ᗪᗩᑎᑕE through the ∂αякηєѕѕ

melissa / mel ✴ she/her ✴ 30s ✴ aroace ✴ midwestern ✴ same name on ao3

[acesartemis]

why have ship wars when Buck and Tommy could be biting each of Eddie's ass cheeks rn and— oh hey look he just came

[buckleys-diaz]

this is me trying

for @evanbucxley ♡

[circledwithaheart]

okay, made up fic title: I'm in a new hell (every time) tell me everything!

for this ask meme

Ohhhh, ok, So. My first instinct is Time Loop™️ BUT I am also a reincarnation fiend and that fits more what I’m thinking. Especially if I include the mystery ‘tell me everything’ 😅

Actively in my Teddie feels atm, and I’m thinking they first meet in the 15-1600s (in the most magical dragon era au kinda way) Eddie’s a knight and Tommy’s a painter. They meet when Tommy is commissioned for a royal portrait. Secret trysts and rendezvous ensue. Eddie is sent off to defend the kingdom with a good chunk of the knights. He makes it home but just barely. Hanging by a thread, Tommy (who knows Eddie doesn’t believe in such things) goes for a last ditch effort ritual to make sure they find each other in the next lifetime. He makes a small mark under Eddie’s left eye so he’ll recognize him.

Eddie (who would roll his eyes if he wasn’t knocking on death’s door) pledges to find Tommy, too, because it’s important to him.

After Eddie’s death, Tommy spends the rest of his life capturing as much as he can in his paintings, determined to tell his love everything when they meet again.

It’s a few centuries later when they meet up, the two of them inexplicably drawn to each other. Neither one can explain why, they just know the other one is Important. One day Tommy notices the small mark under Eddie’s eye. Drawn to touch it, he remembers their pact. (I do not know how Eddie buys into this but he does.) He weeps listening to Tommy talk about the paintings and the short life they shared.

And so it goes through the ages. Every iteration it takes a little less time before they reconnect. They share stories about different lands and cultures, wives and children, careers. They lament about the how they haven’t managed to share a real life together. How they find one another only to be forced into the shadows, risking everything because they can’t stay apart.

The next iteration finds them in the canonical timeline. They don’t recognize each other until after the madness of the cruise ship rescue. Maybe it’s a Muay Thai session or working on the Chevelle when they’re flooded with the sense of ‘It’s you’.

They realize that this time they could actually make a life together. A real life that they wouldn’t have to hide from anyone. So they do. They life a full, rich life spent loving and growing old together. One morning they’re discovered in their bed, holding hands, having moved to the next iteration together.

(Side quest: in full circle fashion, one day they’re at the art museum with their granddaughter. In the Medieval wing, she points to a portrait excitedly. “Abuelo! Abuelo! It’s you!” Stunned, they stare at the painting that does indeed look like Eddie. A little younger, holding a sword with a royal crest. In the corner is an illegible, but familiar, signature. And to the right is a plaque: Wait for me. 1500s. Thomas Kinnard. Portrait of a young knight believed to be a close friend or lover.)

[fellator]

doesn't it piss you off that you have to find something to eat every single day. every one of them. just every day. you gotta eat something

[peachpulpeuse]

IF YOU SEE ANY PAINTING BY "EMILE CORSI" ON HERE, DO NOT REBLOG IT THINKING IT'S REAL AND FROM THE 1800s. IT IS AI-GENERATED AND EMILE CORSI IS NOT A HISTORICAL FIGURE

examples:

[tattedpetticoats]

And if you love the vibes and wish you could find something similar painted by a real person, let me introduce you to John William Waterhouse, on whose work the AI was definitely trained:

[laziestgirlintown]

Corsi is not real

John William Waterhouse official site

John William Waterhouse wikipedia

[homely-lunatic]

we need to talk more about the fandom experience of "I actually do like the idea of these two characters together and think it would have been an interesting direction for the show to have gone in, but unfortunately everyone who openly ships them is so exhaustingly unpleasant about it that it's barely even enjoyable to engage with the fandom at large anymore so the ship itself is now ruined for me"

[leashybebes]

snippet saturday

tagged recently by @corporatebanana, @rcmclachlan and @frogsinflannel. tagging you all back for next time, along with anyone else who has something to share. as with most things outside my usual, idk who to tag or not tag on a post like this so consider this me bigsing my eyes and asking to see what you're working on

well! let me share a story: i claimed a prompt at hj's prompt fest over on ao3 expecting to write something short and filthy featuring reverse age gap. howeverrrrr. i ended up thinking THOUGHTS and now i'm writing something LONG and filthy (and kinda sad) that i'm not sure find the fest vibe but which IS scratching my brain just right.

things you need to know: featuring married buddie in their 50s. fire captain buck, retired eddie, tommy who is 23 and just out of the army due to injury and is a) very unhappy, b) very obsessed with buck and eddie both c) very weird about his own desires

oh and this snippet is nsfw from like, the word go.

"Can I cum on your face?" Eddie asks, so polite about it. Tommy whines around his cock, and Eddie knows exactly what that means, pulls his dick out and gets his hand in Tommy's hair. He's been letting it grow out since the the second time he met Eddie, who remarked on his military posture and told him he didn't need to look like a jarhead anymore. He thinks they like it longer, and not just for the grip it affords them. When Evan realized there was a curl to Tommy's hair he'd tossed the three-in-one cheap shit Tommy had been using and introduced him to the world of a curl routine. It had made Tommy feel weird and young and cared about, but Evan coos about how cute it is, and Eddie likes to pull a curl straight and watch it spring back when they're lazing on the couch.

Right now, Eddie's not playing with his hair, just holding it, a tight grip that makes Tommy's eyes sting just right as he desperately keeps them open right until the last second. He can see Eddie's wedding ring shining as he strokes his cock, wet from Tommy's mouth, and if he really concentrates, he can convince himself he can feel Evan's too, where his hands are on Tommy's hips. Tommy takes Eddie's low, rough groan as his cue to close his eyes and feels Eddie's cum land on his face in several long, hot spurts. He wants to lick at what landed on his mouth but he knows they like the sight of him all messy, so he just blinks open his eyes and watches Eddie smile at him.

"There you are. Hey, beautiful. Do you mind if I show Buck a picture?"

Tommy shakes his head and groans when he feels Evan, who'd slowed down to help him present a nice, steady target for the facial start to fuck him harder, faster. Eddie snaps a picture on his phone, holds it out to Evan who groans and squeezes Tommy's hips harder. God, he hopes it leaves marks, hopes they press on them later when they make him cum.

"Fuck, you made him so pretty, babe," Evan grits out.

"He's always pretty," Eddie says, and holds the phone out to Tommy this time. He lets him look for a second, then lets him watch as Eddie deletes the picture. They're so much more fucking thoughtful than he wants them to be, sometimes.

[not-your-average-url]

I miss when ads were a single click and then they’re gone. Now every ad has a minimum of three phases where you watch a video, exit the still frame of fake gameplay, and then exit the app download. That doesn’t even touch on the ones that forcibly take you to another app after opening a tab in safari without you ever touching the screen.

I hate advertising. I hate that you can’t do anything without companies jumping down your throat with mostly bullshit ads. I hate that billboards exist. I hate that every company unanimously decided to make their ads longer and longer. I hate that ad blockers try to charge you money and there are in app purchases to remove ads. I hate that my attention has become commodified. I hate that there’s nothing I can do about it.

[echodoctor]

I now refuse to buy things that I've seen too many ads for, out of spite.

[smoqueen-deactivated20251108]

sorry for the nervous breakdown everyone im actuallt fine because i have to be

[monstermonger]

Spring has begun; life is rekindled...

Itty Bitty Spring Dragon stickers ♡

🍂Autumn | ❄️Winter | 🌱Spring | 🌻 Summer

[membraneshock]

rip to all the “fuckyeah___” blogs that carried our society at one point </3

[abarelysapientpairofshoes]

I like it when my friends make art shout out to friends making art

[hackitoffman]

for day 3 of pitt yuri week: first kiss(es)

[moonriase]

@thepittmonth: Week 2  relationships, friendships, and dynamics

(some of) my favorite dynamics...but i predictably gave them ridiculous nicknames that could double as band names

[eventuallyyouwouldtoo]

🫶🏻 us 🫶🏻

[tiredsleepywriter]

more rabbot texts

[discodeviant]

med school rabbot + established relationship 1.2k | ao3 | insecure robby is insecure. enjoy <3

“Is it weird that we haven’t had sex yet?”

Past midnight—textbooks lay open on the bed and desk, dog-eared, flipped through, scribbled on with all manner of pens; ash tray by the open window, pattering rain, two dried-up coffee mugs on the floor, two boys at a standstill and one at a loss for words. Robby, belly down on the bed with his knees bent and ankles crossed, stares through the pages, taps a pencil against his thumb with a nervous rhythm, bees flying circles in his head. Jack watches him from the desk chair.

When he doesn’t answer, Robby closes his book and reaches on the floor for his battered American Spirits box—“Never mind”—sits back up, lights one, stiff through the neck. They’ve been cooped up in his dorm for five hours, and while Jack’s academic focus has remained intact, Robby’s has long vanished.

Jack flounders. “I… I—I mean, do you want—do you want to?”

They’ve never talked about this. Most couples they know wouldn’t have made it forty minutes in this room.

“Most couples have sex,” says Robby. “Takes them, what, a week? A day?” A flash of orange to his mouth, a long drag, and, “Not half a year.”

So they are no longer studying. Behind him Jack closes his own textbook and shoves Robby’s over to make room for himself, lying sideways, looking up at Robby who right now can’t bring himself to look back. “Catholics don’t have sex ‘til marriage,” Jack says, manages to make him laugh despite the shame he hoards in his chest.

“Not helpful.”

“I’m just—I—not everybody has sex, okay, it’s not weird.”

Robby thinks if he looks at Jack he’ll cry. Why did he bring this up again? It’s incessant, that thing in him, the fear of Jack getting bored of this and leaving him behind. “You don’t want to?” he asks, and in the split second before the answer is relief he’s desperate to hold onto.

“I didn’t say that, just”—and it’s gone just as quickly, eaten by disgust—“well. I don’t know. We’ve got our thing,” Jack says. “I like it.”

More smoke through Robby’s lungs; a car drives by; his head tucks itself into his chest for a solace that isn’t there. “It’s not enough, though, is it.” Before he realizes Jack has moved, there’s a hand running through the back of his tousled hair, drawing him back up, and he looks at Jack’s down-turned mouth, selfishly wants to be kissed by it, by Jack, and maybe—maybe more, if—

“Baby, hey.”

—if Jack wants to, he doesn’t think he’d mind touching him, but being touched, his stomach coils, mind blurs, and it’s someone else—

“Oh, Mike, put that thing out, come here,” Jack says, cooing his name. Robby’s cigarette is gone, his face is in Jack’s shirt collar that smells so good it makes him sick, and he doesn’t realize he’s already crying until his tears are rubbed back into his cheeks. “What’s going on?”

“You’ve done it before,” Robby says, pulling away to make it hurt less when the conversation goes sideways in a new, disastrous way he hasn’t yet conceived. Jack shrugs.

“For fun, yeah. No strings attached sort of deal once or twice. It’s fun.”

“Have you… since…”

And Jack’s expression changes, bewildered or insulted, Robby can’t quite tell, when he says, “Since I very deliberately asked if you were interested in an exclusive relationship, no, I haven’t had sex with anybody else. Jesus.”

“Please don’t be mad, I’m—“

“I’m not mad, I’m confused, Mikey.” Robby wipes his tears, and Jack takes his dampened hands, holds them tight. “Look, okay. You talk. Talk, don’t just ask me things.”

Robby’s gaze still falls to Jack’s lips, a little higher to his freckled nose, the sleepless, twitchy skin under his eyes, but no higher, and words tumble from one space in Robby’s brain to another; his mouth opens with no sound for a while, but Jack remains ever patient.

“I don’t want you to feel bad,” he says. “I don’t know, the thought of it’s always freaked me out a little—a lot, actually—but now I’m with you, and you probably want to, but I…”

“You don’t.”

Robby wipes his face on his shoulder and blinks hard. There it is, he thinks, out in the open once and for all, and now Jack will break his heart gently. He can only shake his head.

“Okay. Okay, um.”

“It’s not you. I don’t know what it is. Porn doesn’t really do it for me either, and trust me, I’ve… I’ve tried.” Jack’s thinking face, hard, intense, is smoothed by Robby’s thumb between the brows, hand down his cheek. “You’re gonna pop a vein.”

“Sorry, I… but you’ve, like…” He says it through his teeth like it’s a secret, or more likely thinking that Robby will run: “You’ve gotten hard before. Like, more than once.”

“Well, yeah, because I like you, and I like the way you hold me and kiss me, and if we’re making out for an hour listening to Joni Mitchell, my body’s gonna react. It’s just, it’s not… sexual to me. I don’t know. I’m not even entirely against trying… something. I don’t know what, but it’s been stressing me out so much, Jack, because I haven’t done it before, and I really want this to work—”

Jack’s kiss is the lapping line of waves on a balmy shore, easy and familiar and tear-salted. “It does work,” he says. “We’d both know if it didn’t, right? It’s what you said, we’re intimate in other ways, and it’s nice.” Robby leans out of Jack’s hand again. “I like this, Mike, I love this.”

“I love you,” he says, a hint of a whisper, and they haven’t yet made it this far either, not out loud. “Fuck, sorry. I mean, I’m not sorry for that, I do love you, and I’ve loved you for a long time, and I want—I want you, but this wouldn’t be enough for most people!”

“Don’t think about other people. I don’t care about them. I care about you, about us. Sex doesn’t matter to me, man. It’s… I don’t know, it’s like rock climbing.”

Robby’s laugh bursts straight from his belly, and the relief is back, tickling in his chest, and Jack shrugs carelessly, laughing too; it’s a beautiful sound. “Rock climbing, he says it’s like rock climbing.”

“Look, all I’m saying is, it’s not on my mind all the time. Maybe that makes me weird too. Maybe that’s why this works so well.” Jack looks for Robby’s eye line, takes his head in both hands to drag it back up to him—“I love you”—rubs his thumbs over both eyes, both gaunt, reddened cheeks—“so much, Michael”—and Robby’s face wrinkles in his grasp, malleable like his heart in these hands that have come to know him so deeply. Jack kisses his mouth again, his cheeks, nose, eyelids, ears, under the jaw, down and around the neck, and from there they hold each other, impassioned and raw and tight.

Jack could squeeze Robby to his last breath and he’d be happier for it.