#you ask i'll write

[running-ace21]

Caught Red Handed

This is a ficlet from an ask. Anon, thank you for requesting this. WARNING: this is more on the spicy side of things (no sex tho). this is not a fluffy ficlet

"Fuuuck," Copia sighed as he let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. He looked down to see his belly full and rounded. He gently rubbed it as he looked at the array of empty takeout boxes on his coffee table. He figured he better clean them up before his rats get into them. He had ordered enough for dinner tonight and lunch tomorrow, but he ate all of it for dinner. And man, could he feel it. His belly felt uncomfortably huge and bloated, the pasta sitting heavy in his gut. He stopped by the fridge and grabbed a beer, hopeful that the carbonation would provide some relief. 

Before sitting down on the couch, he undid the button on his pants, wincing as his belly surged forward he sat down and turned on the TV. He couldn't believe how much he had eaten. He was so stuffed. He tried pushing on his tummy. There was no give. A small smile crept onto his face, he couldn't help but be slightly aroused that he successfully stuffed himself to the max. But this was his secret. He would never dream of telling Terzo about this *interest* of his.  

He rubbed his tummy as he sipped on his drink. He was able to get a couple of burps out, but they didn't really help alleviate any of the pressure in his stomach. He finished his drink and laid down on the couch. He continued massaging his aching belly wishing that someone's else's hands could be doing the work. It wasn't long before the food and alcohol made him sleepy. 

Terzo opens the door to Copia's apartment and stops dead in his tracks. There before him, out cold on the couch, was a version of Copia he hadn't experienced before. Copia's pants were unbuttoned, his belly parting the waistband Like the red sea.  Then there was the bloated dome of Copia's stomach. His shirt was pulled up and his hand rested on the crest of it. Terzo sucked in a sharp breath. The sight of his boyfriend like this turned him on more than he could imagine. 

He closed the door and joined Copia at the couch. He leaned down kissing his lips gently. "Good evening mi amore." Copia smiled and kissed him as he woke up. Copia's eyes shot wide open and he quickly tried to pull his shirt down. He was beet red. Nobody was supposed to see him like this, especially Terzo! 

"Enjoy yourself tonight?" Terzo asks casually. Copia swallowed but didn't say anything. Terzo trailed a hand down to Copia's open waistband. Copia squirmed under his touch. "Terzo, I swear, i don't know what got into me tonight. Ha, um, I don't normally eat like that." 

Terzo slid his hand up to Copia's belly button and jostled his belly. "Sure you don't." His tone was mocking yet seductive. He pinched at the pudge on Copias lower belly. Copia blushed a deep red and Terzo noticed Copia's pants getting tighter for another reason. *Oh sweet lucifer!* He thought to himself. 

Terzo pressed on Copias taut belly. "So full, you must have really pushed your limits tonight." He rubbed little circles around his belly button before moving his hand down to the underside his belly. "I bet it feels good to stuff yourself like this. With nobody around to see you," he dragged his nails across Copia's skin, "You can eat as much as you want, fill that belly nice and full," he patted his belly. "I bet these pants won't button anymore." He grazed his hand across Copia's crotch and felt his cock kick. 

"Just what I thought," laughed Terzo. "You like stuffing this big gut of yours." Copia let out a whimper. He needed to be touched so bad. "What was that, dear?" Terzo asked coyly as he used one hand to rub Copia's chest and belly while his other hand rested on his thigh. 

"Please," Copia whispered. Terzo leaned over and kissed Copias tummy. Copia's head rolled back from the sensation. "Fuck, Terz, I need you, please!" 

"That's it," Terzo cooed as he danced his fingers towards Copia's cock. "Bloated and begging to be fucked." He quickly grasped Copia's cock in his hand, "Hope your ready for you second stuffing tonight."

[abstractfrog]

Happy 1 year anniversary to Mr Sherlock Holmes! Here's a litttleee celebratory comic from me

[whump-in-the-closet]

weak in the knees for situations where a stoic whumpee allows someone to help them. they don't say a word of acceptance but they don't protest either. Too injured to say no and too tired to deny they need it. Just grudgingly letting a gentle hand guide them to a bed or to wrap a wound. Then a quiet, "thank you." in between sharp breathing as they try not to break down in front of someone else. Love love love shielded vulnerability

[vaguely-concerned]

on the one hand I think inner demons could stand to have a bit more romanced rook specific content, but on the other hand the underlying in-built implication that 'yours is the one true voice of comfort and safety in my inner world' is a sentiment and intimacy so way beyond the romantic or the platonic or any secret third thing you could care to name that it makes me lose my entire poor little mind a bit. it's so big and fundamental — near-existential — that in that exact moment at least the distinctions kind of seem irrelevant.

all the people lucanis' mind conjures up along the way are relationships he has that are unavoidably mixed and fraught in some ways even when they're also full of love (they are fraught BECAUSE they're full of love) — the good in them inseparable from things that hurt him at the same time. (it's about: the basic disorganized attachment patterns this poor guy is dragging around with him. careful with those, they're dellamorte heirlooms. what you love also inevitably hurts you and you won't be allowed to have one without the other, you have to surrender parts of your soul to hold on to what little you have left: this is the story up until now.) and the idea that rook isn't that to him — that beneath the fear of wanting them when romanced (which is more its own separate thing because within this psychology, actively wanting something and not just clinging on for dear life to even a meager status quo lest you lose it is in itself dangerous bordering on catastrophic), this is a relationship where there isn't resentment, or guilt, or shame, or dread, or rage, or self-hate, or any of the other emotions that keep him paralyzed, unable to move this way or that. no debts, nothing owed of yourself and your soul's substance except what you can freely and safely and happily give. love and freedom don't coexist — but, I mean, you're almost starting to make me think........... unless...👀👀👀. the unconditional and undramatic 'you are here and I am here with you, you can be exactly how you are right now with me and it's safe for us both even though you're afraid it won't be, I'm not going anywhere' acceptance rook shows him here that he returns to them in the big romance scene, when it's rook who needs it. the way he's just. standing there in the center of it all, like a child desperately helplessly waiting to be found, hiding in the place he hopes you'll know to look first. (rook does know. it's one of the first things they say in there.)

in short the most important room in his little mind palace for the romance is the very first room — the one where rook isn't. where, in fact, rook cannot be, because they disprove the entire structure of the place with their existence and presence in his life. with everyone else he's putting words in their mouths about what they think of him, and rook is the one who actually gets to come in to speak their own words to him — and have him listen. ('he'll listen to you, he always listens to you', 'your voice is a comfort'.) of course rook isn't present anywhere else in there — at the risk of stating the obvious to a tedious degree, they aren't one of the locks, they're bringing the key. in the very finest 'the messenger and the message' sort of way.

[typing-catastrophe]

could you write a stanford pines x reader headcanon where the reader is an artist and always draws him and draws in his journals when he isnt looking? maybe he talks to the reader about the drawings and they get really flustered i dunno!!! <3

oohhh! yeesss, that's a great idea! thank you anon ^^ hope this is okay, enjoy!

1.2k words, no warnings --------------------------------------------------

Your little habit started out even before Stanford came back. Dipper saw you sketching in your notebook from time to time, and asked you to draw something for him in the journal. He handed it to you and pointed next to a text he'd written about some anomaly (maybe a Manotaur or the Pterodactyl). First you were unsure, how would you feel if someone randomly decided to draw in your sketchbook? But it actually seemed really fun, and you didn't want to disappoint Dipper. Also it was in the spirit of research and preserving observations. And honestly, what were the odds the mysterious author would ever show up again?

With that attitude you began, whenever you got the chance to, to doodle yours and the twins encounters with the countless strange phenomena in gravity falls into the journal.

Well, oops? Seemed like the universe decided that not long after you started doing so, it was the right time for the author to come back.

It wasn't a big deal really, Dipper kept the journal for most of the time and Ford told him that he liked the additions he made. You weren't sure if he only meant the notes Dipper added, or if he even knew that someone else drew the newly added creatures.

It didn't take long for you and Ford to get to know each other better and spend more time together. Literally everything about him was just so fascinating. From the way he talked about his dimensional travels, anomaly hunts and research, his interest in a shared hobby of yours (dd&md), to the way he held himself. And, even if you were a bit embarrassed to admit it, his looks.

You couldn't help it, he was captivating. So to no surprise, one day you found yourself sitting on the shack's porch, looking over at Ford standing in the yard, working away at something that was too bulky for the basement. You didn't even realise what you were doing until something startled you out of your thoughts and you looked down at your sketchbook, seeing a familiar figure on the open page.

And then it happened again, in the lab. He was explaining away, deeply invested in whatever topic he was rambling about, not really taking in his surroundings. You had started out just sketching his study, but somehow he turned out to be the main focus of it.

One evening you found yourself in the living room of the shack. Ford was sitting on the floor, which was almost entirely covered in graph paper. You had joined him while he prepared the next campaign session, the tv quietly proving some background noise. While he was franticly scribbling away sheet after sheet, you propped open your notebook and began sketching some of the characters that came to your mind. Ford's, Dipper's and your characters and some npcs you encountered on your travels. But looming over all of them, half hidden behind the dm-screen, the scheming face of the man before you took his shape.

The end of the evening was rather blurry, you remembered falling asleep on the floor and being carried to bed, half asleep in someone's arms.

"hmm thank you", is all you could mumble when you felt the soft pillow under your head.

"No problem, dear", you heard a deep voice chuckle.

-

When you thought about it the next morning, a smile crept unto your face and you kinda wished, you would've been more awake, so you could've enjoyed the moment properly.

The smile was quickly wiped off though, when you realised that you must've left your sketchbook in the living room, given that Ford probably didn't bring it with him last night. You panicked and jumped out of bed, stumbling to the door when your gaze was caught by something. Your sketchbook, laying on your desk. You exhaled, glad it didn't lay around for anyone to see. You took it into your hands and opened it to the last page you were working on. But instead of the drawing from yesterday evening, only the one before that stared back at you. Confused, you turned the pages a few times, examined it, maybe someone ripped it out? No, no remnants of a torn out page....

Then, it dawned on you. You left your notebook in your room yesterday. You didn't plan on staying or even going to the living room. God knows how you ended up there, but it definitely was without your sketchbook. Which could only mean one thing...

In record time you were out the door, down the hall and in the living room. Right in time to take in the scenery of Ford staring down at his campaign notebook, opened to the page of your drawing.

"Ahh!! No no don't look!", you jumped forward and put your hands over the drawing. Ford furrowed his eyebrows, looking quite puzzled.

"This? Oh I already saw it last night after getting you to bed. It is incredible!"

Your cheeks heated up. "Oh" was all you could utter.

"It was also you who added the depictions of the twin's adventures, right?"

"Uhmm" You didn't keep your passion for drawing a secret, but you also didn't make a big deal out of it. And honestly, the way Ford was always so indulged in his own mind, you didn't think he was paying much attention to what you were doing. Now you felt a bit stupid for believing he wouldn't connect the - admittedly - obvious dots.

"They really are marvellous. And this?", he gestured to yesterdays page "Truly phenomenal!"

You didn't know what to say. You weren't even sure if you could say anything at all. All you felt was blood rushing to the tips of your ears and a flaming hot sensation in your cheeks.

"I- well uhm, thank you", you managed to stutter "I uh, I actually didn't mean to- uhm, use your campaign book. It was a mistake, I'm sorry."

"You've got to be joking! It's the perfect addition!" Ford exclaimed. "Do you mind if I keep it?"

"Oh", his enthusiasm caught you off guard. "I-, I guess not. Actually, that would mean a lot to me." you admitted sheepishly.

"Very well then! Thank you, dear." He looked at you with a fond expression.

You were about to retreat back to your room, turning around ready to leave, when Ford spoke up again, the smile apparent in his voice. "I also liked your artistic rendition of the twins adventures. Anything else you want to show me?" You froze.

Your heart started beating ridiculously fast. Did he knew? Did he notice you staring at him while drawing? Your thoughts started racing, but came to a sudden halt when he leaned down. His lips were almost touching your ear when he started to whisper.

"Maybe another time." And with that he walked by you, leaving you to yourself.

-------------------------------------------------- thank you for reading <3 reblogs are appreciated

a/n: if you want a second part with romance and/or where ford discovers the drawings of him, let me know! Have a nice day/night!

[hellsitegenetics]

Can U blast this https://urbanshade.org/wiki/Documents/Sebastian_Solace pls

String identified: caTatcaaaaaataactGTtttatcagcatcttcagtctaaaattattatcttataCAagtataaaCCTaatccatttatacattcctaccatccttttattagtCAcatacatagataatatttgtccataAtggtctatattccagagtattGaaacggcaaccaactaaatatctatccagatctagacggttaCACCTcattagttacgtatacttatatctaacattatctgaaggtgatgctaaaattagaattaagaatAtgctactttatcgattgaagtaaatagtctaatctatctccaacaaaacttaaacacaaaacttatattgaggAtaaaaaaagattaatatagaaaattttataaccagatattatattaacttctTctctatttctatgcacatatGagattactTtagttatattattcactttatcattattaaaccaacttcaattcacataAtttgtattgaagtattatacattactatattaaaccatatactaagtctatttattacttattcaagacacaAtttaggttatagaatttttatagaaacagtgtttgctaacctcatagaaaatcctaccaatatactaaattctttaatctaaatattagtttggg

Closest match: Balaenoptera musculus genome assembly, ██████ ████████ genome assembly, Microcephalophis gracilis genome assembly, Carcharodon carcharias genome assembly, Bufoceratias wedli mutated genome assembly, Diretmus argenteus genome assembly, Gonodactylus smithii genome assembly, Homo sapiens genome assembly Common name: THAT FUCKING FISH THAT I HATE

(If this image source is shown to unauthorized personnel, you'll be BLASTed with my wizard beams)

[enviedear]

my modern!jace hcs and thoughts…

request ⊹ jacaerys masterlist

౨ৎ ┄───────╮ got a bit carried away with what was supposed to be hcs... but i can't help it! modern!jace scratches an itch somewhere in my brain—especially lawyer/law student!jace. don't question the family dynamics too much for this au. i don't have the brain capacity to rearrange and fix that mess <3

╰───────┄ ౨ৎ

twenty-two and a recent graduate. he majored in law with a minor in public policy. his younger brother, lucerys, makes frequent comments about how boring it all must be, but jacaerys velaryon loves it. he’s following the family line, after all.

he took office at one of his mother’s law firms, a by-product of having a family in the affairs of state. however, the firm is actually headed by his mother’s aunt, rhaenys. his mother, rhaenyra is in the middle of an election, running opposite otto hightower—a man jacaerys is lax to admit kinship to.

on paper he’s an associate, in practice, he’s whatever his family and their board need him to be. he likes it that way—being dependable.

he has such a large family, even disregarding those somewhat estranged. if you asked him to directly place everyone to their respective titles he couldn’t, so he settles for the ease of endless uncles, aunts, and cousins.

his schedule is usually packed—so when he is free, he likes to spend his time well. his best friend, cregan, gets him out of the house most the time. an easy task since the stark family owns numerous ski resorts. a perfect respite from his life of public service, at least that’s what cregan says.

jace absolutely hates the media, not necessarily social media though. his instagram stories are frequently full of reposts or camera roll dumps, his twitter constantly active but he mourns public likes. he loves to engage with factitious headlines about himself and his family, to his mother’s chagrin. he’s blocked on all social media by the estranged hightower news, headed by his mother’s old friend turned step-mother, alicent. a topic the family attempts to gloss over when in public.

has a laundry list of fashion houses at his disposal. he went viral once for “mogging” in armani at his grandfather’s funeral. he drunkenly admitted after the service that he figured viserys would have deemed it a rather lovely suit, despite the occasion. mostly, he shares his uncle laenor’s love for couture, a man who is firm in belief that a bit of pageantry never hurt anyone. almost exclusively wears canali for everyday wear, a luxury his paychecks find no issue with fulfilling.

listens to every single book he 'reads'. his airpods are constantly in his ears but he rarely opts for music. he listens to the greats on repeat, or at least that's what he calls them—near constant loops of orwell and machiavelli. he has a guilty pleasure for brandon sanderson novels though.

jacaerys is embarrassed to have a chauffeur for any and all events with his family, but he does an excellent job at hiding it. he’s is chronically good at masking any signs of disdain. his family would tell you he’s perfectly agreeable— his brothers, lucerys and joffrey, know him better, can spot his muddled ill temper through anything. he can hold his tongue most of the time, far better than the rest of his family, but he’s known to have his moments.

on his own, he drives a aston martin valour. wrapped olive green with burnt orange accents. it was pricey, a fact his uncle corlys never ceases to remind him of, but he loves it. gave it a name and everything—vermax.

the only cousins he talks to regularly are the twins, baela and rhaena. they flock together during board meetings, three ideal images of the pristine image their family attempts to portray. he and baela are most like minded, so much so that the rest of the board jokes they’re reading each others minds.

on the opposite end of the spectrum, alicent’s children— aegon, aemond, and helena, are of much different minds. the eldest of the them is prepped to take over his grandfather’s media empire. a complete disaster waiting to happen given aegon’s incessant and very public bad behavior. jace figures the young man more of a puppet if anything. the second born is somehow an even worse case, behavior less public but far more… sadistic. aemond is known in well to do social circles for his vitriol, mouth constantly fixed to land a cutting blow.

the youngest, helena, is actually quite sweet albeit heavily reclusive. she’s the founder of several successful ventures, thrust into the spotlight at a young age. these days the most the public get from her is a monthly blog update—refined and well crafted—detailing a mix of what she learned that month and a few run-on sentences about insects. but she always finds time for him at their disjointed family events, no matter the animosity in the room. she’s one of his favorite people to talk to. jace swears that somehow, she always knows just what to say.

on sunday’s he winds up at one of his uncle daemon’s golf courses. am agreement he took up after the death of viserys. his uncle is lonely without his brother, and he’s never had to tell jace that for him to know it. jace is rather shit at the sport, but he’s found that as long as daemon has a drink in his hand, nothing will be commented on. sometimes luke will tag along just to gloat, his younger brother has always been at golf.

every christmas he takes his siblings on a hunt. just like their dad, harwin, used to. it’s gotten to be a big deal after so many years. his mother often reminds him, jokingly, that he is the reason their home has become the holiday stomping grounds. he’s replied back many times that at least that saves them from the hightower’s grounds, and their brutish security detail. headed by one criston cole, he’s has never gotten a good feel for the man—or the men under his command.

jace can’t fall asleep without some form of auditory stimulation. he blames laenor, always gifting a young jace pirated lullaby cd’s… for some reason. nowadays, he’s usually a listening to a history podcast before bed. never picky on the topic or timeframe, he could listen to the tales of the past forever.

additionally—jacaerys loves linguistics. if you looked through his search history you’d find the following searches: why do we feel different when speaking in a different language? / are there languages with no numbers? / what happened to the transatlantic accent? / “where did the word ‘cocktail’ come from?

he has successfully created and maintained a masked dj persona after a drunken dare in ibiza from rhaena. he’s booked a handful of gigs, all without his name attached to it. rhaena keeps it a secret, at the promise she gets to accompany him at her own whim.

jace has only ever publicly has had one relationship. he dated cregan’s half-sister for a few years, sara. sure he had to deal with his best friends griping for a few years, but he really did love the girl. they broke up due to their schedules, moreso, his schedule. he promised baela he won’t make the same mistake in his next relationship.

he never has trouble finding people to fawn over him, but he does have a horrible issue with committing. not that he wants to play the field or hurt hearts, but he truly believes no one will ever give him the grace he needs to feel secure in the relationship. he feels like he already has too much baggage, carrying his own and his family’s. at this point, he’d rather have a few hookups as opposed to being let down—jacaerys hates that the most about himself, above all else.

that’s why he so confused as of late. unable to seem get his mind off of someone—something completely unaccustomed to him. you’re fresh at the firm, relegated to coffee runs and still straight to the book but god—jace thinks you're perfect.

he didn't even fully grasp his fixation on you until asking himself why on earth he keeps volunteering you to sit in on his client meetings. he almost shutters everytime he remembers the stupid excuse he forced out after you dared to ask him why—"i just write so slow, and i don't want to miss anything." a lie. jacaerys could tune out a client for an entire session and still win a case, but he determined early he'd rather bask in yout presence instead. however diluted he must keep his feelings...

[thilsiktonix]

small little doodle page for you @niceguyanonymous !!!!!

((I tried my best, I'm not a very good writer, but I hope you like it <33 sorry I didn't put too much detail into this one, I wasn't sure how exactly to interpret it!))

[mallyreallylikesjinx]

Since ur requests are open, could I pretty please with cherry on top request a yan!Jinx with a darling who is from our world?

Tsm 4 reading my request, take care of yournself and have a wondefull day!

THIS IS SUCH A GOOD IDEA JSJSJS, I wasn't in the mood for writing a fic. May update depends how sick I am later xx

TW: I guess this is season 1 Jinx?, Jinx's abandonment issues, delusional behavior?, violence

꩜ .ᐟ For a while she thought you were just from Noxus or somewhere else in Runeterra. She got suspicious after you told her to google what lead paint tastes like.

꩜ .ᐟ ".... What?" Jinx says, utterly confused. You laugh it off (very awkwardly might she add), though she isn't exactly convinced you were joking.

꩜ .ᐟ It takes her a little bit, sure, but she eventually figures out that, you're not from Runeterra at all.

꩜ .ᐟ A place called Earth. (Sounds basic in Jinx's coveted opinion).

꩜ .ᐟ She feels betrayed, you were supposed to be open with each other! If you kept this secret from her, what else could you be hiding?

꩜ .ᐟ She already has big abandonment issues, and now you have a good reason to leave her? Jinx is ready to kill!

꩜ .ᐟ …

꩜ .ᐟ Well more ready than usual.

꩜ .ᐟ She spins a lot of stories about your old life then she deludes herself into believing they are true. No need to correct her, she knows everything about you, past universe and present universe.

꩜ .ᐟ "You want to leave me don't you? I know you have a girlfriend back in your reality! Don't hide it from me, Y/N!"

꩜ .ᐟ After the anger phase, she enters her curiosity phase.

꩜ .ᐟ "Do they have machine guns in your world? Ooo, what about pipe bombs? And glitter?" She asks with stars in her eyes, it would be cute if there wasn't a pile of bodies behind her.

꩜ .ᐟ The phase changeover is... short, lets say?

꩜ .ᐟ She tries to impress you a lot more now.

꩜ .ᐟ "They didn't have this on Earth, eh?" Jinx grins, showing off the hex gem she stole, she knows she should be more careful but she's desperate for you to like her.

꩜ .ᐟ For you to stay with her.

[spread-the-influence]

we drank pork soda with tangled legs

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

I'm gonna be honest at this point we deserve for them to make Buddie friends-to-fiancés like yeah we missed out on canon with the shooting and season five and who even knows what the fuck was going on in season six we're like three seasons behind now chop chop just skip it all and have Eddie desperately propose in the rain. I need it. It would cure me. More importantly it would be the most in-character way you could possibly get these codependent desperately abnormal idiots together.

[running-ace21]

Would you guys be interested in reading about the other side of feeding? I wont write people actually getting sick, but would you guys want to hear about Copia (or whoever) having their upset stomach tended to? 

[rosyhoneydew]

12 + bucktommy

ooh two for in grief so I'll make this one a little longer :) thank you sei and anon!! <3 also I PINKY PROMISE this has a happy ending, okay? Trust! also very minor emetophobia warning!

12. ...in grief.

It's bad. Buck knows it's bad because Eddie's arms are around him and they're holding him back. His feet keep slipping on the dirt and his hands scramble against Eddie's forearms as he tries to break free.

"You don't wanna see that, man, trust me," Eddie's saying, his voice breaking.

"Fuck you. You got to say goodbye to Shannon," Buck bites back. It's mean, too mean for Eddie, who's just trying to spare him the sight of- of... of what's just beyond the yellow tape.

Eddie doesn't flinch. Just looks at him, thoughtful, drops his eyes to his feet, and lets Buck go. Buck stumbles a bit as he gets his bearings and sprints over to the scene, dodging the others who try weakly to stop him.

Tommy is lying on the ground, awake, barely, and coughing from the dust swirling around him still. A large slab of basalt is covering his body from the top of his thigh to most of his chest and up to his neck.

He can hear paramedics from the 226 talking around him, the words compartment syndrome and infection swirling around somewhere in his brain while he takes it all in. Tommy was just supposed to be out hiking with- with-

"Buck," someone grabs him by the arm, "I'm so sorry, oh my god, I'm so-"

Buck turns to Sal, his face is a grey pallor and his eyelashes are clumped together with tears and dust. In a few days, Buck will go over to Sal and Isabelle's. He'll thank him for calling 911 so quickly, for doing his best to keep Tommy talking and breathing while they waited, but right now he turns away again and makes his way to Tommy, lying down next to him.

"Hey, sweetheart-" Tommy wheezes out, sending him into a coughing fit again and jolting his body where it's crushed under the rock.

"Don't- don't talk," Buck says, breath hitching. "You're gonna be fine, Tommy, okay? You're- you're gonna be okay but you can't talk. I- if you talk then you'll just make it worse, and..." and it's already really bad.

Tommy smiles at him, tears sliding slowly from the corner of his eye. I'm sorry he mouths.

Fuck. Buck breaks down into heaving sobs. He's not- he can't-

No. He'll fix this. It's okay. His hands brush dust away from Tommy's face. He wipes his sleeve over Tommy's eyes, to clear away the tears, and he check's Tommy's pulse in 3 different spots. It's weak in his leg, but it's there.

"Buck..." someone is saying behind him.

"Evan."

Buck lifts his head from Tommy's ankle, lying down close to Tommy's face again.

"I'm right here, I'm right here," Buck says, grabbing Tommy's hand and taking care not to jostle him too much.

I love you Tommy mouths so much.

More tears flow from Buck's eyes. He's a mess of snot and dirt and he can't stop taking these gross gasping breaths instead of just breathing normally; and he thinks he might be on the verge of having a heart attack because his chest has never hurt like this, never felt like this.

"I love you," Buck says for the both of them. He leans in and kisses Tommy on his mouth, crying harder at the way Tommy can't find the energy to kiss back.

"Buckley, we gotta move him," someone says.

"No!" Buck cries, kissing him again and lying over the top of Tommy's chest. Tommy's not looking at him anymore. His eyes are closed and Buck has to fix this.

"Come on, Buck," Hen's voice breaks through the noise of his own sobs, her hands peel him away from Tommy, firm, but with enough give that he knows she's handling him delicately.

"We'll follow you," Eddie says to one of the paramedics not lifting the rock from Tommy's chest.

And then they're ushering Buck into the truck they showed up in, back when they thought this was just another call, a bad one, sure, but not this. He's shivering, shock invading his body like he was the one crushed, suffocating under rock.

"Hen," he mumbles when they're on their way, staying close behind the sirens of the ambulance ahead of them. He's not sure what he means to say.

"I know," she says anyway.

It's hours before anything changes. Tommy goes right into surgery and Sal and Isabelle show up to wait with him, holding his hands each time the doctor comes out to update them. He throws up twice and cries again right into Isabelle's cashmere sweater.

It's around 4 AM that he falls asleep, waiting in the ICU for any updates. It's 6 AM that he's shaken awake by Lucy Donato, smiling like a maniac in his face.

"Wake up, Buckley!" she says. "He's asking for you."

Chills break out over Buck's body and he sprints down the hall nearly running right into a nurse who's headed into Tommy's room with a pack of clear liquid.

She smiles at him, holding the door to the room open for him and then, god, then Buck sees him.

He looks terrible. He's got the darkest circles Buck has ever seen under his eyes, his hair is a mess. He's still covered in scratches and a bit of dirt. He's perfect. He's perfect.

Buck takes a gasping breath and feels relief flood his body.

"Tommy," he sighs, full of love.

[once-in-a-blood-moon]

do you think solomon would be able to survive a week of not being allowed to call mc adorable? no or no

NO. Big no, lol.

Although this does lead me to wonder why he'd need to stop calling MC his adorable apprentice for a week. Like does the rest of the cast make a bet with him to see if he's capable of going a week without the petname or does Purgatory Hall have an intervention about his excessive use of it?

--

"And then, listen to this! My adorable apprentice used the spell I taught them to whisk the demon away like it was nothing. You should've seen it," Solomon gushes while everyone around him seems to groan and roll their eyes.

"There he goes again with the "my adorable apprentice" thing," Asmo sighs.

Mammon pipes up next. "Yeah! And it's gettin' pretty damn annoyin' too!"

"They're not just your apprentice, Solomon," Satan scolds.

Solomon can't help but chuckle at the stink everyone seems to be making. "What, I can't be thrilled by how MC is exceeding under my supervision?"

"No, you can," Simeon starts, "it's just...you refer to them as your "adorable apprentice" a lot."

"A lot, a lot." Luke adds.

Solomon sits there in silence, soaking up what his roommates are saying. He hadn't realized how often he called MC that, though now that he thinks about it, he can't deny it. When he speaks about them he can't help but be proud.

Belphie then brings up a point mid-yawn. "I bet he couldn't go a week without saying it."

"I second that bet!" Mammon interjects with dollar signs reflected in his eyes.

Lucifer sighs next to him not wanting to entertain this more then he should, but he had to admit that this was probably a bet Mammon could win. "I have to agree with Mammon. You do say it an annoyingly often."

"Ah, so we're betting on this, are we?" Solomon grins, not passing up the opportunity to prove himself while having a little fun. "Fine. I bet that I can go a week without calling MC my "adorable apprentice"." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the Devildom equivalent of twenty dollars and throws it on the table.

"You're on!" Mammon exclaims.

"I believe in you, Solomon!" Luke cheers.

Everyone else follows suit, pooling their money in the middle while declaring their bets. Lucifer, Mammon, Satan, Belphie, and Barbatos all betting he'll lose. Leviathan, Asmo, Beel, Diavolo, Simeon, Luke, and himself betting he'll win.

And so the games begin.

Through the week, he does find it difficult to hold back from using the petname. There are several instances when talking about them almost slips him up, though he's always able to catch himself before saying it. It was a term so used to sitting on the tip of his tongue that it was hard to let go. Everyone goes around to check in with each other and him to make sure he hadn't lost the bet yet. All of them stay surprised at his determination to get through the week, but remain skeptical in his ability to actually see the week through. MC, while oblivious to the bet, has even caught on to the absence of Solomon's petname praise.

It's Thursday during their after school lesson with him when it happens. He'd been quizzing them on the different types of magic and they had correctly named each one. They were even able to identify their own and his without extra prompting. Solomon was so caught up in his pride and love for them that he said it without thinking.

"Fantastic! Just what I'd expect from my adorable appren-" he trails off, his eyes widening as his heart sinks.

He just lost the bet.

MC stares at him, worried as to why he cut himself off like that. "Um...are you okay?"

Solomon stands there silently in defeat before replying solemnly, "I need to go make some phone calls..."

--

"Solomon! Just the sorcerer we wanted to see." Simeon greets once Solomon enters the common room after receiving a text from the group chat calling for an emergency meeting.

Solomon glances around to see Simeon, Luke, and Raphael dotting the room in the sofa and chairs. The odd thing is that they all seem relatively calm. Simeon pats the cushion next to him on the couch with a smile, and Solomon immediately obliges and sits down.

"So, what's the emergency?" he asks.

"Oh, this isn't an emergency," Luke says while swinging his legs. Simeon finishes for him, "it's an intervention."

A brow cocks on Solomon's forehead. "An intervention? Is this about me spending too much time in my room again?"

Simeon chuckles. "No. Although we may need to talk about that sometime soon."

"It's about MC." Raphael says, cutting to the chase.

"MC? Are they alright?" Solomon glances quickly between his friends as worry gnaws at his heart.

"MC's fine! It's about you and your obsession with calling them your "adorable apprentice"." Luke explains.

Solomon pauses, almost tempted to laugh at such an asinine reason to call for an intervention. But he sees the seriousness in everyone's eyes and realizes this is actually happening. "Is this a joke or..."

Raphael shakes his head. "I'm afraid not. You use the term so much that we thought maybe it was time to talk to you about it."

"I don't use it that often," Solomon says, slightly offended by the notion. "I praise them accordingly."

"And accordingly would be...all the time?" Simeon asks with a knowing grin.

"Well, I..."

Simeon got him. Okay, so maybe he had a problem, but it's not like it's a big deal. "Why wouldn't I want to praise them for their hard work as my student? I'm sure you all would do the same."

"Maybe so," starts Raphael, "but there's a difference between being proud and being obsessed."

"Yeah, we're just concerned about you, Solomon," Luke adds.

He sees the worry in the little angel's face and sighs, having no choice but to endure this "talk."

"This is barbaric. A man can't even gush over his apprentice anymore..."

The whole of Purgatory Hall laughs at Solomon's pouty joke before continuing with their intervention.

"They say it takes a month to break a bad habit. From this point forward, when you're speaking about them just assume everyone knows MC is your adorable apprentice," Simeon suggests. "You can praise when praise is due, but you don't need to overdo it."

"Fine, I'll give it a try." Solomon mutters, not happy with the compromise. Deep down he knows he'll be lucky if he lasts a week.

[funkyplantguy]

grian gets saved by hotguy and then pines over him <3

so this "au" (if you can even call it that when it exists exclusively in my brain and now in this ask) is mostly crack and comes from me joking around a couple days ago with some friends so...don't take it too seriously. that being said...

-

you have (3) new comments! view now?

click.

areeongreenday: hey! so this is insane.

click.

h0tguysnumber0n3fan: i guess i kind of understand where you're coming from with this - scar goodman and hotguy do share a similar sense of humor, and i sort of see what you're saying at 47:03 when you compared their voices (more specifically, the inflection they use on specific words) but...i guess i'm having a hard time imagining scar as a superhero. don't get me wrong - he's plenty cool, but...didn't he say that he's a full-time content creator now? i don't know that he'd really have the time to record, edit, and post videos on top of saving the city on a near-daily basis. interesting theory, though! admire the dedication.

click.

scargoodman: ;)

and there it was, taunting him - that damn winky face, yet again, commented nearly instantaneously each time grian uploaded a new video about the man itself. scar goodman - known to many as the man who had risen to sudden fame in the video essayist community with his charming good looks and boisterous personality. scar goodman, whom grian suspected was secretly none other than the city's beloved superhero. after all, they'd both made their debuts within a week of each other and shared not only a similar path of success but a similar sense of humor, a similar speaking style, a similar body type, a similar laugh...sure, there were things that didn't quite line up, but...for the most part, they appeared to be the exact same person.

okay - maybe grian was a little obsessed. but what was he supposed to do, not point out the obvious?

what made matters worse was that nobody seemed to believe him. no matter how many videos he posted, no matter how much proof he gave...nobody was willing to hear him out.

nobody except scar goodman himself, who seemed intent to drive him absolutely insane.

grian grumbled something to himself, pocketing his phone and continuing down the long, narrow sidewalk to his apartment complex. he'd lost track of time at work yet again, and as a result, the sun had long set. this wasn't unusual for him - he often opted to remain late in the office to "finish up a few things" (ie take advantage of the functional wifi his workplace offered instead of trying to upload videos on his crummy home network), so he was...fairly comfortable tracing the path back to his apartment in the dark of night. the street lights in this part of town didn't work exceptionally well, but with the familiarity of it all and the dull light of the moon, grian typically fared well enough.

tonight, however...well, call him paranoid, but...something felt...off. something about the way all the buildings around him were dark, indicating that their inhabitants were either asleep or out (and entirely unreachable if grian were to call for help). something about the absence of the various stray cats that he often crossed paths with. something about how the complete and utter silence made his ears ring.

"aw, what's this? a cute guy? well, pretty boy, you've just entered the wrong part of town at the wrong time. unfortunately, loose lips sink ships, or...uh...however the saying goes, so...sorry, i can't let you leave this visit alive."

before grian could even register the words being spoken (where were they even coming from?? above him? below him? behind him? everywhere, all at once?), he felt hands gripping the back of his shirt. in another moment, he was on the ground, his breath clawing its way out of his chest. above him stood a figure, shrouded in darkness and the billowing, starry cape draped across their shoulders. in their hands was something glinting, something sharp, something deadly -- something that grian's frazzled, spinning mind was unable to put a name to. or maybe it refused to - refused to name the tool that would be his doom. maybe it was better that way, he mused idly, as the figure raised it high above their head. maybe it was best to not know.

"hey! there you are - what did i say about running off?"

and just as quickly as he'd accepted his death, the threat of it was gone, vanquished by the appearance of the tall, costumed man on the rooftop adjacent. grian felt his breath return to his chest in one fell swoop, filling his lungs and sending a wave of sensitivity to his throat. he coughed, hard, tears welling helplessly in his eyes, and the newcomer's attention snapped to him in an instant.

"oh - and you've made a friend! how nice. unfortunately, there are no plus ones in prison."

"hotguy," grian's would-be murderer snarled. "i thought i'd lost you."

"nah. i may have gotten lost, sure. but you didn't lose me. there's a difference."

"you'll wish that i'd lost you when i'm through with you."

"oh, that was lame!" the man cried, hopping over the low rooftop wall and landing neatly on the ground below (how he did it, even grian wasn't sure. by all intents and purposes, his legs shouldn't have that level of shock absorption, even if he had been fed some chemical cocktail by a mad scientist at a young age as he boasted). "listen - we've got to get you a better catchphrase."

hotguy strode forward, his eyes glinting behind his tinted visor. he glanced to grian out of the corner of his eye, then back to the villain - then back to grian again, his mouth going slack in surprise. grian met his gaze - took in his appearance - and let out a bark of laughter, one not missed by either scar goodman or the cloaked figure in front of him. scar returned his laughter, throwing his head back and planting his hands firmly on his hips.

"well, what a coincidence," he giggled, after a moment. "my new catchphrase just so happens to be "subscribe to my youtube channel."

"what?" their third demanded, glancing between the two. "what are you talking about?"

"oh my god. there's no way. there's no way. how - how am i the only one who knows? how am i the only one who suspects?? it's obvious - it's so obvious."

"what's obvious?"

"i know, right? i make it as obvious as possible, and still...still, nobody puts two and two together. well...nobody except for you, apparently. i guess that you're just...special."

"why don't you just come out and say it?" grian mused, propping himself up on his elbows and ignoring the sputtering from their newly acquired third wheel. "i feel like if you said it - either as scar goodman or hotguy - people would have to believe it, no?"

a strange look came over hotguy's face, but it vanished as quickly as it had arrived.

"ah...i don't think that would change anything. plus, i have this thing with this cute guy where he tries to tell everyone my identity and i egg him on to get him to make more silly videos. i would hate to give that up."

he winked, and grian felt warmth climb his cheeks. gone was the fear, gone was the panic, gone was the darkness and the creeping, crawling sense of unease - instead, there was only curiosity, burning brightly in his chest. he wanted to talk to scar - hotguy - for hours, wanted to pull the object of his obsession apart to see what made him tick, then put him back together again, just to see what would happen. he wanted to get to know who hotguy was underneath the suit - and who scar goodman was with the suit. he'd wanted (he'd wanted for so long) and it felt like maybe...just maybe...he'd get to have.

"hey! what the hell is going on?"

"oh, right," hotguy chuckled, turning his attention to the third member of their party. "sorry - didn't mean to ignore you. here - sit tight, for real this time. the police will be here soon."

"dude, i'm just going to leave again. do you really not have handcuffs or something?"

"who needs handcuffs when you have a cub to design fancy gadgets for you?"

"a...a what?" the figure asked, then yelped, startled, as something exploded out of the cuff on hotguy's wrist. a net, affixing itself neatly to their body, wrapping them up in a cocoon of their own folly. grian stared at it, humming in approval.

"nice."

"thank you! it's new."

"i know."

"i bet you do," scar responded, and grian flushed further at the teasing edge his tone took on. "i bet you know almost everything about me, at this point. obsessed, much?"

"i could say the same," grian huffed back, pulling himself to his feet and brushing off his jeans (there was a rip in one leg, now, he noticed with a frown). "you recognized me, like, immediately. it's pretty dark out, too - sounds like you're the one obsessed."

"what can i say - you're pretty and smart. i happen to like my men pretty and smart."

grian sputtered incoherently in response, all confidence gone out the window. oh god - he was even more charismatic in person, even in costume. and god, was the costume more attractive in person, as well - baggy cargo pants and a tight, fitted top that exposed his tanned midriff. not the most tactical, sure - but damn was it hot.

"you can't say that," he moaned, covering his reddened cheeks with his hands. "oh my god. i hate you. i've known you for five minutes and i already hate you."

"sure you do," scar responded, grinning. "i - oh, hold on."

he raised his hand and tapped the earpiece affixed to the side of his head, concentrating. after a moment, he sighed - and for just a second, grian thought that his shoulders drooped in exhaustion. as quickly as they sagged, however, scar was straightening, turning back to grian with an easy smile.

"sorry, handsome, duty calls. are you alright to get back home on your own? i doubt this guy will be giving you any more trouble. those nets are pretty sturdy."

"wait!" grian sputtered, his heart hammering painfully in his chest (no, no, he couldn't let scar slip through his fingers, not now, not when he was finally so close). "don't go - i...can i see you again?"

scar's smile wobbled around the edges, and any panic grian felt was replaced with guilty - heavy and suffocating (though he wasn't sure why)

"ah...isn't it more fun, this way? don't you like the chase? isn't that exhilaration enough for your pretty little head?"

"i mean...it's a fun hobby, yeah, but -,"

"then we'll stick to the status quo. after all, i'd hate to rob you of your favorite hobby. goodnight, grian. can't wait for your next video."

and with a wink, he was gone, disappearing back into the shadows so quickly grian could have sworn he was made of them. and grian...well. he had an apartment to get home to, a cat to feed...and a chase to continue. and maybe, someday, if he was fast enough...he'd catch up.

[muffinlance]

Do you get the impression the live action is treating us like utter morons?? Like I thought that making it aimed at an older audience would open the doors for more subtle story telling, but no, they're just using monologues to tell us eveything! Like in the second episode Katara's like 'oh his power isn't that he's the avatar, it's that he ~connects~ to people'. Girl we're not idiots we can see that!! And the first episode with Aang's goddawful 'I don't want this responsibility' monologue

THIS, YES. The word that keeps coming to mind is definitely "subtlety". The show for literal children? Had it. The remake for adults? Not so much.