#i can't stop i won't stop
The thing is, Buck designed the shirt when he was drunk. It didn’t take any particular fashion prowess, and he’d gotten a coupon for the custom shirt website in the mail. Apparently, five tequila shots deep was the appropriate timeframe to have an epiphany, fumble around in his junk drawer for the coupon, and bring said epiphany to life.
The point is, the whole thing was a joke.
Unless you’re Eddie Diaz.
Buck walks through the front door of the Diaz household and nudges it closed with his heel. Some nebulously fall-scented candle permeates the room. Eddie had called him more or less demanding his assistance with the fall renovation, insofar as Eddie was capable of demanding anything. Anyway, Buck would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy watching Eddie’s “Agent of Renovation Chaos” alter ego make an appearance.
“Eddie?” Buck calls, stepping out of his boots. “Chris?”
“In here, Buck!” Chris returns, voice carrying from the living room. Buck steps around the corner and has to bite his tongue. Eddie’s back is to him in a familiar black t-shirt, the words, LEAVE ME ALONE, I’M RENOVATING screaming at him via enormous block letters. It was a joke. But ever since Buck gave him the gag gift for his birthday a couple years back, he wears it every time he starts on a decorating kick. And he wears it unironically.
“Hey, did you get started without me?”
Chris smiles at him from the couch, but Eddie is statuesque in front of the fireplace, deliberating between a sign that says Fall Into Gratitude and a sign that says Life is Gourd. Buck would never have believed Eddie Diaz himself picked those two placards off the shelf, unprompted, if he hadn’t been standing next to him when he did.
“Well, you gotta go with Life is Gourd,” Buck says, standing beside Eddie in front of the fireplace. “I mean, no contest.”
Eddie’s face is pinched in, lip pulled between his teeth. “You think so?”
“I mean, it is a pun. You can’t go wrong with a pun.”
“They’re both puns, technically, but that pun just happens to be better.” He plucks the other sign out of Eddie’s hand and nods to the mantle. “Now, I know you’ve been standing here for fifteen minutes trying to decide, so put that one up so we can move on.”
Chris makes a strangled harrumphing noise from the couch. “More like twenty minutes.”
“Ouch, sold out by your own son. That’s rough, Eddie.”
Eddie looks up for the first time, his brown eyes twinkling, always a bit calmer and brighter when in his interior design headspace. He puts the sign on the mantle and bumps Buck’s shoulder. “Come on, the other stuff is in the kitchen.”
Buck ruffles Christopher’s wild mass of curls on the way to the kitchen. “Hey, Ed, you will never believe what I saw on TV the other day. You would’ve loved it. Something about amateur home renovat—oof.” Something cottony soft hits his face. When he peels it off, he realizes it’s a black shirt. Eddie’s lips are pressed together when he meets his eyes. “Eddie.”
Eddie leans against the counter, arms crossed. “Buck.”
“What is this?”
“I don’t know. Look and see.”
Sure enough, Buck unfurls the shirt in front of him and the words, LEAVE ME ALONE, I’M RENOVATING (TOO) gawk back at him. Garish, blocky white letters. Exactly the same as Eddie’s. His throat tightens for reasons unknown. He can’t get his heart to behave. Feels like it might beat out of his fucking chest.
“We match!” Christopher’s voice, loud and excited from the entryway to the kitchen, and when Buck angles to the side to look at him, Chris sports his own black shirt with the words, RENOVATOR IN TRAINING emblazoned across the back.
Buck drops his gaze to the shirt in his hands, looks up at Eddie, is immediately swept up in two warm, brown pools of fond. “Do you like it?” he asks.
The laugh that blows through his lips is thick and wet. “Yeah. Yes. Obviously.”
A broad, coy grin cracks Eddie’s face. He ducks his head a moment, hands shoving in the pockets of his jeans, and then nods to himself. “Good. Alright, let’s get the rest of this stuff up. Chris wants to watch Hocus Pocus.”
Eddie and Chris leave the kitchen, and Buck hears them engage in a decidedly one-sided debate over the specifics of his bedtime. He can't tear his gaze away from the shirt, and the warmth that percolates through every nerve ending and fiber of his being feels like a fever, feels like something he wants inside him forever.
He slides the shirt over his head, over his long-sleeved V neck, twists around to peek at the wording on the back.
“Buck!” Eddie calls. “In your own time, obviously!”
“Patience is a virtue, Eddie," he retorts, but the smile twisting his lips softens the bite. He grabs the rest of the bags off the table and joins his boys in the living room.
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Also on ff.net Summary: After two years of being stuck on this side of the Gate, Edward Elric finally stumbles across answers that might just be his ticket home. The catch? It might just cost him the lives of those he cares about to do it. Lucky for him, a certain idiot colonel drops in to lend a hand. Tags: CoS fix-it fic, Parental Roy, Ed is depressed, angst, hurt comfort, historical references, historical inaccuracies, ‘03 cannon divergence
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Me making Sebastian Vael meta in this the year of our lord 2021
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CAZZU || BZRP Music Sessions #32
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DA: Deck Builder
Solas . Dorian
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01010010 01100101 01110000 01101100 01111001 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01110010 01101111 01101100 01100101 01110000 01101100 01100001 01111001 @fracturedfire
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sometimes i am tempted to make like, an fma sideblog because there is SO MUCH CONTENT that i literally cannot keep up with it without spamming the hell out of my dash and my queue is so. saturated. but i am still multi-fandom, it’s just so very unbalanced right now, as much as i’m trying (sorry sorry sorry).
but i also hate the idea of making a sideblog because i don’t like the idea of walling off my interests and presenting myself as anything over than exactly who am i, which is apparently an obsessive nerd.
i’m not really sure what my point is? sorry for all the greedling, i guess? if you’re here for any of my other fandoms, and have actually stuck around, wow, strength of conviction for putting up with this bullshit for this long. if you wanna bail, no judgment, my dudes.
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okay, LISTEN, I wanted to do fluff with "Taming the monster", but then I was like, ohhhhh, I'm gonna make Jaskier the monster this time, and then I was like, okay, which one haven't I drawn yet? And this escalated terribly, and now we have noonwraith / midday bride Jaskier, and I once again accidentally killed the bard (and this time on his WEDDING DAY).
But the question is - will Geralt be able to tame the monster? Or will he have to get rid of him?
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Me, going to replay Enemy Within: This time I'm going to stay true to justice! I'm going to do what's right!
John: You-you're gonna do right by me, aren't you?
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The only light on in the Diaz household when Buck walks through the door comes from the kitchen. The wedge of muted luminescence spills into the hallway. He shoulders the door closed and drops his keys on the narrow corner table, and the beacon of light draws him forward.
Eddie and Christopher are in the kitchen, predictably, Chris at the table and Eddie leaning against the counter with his phone in his hand. The clock on the oven reads 6:30.
“Hey,” Buck says, and both Diaz boys glance up at the same time, identical grins cracking their faces.
“Buck!” Christopher exclaims, and Buck darts over, settles a hand on his shoulder so he doesn’t have to get up. He stoops and wraps Chris in his arms, presses a kiss to his mass of curly hair.
“Hey, buddy. Your dad made breakfast, huh?”
Chris pouts at the plate of eggs. “He burnt the toast. And the bacon.”
“Yes, well, as I have told him numerous times, that’s what happens when you get impatient.” He flashes a cocky grin up at Eddie, who is pointedly averting his gaze to his phone. “I’m only ten minutes late.”
Chris pushes the eggs around. They don’t look terrible, to give Eddie the benefit of the doubt, but the empty space where the toast and bacon are supposed to be is glaring.
Buck rounds the table and leans against the other counter, catty-corner to Eddie. When the other man doesn’t look up, he nudges his sock-clad foot with his own. “Hey.”
Eddie cuts him a short look. “I’m not hopeless. I can make toast for my son.”
“I know that, Eddie.”
He turns wearily toward the trash can, where Buck imagines the burnt carcasses must lie. “I just got distracted.”
“I know. You’re always distracted on Saturday mornings, which is why I make breakfast while you obsess over our plan of attack at Target.” He pulls a pack of bacon out of the fridge and grabs the open bag of sliced bread. “Chris! I’m saving breakfast!”
Chris cheers, raising his fork victoriously in the air.
Buck maneuvers easily around the Diaz kitchen, flitting between the fridge and the stove, dancing around Eddie. Their shoulders bump together when he reaches past him to grab a mug out of the cabinet. He catches sight of Eddie’s shopping list out of the corner of his eye.
“Jesus, Ed,” he says, angling to read the phone screen more clearly. “Feeling ambitious today, are we?”
Eddie rolls his eyes. “There’s a lot to get.”
“It’s just, we’re at the critical juncture here, Buck. Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas. Not to mention the seasonal transitions. That one magazine said winter decor is what’s in this year and if I want to beat that asshole Reggie for the cover page I have to get serious.”
Buck catches his own reflection in the darkened screen of the microwave. A lopsided grin curves his lips. A warm, tingly sensation blankets his body. “Do you hear yourself right now?”
He punches a couple buttons on the coffee maker and moves back to the stove while the coffee brews. “I tried telling Hen and Chimney how neurotic you are about interior design. They didn’t believe me.”
“Because I’m not neurotic.” Eddie’s face twists around the word, like it tastes bitter in his mouth.
“You are, and you know it. And then I even brought in that feature page you had in that magazine, and I showed it to Bobby, and he didn’t believe me! I feel like I’m losing my mind sometimes. There’s so much ammunition here, so much blackmail potential, and I’m the only one who knows.”
Eddie pockets his phone and his attention lasers in on Buck, like a spotlight, which causes Buck to immediately avert his eyes. It’s a lot. Borderline too much, most times. It almost seems stupid, but Eddie’s undivided, unwavering focus is such a meaningful gesture, one that takes root in Buck’s chest and grows and grows until he could suffocate beneath it. He wouldn’t mind suffocating beneath it.
The coffee maker beeps as Buck divvies the bacon and toast among the three of them. Eddie sets two cups of coffee on the table, for him and Buck. They share a smile. Easy. Warm. Comfortable.
“Dad, can I pick out something for my room today?”
Eddie nods, biting into his piece of toast. “Sure thing, buddy. Have something in mind?”
"I’ll know when I see it.”
“That’s my boy.”
Buck rolls his eyes, but he can’t stop smiling.
They finish the breakfast with spatters of airy conversation. Chris excuses himself from the table to get dressed and ready for their Saturday Shopping Extravaganza. Buck clears the table with Eddie in silence, and their dance around the kitchen resumes. Dishes in the sink, emptied coffee grounds in the trash can, the orange juice back in the refrigerator. A black backpack materializes in Eddie’s hands, and he drops three water bottles and four energy bars inside.
“Four energy bar kind of day, huh?”
Eddie yanks the zipper on the backpack closed. “We went over this. Critical juncture, Buck. Critical juncture.”
They stand in the kitchen together, side by side leaning against the counter, waiting for Chris to get ready. The sun climbs its way up the sky, easing streaks of pale grey through the window. Buck taps out a rhythm on the counter. Eddie is fiddling with the straps of the backpack beside him, jaw working back and forth the way it does when he wants to say something but doesn’t know how to start. It’s a familiar maneuver. Buck lets him torture himself. And then finally, in a soft voice that is nearly engulfed by the hum of the heating unit clicking to life, he says, “Thank you, Buck.”
It’s not what he expects. He scrapes his nail against the lip of the counter, chin ducked against his chest. “For what?”
“For just . . . being here. For showing up when you say you will. For helping make these Saturdays fun. They are so important to Chris, now.”
Buck shrugs. “It’s not a big deal. They’re fun for me, too.”
Eddie breathes out a “yeah,” along with a laugh, pushes off the counter and swings the backpack over his shoulder as Christopher’s crutches clack down the hall. “You ready, Superman?”
Chris smiles. “You bet! Buck, can we get chocolate chip ice cream today?”
Warmth. From his fingertips to his toes, dripping through his veins, forming a molten core in his chest. “Yeah, buddy. You got it.”
He watches Chris amble toward the door. Eddie walks by him, and his hand trails along the counter, over Buck’s hand, up his arm, a brand against his skin. Their eyes lock and Eddie smiles, and then he joins his son by the front door.
“Buck!” Christopher calls. “Ice cream!”
“Not for at least another four hours,” Eddie corrects, and Buck hears his keys jangle as he collects them off the hook. The front door opens and they head out. Buck is left in silence, in the familiar stillness of the kitchen, bathed in the iridescent glow of the rising sun. He still hears Christopher’s laugh in his ears, still feels Eddie’s hand on his arm. It’s a pocket of space that only exists in that moment, between one breath and the next. Yeah.
These Saturdays are important to him, too.
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Newly arrived in London, Kate is a smart, headstrong young woman who suffers no fools — Anthony Bridgerton very much included.
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I know people have said this already but--
Nothing is more painful, more appalling, more unceasingly gross, than Dean Winchester dying alone in a barn without his Found Family other than his brother. Nothing is more insulting than Dean not being able to live the long, natural life Cas wanted him to.
Dean Winchester died without being able to let Cas know that he always loved him in return. Always.
Dean Winchester didn’t even get to live with the love of his life for eternity in his own Heaven after long, extensive, exhausting years of pining for Cas -- after miserable self-loathing years of believing he was never worthy of Cas’ love.
When Dean Winchester finally gained true self-acceptance, FREE WILL (which Cas’ love for Dean was entrenched in), and the sheer sense of happiness he was bound to achieve -- which the narrative told us it was leading to, mind you, by incorporating character growth and development and Jungian elements and constant introspection -- he lost his life.
The greatest love story ever told was REAL, and it was OBLITERATED in 60 mins.
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are you really gonna talk about timing in times like these?
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@the-sapphic-raven look what you made me do >:(
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"You're a heavenly creature with a real dark agenda." - Allie X
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poor maitimo, always being bullied by his little brothers
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Rayaari headcanon - let's explore canon domestic fluff
(Inspired by a lovely anon)
After Raya and Namaari have obviously been dating for a while, Virana and Benja put their heads together and agree to a split schedule, where the girls can stagger their time between six months in Heart and six months in Fang, with the bonus of learning more about each others' culture.
At first, Namaari feels incredibly guilty about being away from her people for multiple weeks at a time. But then Raya says 'Well, when we're married, Heart will also be your people', which makes Namaari simultaneously panic because now she will have so many more people to protect, and also flush red, because Raya mentioned marriage so casually.
Namaari tends to be perpetually working whenever they are in Fang, and most of the time Raya is dragged along for the various Princess duties also. She finds half of them incredibly boring, but whenever Namaari asks if she'd rather go and do something else in the meantime, Raya always refuses and pretends it is Very Interesting Work. In reality, she just likes to spend time with Namaari, regardless of what they are doing.
In exchange, Raya demands they stop for lunch every day, so they can sit and talk with each other for a while without interruption. Namaari is banned from discussing anything to do with her duties during this time.
At the end of the day, when they can finally relax, Namaari sometimes sneaks a serlot kitten or two into her bedroom, and they spend the evening playing hide and seek with tiny balls of fluff.
Namaari's bedroom is devoid of any furniture besides her ridiculously large bed, and some plants. Raya likes to tease her about both the size of her bed, and lack of home decor. She is however vaguely impressed when Namaari leads her into a small side room where her actual clothes and, more importantly, her jewelry is kept.
At night, they share this extremely large bed, and despite having as much space as they could possibly want, they always end up curled together in the middle.
When they are staying in Heart, meanwhile, Raya is often the more stressed of the two. There are a lot of responsibilities now expected of her, and yet she feels she doesn't know how to be either a Princess or a leader. She was always more enthused about being a Guardian of the Gem when she was younger, rather than with her royal duties, and that hasn't changed in the interim years.
Sometimes, Namaari patiently coaches her through expected political tasks or endless paperwork. Other times, Benja clearly wants to teach his daughter certain cultural or leadership insights, and for this, Namaari spirits herself away for a few hours to give them privacy. Afterwards, Raya will often find her entertaining a group of children, or helping with the ongoing rebuilding.
Raya likes to go for walks in the evening when they are in Heart. They take strolls during dusk hours, finding different pathways that will lead them away from civilization to open fields and silence. They lie in the grass and gaze up at the sky as the first stars of the night begin to shine.
They spar more often in Heart - especially for Raya to let out her frustrations regarding her daily tasks. So at the end of the day, they often help each other massage out their tired muscles, or rub cream into bruised areas.
Regardless of which land they are in, they have a nighttime routine that follows a similar pattern.
Once they are both in bed, they sit and talk in the dark for a while, usually with Namaari running her fingers through Raya's hair to tease out any last knots left by Raya's haphazard combing technique.
Raya can have problems falling asleep, despite being the one to feel tired first, soothed by her hair being touched. She asks to hear Namaari's voice as she drops off to sleep, so Namaari will softly tell her a story about the dragons, allowing her words to reassure Raya that she is not alone.
Namaari doesn't have the same struggle as Raya in falling asleep, but she wakes often during the night, plagued by nightmares. When this happens, she shuffles backwards until their bodies touch, and then lifts Raya's arm and places it around her waist.
Raya hugs her closer without waking up, and tucks her nose against her shoulder blade. They remain in the same position until morning.
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You were saying, George...?
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a fluffy wip/warmup after taking a small break from drawing.
post-tlou2 ellie and dina go thru a courting phase and it’s really nice :)
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