie's lips pursed as he tried to think of what to say. “I... Buck, it's not really my place.”

Now Buck was worried. “So it's true? There was an Operation Thunderbolt?”

“Buck, I'm not gonna do this,” Eddie said as he stood. He dropped his magazine down on the coffee table and went to walk away. “You need to leave it alone.”

Buck followed him. “Hey, I was your friend first,” he said. And yeah, maybe that was childish, but he couldn't find it in him to care.

Eddie swirled around, nearly knocking into Buck. “That's not fair, and it's not gonna work. If it's gonna bother you so much, talk to Tommy yourself. But I'm warning you, you need to leave it alone.”

When Eddie walked away, Buck didn't follow.

He trusted Eddie. Knew there had to be a good reason he wouldn't get into it.

He'd do what Eddie said.

He'd let it go.

He would.

He would really try to let it go.

*****

He couldn't let it go.

He headed to Tommy's place after work. Tommy had been promising to make his infamous chicken pot pie, the one everyone at the 217 was obsessed with, and tonight was the night.

The food was in the oven, and they were on the couch. Some show was playing on the TV, but it was mainly on for background noise while they made out.

It was kind of a tradition of theirs. Kiss while dinner cooked and then pick up where they left off after they were done eating.

But this time was different, because the words Operation Thunderbolt kept flashing through Buck's mind. Gerrard's voice telling Buck he was sure they knew everything about each other. Eddie's face when he brought up the operation. How closed off he became, how he avoided Buck for the rest of the day.

“Okay,” Tommy said, pulling away. “What's wrong?”

Buck tried to look dumbfounded. “What do you mean?”

“I did that thing with my tongue that always makes you jump in my lap and you didn't even react. What's wrong?”

Buck shook his head, straightening out his shirt. “N- Nothing. I just... I think I'm tired from work is all.”

Tommy tilted his head. “Evan.”

“It's nothing, really. Let's just,” Buck tugged at Tommy's shirt, trying to bring him in for another kiss, “let's keep going. I'll react this time.”

As Buck attempted to pull Tommy closer, Tommy leaned his head back and wrapped his hands around Buck's wrists, stopping him. “Evan, come on. Be honest with me.”

And those were quite possibly the worst set of words Tommy could have chosen, because it took Buck from worried to angry in under a second.

“Honest?” He practically jerked his hands away from Tommy. “You want me to be honest with you?”

“It is the best policy.”

Buck scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Of course you'd think this is a joke.”

“Evan, I'm not really sure what this is at all. I'd love it if you could fill me in though.”

“It's... It's,” Buck stood, hands on his hips, “It's a lot of things, Tommy.”

“Starting with...?”

“I went golfing with Gerrard a couple days ago.”

Tommy nodded. “I remember. You didn't talk much about it though. Did something happen?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it did.”

“Okay. What was it?”

“Doesn't matter,” Buck replied, beginning to pace back and forth. Just a few steps in one direction before turning back around.

“Obviously it does.”

“Eddie told me to let it go.”

“That doesn't seem to be happening. Come on, Evan.” Tommy stood, grasping onto Buck's arm to stop his pacing. “I'm serious. Talk to me.”

Buck stared him down. Looked deep into his eyes like he was trying to get direct access to his soul.

“Operation Thunderbolt.”

He'd never seen two words cause such an instant and dramatic shift in a person before. All the color drained from Tommy's face. His expression fell to nothing, mouth slightly open in shock. He looked like he was about to vomit, or pass out one.

A part of Buck wished he would have left it alone. Never let the words leave his mouth and dropped it like Eddie said.

The other part of Buck was still angry, and wanted to keep pushing his buttons. Wanted to find out why Eddie got to know parts of Tommy that Buck didn't get to know.

Tommy took a couple steps back, until his shins hit the couch and he could sit down again.

“E- Evan, I-”

“You know, I'm not even pissed that I don't know what the hell those words even mean. I'm pissed because I'm apparently the only one who doesn't know.”

Tommy's hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms. He stared straight ahead, unable to even look in Buck's direction. “I really... I can't talk about this right now, Evan.”

“You mean you can't talk about it with me. Apparently you can yack it up with Gerrard and Eddie.”

Tommy unclenched his fists, resting them over his bouncing knees. “Gerrard knows about that because it's why I was discharged from the army. It was on my record and he talked to me about it when I first started at the 118.”

Buck crossed his arms over his chest. “And Eddie?”

The question came out accusatory. He hated that Eddie knew a part of Tommy that he didn't.

“Eddie was in the army.” Tommy finally managed to look up at Buck. His eyes were red-rimmed, filled with an emotion Buck had never seen from the man before. “He understands it.”

“And I don't?”

“No,” Tommy replied honestly. “No, you don't, Evan. And I'm really glad you don't.”

“I've told you everything about me, Tommy! All the bad stuff, all the embarrassing stuff! I thought you'd done the same, but apparently I'm the only one really in this relationship.”

Tommy's eyes darkened. He stood back up, chest heaving. “Do not try and compare stealing fire engines for sex to what I did.”

“I don't even know what you did, Tommy!” Buck exclaimed, throwing his arms up in frustration. “Did you fly to the wrong place? Disobey orders? Get a slap on the wrist from a commanding officer? Someone find out you were-”

“I killed an entire family!” Tommy yelled, causing Buck to jump back ever so slightly. He'd never heard Tommy raise his voice before.

“Wh- What?”

“Thunderbolt was a codename for an operation in Iraq. We were supposed to take out a terrorist cell,” Tommy explained, speaking quickly. “Target was confirmed so I fired. Not even a second later I hear abort, abort, abort in my headset, but it was already too late. Intel was bad, I ended up directing a missile to an innocent family. Grandparents, parents, aunts, uncles, and ten kids. I killed an entire bloodline, Evan.”

“T- Tommy-”

“They're just heat signatures on a monitor, Kinard, nothing more. That's what my commanding officer told me. But I couldn't let it go. I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep, I was a mess. They gave me an honorable discharge and a damn medal for killing those people.”

“I didn't-”

“Sometimes I think about it too much,” Tommy continued, ignoring Buck's interruptions. “One day Eddie was coming over for Muay Thai and I could barely get myself up off the couch. He knew something was wrong and we started talking. I don't have many friends, Evan, and Eddie is the first I've had that was in the army. It's easy to talk to him about this stuff because I don't feel like I have to explain myself over and over again or worry that he's going to think I'm a monster.”

“I don't think you're a monster.” Buck's voice was small. He felt like he was two feet tall.

“I can tell when a person looks at me differently, Evan. Saw it the second I told you.”

“Yeah, because I was surprised! It's a lot to throw on a person!”

“I didn't want to throw it on you! I was gonna tell you eventually, but I didn't feel ready yet. Didn't know how to explain it to you.” Tommy stood, his nervous energy taking over. He walked past Buck and headed for the door. “I can't do this right now. I need to go.”

“This is your house, Tommy. I'll go.”

“No, I need to get out.” He grabbed his coat and his keys. “Can you turn off the oven for me, please?”

“Tommy, come on, please don't leave mad. I'm sorry, okay?”

Tommy paused, the door half open. “Not mad, Evan. You definitely don't need to apologize to me. I just... I can't. You have a key. Lock up when you leave.”

*****

Buck gave Tommy twenty-four hours before sending a text.

Can I come over to talk please?

He waited thirty minutes before trying again.

Tommy, I don't think you're a monster, and I'd like to apologize to you in person. I know I threw that on you and I shouldn't have.

Still nothing.

So, he tried calling. It rang seven times before it went to voicemail.

“Tommy, I just wanna talk. I- I know I probably deserve the silent treatment but... I just wanna talk. Call me back, please.”

Buck was not known for his patience. It took everything within him to not get in his car and drive to Tommy's place right then and there.

But he didn't want to smother Tommy, at least not more than he already had. He waited an hour, then started getting ready for bed. He had to be at work early tomorrow, and if Tommy wasn't ready to talk yet, he'd respect that.

It was the least he could do.

When he woke up for work the next day and had no missed messages or calls from Tommy, he worried.

He had half expected to hear something from him during the night.

When he got to work, he made a beeline for Eddie, who was putting some things into his locker.

“Eddie, have you heard from Tommy in the past couple days?”

“Good morning to you too, Buck. My time off was great, thanks for asking.”

“Come on, I'm serious. Have you heard from him?”

Eddie closed his locker door and turned to Buck. “I thought you were spending your time off with him?”

“We had a... a thing.”

“A thing?”

“A fight,” Buck clarified. “Sort of. A fight-ish.”

“A... A fight-ish? Would this fight-ish have to do with Gerrard and a certain military operation?”

Buck shrugged. “Maybe. Possibly you too.”

“Me?!” Eddie exclaimed. “Why me?”

“Listen, I got a little angry over the fact you seem to know Tommy better than I do and I may have expressed as much, okay? And yes, I mentioned the operation, and kind of forced him into explaining, which may have sent him spiraling. He said he wasn't mad, but he has a way of saying that instead of letting me apologize for things and now he won't answer me and I'm afraid he's actually mad or-”

“Breathe,” Eddie interrupted, patting Buck on the shoulder. “I haven't heard from him. Honestly, though, if he told you about Thunderbolt, he's probably not doing great right now.”

Buck flopped down onto one of the benches, his legs stretching out in front of him. “I really screwed up, Eddie.”

“I'm the king of screw ups, Man,” Eddie replied, sitting beside him. “You haven't done anything that can't be fixed. For what it's worth, he was always planning on telling you. It's just a tough one for him to talk about without spiraling.”

Buck glared over at him. “You're really not helping.”

“You've got a twelve today too, right?”

Buck nodded.

“I'll text him, see if he answers. You head over after work. It'll work out. Don't worry.”

*****

Worry was all Buck did the entire day. Especially after Eddie sent his third text and got no response. Even he thought it was strange, which made Buck worry even more.

He couldn't get to Tommy's fast enough after his shift. He hurried over, not hesitating to use his key to get inside.

“Tommy?” he called out apprehensively. “Are you here?”

He knew Tommy had to be there. His car was in the driveway and he always left his door unlocked when he went for a run, much to Buck's dismay.

He headed for the living room first, then the kitchen.

“Tommy?” he called again before heading to the bedroom.

No lights were on in the house, and the sun had nearly set, making it difficult to see. When he pushed open the cracked bedroom door, he could barely see the outline of Tommy lying in bed, covers pulled up to his neck. His blackout curtains were drawn, making the room nearly pitch black.

Buck entered the room cautiously. “Tommy, y- you awake?”

“Mmm,” he grunted. “Yeah.”

“I've been worried,” he said, toeing off his shoes before crawling onto the bed. “I tried calling and texting. Eddie did too.”

“Haven't been by my phone,” Tommy mumbled into his pillow.

Buck settled into his usual side of the bed, keeping some space between them. “Is this... Is this about our fight? I really am sorry for pushing you, Tommy.”

“Not mad,” he replied, managing to roll over and curl into Buck's side. “Told you I wasn't mad yesterday.”

“It... It's been two days, Babe.”

He rested a hand over Buck's stomach, gripping the material of his shirt. “Oh. Really?”

“Yeah.” Buck wrapped an arm around Tommy's back, letting his nails scratch up and down his spine. “I- Tommy, what's going on?”

“Tired.” He nestled his head further into Buck's waist. “Brain was thinking too much.”

“Oh.” Buck didn't know what to say. Didn't know the right words to make him feel better. He'd never seen Tommy like this before. It made him feel overwhelmed, and sad, and a little bit terrified. “You wanna talk about it?”

Tommy gripped even tighter. He was silent for a moment, breathing against Buck's body before he spoke quietly. “I killed people, Evan.”

God, Buck wanted to cry. “I- I know.”

“A whole family. Kids. I did that.”

“You didn't know, Tommy. It's not your fault.”

“That doesn't matter to them. They don't get to have a life because of me.”

Buck wanted to hold onto Tommy tighter, pull him all the way into his arms and hold him until the pain would go away.

But Tommy withdrew before Buck could even get his other arm around him. He turned back onto his other side, pulling the covers up until just his eyes and nose stuck out from under them. “I'm just tired, Hon. I'll be okay.”

*****

The next thing Tommy knew, he was being shook awake. The room was still dark, and he was pretty sure not much time had passed. “What? What time's it?”

“A little after eight,” Buck whispered, giving his shoulder another shake. “Get up, please.”

Tommy sighed. “Why? M'tired.”

“Because you have company.”

“I do?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed. “Can you tell them to leave, Evan?”

“No. Get up.”

Tommy groaned, but forced himself to get out of bed. He took the hand Buck had held out for him, and let himself be led to the living room.

“Hey,” Eddie said from his spot on the couch. “You look like crap.”

“Eddie?” Tommy glanced back and forth between him and Buck. “What are you doing here?”

“Your boyfriend here called me and said you could use a friend.”

Buck gave Tommy's hand a squeeze to get his attention. “You're right,” he said. “I don't know the right thing to do or say to make you feel better. But I think he can.”

“Evan, I-”

Buck brought a hand to Tommy's face, brushing a thumb over his cheek. He leaned in and gave him a peck on the lips. “I love you, Tommy, okay? All of you.”

“I don't know what to say, Evan.”

“Say pizza's on the way,” Eddie interrupted. “I'm starving.”

Buck laughed, rolling his eyes as he turned back to Eddie. “Pizza is on the way. I'm gonna head out to the gym for a couple hours.”

He went to let go of Tommy's hand, but Tommy pulled him back in for a hug. “Come back after?” he asked, his mouth brushing against Buck's ear.

Buck nodded. “Of course.”

“Okay.” Tommy pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Evan. I love you.”

Buck smiled, giving Tommy's hand a final squeeze before letting go. “See you two later. Save me a piece of pizza.”

“We'll see!” Eddie yelled out as Buck headed out the front door. He nodded at Tommy, who was still standing in the middle of the living room. “So, you ready to talk?”

Tommy only briefly hesitated before he walked over and sat on the opposite end of the couch, curling his knees up to his chest. “Yeah. Yeah, let's talk.”

[hellionhero]

What if... instead of culinary arts, Mo decides to go to law school after seeing how poorly the family lawyer handled his dad's case, and somewhere along the way he meets He Tian who comes from a very well-known family of lawyers who may or may not be a bit shady

[vagueeyes]

relistened to the SIMON SAYS pod earlier and finally googled reece's story about there being a special chair in theatres where you can tweet about the show you're watching, and apparently it's real?

iirc he mentioned this on a tlog commentary and i think/love that both steve & jeremy (in the pod & commentary, respectively) just go "...where's the chair?"

[total-drama-brainrot]

Millie total drama

My girl. Millie has done nothing wrong ever, your honour she was trying her best and that's all that matters.

Especially in season two; Millie's only folly was being morally blinded by her desire to win, which (quite frankly) so many other characters in the series have followed that same fate without being as punished by the narrative as Millie was.

She showed remorse for her momentary lack of judgement there, and yet all she got for trying to be a decent person and apologise was an early elimination. I was so looking forward to seeing Millie stand on her own two feet as an individual character instead of just "Priya's friend".

And the stereotype she's based on? The whole discount-psychologist schtick she's got going on could be so fun to explore, especially since the cast she's a part of is filled to the brim with unconventional characters that anyone with even a passing interest in psychology/sociology would be itching to dissect. And yet she barely has any interactions with them along these lines; the most we get is her notes on Priya's terrible home life, which is a valid concern for anyone to have.

It just seems like such a waste to establish her character archetype in her audition video and the do near-enough nothing with it. She could've been so much more than Priya's satellite.

But I think the main thing that draws me to Millie is how she is, at her core, a well intentioned and empathetic character- and how these work as character flaws instead of positive traits.

Her strong sense of empathy makes her painfully mindful of how the people around her percieve her, so she's quick to make herself obsequious or otherwise changd herself to meet the expectarions she thinks others hold for her. When, in reality, the only person holding Millie to these expectations is herself.

Her good intentions oftentimes lead Millie to act outside of her juristiction in a misguided effort to help the people around her- i.e. her notes on Priya's home life, leading a blindfolded Damien into The Horrors to help her team win, ect.

It's just nice to see a people pleaser character who faces the realistic consequences of their actions instead of being held up on a pedestal by the story itself like Beth or Zoey. No shade to either of them, since I love both of them too.

[uraveragemilkdisliker]

Roles in the r1999 heathers au from prevblog

I've been thinking about this AU for a while now but haven't really gotten a solid idea of which character should be which.

Though, I've already decided from the start that Sonetto would be Veronica, Vertin would be JD, and Schneider would be H. Chandler because... red. Other then those 3, everyone else is still up for debate. For example, Matilda. At first I wanted her to be Martha but then I had a thought of making her H. Duke.

If anyone's interested in my 2am thoughts of an au let me know what characters you think should be who. It'd be great.