#me: this is going to be a longer fic!!!

[theinfinitedivides]

33, ‘across the room’ for Rahul/Anjali???

आरपार. — lit. across. ( crossposted on ao3. one-shot. )

They do not have his father's blessing, but that does not change what already is. She is still sitting there, one arm settled above the slight swell of her stomach, and there is still the ghost of the warmth of the weight of his hand, the span of it, all finger to thumb spread across their son—she knows it is a son, draped beneath the fabric of her kameez—and then, still, the way that he has stopped weeping at last, and has crossed the length of the room, standing in the doorway as if he does not want her to hear him in case he resumes. He is silent for a long while, after that, shadow cast across the threshold, chasing after what little light is left, his gaze caught on the curve of her jhumka. It is, it seems, a distraction for him, something to buy time, but she does not prod. She knows that he will speak, eventually, and so she waits, and allows him this, since no one else will and there is no one else who has.

I hope, he says, once he has composed himself as best as he can, that I am not hurting you, but what he means to say is I hope I have not hurt you not with this never with this I would not be able to bear it. What he means to say, with that smile of his, hollowed out with grief, is that he does not want to burden her with the thought of a child, with the thought of someone who could make her a mother and then leave her, like he has had to leave his own. What he means to say, since the thought is already here, is that he does not know if he will be able to prevent it, this leaving, and he does not want to have to apologize. She hears all of this, somehow, and yet none of it. Even in this, there are the sound of bangles, still coming up from his throat, and she cannot smile. Even in this, his hands are still shaking.

So she calls him back, and lets her hands cord through his hair, and lets him press himself to her hipbone like he is afraid that she will break—like he is afraid that he will break—and says nothing. She does not think there is much more he can say in words, from that distance, that will allow itself to leave him. She does not think it will be worth it now if he tries.

(send me prompt requests!)

#inbox #q: allegoriesinmediasres #film: kabhi khushi kabhie gham #userdivides #writeblr #kabhi khushi kabhie gham #k3g #ao3 #archive of our own #bollywood #— previously pinned post. #local gay watches Bollywood.txt #local gay writes fanfic.txt #i thought i was over this particular segment of their lives but Perhaps Not #me: this is going to be a longer fic!!! #also me: *adds only 327 words to the previous fic's word count of 106* #i'm not really going to ramble in the tags i have the author's note on ao3 for that #which you will probably have seen by the time this ask gets answered #but there are 4 different drafts for this prompt sitting in my notes and this was the only one considered fit enough to print #and i'm still not entirely happy with this one but that's the Imposter Syndrome ™ talking #tbh i reuse themes??? a lot??? #there's a line in this that i swear i've used in 65 other WIPs #but i'm the only one who knows what it is so i will shut up about it bc it is basically my brand at this point #i will drive this horse into the ground!!! i will continue to use this very specific metaphor for every relationship that i write about!!! #you cannot stop me!!! #also sad bangle imagery 😔 #among a host of other sad imagery #i apologize #the SRK brainrot is slowly turning into SRK brainrot but seen through the eyes of his co-stars #(in this case being Kajol) and i have no choice but to write that as it comes

[jackshiccup]

you’re 16 and nothing bad has happened

a lil scene based on my friend @droptoposmosis’ fic can’t smile like you mean it (aaaa childhood friends hijack makes my brain dissolve ;;)

#let me tell u now those bicycles were the bane of my existence dont look at it too hard i beg… #actually this entire thing bc perspective is my enemyasjhdkashdk #BUT YIPPEEEE ITS HERE MY GIFT TO U sniffs.. <3 #it took longer than i thought my apologies 🫶🏽 #they were fun to draw as teenagers tho hehe theyre sooo small and best friends !!!!!!!! #hiccup baby face… hes my gloob of the universe actually ? ☹️ #hijack #frostcup #jackshiccup art #my art #jack frost #jackson overland #hiccup #rotg #httyd #fic #nostalgia levels kinda going off on this i tink.. #watch tumblr eat the quality :\

[ikeasharksss]

hey im curious

feel free to rb & explain your answer in the tags!

#i will go first <3 #i reread my own fics all the time!!! #it's so fun!! #i am the target audience for every fic i have ever written #like even if it's a gift/for an event i write it bc i am genuinely interested in it #so of COURSE im going to enjoy looking back on those fics #i have uh 24 fics on ao3 now? #so i dont reread All of them #i mainly reread my longer fics bc i just have the most fun writing them #i encourage ppl to reread their own work bc #1 its fun to see how your writing has changed #(my writing has gone through So Much since i started in 2019 lol) #2 if you write for yourself then youll always love what youve written! #n e way thats my 2 cents #pls share w/ me i am very curious #thanks love ya #fanfiction #fanfic #<- promo tags ig

[icewindandboringhorror]

I know this is just a silly bad quality random screencap of a screencap that I found on facebook lol, BUT it's a succinct enough image to easily describe the concept in a quick/accessible way hopefully :

-

(and of course, feel free to elaborate in tags, etc.! (especially elaborating about other senses as well.. can you "hear" in your mind just as well as you can "see"? taste? etc.) It's an interesting topic to me, as someone who's like a 4.5 at MOST lol. I'm curious what option will be the most common :0c )

#tumblr polls #hrmm... a little poll perhaps.. about a subject I find interesting.. since this image came across my facebook today #still really not feeling that well. no longer shaking violently and such but I still feel weird and weak much more than usual #They did say my markers for like infection or inflammation were elevated but that they werent sure of the cause so hopefully #it's nothing too serious. they did also say a lot of different things can cause that thing to be higher than normal but didn't go into spec #fics of what. maybe some of them are relatively benign or something. I still havent felt much back to normal since #I got really sick that one time though. I feel fine on and off but then little bouts of feeling weird and sick happen. hrmmm #ANYWAY.. looking for small ways to be productive. such as little doodles on evil ipad or editing game videos #or posting polls or cat pictures or some other like not very labor intensive things #I WISH I COULD FOCUS on writing HHRGGhh... I need to finish my game.. it would be so freeing.. a project that's been looming #over my head for like 5 years even though througouht that 5yrs I've probably spent a total of 3 months working on it lo.. ANYWAY #I still partially really cannot beleive that people CAN see stuff in their heads. There's always part of me that's thinking like. well mayb #e everyone DOES see the same exact thing but we just describe/conceptualize it so differently that we think we're talking about #different things when we're really not. But I have been assured by people I've talked to about it that they can GENUINELY really see #stuff in their heads like as vivid as an actual picture in real life or something. And the other senses are neat too. Like for exmaple I #can hear in my head much better than I can see imagery. I still CANNOT hear vividly like as if I were listening to actual music out loud.. #but I think it's developed more than my sight. AND interesting how this varies the creative process. a friend I was talking to on the phone #said they write by literally just watching stuff play before them like a movie. where my process is COMPLETELY different. AND that affects #the content/what details we focus on as well as our individual styles of writing have differences that can be traced back to that.. hrmm

[thekittyokat]

you ever just have a lot, a LOT of feelings all at once about a character and not even remotely enough words or brainpower to FORM the words to describe everything you're feeling. so it feels like you may explode. yeah

#sorry i got really into my feelings about mark hoffman again #the very specific version of him in my brain that i really really wish i had the time and energy to properly share with you guys #saw #well until i muster the energy to explode all of my feelings out into a fic. if you want to TRY and understand #know that my three biggest hoffman fic insps right now are as follows #your best kept secret hoffman. a series of mistakes hoffman. and rushed like a dreadful wind hoffman. #there is a very clear throughline just know i am extremely emotionally compromised rn #thinking about theee fics vs the canon path hoffman spirals down #something something the absolute tragedy of watching a man's descent into madness #the transformation of a man into a monster #and what could have saved him from himself and kramer's corruption #sorry i'm rambling so much oh my god i was just having such a crying fit out of nowhere about this #do you think he could feel it happening. do you think he was aware he was losing his mind. #the script version of him fucks with me so bad. the crazed rankings and the longer hair and him not being well kept anymore #it's impossible to think he didn't know he was deteriorating #fuuuck okay i need to either chill or write a whole longfic rn #i project on that guy so much i truly don't know if i could properly write my vision of him #until i do something more substantial the full extent of my hoffman exists for me and my boyfriend only. they get me like no one else #well ginny and jenna also get me. please read best kept secret and a series of mistakes Oh My God #where am i going with this. i like tag rambling actually this is a nice way to do it without forcing EVERYONE to read my delirium #anyways if you've read all of this i think i love you? feel free to dm me about hoffman and my very specific headcanons and aus #maybe soon i'll try and start writing my fics about this tragic man #i could never say any of this on twitter btw they'd string me up for my opinions on him as a sad wet beast who could have been fixed #if only he hadn't been weaponized first #god i'm too tired to even be as embarrassed about this as i should be. thought i unlearned cringe already #but i've been spending way too much time on twitter and they HAAATE hoffman there #rip. i know it's not that serious but i'm sensitive rn and hate feeling lonely in my thoughts #ok bye for real otherwise i'll never shut up. i might tag ramble more often bc this was therapeutic in a way i needed badly #cat chat

[lunarharp]

What led to this (orufrey comic, cw an uncomfortable/creepy scene)

#witch hat tag #orufrey #er.... i'm too tired to have anything to say..i worked several days on this. #wait.. didn't i say just recently here that i probably wouldn't ever depict 'what if alaira is qifrey's sort-of ex'. What's going on #i don't even remember deciding to draw this..it's all a blur..i'm not sure why i WOULD decide to draw delicate scenes in my head #that i wouldn't really want to share with anyone/discuss so why did i draw it... #some part of me really really wants to draw things that are more and more true to myself... #maybe because of my alienation with most romance/shipping/dynamics the rest of the world depicts. #orufrey really is perfectly suited to me - what i read in the text and what is in my head. well anyway #i am TIRED of drawing poses and angles and..maybe now i will actually take a break from drawing bc of the tediousness of Angles #btw it really is a 'stretch of time' . . . assuming witches graduate age 18-20 #well orufrey are canonically 30-ish. they've only had agott around for presumably about TWO years (?) bc she took the test age 10 #and it feels like oru moving in/unknown atelier acquisition/building (?) .. i guess that could be a year or so before agott at most #(she was the first disciple) so... ????????? What about the other 7 or so years ?!?!?!!?!?! Unemployed Brimhat Hatred era #that time is very nebulous. after qifrey went to the tower i feel like it's been implied he and oru drifted apart a little. #certainly they didn't live together at first... no way. that doesn't feel like how it is based on things oru has said about becoming Eye #idk. I'm tired now. i don't usually think of alaira as necessarily qifrey's ex and this being how things went in that 'sliver of time'. #i usually prefer the idea that they have their first kiss with each other in their 30s cause That's Just The Orufrey Lifestyle #just felt like making a more relatable alternative view of my own Cai Orufrey Canon one time. btw im a big monoshipper and it hurt a bit #let's leave it there. this is surely the most i've worked on a 'single' art - though now i realise just how much longer the fic took :')

[cuubism]

I see your "Dream yelling at Desire because 'how dare you make me have feelings for Hob!!'" and raise you "Dream yelling at Desire because 'how dare you make Hob have feelings for me!!'" because it's the only logical explanation for why Hob would claim to want someone like Dream

[ cat screaming crying . jpg ]

Dream storms into Desire’s realm, steps thudding on the uneven floor, rage propelling him forward. He cannot remember ever feeling such anger, such betrayal towards his sibling, not even when he had learned they were behind his imprisonment.

Desire’s games have always gone too far, but this is beyond trying to teach him a lesson, this is beyond what Dream can reconcile, this is simply cruelty.

“YOU,” he thunders, the air shaking around him as he stalks up to where Desire is lying casually on a chaise lounge as if they haven’t just ripped Dream’s one comfort in this life out from under him. “How dare you.”

“Brother, dear,” drawls Desire, popping a grape into their mouth with not a care in the world, “it is rude to simply fly in without even knocking on the door. You wouldn’t like it if I did it to you.”

Blind with fury, Dream grabs them by the throat and hauls them to their feet. Desire lets out a choked gasp, genuinely startled by his vitriol. Their pulse trips under Dream’s thumb.

Desire cannot be killed through something as simple as strangulation, but it truly is tempting to try. “What,” Dream snarls, grip tightening, “what have you done to Hob Gadling?”

Desire blinks at him, torn from their alarm by confusion. “Whomst? Listen, I know you know everybody’s name and their kinkiest fantasy but I honestly can’t be bothered with the details, you’re going to have to fill me in.”

The rage in Dream’s core only flares hotter. “Enough of this charade, you know exactly what you’ve done.”

“No, seriously, I have no idea what you’re—”

Dream whirls away, leaving his sibling staggering in the wake of his grasp. “Was it not enough?” he demands, staring sightlessly into the gleaming red curves of Desire’s realm. “Was the vortex not enough? Was a century of imprisonment not enough for you?” His voice cracks halfway through, and it’s mortifying. “Truly, your hatred of me is untempered by even the slightest compassion.”

Desire’s voice is quizzical when they next speak. “I am starting to wish I was behind whatever this is that seems to have pierced you straight through the heart. I’m afraid my own arrows have missed that organ thus far.”

“Hob Gadling,” Dream insists, but Desire’s seemingly-genuine confusion has him wavering. It’s not like them not to revel in their own victory, and oh, this has been a victory, Dream feels laid lower than even a century in a cage had managed. “You are manipulating him.”

“Once again, I don’t know who that is. But he’s clearly excellent ammunition so I’m certainly going to find out once you leave.”

Dream flexes his hands at his sides, summoning his control. If Desire truly was not behind this, then he’s already made a mistake in coming here. Best not to offer anything else.

Being in Desire’s realm makes this stoicism difficult. The very space brings emotions to the surface, drags feelings up from his stomach that he’s tried so very hard to tamp down. He tastes blood at the back of his throat, his stomach churns, his skin prickles with sweat.

Desire stalks up behind him, sensing all of this. “Now I am curious,” they murmur, dragging a finger up his shoulder, over the collar of his coat and along the back of his neck. “Now I must know what’s go you so riled up.”

“You think you have earned such things?” Dream says through gritted teeth. His heart is pounding hard and uneven such that it physically hurts in his chest, the weight of the Threshold bearing down.

“No need to earn, you can hide nothing from me here.” Desire circles around him to his front, dragging their finger along his collarbone until it lands right at the base of his throat. They look at him from under their lashes, all smug satisfaction. “You are all tangled up in the realm of Desire, aren’t you?”

Dream moves to storm off, but Desire blocks him, nails pressing into his skin.

“Nah-ah, no running away. Let your little sibling help you, hm? As you may know, I am rather wise in matters of the heart.”

The look on Desire’s face is craftiness, glee, not charity or wisdom.

“I neither need nor wish for your assistance,” says Dream, voice hard. “On this, or any other matter.”

“But there is a matter.” Desire leans in and speaks right in his ear. “I can smell the heartsickness on you, Dream.”

There is nothing Dream can say in response to this. Any denial would only be read as falsehood, for Desire does not lie – of late, Dream feels sick with wanting in Hob’s presence, hunger so sharp it turns over into nausea, much like the first time Hob had pushed him to eat after his captivity. How cruel, then, to have his pain eased, his desires sated by a reciprocation that cannot possibly be truly felt.

There is nothing to say, so Dream doesn’t speak. Silence, of course, is its own answer.

“You know, if there’s one thing I have always admired about you, big brother, it’s your willingness to destroy yourself for the sake of passion,” Desire continues. “You’d think that’d be my sort of thing. Who’ve you lost yourself on this time? Demigod? Demon? Dryad? Vampire?”

Dream glares at them, but does not speak.

Desire’s face absolutely lights up as they realize. “Oh. My. God. Is he human? Dreeaaammmmm, my my, maybe your little time out did change you, after all.”

Dream turns away, refusing to give them the satisfaction of confirming. Though he knows this reaction is also a confirmation.

Desire claps their hands. “Oh! I’m so proud of myself. Look at this! Look at the softness of your heart. Look how I can bruise it.”

Dream’s heart, indeed, gives a painful thump. “Should you dare to touch him, even the old laws will not protect you.”

Desire sighs, flopping back onto a couch, legs crossed, head propped in their hand. “Why bother? You’ll destroy it yourself, and that’ll be much more fun.”

I hate you, Dream thinks, like a petulant child. He hates, also, how any argument with Desire makes him feel that way, feelings crowding at the surface of his skin, throat tightening, mind spinning in a chaotic churn. His muscles clench so hard he thinks they might have snapped, were he human, then he forces himself back into a semblance of ease.

There is no extracting himself from this situation with any dignity.

“Interfere with my affairs again,” he warns darkly, “and I will destroy you.”

Then he storms out of the Threshold.

“Love you too!” Desire calls after him, a grin in their voice. “Good luck with your human!”

--

When he’d found Hob at the New Inn, thirty-three years after he’d meant to arrive, Dream had not known how he might be received. Friendship extended once may not be extended again after so brutal a rejection, and so prolonged an absence, no matter that the latter offense was not within his control.

Being met with a smile, then, and an easy acceptance of his apology, like Hob had already forgiven him long before Dream had stepped through the door, had been a revelation. Something had settled in him that he had not known was knocked askew. Could there, truly, be one thing in his life that was allowed to be easy? Where Dream’s missteps were not met with scorn or vitriol or world-shaking consequences, but with grace and the chance to try again?

It seemed improbable, but still Dream had grabbed for it with cold, shaking fingers. Had held that unlikely flame between his palms. Had watched as it grew, hotter and brighter with each smile Hob sent his way, with each gentle brush of fingers as he pressed cups of tea into Dream’s hands, with the hug Hob finally managed to wind him into, once Dream had told him of the true reason for his absence in 1989.

Hob’s grace, Hob’s generosity in inviting someone, something like him into his home, into his life… Dream did not quite know how to hold it, so unlikely it was. He tried, though, oh he tried. And he swore he would not mess it up, not like he had when Hob had first offered his friendship.

He has now, quite royally, messed it up.

He very much doubts Hob will be so generous this time.

He finds Hob where he left him, sitting on the couch in his flat, a book in his hand. He doesn’t seem to be concentrating on it; his thoughts feel scattered in ragged, disturbed daydreams.

He doesn’t even startle when Dream materializes next to him. Though he knows it can be startling to humans, Dream has not been able to break himself of just appearing where he needs to – traversing the long way from point to point is not how he works. But aside from the occasional, teasing, I have a door, you know, Hob never truly complains about these disturbances to his day.

Dream means to offer him an apology. To say, I should not have walked out when you said that you loved me. To say, I am supposed to be better, I am trying to be better.

Instead, just as Hob looks up, the words that trip out of Dream’s mouth, pushed by the flurry of Desire’s realm still pounding within him, are, “Did you speak truly, Hob Gadling?”

Which is a ridiculous question. Dream does not think he has ever heard Hob speak a lie. Still, Dream must have the answer.

Hob’s expression shifts through several incarnations, none of which Dream feels capable of reading. Finally, it settles on the same soft, exasperated understanding Dream remembers being presented with when he’d said, I know thirty years is truly quite late, at their reunion, before he’d told Hob why he was late.

Grace, then. He is to be offered grace, again.

His emotions are still so close to the surface that he has to physically swallow down what he feels about that.

“Of course, I did,” Hob says, and there’s a hint of nerves in it, but he pushes through, he always does. “I wouldn’t lie to you about that.”

His gaze is genuine, open, and no, Desire had not lied – Hob’s feelings are no manipulation of theirs. And while it is tempting to search for other answers, spells or illusions or any number of other causes, Dream knows, deep down, that he will come up empty.

Hob’s feelings are true, are his truth, confounding though that is.

Dream no longer feels capable of holding any of this in his hands.

Instead, he kisses him.

It’s like he is pulled forward by a force outside his own body. He goes to Hob like he had gone to the sugar in the tea Hob had made him, that night at the inn when Dream had first realized how long it had truly been since he’d eaten; he goes to him like he had gone back to the Dreaming after being freed, returning home breathless, lost, changed.

Hob catches him against his mouth, hands cradling Dream’s face. His grip is solid and warm, and he kisses Dream like he looks at him like he speaks to him, with a care Dream hardly knows how to accept. He leans into it anyway, he leans in.

“I wasn’t fishing for a kiss when I said that, you know,” Hob says when they part, still lingering close enough that Dream can feel his heat, his breath. “I meant it in more of— well, that way, for certain, but really, any way you wanted to take it.”

“Any way,” Dream repeats, not sure he comprehends Hob’s meaning.

“Yeah, you—” Hob cuts himself off, letting out a breath, thinking. His hands slide from Dream’s face down to his shoulders, and he holds him there. “I. You just. I want you to know that you’re loved. Not demanding anything of it. Just telling you. Take it however serves you best.”

Dream stares at him, his whole being tripped and restarted at a new rhythm, and Hob gives him a sad smile.

“It’s too big to hold,” he says, and taps his chest. “In here. And besides, I wanted you to have it.”

Dream had had it. Only he hadn’t quite known what he had. The sunshine of Hob’s smiles, sustaining him, a bridge between distant points of light.

Finally, he manages to say, “I felt it. You have been my succor. My… only.”

Hob has captured him more effectively than Burgess’s snare, but this capture is not a prison. It hurts, oh, it aches, but it never wounds.

Hob smiles at him again. There’s still something pained in the creases around his eyes. “I know.”

He’s still touching Dream. His hands run over him, up his neck, over his throat, along his collarbone, and—

catch, on the collar of his shirt, above his heart.

“What happened?”

His voice is tight, now, worried, and— yes. There are bruises on Dream’s chest, crawling up over his breastbone. He had felt them form, and hadn’t stopped them.

Hob’s expression darkens further the longer he looks; he drags the collar of Dream’s shirt down, trying to see how far the damage spreads. “You’ve got bruises all over you. Dream, what happened?”

What happened is Dream stood in the Threshold and his heart beat so hard it drummed right through to the surface of his skin. What happened is it hurt so badly his form shifted to give reason for the pain.

“Desire,” he says, and he does not mean his sibling.

Hob doesn’t seem to understand, but he smoothes a hand over Dream’s heart as if to wipe the bruises away. Dream could will his body to return to its original, unharmed state, but he does not. He lets the blood stay pooled beneath his skin.

Hob sighs, tugging Dream’s coat tighter around him, shielding him from further injury. “Come here, you. You strange creature.”

He pulls Dream in, though he does not have to pull hard. Dream tucks his face into Hob’s neck, reveling in the warm scent of him, woodsmoke from the fireplace down in the inn where they’ve now spent many a long evening, basking in the heat of the flames. Hob’s arms go around him.

Absolution. Dream does not think this is a gift that has ever been granted to him.

“I would also love you,” he says. “If you would accept it.”

“If I would accept it?” Hob repeats. “Darling, your love is a privilege.”

Dream’s heart, in all its bruises and blood, finds rhythm again, and he thinks, though he certainly doesn’t pull away from Hob to check, that his skin clears up partway, too.

#dream literally STOMPING into desire's house and screaming at them #desire being like why are you hitting yourself? while wacking him in the head #truly sibling behavior #dreamling #the sandman #dreamling fic #dream of the endless #hob gadling #desire of the endless #my writing #i made dream like. way too self aware in the first draft of this. then i had to go back and make him LESS self aware lmao #like first draft dream: hm i think perhaps i am doing this because of my past trauma 🤔 #me: babygirl u are not that self aware try again #as per usual. this started as a short little drabble. and got much longer. and much more serious XD

[needle-noggins]

Where do your roots start

And where do your roots end?

Something about seeing only the worst of yourself in the mirror. Something violent and terrifying, but knowing you only grew that violence in response to violence against you. Knowing your power comes from a place of trauma, something you don’t remember but wish had never happened. But it did, and here you are. There’s something new in you that isn’t the you that you understand and you wish it wasn’t but it is. Violence begets violence and you are unable to control what grows from the seeds that were planted. So you have to live with it and try not to let that violence spread.

You’ve already failed once.

And you see it every time you look in the damn mirror.

—

For Body Horror Week’s final day, prompt: Roots by In This Moment

#I was going to write a longer Drabble but holy shit Judas’s fic got me Shrimped good and instead I will refer everyone to that #Sav art #trigunbodyhorrorweek #vash the stampede #trigun stampede #tristamp #I’m REALLY proud of this I worked SUPER HARD ON IT #the roots and the flowers were so fucking annoying #but my favorite part is vash’s neck I wanna smooch it and tell him everything’s okay yaknow #also like same recognize same mirrors are evil and I hate them #I also love to give Eriks a lil ponytail as a treat

[like-the-rest-of-la]

Happy Little Accidents

The last thing Eddie Diaz expects to come out of his trip to Buckley’s Plant Nursery & Landscaping with his son, is to develop an honest to god schoolgirl crush on the guy who owns the place (and not notice that that is what’s happening for an embarrassingly long time).  

The plan is simple. Get in, have Christopher pick out a couple of succulents or whatever he needs for his school project, and get out without infesting any of the gorgeous plants in the shop with his bad plant karma. 

But then, the first thing he’s greeted with is a hunk of a man, carrying two heavy packs of soil on his broad shoulders. Eddie swears he can see a drop of sweat running down the man’s face in slow motion. His t-shirt looks like it’s one strategic muscle flex away from bursting at the seams and Eddie—Eddie feels nervous all of the sudden. And he’s gaping like a fish. 

“Hey,” Hunk-man says as he hoists the soil on the counter next to him with a grunt, “What can I help you with?”

At least Eddie has enough self-awareness to close his mouth.

Or: the one where Buck owns a plant nursery and Eddie stumbles through his crush (and has no game during all of it)—oh and also, there are a lot of Bob Ross references.

Read on Ao3

(With a banner by the wonderful @theladyyavilee thank you so so so much <3)

#9-1-1 #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie fic #911 fox #I cannot believe this fic is finally done #...it's the first longer fic I've written and finished in probably 5 years and it's the first longer fic I've written for this fandom #I am always a LOT more nervous about posting writing than posting my art because... it is a lot harder for me lol #but - just as Buck is telling Eddie in this one - practice makes definitely better so I will continue to expose myself xD #I really hope you do like it... I was very nervous about posting it and Sarah bravely held my hand during this :D #and now I will be going to bed because it is 2AM and I should definitely be sleeping kdjfalkdjklf #okay... #nighty night! #lisa writes #au shenanigans #the buck owns a plant nursery fic 🪴

[not-poignant]

Every now and then I just get the kind of comment that makes me stop working on a fic and just has me going 'how about you write it since you're so concerned with correcting me on this one tiny thing that doesn't matter because it's fanfiction actually'

And like, I do want to work on this fic, but damn, not today.

#personal #i don't know how many times i can tell people #to fuck off when it comes to canon details and palmarosa #but if you ever have the instinct to correct something in palmarosa #just know you're the reason i don't want to work on this fic atm #because it's not at all motivational to have people arguing with me #about the NOT CANON COMPLIANT details in my own fic #like it's tags and author's notes at this point #reading comprehension i miss you #you all get gold medals for knowing the canon better than me #now leave me and my fic and it's very clear “not canon compliant” tag alone #because palmarosa isn't for the people #who want it to be canon compliant #and cannot let it go otherwise #i've just deleted a bunch of comments i will no longer be justifying #this fic to people who just exist to win #know it all contests

[casa-delle-galline]

It’s so funny how I went from not understanding the appeal of ZeLink in BoTW, to absolutely bawling my eyes out about Link and Zelda in ToTK living together and Link buying a dream house which is normally made for couples and families and is way bigger than the Hateno house.

I don’t think I’ve loved ZeLink this much since Spirit Tracks and Skyward Sword.

1. ST ZeLink (ALWAYS, NO QUESTION)

2. SS ZeLink (plus Groose, because it feels wrong to leave him out)

3. ToTK ZeLink

That will be all.

#totk #I still love #revalink #miphlink #miphzel #and #zelimpa #don’t get me wrong #but totk made me actually start to like #zelink #a lot more for some reason #also link’s arm shouldn’t be completely unscathed #and zelda should actually have consequences for becoming a dragon #which is why I’m writing a fic about that #zelda gradually starts gaining physical dragon features #like her eyes go draconic #her nails grow longer and glow blue #nubby little blue horns grow on her head #her teeth get pointy #and link gradually starts getting spasms in his arm #will post the fic when I’m done #would you still love me if I was a wyrm the fanfic #totk spoilers #st zelink #ss zelink #groozelink #totk zelink

[rollercoasterwords]

hiiiii i hope life is good! just wondering if you've read any good fics lately that you'd reccomend ? :~)

simply have not been reading v much fic the past year or two my peak fic-reading year was in 2022…however have enjoyed some r/s oneshots + a few drarry fics over the past few months!

crushed ice by sectoren @sectoren is a really fun r/s oneshot in which s keeps showing up 2 r’s part-time jobs…had me giggling & kicking my feet etc…

your hand in mine and other brief, annihilating intimacies by superloonyluna @superloonyluna is another r/s oneshot w absolutely beautiful writing in which s is a performer in a traveling theater troupe & r is their last minute stand-in for the leading man <3

revolvevlover by firethesound & zeitgeistic is a drarry fic that actually killed me…technically a oneshot as well but it’s 56k words so. harry is an assassin who gets assigned draco as a mark…ending made me wanna throw my phone at the wall 🤧

nor all that glisters by sweet_sorrow (sweet_s0rr0w? i can’t tell w the ao3 font…) @sweet-s0rr0w is another drarry fic in which draco starts taking felix felicis post-war during his house arrest 2 try and turn his life around 🤭

completely different fandom but read the end of the world by fernwithy a while back which was a fic abt haymitch’s hunger games & really liked it <3

have so many fics on my to-read list as well that i simply haven’t gotten around to yet…if anyone else has recs they’d like 2 share please feel free…

#ask #fic recs #<- i also have this tag u can look thru… #also being serious abt the recs feel free 2 share rn im rereading middle grade fantasy series i liked as a kid 2 de-stress… #but my other go-to comfort read is drarry fanfic lmao. i do need them 2 fuck at some point tho filter set 2 E 🫡 #only problem w that is i’m picky abt sex scenes so if i read an E fic that gives me too many personal icks then i abandon it… #but when u find a GOOD one. nothing compares… #have not read a longer r/s fic in ages feel like i’m pickier abt their characterizations….

[ladytauria]

The prompt list. Listen. I think Jason deserves a kiss to the thigh. Whoever you want to give it to him

nonny you are SO right

i went with jaytim bc i'm predictable like that~

Tim challenges anyone to find a more comfortable pillow than one of Jason's thighs. (Well---alright. They actually come in at a close second to his chest, while his stomach sits at a narrow third. But---still.) There's nothing like reclining on the couch, his head pillowed on Jason's lap while the TV plays in the background.

Tonight, Tim's foregone his laptop. For once in his life, he's had enough of numbers. He just wants to relax with his boyfriend.

Jason's hand drops into his hair, stroking idly through the strands. Tim's eyelids droop. He raises his hand, wrapping it around Jason's knee; thumb pressed to the back of it. Jason's leg shifts to accommodate him.

He smiles, humming softly. He turns his face, pressing a kiss to Jason's thigh. Jason's fingers pause in his hair for a moment, and then continue; the gentle scratch of nails against his scalp making Tim wish he could purr, pushing into his hands.

Jason laughs; a soft huff of air that turns Tim's insides soft and fuzzy. "Overgrown kitten," he murmurs.

Tim's mouth twitches. "Meow~"

Jason snorts, flicking his ear. "Hush, I'm watching a movie."

Tim nips him through his sweats, earning a light tug to his hair. He heaves a put-on sigh, drawing his blanket higher up his shoulder.

Then he settles, letting the low murmur of the television and Jason's fingers in his hair lull him to sleep.

[ sultry prompts list ]

#the temptation to go with thigh worship was heavy #but that would have taken much longer so #i put the lines i wrote for it in the notion page~ #i also did consider going jaysteph #but jaytim just called to me more for this one #thank you for the prompt nonny #i hope you liked it! #jaytim #timjay #dcu #tauriawritesfanfic #lovely anons #asks and answers #i also almost went with tim patching him up and kissing the wound #but i have like #2 or 3 more ‘tim patches jason up’ fics in my drafts #so… #xD

[sherlocking-out-loud]

about buddie, I think we're heading for divorce arc 2.0 turbo mode - where it's Buck's time to ask Eddie if he ever stopped to think about Christopher. and it will be ugly and heartbreaking to watch them fight. and they may not even be on speaking terms when this season ends. maybe Eddie feels such shame for having failed as a father and for disappointing Buck, that he just shuts down and isolates himself, feeling unworthy of forgiveness.

so, I'd love it if in this season (maybe even in the finale) we'd have a parallel with 5x13. Eddie would be sitting on the floor, cell phone in hand, browsing through hundreds of photos he has accumulated of Buck with Chris, and Buck with himself, at work and outside of it. one after the other, happy and funny memories of their time together over the years. maybe in between shots of him looking and the pictures with a terribly sad expression (and Ryan would nail this so hard), we could have little montages of the moments from those photos, a buddie best off, so to speak. and then Eddie just breaks down. he cries and cries and cries, but this time?... this time, he's all alone.

roll credits, enter hiatus.

#look if buddie is not where the story is going #this still would slap #a man losing his best friend #feeling like he no longer has anyone? #that's rough #and having him repair their friendship would be lovely to see #but on the other hand #this could also be Eddie realizing he has had a family all this time #and that maybe he feels something more for Buck #and thinking that now it's too late he has lost him for good #even if Buck wasn't in a happy relationship as he is #Eddie thinks that Buck won't ever speak to him again #and also that 'buddie moments best of' would prepare the audience as well #idk I think it could work #anyway if anyone wants to write this fic please do and then tag me 😁 #eddie diaz #buddie #911 speculation #911 abc #911 s7 #911 #my thoughts

[ineffabildaddy]

can someone come and switch my brain off at 9pm each night because the "my fics are shit and i'm not saying anything worth saying with them" thoughts really do tend to fly at me with increasing fervour as the eve wears on

#i just. find it very difficult to feel proud of myself for very long #or happy with my work #because ultimately there's so so many fic writers out there who've been doing it for so much longer than me #so so much better than me #and like #that's okay #i never expected or wanted to be the best #and i still love writing fic sm #it's become my lifeline #but my brain is constantly going hmmm aren't u shit tho #like aren't there far more fascinating writers to be reading #okay i think i'm done now #personal #ineffabildaddy

[miss-spookhead]

thinking about a Blast From the Past steddie au tonight. like, think about it for a second--steve as the sweet, well-meaning himbo raised in a fallout shelter and eddie as the cynic who shows him the world as it is:

The year was 1962, and an atomic bomb had just dropped on top of the Harrington household.

Okay, not really. It was actually a fighter jet that suffered a mechanical failure just above the little plot of land the Harringtons called their home, but Walter Harrington took it differently. Far differently.

See, the thing was that the man was living in a state of paranoid delusion over the Cold War--terrified of the possibility of an outright nuclear holocaust over the Cuban Missile Crisis and the Soviet Union. He had been carefully building a fallout shelter under his home for his wife and possible children to live in with the works--canned food, running water, and even a working television.

And one day they went in and simply never left. The explosion right when they closed the door was tangible proof that the nuclear war was happening right above them.

A few years later, around 1968, a baby boy was born in a fallout shelter with no one but his mom and dad to keep him company.

They raised Steve the best they could, even if Walter Harrington was a mad genius and Madeline Harrington was a borderline alcoholic. Even if the boy was living in a perfect little time capsule of the fifties and early sixties. Walter made sure to educate him right and teach him how to be a sociable gentleman--even if he had no idea what swear words or the concept of sex were. That was for another time. Although, twenty-four years came and went for Steve Harrington, his father still owes him 'another time'.

Steve Harrington grows twenty-four years in perfect seclusion, but that changes at the flick of a switch.

The year is 1992: supplies are dwindling Walter is growing sick, and Steve is tasked to bravely set foot in the nuclear fallout to retrieve more material. (The only reason why Walter assumes they can even get more stuff is because he observed the outside world when the shelter unlocked and mistook it as a post-apocalyptic mutant society.)

The moment Steve made it outside his little bubble, he was utterly fascinated by the world--how different the people were outside of his television and his little books, how bright the sky was outside, how the irritable man on the bus wouldn't accept the money he tried to give him, how the bus moved and didn't fling him right off his seat.

(He even saw an adult bookstore. Dad told him that those things were filled with poisonous gas. How were they even to operate if they were filled with poisonous gas? That's dangerous and totally inconsiderate of the general public's safety.)

Anyway, he tries to follow the grocery list that Mom and Dad gave him the best he can, stocking up on poultry and tissue paper and the works. But by the end of the day, he doesn't know where he came from. Not a single sign or building or person can give him a single clue where to go.

After a few hours of wandering, suitcase in hand, he comes across a store with WE BUY BASEBALL CARDS written on the window.

Golly, Steve loves baseball cards--could look at Dad's collection for hours, and with the collection he has, he could make a pretty penny selling them for supplies. Despite the little hobby store being beside an adult bookstore with poisonous gas, he scampers right in.

"I see you're looking to buy baseball cards," he says breezily to the gruff, scary-looking man behind the counter.

"That I am," he replies.

Steve pulls a few from his jacket's inner pocket. "Well, these are a bit old, you see, but I was hoping you still might be interested."

The gruff man yanks them from his hands, a spark in his eye. He looks delighted to see them, and it fills Steve with an excitement he hadn't felt at all today. Nobody has been this happy over something he's done today. "Woah," he gasps, then covers it with a cough. "Mickey Mantle rookie season...how much do you want?"

"I was hoping to sell all of my cards, actually!"

The man sputters incredulously. "All of 'em? Are you fucking with me?"

"I'm not sure what that means, but all I have are hundred-dollar bills and I need something smaller. Like, uh...ones, tens, fives..."

"Tell you what, I'll give you five hundred in small bills for all you got."

Steve smiles brightly. "Oh, that would be wonderful, sir--"

"Five hundred for a case-full of rookie season Mickey Mantles, Rick, are you fucking joking?" A deep voice cuts through Steve's thanks from the other side of the small store. He turns around to find a man leaning against a magazine rack, arms folded sternly.

The man is unlike Steve's ever seen before. Long, long limbs and big brown eyes that look traced with black and smudged around the edges. Pretty lips, too almost girl-ish, in the way they were big and plush like the women he'd see on the television. The strangest thing about him, though, was the curly hair that tumbled past his shoulders.

He looked mad, though. Madder than mad.

"Tell the poor guy you're fucking with him," long-hair-pretty-lips says to the man behind the counter, who bristles.

"Were you raised in a fucking barn, Munson? Who told you to interrupt on business?" Rick counters. Steve was really not appreciating the amount of f-words dropped in the conversation, it was uncouth.

"Sure I was!" Munson saunters towards the counter and Steve's eyes follow him like a moth to a light. "But my morals go past your business practices at this point. You remember the ninth commandment, yeah?"

"You shut your Goddamn mouth--"

"Excuse me sir, but I really don't appreciate how you're using the Lord's name in vain like that," Steve says firmly.

"See?" Munson smiles. It's like sunlight. "He gets it."

He plucks the baseball card from Rick's hand and holds it over his head when he tries to reach for it again. "See this little thing?" He says to Steve sweetly. "This guy costs six grand alone."

"Get out of town! Really?"

"Oh yeah, big guy. Selling the thing would give you a small fortune, and Rick over here is trying to con you out of it."

Steve frowns. "Is that true?" He asks Rick.

"Nothing but," Munson says in place of him. He slips the card back into Steve's hands and gives them a pat.

"The Hell is even keeping you here, Munson?" Rick sneers. "Did the gig you won't shut up about fall through like they usually do? Better to bum it out here than in your shithole apartment? Stop loitering in my damn store and make like a fucking tree. You're banned."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," Munson says rolling his eyes. He looks at Steve, then the door, gesturing at it with a flick of his head. "I'll see you out, Beaver."

He walks them both out the door, stopping to gesture at Rick strangely--hands balled into fists with only his middle fingers up--before stepping outside onto the sidewalk.

"Well merci, Monsieur," Steve says appreciatively, because Dad taught him French was always to be used on such occasions.

"What, you're French?"

"Oh no, I'm"--he thinks back to what Dad told him if a mutant asks where he's from. Gosh, he thinks he's supposed to be--"out on business."

"And you don't even have a clue about the little business trick that Rick tried to pull?"

"No...no, I--"

"Yeah, doesn't matter." Munson shrugs. He smiles sympathetically at Steve before turning on his heel and walking off. Oh boy, what would he do without him?

He follows him like a lost puppy, that's what.

"...You going the same way?" Munson asks incredulously. Steve shakes his head.

"Well, I'm following you."

Munson stops in his tracks, blinking, and Steve almost runs into him in his state. "Me?"

"Well yes! Where are we going?"

"We?" Munson asserts. "I'm going back to my shithole apartment, and judging by that jacket you're wearing, you should be taking the next left and hop-skipping straight to the barber college."

"Oh, I'm lost, though."

"Aren't we all?"

"Say, did you just get banned from that hobby store because of me?" Steve says to change the subject.

Munson sighs. "Seems like I did, sailor. The place was shitty anyways, with that dickhead running the operation. Wayne could get better cards from a different joint."

...dickhead? Steve's never heard that leave the seams of anyone's lips before. "Dickhead?"

"Yeah, he's a real fucking loser. A walking talking penis capable of human speech."

Steve gets queasy at the image he's concocted in his head. He leans against the nearest brick wall, his suitcase tumbling to the ground as he drops into a contemplative squat.

"Dude, what is wrong with you?"

"Well, the mental image that I..."

Munson's eyebrows scrunch before he reaches out a hand to Steve. He takes it, letting the man haul him upward. "Look, man, where'd you park your car?"

"I came by bus."

"Aren't you full of surprises."

"I am?"

"Okay look." Eddie raises his hands, palms splayed in the air. "It's your first time in Los Angeles, right? Everyone wants a taste of it, I know, and you're out for business and fucking famished. You got the opportunity to see the great big world outside of your little bubble and you got excited--but you took a bus and got mixed up in the middle of San Fernando Valley without a clue in the world. Am I correct?"

Steve listens in wonderment. So far, Munson's been correct in a way. He's convinced he might be psychic. He nods slowly and seriously just to see Munson flash that lighting-strike smile.

"Great, great. Which brings us to here. Correct again?"

"Oh yeah."

"Where are you staying?"

Nowhere, at the moment. Steve opens his mouth to say so, but Munson interrupts quickly. "Holiday Inn?"

"Yes, the Holiday Inn!" Steve says totally truthfully.

"Okay, cool. Cool." Munson claps his hands together with finality and starts walking. "The nearest bus station is a couple of blocks away if you take a right--"

"Don't you have a car?"

Munson stops in his tracks again. He turns to face Steve once again. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

Something warm pools in Steve's gut at the pet name. Something about the way those pretty lips form that word sends blood rushing to his cheeks. "Steve," he says.

"Alright, Steve." Oh boy, his name sounds even better when Munson says it. "Rule number one in Los Angeles? Never let a stranger drive you anywhere."

"If it makes you feel any better," Steve says sweetly, "I don't have a gun."

Munson pales, then starts running.

"Hey!" Steve cries and makes haste to follow him. "I must've said something wrong, please forgive me!"

"Nope, nope--get the fuck away from me, man!"

He grabs Munson's wrist to pull him back, which is a bad move since the man starts writhing around in his grip. "I'm not going to hurt you, sir!"

Steve drops Munson's hand and raises his in surrender. "See?"

"...Just let me get to my car."

"I'll give you a Rogers Hornsby if you take me to my hotel," Steve reasons.

Munson stills. "...That's like four grand, don't bullshit me."

He pulls the card from his jacket and presents it as evidence. "See? I was holding it back." He wants Munson to feel safe. "I got two." He reaches for the other cards in his pockets and pulls them out. "And-and all these other ones, too!"

"Okay, okay. You'll give me four thousand dollars if I drive you to your place?"

"Uh-uh!"

"That's it?"

"Yep."

"And I don't have to give you a quickie in the backseat or anything?"

"Yes sir--wait, what?"

Munson blows past his question like it didn't even leave Steve's mouth. "Can you stop with the sir crap?"

"Well, I'm sorry, sir--"

"My name is Eddie."

Eddie...Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. Wow, what a name. It's almost like something he's heard on the television.

"Why, it's nice to meet you, Eddie."

"Tolerable to meet you too, Steve."

Steve smiles shyly, then asks, "So are you a girl?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well it's just your hair...it's so long." Steve points at his as an example. "I've never seen anything like it before."

"Dude, it's 1992, every other guy looks like this--have you been living under a rock or something?"

Something like that. Steve shrugs.

"Well guys having long hair doesn't mean that they're girls, Steve, that's a given. It's not 1962 anymore." Eddie backtracks. "Well, I mean, dudes can have long hair and be chicks and chicks can be dudes too but that's not--"

"Oh, wow, my dad told me about one of those the last time he went here!"

"Oh that's fantastic, sweetheart," Eddie says, sugary-sweet. "But how about I drive you home?"

"That'd be a pleasure, Eddie."

#and then steve meets chrissy #eddie's roommate #and they go on a quest to help steve get supplies and also a girlfriend #but of course that goes sideways since they fall in love with each other #i swear thisll make sense if you read a synopsis of the movie trust me #im not the biggest fan of shy babygirl steve harrington but the concept of the film was too good not to milk the shit out of #i might make this a longer fic if I ever actually finish my current wips but who knows im a writing enigma #steddie #steddie fanfic #steddie ficlet #steddie drabble #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson x steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things au #stranger things s4 #alternate universe #blast from the past #this movie absolutely rocks btw you should check it out #it has brendan fraser in it