#these just keep getting longer and longer lmao

[goldsainz]

# DREW STARKEY — THAT HOLLYWOOD TYPE OF LOVE !

MASTERLIST !

001. SUMMARY !

✯ who would believe a fashion show would be the place to spark a romance?

002. NOTE !

✯ first drew fic so please leave some feedback😁 also i love taylor so much like you guys don’t even understand. this also ended up longer than expected so excuse me and my inability to know when to end fics💔

liked by drewstarkey, francolapinto and 1,682,945 others

yourusername fashion icon, yay or nay?

view all 25,174 comments

ynfan1 MOTHERRRR

drewfan1 drew liking….. we see you king

carlaciagrant Oh. My. God.

⤷ yourusername i love you so much

⤷ drewfan2 HELLO?????

ynfan2 how does she always look so good

ynfan3 serving face like it’s her duty

drewfan3 drew liked… laci liked… thinking thoughts

⤷ ynfan4 never thought i’d get a yn and obx crossover

ynfan5 FASHION ICON YAY YAY YAY

francofan1 franco get out of here LMAO

drewfan4 need to know what drew is doing here

ynfan6 why are yall talking about a man under my queen’s post

⤷ ynfan7 no fr i’m so annoyed rn

drewstarkey and yourusername updated their instagram stories!

liked by madelyncline, drewfan21, and 108,476 others

yndrewupdates drew and yn arriving together at a restaurant in paris!

view all 1,620 comments

yndrewupdates MADELYN LIKED WTFFF

⤷ drewfan22 girl how are you alive

⤷ yndrewupdates I DON’T KNOW I’M STILL SCREAMING

ynfan21 wait are they matching that’s so cute

drewfan23 as a drew and harry fan i am conflicted

⤷ drewfan24 bruh… enjoy this and shut up

ynfan22 oh she’s taking it

drewfan25 when i’m in a power couple competition and they show up

⤷ ynfan23 LMAOOO i fear they’d win by a mile

ynfan24 shh guys we gotta keep quiet

liked by ynfan31, drewfan31 and 76,802 others

ynupdates YN at the ‘Queer’ premiere in Los Angeles (November 13, 2024)

view all 1,523 comments

ynfan32 OMGGGG

drewfan32 wait is she matching drew or am i tweaking

⤷ drewfan33 she is!!!!

⤷ drewfan32 talk about maximising a joint slay

ynfan33 oh so it’s OFFICAL official

ynfan34 never not serving

ynfan35 THAT DRESS HAS ME DEADDD😩

drewfan34 don’t know if i wanna be him or her

ynfan36 i’m going insane

⤷ ynfan37 so so real

drewfan35 remember when it was just a crossover at a loewe show… what a time

yourusername and drewstarkey updated their instagram stories!

[antimonyandthyme]

2k, paul/carlos

(written after the c2 / paul vid, and this post came out with the brilliant @formulahs suggesting an auction LMAO)

He goes without the expectation of buying anything. He looks forward to a good time, even with all the cameras around. The shoes his stylist wants him to go in are fanciful, shiny monstrosities, and he nearly insists for the sneakers to stay on. Then he remembers that he’s technically there for Ferrari, and dutifully swaps them out.

Technically. Paul can go for other reasons too. Charles is lovely, if a little vacant around him. Carlos is. Carlos is, he’s—

It’s early days and Paul isn’t one for poetry, and yet here he is. He hopes to god he isn’t being obvious. Not to the staff when he spots Carlos and lights up like a schoolboy with a crush. Not to Charles, when he holds on to Carlos for a handshake that’s a little longer than necessary. Definitely not obvious to whoever watches these videos, when he mouths all of the answers to Carlos.

Can’t deny having a favourite. He can turn his nose up all he wants at the reputation that follows any young actor these days, but he can’t deny his appreciation for nice things. There are no trophies in his world—yet, just good food, good drink, good people. Beautiful people. For the third time since they rolled cameras, Paul is caught staring. Carlos always looks slightly lost, staring back, like he’s trying to figure Paul out, before he ducks his head and curls up. Large hands clasped in his lap. Maybe a little shy. Maybe a little pleased.

“He’s a little expensive,” Charles says, “but you should be able to afford him.”

Paul attempts to tamper his face into something palatable. Ungracious of Charles to lay out his desires so plainly. And then in the same breath insinuate that his ability to pay might not stack up. Somewhere past Paul’s eyeline, Carlos is returning his mic to the staff with a relieved smile. Unpacking his spine into something looser, now that the cameras are off. He tips his head at Paul, eyes inquisitive, as if guessing that they were discussing him.

Paul has to look away, guilty.

“I didn’t plan on buying,” he says. It’s the truth. Mostly. In his defense, it wasn’t like Ferrari were being subtle about shoving them in a room together, especially after they made this tradition known. It’s like asking someone not to think of elephants. On command, a safari blooms open in Paul’s mind.

Charles shrugs. “We’ll have another event later. Someone else probably will.”

The flippant way Charles speaks about it grates against Paul’s skin. He can’t tell if Charles is trying to rile him up. The thought of Carlos having to hang off a faceless person’s arm makes distaste churn so violently in his belly that it manifests into an ache.

“Carlos wouldn’t mind, if it’s you.”

“How would you know,” Paul grits out. The mental fidget spinner he has for Charles keeps going around in circles, flickering from Empty to Dickhead to Helpful, maybe?

“Ah, he’s used to it no? People looking at him like that.” Charles’s voice dips low, like he’s sharing a secret. Paul’s an actor for fuck’s sake. He knows when someone’s selling him something, a mediocre contract, a shitty line. Still, he can’t help leaning in closer, puts his ear right next to Charles’s mouth.

Further away, Carlos’s mouth twists down, his gaze shutters. Just a minute, baby, Paul wants to tell him. Just—give me a minute.

“He looks back, when it’s you,” Charles says, and Paul’s done convincing himself otherwise.

--

They tell him, in one of the most bewildering conversations Paul’s ever had, that Carlos will be delivered in the evening, at whatever time suits Paul best. Delivered, like he’s some kind of package. What the fuck, sings one part of his brain. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what have you just done. The other part, the part that’s mostly primitive and hedonistic, somehow takes charge and sends him off on multiple errands. He gets his hair trimmed, just a little at the sides. He buys some wine. He changes into the sneakers. He considers getting another tattoo, before he snaps himself out of it.

Poetry and tattoos. Paul’s lost his mind.

The time in between gives him room to vacillate between wanting to feed the open maw within him and growing shamefully aware about the shape of his yearning. He hadn’t realized he had enough space within his ribcage to stuff another man entire. There are so many other ways he could have gone about this. But he doesn’t have Carlos’s number. He can’t text. Even if he could, Paul wouldn’t know what to say.

Tick tock, tick tock. Paul rearranges furniture, door dashes some flowers, after spending half an hour reading up on flower language, interspersed with vapid scrolling of his socials. Tick tock.

By the time Carlos arrives, he’s in a bit of a wreck. People who move in Carlos’s world would certainly be familiar with Ferrari’s clauses, and would know how to act. The muted greeting Carlos gives doesn’t help either. He’s dressed up but down, in a plain, almost translucent shirt that leaves little to imagination. He toes off his shoes with an unconscious gracefulness, and comes to stand in front of Paul. He’s waxed, which Paul knows, just from being so close to him this afternoon, had to have happened in that space where Paul was questioning all his life choices. He looks wonderful, except for the fact that he looks so visibly uncomfortable.

“Do you,” Paul starts. Swallowing around the dry lump in his throat. “Do you want something to drink?”

Carlos fidgets. “If you’d like,” he says.

That’s, ow.

They’d assured him, again and again, that Carlos always had the final say, but his teeth are buried in his lower lip, hard enough to blanch, and his toes dig into the carpet like a lifeline. It’s not like Paul’s hung out with Carlos more than a handful of times, but it’s hard to ever picture him in such distress. Carlos is—larger, than what he’d ever seen on screen. You have to witness him in person, to understand.

Faced with this shrunken version of Carlos, Paul can’t bring himself to continue.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks. “I really am. I assumed you’d want—I’m sorry.”

Carlos flinches, jerks his head up. “Wait.”

“It’s alright,” Paul says. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. You could just leave. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Wait,” Carlos says, more urgently. “I don’t want to—” His voice grows small. “Do you want me to leave?”

“Of course not,” Paul nearly yelps. “But you’re. You’re…”

Carlos’s cheeks are very pink. His toes tap an erratic beat on the floor. His hands are clasped in front of him, almost in supplication.

“You’re nervous!”

“Yes!” Carlos blurts out, before looking very mortified. “I’m. Ah, fuck. Paul, I’m never. Never like this.”

Tension bleeds out of him. Something so relieved escapes out of Paul’s mouth in an embarrassing giggle. “Carlos. You should have just said.”

“I don’t know why…” Carlos trails off, scrubbing at the back of his neck vigorously. “With you, I’m like this. I don’t know. I want.” His toes tap some more. “I want to.”

“Want to?” Paul says, coming closer, watching Carlos sway in eagerly.

“Make it worth it,” Carlos mutters. “What you paid.”

Paul groans. He wants to shake Carlos. Then decides, hey, he actually can shake Carlos. Gentle hands around his shoulders, shaking him like a beloved ragdoll. “Oh my god. You can’t be serious.”

“It’s a lot of money,” Carlos protests, but the corners of his mouth are turned up now.

“Shut up, you’re ridiculous. Do you think I would have even paid that if, if I. Oh my god, Carlos. You have to know, right?”

“Know what,” Carlos says, enjoying being a little shit now that they’re joking.

“Can’t take my eyes off you, when you’re in the room,” Paul says. “I thought I was being obvious.”

“You were,” Carlos says brightly. “I thought I was obvious right back.”

“Okay, so. So why are you—?”

Carlos’s face twists. “This season has been. Ah.” He shakes his head reluctantly. “You don’t have to listen to this.”

“Go on,” Paul says. “Come on, tell me. Twelve hours of your time, remember?”

“Been hard to live up to expectations, this year,” Carlos says. “I didn’t want that with you.”

“You are so.” Stupid. Hot. Stupidly hot. “I’m going to shake you some more,” Paul says. “I cannot believe you.”

“That’s fine,” Carlos says. He goes along with the shaking, in a way that shows exactly how much of his body he’s putting into Paul’s hands. A neck as thick as that and he’s somehow limp under Paul’s touch. That’s, well. That’s a lot. “Then maybe, maybe. You could kiss me?”

Yes, yes. Yesssssssss, sings both parts of Paul’s brain. Yes.

Carlos is still now, expectant. A long, lean line of muscle, rooted to the ground, that Paul can trace hungrily with his eyes. He could pull at Carlos with all his strength and Carlos would not move, if he did not want to. But when Paul nudges a finger under his jaw, Carlos goes, looks up, right at him. Leans in.

--

He’s a greedy little thing, isn’t he. Swallows Paul with ease, every which way. He makes insane noises, deep, and guttural when Paul fucks him hard, high, and breathless when Paul thumbs at his nipples. Carlos clutches at Paul like it’d physically hurt to let go. Everything he’s meant to do, he does and is wonderful at it. And somehow, he’d managed to assume he wouldn’t live up.

“Unbelievable,” Paul says to the ceiling, some time after he’d come so viciously it felt like he’d been wrung out like a dish towel. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Are you still mad at me,” Carlos says, amused.

“Yes.”

“Ay, don’t be,” Carlos says, softly. “I really was nervous.”

Paul turns on his side, hand supporting his head as he gazes at Carlos. Crazy intimate. Terrible, the way he’s setting himself up for the worst time. He can’t bring himself to care.

“You’re allowed to stay the night?”

“Twelve hours,” Carlos says. “You can ask me to do anything.”

“Anything?”

“Anything,” Carlos confirms. “Sleep at the foot of the bed, if you want.”

Why would he even say such a—Paul is going to shake him again. If he can unpretzel himself from all that easy comfort following an earth-shattering orgasm. He nudges at Carlos’s hip instead. It’s the closest body part he can find.

“I kick in my sleep,” Paul says seriously, delighting in the way that makes Carlos giggle. He pats the scant space next to him. “I’d rather you be right here.”

“I’ll be right here,” Carlos says, then clears his throat. He probably was just parroting Paul, didn’t mean for it to sound so much like a promise.

But Paul… is also a greedy little thing, isn’t he? So greedy he paid for it, and so greedy he wants more now that he’s had a taste.

“And after?” Paul says. Will you be…?

“After,” Carlos says, “after Las Vegas is Qatar. Then Abu Dhabi.”

“Fine,” Paul says. As let downs go, this is pretty devastating, but he’ll live. It’s not like he had expected—never mind.

Carlos shifts. His jaw unlocks, then clicks back. “You get discounts, after, did you know that? Very good discounts.”

“Oh,” Paul says, a little wobbly. “Do I?”

“Yes. And after Abu Dhabi, it’s. It’s free.”

“Ah.” His chest is squeezing tighter than a fist. The space in his ribcage! Expanding and contracting to accommodate whatever Carlos sees fit. He lets himself imagine pressing up close to Carlos in a quiet apartment, pulling out every sound in Carlos's vocabulary with time, unlimited, on his hands. Buying flowers he knows for sure Carlos likes.

“I guess I need to stick around."

“Guess so,” Carlos says, smiles. “Make it worth your while.”

[puppycvntt]

(I'm a writer so hearing "Oh yeah, please keep sending me horny thoughts in my inbox" is like a dream to me lol. Here is one that is a bit longer than the other one I sent lmao.)

You had been left alone all day, your puppy parts aching to be filled yet no one was home with you to stuff them. You knew you'd be in trouble if you touched them yourself without permission so sitting on the living room floor suffering was the only option.

You finally hear the front door open, your owner walking in still in his work clothes. You try to speak but all that comes out is a whine, your owner chuckling down at you as he pets your hair. He notices that you are simply in his t-shirt and boxers, his hand sliding to your waist.

"Did you miss me, puppy?" He asks, his hand sliding from your waist down to cup your clothed puppycunt. He chuckles once more as he feels the soaking wet mess through the fabric of your boxers, rubbing your parts gently. "Aww you did, didn't you? I bet your greedy puppy parts missed me too. Come on, let's take care of this mess."

He guides you by your waist into the living room, dropping his work bag by the door as he walks further int the house. He sits down on the couch and pats his thigh, leading you to jump right into his lap. His hands immediately find your waist, his face burying into your neck. The kisses there start gentle, his voice a breath against your neck.

"I'm so proud of you, not touching all day while I was gone. I know it must've been torture sweetheart but don't worry, your owner will stuff you nice and full as a reward." His voice was a bit gruff, his own desire shining through.

In the blink of an eye, he's sliding your boxers down and undoing his work pants, his tdick rubbing at your entrance in a swift motion. He was hard and wet, making you realize he must have wanted this all day too. Without a single word, he pushes inside. A grunt leaves his lips while a whine leaves you, burying your face into his neck. His grip on your waist tightens as he guides you up and down, making sure you go at the pace he wants you to. Your legs were getting tired and of course he noticed, all good owners would, so instead of you riding him, he starts to fuck up into you. You were his personal toy, only able to grip at his hair and smell his scent to keep yourself grounded.

"Stupid fucking mutt, needing me to pound his pussy so bad that he soaked himself." He had growled into your ear, making you nibble at his neck to keep yourself from screaming. "I'm gonna breed this pretty little puppy cunt just like you want."

With that, he's cumming, stuffing you full just like he had promised. Your vision goes white as you come down from your own high, panting against his neck. He rubs your back as he stays inside you, keeping you filled up.

"I told you i'd breed this pretty pussy, you like being filled by your owner huh? Don't worry, I'm sure you'll feel full for days until I can stuff you again."

(I am sorry this is so intense for an anon write but I had the idea and you saying I should keep sending sparked me to write it. Enjoy!)

-🪐

please don’t apologize… i like it intense that way >_< you really know exactly what to say to get me sopping wet in a second!!! a very good pup handler you are… <3

[stedesparasol]

Made Up Fic Title: Table for Two

Ed is sitting in his favourite diner in the middle of nowhere when a rather dishevelled looking man walks through the door, looking around a bit desperately for somewhere to sit.  His suit is all rumpled, his hair is a mess, he looks like he’s been crying.  There aren’t any free tables, but Ed is taking up a whole booth by himself, so he isn’t surprised when the man comes over and asks if he can sit opposite, really, he won’t be a bother.  Usually this is the point where Ed would say nah sorry mate, waiting for some friends (he definitely isn’t) but this guy… intrigues him.  So he nods, and the man flops down into the booth.

When the waitress comes over, he orders nothing but a black coffee, but if you asked Ed, he’d say the guy was already jittery enough.  ‘Maybe get some food to go with that,’ he suggests.  Not that he, y’know, cares what this guy does, but if he’s gonna be hitting the road again soon, probably for the best he has something in his body other than caffeine, or whatever.  The dishevelled man looks at him like he can’t believe somebody actually cares about his food intake (seriously, his eyes got all watery and everything) and orders a sandwich.  Ed gets the feeling there’s definitely something weird going on with this guy.  Maybe he’s having a breakdown.  Maybe he’s just killed someone.  Whatever it is, Ed probably shouldn’t get involved.

‘So,’ he says anyway, once the waitress has walked away, ‘what brings you to the middle of nowhere?’

‘Oh, I’m running away from home,’ the man replies.

It takes Ed a minute to process this, given that the man is very clearly in his 40s, and that’s a strange thing for a man in his 40s to be doing.  But then the man – whose name is Stede, it turns out, Stede Bonnet, former vice president of Bonnet Industries, you may have heard of it – informs him that his father has just taken him out of the company and given his position to his childhood (and workplace) bully Nigel, and when Stede left to go home and break the news to his wife, he found her in bed with her painting instructor.

‘Obviously I’m not wanted by anybody,’ he says around a bite of his sandwich that arrived two minutes ago, ‘so I just got straight in the car and drove away.  No idea where I’m headed.  No idea where I even am, and the car’s out of gas, which isn’t ideal.  And I didn’t pack, which I’m starting to regret, because this suit isn’t really suited (pardon the pun) for a road trip, but I’m going to have to make do until I pass a good clothing store.  Although I don’t know how I’m going to do that when I’m stuck with a car that won’t move.’

And Ed really shouldn’t get any more involved in this – it sounds like the poor guy’s had a hell of a morning and is probably making some extremely rash decisions which he’s going to regret by tomorrow and is almost definitely going to start crying again in a minute – but on the other hand, it’s the most interesting thing to happen to him in ages.  ‘I know a good clothing store,’ he finds himself saying.

Stede looks up at him.  ‘You do?’

Ed nods, nudging his plate towards him.  ‘Finish your sandwich and I’ll drive you there.’

As of right now, Ed really doesn’t know whether he’s gonna end up driving this guy to a clothing store, a motel, or back home to hash things out with his wife, but what he does know is that he’s weirdly glad he let this bizarre little man take a seat at his table.

send me a made-up fic title and i’ll tell you what i would write to go with it ✌️

[choccy-milky]

the place me and my roommate were supposed to move into today was so disgusting and uninhabitable we just took our stuff and left and now we're gonna be staying at airbnbs and hotels until further notice/until we can find a new place hopefully quickly...........im in my homeless drifter era y'all!!!😍😍so if im not as active then thats why LMFAO

1 like = 1 prayer

[muzzlemouths]

Hiiiiii @vectorisheree hi hiii I was your Secret Skeleton!

I fell in love with the designs of your 3LAF AU and knew right away that I wanted to try my hand at drawing them. It was TONS of fun.

Hope you're having a happy Halloween! :D

[half-bakedboy]

Number 2 from the 50 cliché tropes and prompts

Your shirt/jumper was in the laundry pile and I couldn't help but steal it

Buck never understood why he had lost so many sweatshirts and button-downs to past girlfriends. Nine times out of ten, they didn't even remotely fit their figure and they were only worn in the comfort of Buck's home anyways. 

Then he started staying over Tommy's house more and more. He'd always come prepared–an overnight bag filled with an extra LAFD shirt, a pair of jeans, a pair of chinos, and two shirts, one with a collar and one without–just in case he needed to rush out in the morning. 

This morning, he isn’t quite as prepared as he wishes he had been. Tommy’s in the shower after sleepily kissing Buck good morning and Buck promised he’d run Hercules–Tommy’s ten-year-old retired racing greyhound–outside before Tommy dropped Buck off at work. Thunder crashes outside and rain pounds on the roof, and Buck didn’t even think to bring a jacket. 

He looks around the bedroom closet, careful not to invade the private space too much, but he doesn’t see anything that might help. He knows there’s an umbrella waiting beside the door, but he’s already shivering from the chill sneaking in through the closed windows and Buck knows he’ll need something to protect his skin. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a pullover laid neatly on top of the laundry pile. It’s similar to his LAFD one, but a lighter blue that matches Tommy’s on-duty uniform. It won’t keep him dry, but it’ll keep him warm and keep the water off of his skin which is all he has time to care about. He snatches it up and shouts to Tommy that he’s taking the dog outside even though he’s not sure he’s heard. 

Before he gets too far, Buck pauses to get the pullover on. The first thing he notices is how much bigger it is on him. He’s not a small guy by any means, and he’s not much smaller than Tommy–at least he thinks–but there’s so much extra fabric that he has to bundle it up at his waist. He can also tell that the back doesn’t stretch taut against his shoulder blades and that the neckline slouches a little in the front. 

It’s strange to wear something so unfit for him, but at the same time, Buck can’t help but feel giddy. He glances at himself in the mirror and feels small, but not in the way he usually does. It doesn’t make him feel inconsequential or overlooked, but like he’s protected and well-loved. It stirs inside of his stomach until the joy begins to bubble in his chest. 

He notices that Tommy’s name is embroidered just over his heart, and he brings his fingers there to trace over the lettering. It takes everything in him not to whisper his name combined with Tommy’s last and he wonders if this was how his old girlfriends felt when they stole his LAFD shirts that had his name brazen on the back. 

Where he expected to be a bit embarrassed at the claiming nature of it all, he can’t help but feel… powerful. Yeah, there’s something powerful about wearing someone else's name, like he’s screaming to the world that Tommy is off-limits because he’s Buck’s. 

He’s Buck’s. 

He’s too busy thinking about what exactly that means for him to hear the bathroom door open and a freshly showered and shaved Tommy emerge. Another figure beside Buck’s reflection startles him but Tommy’s reassuring hands slide around his waist. It’s strange how normal it feels to have strong, long arms wrapped around him and a broad chest waiting to hold him up as he leans back against it. 

“You’re wet,” Buck says, feeling the dampness on Tommy’s unclothed chest. He’s in sweatpants like he’s ready to lounge around for the day, but the bare skin of his upper body is clearly on display where Buck’s body isn’t hiding it. He wants to pull away just so he can take another peek. 

Tommy doesn’t seem to notice nor care that Buck is analyzing them because he’s too busy doing the same. There’s something in his eyes, though, that sends an eruption of warmth to Buck’s face. Tommy tugs at the extra fabric at Buck’s waist like he’s having the same realization as Buck did, and then he slides one hand up Buck’s chest to trace his name. He whispers each letter like a secret into Buck’s ear, piercing eyes never leaving Buck’s in the mirror. 

Buck shivers, pressing back against Tommy and leaning his head back so that it plops on Tommy’s shoulder comfortably. Tommy finishes his name before dragging a finger to the neckline of the pullover and letting it hang there like a weight that keeps Buck grounded.

“You’re wearing my jumper,” Tommy points out like he doesn’t already know. Buck suddenly feels anxious, like he’s made a horrible mistake, and stands back up straight. He turns to look at Tommy as he speaks. 

“Is that okay? I didn’t bring a jacket so I figured—” 

Tommy kisses him before he can finish, and Buck can only hope it becomes a pattern. 

It’s just as soft as their first kiss and every kiss they’ve shared since then, but it grows in passion second by second. Tommy is gripping the fabric at Buck’s waist like he’s deciding whether he wants to pull it over Buck’s head or leave it on his forever. Buck holds his naked shoulders, palms sliding down the hard planes of his chest then his abs, before sliding underneath the waistband of his sweatpants. 

When a cold nose hits his hand, Buck jumps back, out of breath and startled. Hercules is staring up at them like he’s let them have their fun and he’s done waiting to go outside. Tommy swipes at his face as he chuckles and Buck leans down to pat Herc’s head. 

“I’m sorry, Buddy. Am I stealing all of your dad’s attention?” Buck coos, and he can almost hear Tommy’s good-natured eye roll. 

“Well, if Evan here is done distracting me, I’m sure he’d be more than happy to take you outside, huh?” 

“Oh, if Evan is done distracting you? Like you didn’t just walk out of the shower half-naked and damp and looking like you wanted to drop to your kn–” Buck inhales deeply when Tommy glances down then back up and raises his eyebrows. “Alright, I’m out of here. Be right back,” he promises, pressing one last kiss to Tommy’s reddened lips. 

“Mhm,” Tommy hums, watching him start to walk away. 

“Do you want your pullover back?” Buck asks, because he figures that’s what he would’ve wanted to be asked. 

“As far as I’m concerned, it’s yours now.”

It sounds a lot like I’m yours now, but Buck doesn’t dare ask. Instead, he takes Hercules out, ignoring the storm rumbling above him, and strokes his thumb distractingly against Tommy’s name over his heart. He guesses he’s Tommy’s now, too.

(now on ao3)

[sergle]

yall are about to piss me off by not having any PASSING basic knowledge of the way the u.s. military manipulates its recruits into joining by typing up one of your uninformed, unresearched, unempathetic, individualistic, unbelievably annoying posts about how 100% of the people in the military ended up there because they just Love America So Damn Much! they're extremely mature and informed at time of recruitment, they can totally leave anytime they want, they totally had tons of other avenues in life they could've taken, there was no rush at all to get income as fast as possible, and everyone in the military also totally is part of the combat divisions and personally enjoys being IN the military very much, big believers of violence. everyone in the military is shooting guns all day, that's how that works. they LOVE BLOODSHED. also I love the "amewicans haha" twang to this type of shit because you're actually TOTALLY stealing our Thing, which is turning systemic issues into Individual Issues. Instead of talking about the powers that be, it's so Personal Choice up in here. It's, "well you shouldn't have done it then. I totally wouldn't because I know better." you don't wanna talk about the military industrial complex as a whole, and you don't want to talk about recruiters, you just want to pin the blame on Specific Individual People one-by-one, as if they're responsible for the system that they're being ground up in. someone was in the military? bad person, no matter what. it's easier to believe that, I guess, than to acknowledge that Normal People (with high school educations) are manipulated and incentivized into joining a system that is Bad. at like age 18. but yeah no that 18 year old should have just been smarter lol haha anyway here are some screenshots for no particular reason

side note this reply of someone going "umm just get loans and go into a high paying field it's easy XD" as a direct response to someone trying to explain how most americans joining the military are being funneled in that direction out of a need for money.

and another person who Decided that americans join the military just CLENCHING their teeth thinking of other people, and not thinking completely selfishly about their own selves and their own income/housing/healthcare.

[bixels]

What did/do you like about Pharah?

Uh, gameplay-wise, I really love characters in shooters who rely on three-dimensional movement techs. Chaining together hover and jump to stay in the air for as long as possible and keep momentum is so satisfying, and picking enemies off from the sky made me feel like a bird of prey. I was a good Pharah main.

Story-wise, there unfortunately isn't much to canonically go off because Pharah is so underutilized and neglected. Her personality's pretty boilerplate "heroic hero" (she's literally inspired by Captain America).

But it's the crumbs/bits and pieces that I really latched onto. Pharah's a confirmed lesbian; her short story with Baptiste implies she harbors a crush on Mercy (fucking thank you.). She's biracial Egyptian/First Nations. She has major mommy issues, having grown up both admiring and resenting Ana. She's the bridge between Old Overwatch, inspired by the idealized heroes who surrounded her childhood, and New Overwatch. She's one of the only inter-generational characters in the cast; someone whose experiences span the gap, which is why I seriously believe Pharah would make a great main character.

There isn't much to go off of, though; she's a very uncomplicated character (she's a soldier for a private military corporation, lol.). But that just means she's a blank slate character, so I've seen fanfic writers run wild and create some really interesting takes on her. My favorite interpretation of her's a dense, herbo gym-bro type (a lot of her liens are about work outs, exercising, and playing sports) who's easily excitable under her seemingly self-serious, armored visage. We see how she tends to gloat and hype herself up when she's on a streak too, so Pharah definitely has a competitive and boastful side under her more professional and militant performance.

Now Mercy? Mercy is a real complex character.

[yardsards]

im like the lorax when it comes to women's body hair. we should let it grow.

[midnight-mourning]

DCA Promptober Day 12: Carousel

Who wants to be back in the fever dream again? It's you!! Yes you do, yes you do!

Just the one today, which is great as that means I'm back on track finally, hope you enjoy!

Word count: 937

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"Ow!" You say as you bang your head against the control the lip of the panel opening in the carousel's center, "Stupid, frickin'... thing."

You weren't a mechanic, at least you don't think you are, you don't know how to repair machinery like this. The fact that your employer expected you to just pick up the ability to read wiring diagrams and the likes as if it was nothing felt a bit unfair. If you're being honest. 

Sure, you had a manual. But it was hard to read in this low light. Which, that's another thing, why are you even working in the dark in the first place? Are you even supposed to be working in these conditions? Feels like an OSHA violation. 

Your rubbing a hand over the sore spot on your head when all the hair raises on your skin. A chuckle follows soon thereafter. You scramble for your flashlight, waving it around wildly once you manage to turn it on. No luck. He's not here. 

Another laugh, somewhere up above. Correction then, he's not close. 

You frown, and lean back down to snatch up a screwdriver, starting to work on the operator's controls now, flashlight in one hand while you work. It starts to flicker after a minute and you curse to yourself, turning it off for the meantime. 

Moon tuts at this. 

You scoff, "Don't make it seem like I have a choice here."

"Go to sleep," Is his response.

Moon rarely spoke in full sentences you noticed. And tended to repeat the same phrases over and over. If you hadn't heard him say something direct to you that one time, when was that, anyhow? Feels like ages ago, you'd believe that they were all he could say. 

"Can't. I have work to do. As you can see here.," You don't even know if you could sleep with this on-

With what on? You shake your head, frustrated. You hope you get a break soon, you're getting real sick of your brain not functioning properly due to what you're assuming hoping is sleeplessness.

You finish with tightening the front face of the operator panel back into place. You didn't bother with putting the panel back over the carousel's main access, something told you you'd probably just have to remove it again. Why did this thing even need repaired so often? Had anybody even used it since the last time you did? Have you even left the building once?

You flick the lever and then hit the main button. Least you think it's the right one, it's so damn hard to see-

"Nighty-night~"

You glance up in time to see red eyes hanging just above your head. He swings a clawed hand at you and you jump backwards, managing to dodge but falling down in the process. 

Your hands search for your flashlight as the carousel starts to power on, music starting up as you feel yourself start to rotate with the platform you've landed on. 

"Ah, ah," Moon tsks, causing you to look up to him. 

In his hands is your flashlight, you can only watch in horror as your breaks it in two, chuckling as its remains clatter to the floor. 

His faceplate spins, eyes narrowing, "Light's out."

You brace for the worst, but he only stares as you start to move away from him as the carousel takes off. Disappearing into the dark above after a moment. 

It's then you realized you forgot to flip on the ride's lights. 

You quickly stand up, taking a moment to get your balance.  You look around for any sign of the night-themed bot. You can hear him, somewhere on the other side of the machine. Bells twinkling as he searches around for you. 

You pass by the operator's podium once. You hear Moon start getting closer. 

Shit, you need a distraction. And fast. 

You make another turn. In the dark you find half of your flashlight. You hit it against your palm once or twice just to make sure it's unusable. 

"Naughty, naughty," Moon says, he's much closer now. But hasn't seen you yet. 

You duck down behind one of the benches on the ride, hand covering your mouth to keep from making a noise.

You feel fear crawl down your spine as you see the light of his eyes scan across the horses in front of you. It then disappears quickly. You swallow, closing your eyes as you wait for it to all be over.

There's a loud screech as moon's claws rip into the wooden animal off to your far left. He makes a displeased noise. 

He missed. He doesn't know where you are.

The operator's podium passes by you one more time. Move. 

You wait a few seconds then toss the broken flashlight piece somewhere off into the dark. 

You see a flash of Moon's eyes as he darts over to the sound. 

When you finish your next lap, your quickly roll off the machine and crawl over to the control panel. 

You flip the switch. 

There's a hiss behind you, you turn around in time to watch Moon retreat back into the shadow's away from the carousel. Away from you. 

You sigh, collapsing back against the podium. It's then that you feel something cold on your right shoulder. 

Reaching back, you feel a large hole that's been ripped into the back of your shirt. 

Somewhere off in the distance, you hear Moon speak.

"It's past your bedtime," He snickers. Which is his way of saying 'Until next time' you've realized.

You grumble, rubbing a hand over your eye.

This job sucks.

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Little more light-hearted compared to yesterdays. Which you can find here if you haven't seen it or any of my other promptobers already. Thanks for reading!

[genericpuff]

every now and then i get folks asking me "puff do you have any opinions on hazbin hotel"

and i know why they're asking because if there's any fandom that puts LO to shame, it's hazbin hotel / helluva boss and surely i must have some Very Strong Opinions(tm) about the show

but i seriously have never watched a single episode of that show and despite all the controversy and drama i've seen come from the discussion of both the show and its creator, the only thing that really bugs me out of the blue when i'm reminded HH exists are those exclusive playbills that people pre-ordered months ago and still haven't arrived

that is it, that is literally the extent of my engagement with the HH fandom, there will be no further questions about what i think regarding HH because i literally have no idea, they are best asked to whoever comes close to being the generic-puff equivalent of the HH fandom

[pnfc]

i haint watched the dang chibisode and idk if ill actually watch it with sound on sdfjk but i have a hurt feeling about them casually imbuing perry with speech for a one off gag because the idea that he needs to talk to communicate is fake. we had 4 seasons of wacky magic hijinks cartoon where perry never needed verbal speech to communicate. they couldve done this gag at any point in the show but they didn't, and the fact that they didn't felt significant. perry's muteness is such a core part of his character, to me, to the way i conceive of him/write him. i don't wanna overreact to a goofy little side cartoon (even tho i'm doing it anyway) but it's still the characters, and it still upsets me! ok that's it i've said my piece

[muirmarie]

Me: I joke about writing the same McCoy centric story over and over again in different ways

Me: and like. I love doing it and imma keep doing it because it makes me happy.

Me: but also. I do sometimes wonder if it's like. A little Much.

Me: like maybe I should branch out or something

Me: [reads another fundamental and extremely insulting misread of McCoy's character by someone who is clearly making a Choice to cast McCoy as the villain, because they have to get him out of the way of spirk, because they're too???? idk immature??? to realize that even when you're in a relationship with one person, other ppl can and SHOULD still be important to you]

Me: lmao I hope I AM too much actually!!!! I hope it is 100% obnoxious how much I love that doctor!!!!! Time to write more versions of the same story of McCoy being forced to realize that he is loved and cared for!!!!!!

Me: I KNOW MY NICHE AND IMMA DIE IN THAT NICHE, THANKS

[dynamitekansai]

THE USOS REUNITE WWE SMACKDOWN (OCTOBER 25, 2024)

[sulky-cabbage]

The sukugo fight can't get animated any sooner I'm craving sukugo tiktok edits