Ayyy now that I’m not being weirdly secretive about what I’m writing—which, why have I started doing that?? I can say what today’s snippet is from, which is Evan Buckley, Last Man on Earth (working title)
No one’s tagged me, and it’s early, so I’m kicking things off this weekend since I actually have something to share (CW for descriptions of a deadly pandemic, NOT Covid, but feels important to warn for regardless)
And then, about two weeks in, the station alarm stops its nearly incessant ringing. Buck and the two other firefighters that haven’t yet gotten sick or just flat out left don’t get a single call for hours. Deluca reckons either no one’s calling for help anymore, or likelier, that there’s no one left at dispatch to route the calls to them.
Deluca’s eyes are rimmed in red, and so are the other guy’s—a firefighter from a different shift whose name Buck doesn’t know, and whose name he can’t bring himself to ask now. Buck pretends they’re red from lack of sleep, or unshed tears rather than the first sign of infection.
He shakes both their hands anyway when they all come to the silent but unanimous decision to leave. Buck gave up worrying about how it spreads a week ago—he either has it by now or he doesn’t, and if he doesn’t, he will eventually.
Bromos! Tell me about high school friends Bahorel and Feuilly's first kiss, extra points if one of them is totally surprised but pleased!
i took this as “being in high school and being friends” and then realized maybe not what you meant… but i think this came out quite cute so i hope that’s okay (: xoxox
This is it… I’m going to do it, today, Feuilly had thought when he had woke up that morning for school. It had been a half-asleep, dreamy thought -- one that had made him blush at himself, while he combed down ginger cowlicks in the mirror, getting ready to go, when he had realized he’d thought it.
But it had stuck with him for the rest of the day.
He had felt his cheeks heat up again when he had reached school and was hanging out with his friends, and Bahorel arrived -- as loud and warm as ever, grinning at Feuilly with teeth and premature laughter lines. He hoped it hadn’t been too obvious.
He had blushed again in second period -- American History: 1900s to Present, Honors -- when Bahorel had leaned over and their arms had brushed as he tried to discreetly pass him a note. Nothing that Bahorel did was all that discreet, though: not when he was seventeen and six-foot-four and built like the athlete that he was (baseball in the spring and summer, hockey in the fall and winter). The teacher had given them a warning glance, so Feuilly had pretended that nothing had been passed his way until Ms. Hucheloup had looked away to write more notes about Watergate on the whiteboard. Then, Feuilly had opened the note:
Free after school? Y / N
Feuilly had circled the sloppy ‘Y’, passing the note back to Bahorel when he’d been certain Ms. Hucheloup wouldn’t notice… She didn’t. A Glance at Bahorel let Feuilly know that they were leaving it at that for now.
At lunch, Feuilly had blushed again when Bahorel had appeared behind him at the lunch table -- last to arrive -- and wrapped two big hands over his shoulders in way of greeting, then sat down in the empty seat between him and Grantaire (always empty, because that had become Bahorel’s Seat at this point in the school year). Bahorel had asked what he wanted to do after school, but Feuilly had shrugged his shoulders -- whatever you want to do, just happy to be spending time with you, was what he thought, but held back on voicing the latter.
So when school ended, Feuilly found himself lounging on the top row of bleachers at one of the school’s sports fields, the girls’ soccer team practicing below them, Bahorel occasionally interrupting their light conversation to cheer on Eponine when she did something that must’ve been a good move (Feuilly didn’t know much about soccer… or any sports -- besides baseball and hockey, of course). Watching Bahorel in his moments of distraction caused Feuilly’s early-morning thought to return to him again -- as if it hadn’t been plaguing him all day any time he’d seen his friend. Today -- do it.
“Hey, Baz…” Feuilly started, because Bahorel was looking down at the field again, not at him. But at Feuilly’s words, he turned so easily back to him, and Feuilly didn’t hesitate -- acted before he could chicken out of it.
He leaned in what distance there was left to cover between them and pressed his lips to Bahorel’s. He felt Bahorel still, and gasp, and panic flared in Feuilly’s stomach that he had made a grave mistake. Then he felt the other boy’s lips curl up a bit -- smiling -- and felt his body relax, a hand fall onto his knee as Bahorel turned even more toward Feuilly.
The kiss wasn’t that long -- Feuilly pulled away at the sudden remembrance that they weren’t exactly in private (and if Eponine had seen, their entire friend group would know as soon as soccer practice was over, surely) -- but it had been long enough to assure him that Bahorel wanted it. Him.
“What was that for?” the other asked.
“Something I’ve been thinking about all day,” Feuilly responded.
Bahorel touched his lips with a gentle smile on his face, and Feuilly understood because there was still a tingle on his own. “Glad you did.”
“Me too…”
“Want to go get ice cream and head to mine for video games?” Bahorel suggested.
Feuilly didn’t think they’d play much video games, but… “Sounds good, yeah, let’s go.”
A few hours later, and yeah, they had kind of played video games between distracted kissing, and Feuilly’s phone buzzed where it sat next to him on Bahorel’s bedroom floor.
I DEMAND U TELL ME !!EVERYTHING!! ASAP
Feuilly rolled his eyes. If Enjolras knew, then Eponine must have seen, and spread the gossip already. He ignored the text, would wait until he was back home to gush at Enjolras about finally making a move on his crush.
Tagged by @clusterbuck @gayhoediaz and @devirnis ☺️
This is from a thing. Who is he you might wonder. He is Buck
March. He’s reached the milestone of having worked through the entire nonfiction section of the local bookstore, including all the celebrity memoirs of people he’s never heard of. He moves on to the thrillers and wonders if he’ll finish them by the fall.
April, May, June. He has a garden, and while he briefly considers letting it run wild and untended this year, he decides that’s not in the spirit of the deal, so he tends it the same way he has the last couple of years. It’s work he can lose himself in, and he’s glad he decided to keep it up.
July and August are hot and miserable because some things never change.
Tags! I haven’t been on much today so apologies if you’ve already posted today, but I’m trying to get back in the swing of things, so: @fiona-fififi @transboybuckley @eddiebabygirldiaz @rewritetheending @elvensorceress @sibylsleaves @homerforsure @eowon @giddyupbuck
Ahhh, the last man on earth fic my beloved/my beloathed.
I’ve shared a couple lil pieces here but haven’t actually talked about it (except to you) because it just makes me so nervous because I love it so much but I already feel like I’m fucking it up lol
Buuuuut it’s an au in name and very basic concept only of the gone too soon Fox sitcom the Last Man on Earth, in which pretty much everyone on earth has been wiped out by a pandemic except for one Evan Buckley…and of course a handful of other characters we know and love. Here’s a snippet: (CW for some suicidal actions. It’s fine, he gets over it)
The man stops short, mouth falling open as he notices Buck. And then he notices Buck’s precarious position on the rail of a very tall bridge, and his eyes widen.
“Hey man, why don’t you just climb back over that rail?”
Buck blinks and looks down at himself. Oh yeah. He looks exactly like a guy about to jump off a bridge. Probably because he was about to do just that. A hysterical laugh bubbles up the back of his throat and he swallows it down so this guy doesn’t think he’s completely off his rocker.
He swings one leg over, then the other, his fingers curled in an iron grip on the rail, suddenly sure the universe is going to get the last laugh by making him accidentally fall to his death right when he’s been given the sign he’s been begging for.
But he gets his legs over and lowers himself onto the safety of the bridge without incident.
And now he just stands there and stares at the man and the kid—Christopher. The man had called him Christopher.
this is totally lame, self-indulgent, and written when i couldn’t sleep @ 2am last night so i’m sorry in advance but it’s been a while since i posted any fic so i’m goin’ for it.
Enjolras flopped on the bed with a groan, not even bothering to change out of the clothes he had worn to work -- not even to kick his shoes off. His head felt like it was made of mush, which was now... He reached blindly for a tissue box, sniffling pathetically with his face buried in the fleece blanket laying on top of the other covers.
The apartment’s old floorboards creaked, warning of someone else’s presence.
“What’re you looking for?” Grantaire asked, socking softly thudding against the wood of their bedroom floor.
“Tissue,” Enjolras said, word muffled by the blanket he was refusing to lift his face from.
A second later, a tissue was placed in his hand with a soft, “Here,” and Enjolras mumbled his thanks before shifting to blow his nose. When his head turned, the back of a hand came to rest upon his forehead, and Enjolras stayed still until Grantaire pulled his head away, saying: “Well, you are warm.”
“Yeah. I feel like shit,” Enjolras said.
Grantaire sat down on the bed, gently grabbing at Enjolras -- who let himself be rearranged until his head was in the other man’s lap, a hand stroking his hair; he let out a content sigh. “Want some soup -- tea -- anything?” Grantaire offered.
“Soup sounds lovely.” Enjolras buried his face in Grantaire’s stomach. “But not yet... Just... stay like this for a bit.”
Enjolras felt, didn’t just hear, the light laughter of his boyfriend. “Of course. Let me know when you want me to make it.”
The hand continued to stroke Enjolras’ hair, and the blonde felt himself drifting off -- until his goddamn nose started running again, and he grabbed for the tissue, blowing his nose once more. Grantaire’s hand had left his hair, and Enjolras gave another soft groan. Might as well have some soup... Before he did fall asleep.
“Would you mind... making the soup now?” he asked.
“Not at all.” Grantaire began to shift -- and Enjolras, as well, forcing himself reluctantly up into a sitting position. “First, let’s get you tucked under the blankets and comfy, and then I’ll go.” Enjolras nodded his consent, moving and kicking the blankets away from the pillows before crawling under them; Grantaire then proceeded to tuck them more comfortable around him, before straightening up and giving him a soft smile. “I’ll be back soon with your soup, okay?”
“Okay. Thank you, R.”
“It’s no problem, sweetie.” Grantaire leaned over, placing a soft kiss on Enjolras’ forehead -- brushing some hair out of the way -- before heading out, presumably to the kitchen. Enjolras settled more comfortably into the bed as he heard the muffled clanging of pots and cabinets, grabbing at his phone, unsure of what else to do to pass the time -- getting a book or his laptop would require getting up, and if he could avoid that for a while, that’d be nice...
“Hey, Enj... Wake up, love.”
Enjolras managed to force his eyes open after some struggle, lids feeling heavy, and looked up at Grantaire -- who had that ‘how is he so adorable?’ smirk on his face that Enjolras had come to know well the past couple years. “Sorry... Hi...”
“Hi,” Grantaire replied with a laugh. “Got your soup... Actually -- I just reheated it... You were out for an hour; thought you could use the nap. But I know you well enough to know you could also use the food.” And he was right, of course; Enjolras was notorious for getting consumed in his work and forgetting to eat.
“Thank you, baby.” Enjolras pushed himself into a sitting position, hands out for the mug of soup Grantaire was holding. They made the exchange, then Grantaire rounded the bed and settled in under the covers on his side. Then, he inched over closer to Enjolras, until he had wrapped an arm around him; Enjolras relaxed into the hold, enjoying the extra body heat.
“Want to watch a movie?” Grantaire asked.
Enjolras nodded agreement and Grantaire reached over to grab the remote from his nightstand, flicking on the TV, going to Netflix. It didn’t take them long to settle on something, so all that was left was to cuddle up with boyfriend and sip at the soup he had brought for him -- and to try to get rid of this goddamn cold.
Okay, I'm not sure if you've seen RENT, but the Bromos as Roger and Mimi in Light My Candle? I'm sure it would be pretty hilarious.
ho boy, have i seen rent… one month my sister and i literally watched it 1-2 times a week. (’: i wasn’t really sure how to interpret them “as roger and mimi” so… i went with this, and i hope it works and you like it bc it was fun to write and they’re ridiculous!!!
Every time that they watched RENT, they barely actually did anything that could count as watching it, because they did it so regularly they just… acted out the parts right now. Every song, they knew who was singing which part. They basically knew the choreography – but Bahorel had a habit of making up his own, and Feuilly never complained, because he was too busy laughing every time Bahorel went off-script.
It was, hands-down, Bahorel’s favorite past-time with his boyfriend. They didn’t get a lot of time together as a couple, and certainly didn’t get a lot of time to go out if it wasn’t to an ABC meeting (and, well, however much they both liked their friends and the work accomplished, Bahorel still argued that it was not the ideal date) – as such, many of their nights together turned into quiet nights at home where a tired and overworked Feuilly could cuddle with him on the couch and they could watch movies until they were both too tired to keep their eyes open.
As soon as Feuilly had walked through the door that evening, Bahorel had known he’d had a bad day. Feuilly rarely expressed it, but Bahorel could tell in the sagging shoulders and the way Feuilly’s greeting-smile didn’t reach his eyes. He didn’t bring it up – Feuilly would brush it off – so he did what he could silently. He sat Feuilly down on the couch, made dinner for both of them, ate on the couch with HGTV on quietly in the background and occasional conversation distracting them from their meals, cleaned up their meal things after they were both done eating, then turned on RENT.
Feuilly was quiet for a while, and Bahorel flicked his own attention between his boyfriend and the movie, until he decided it was time for some more straight-forward cheering-up action as “Light My Candle” was starting. He grabbed Feuilly’s arms, and yanked him up from the couch with a half-assed whine of protest from the other man.
“Come on, this is your favorite,” Bahorel said with a grin – and was glad to see that Feuilly smiled more genuinely now than he had since getting home.
“Yeah, ‘cause you make a complete ass of yourself every time,” Feuilly shot back – but he seemed happier already, so Bahorel was counting that as a win.
Bahorel always did Roger’s part, Feuilly always did Mimi’s. So he jumped into it with his usual flair, getting more overdramatic the more he saw Feuilly smile genuinely.
“They say that I have the best ass below 14th Street – Is it true?”
“Very much so,” Bahorel responded, breaking the scene – but oh well – and pulling Feuilly closer to him, putting his hands on his ass and giving a teasing squeeze.
Feuilly laughed – despite the annoyed expression he was trying to school his features into. “This was your idea and you’re not even playing along,” he complained.
“Please, like I’m legally allowed to turn down an opportunity to compliment your butt.”
“Fair enough.”
Feuilly leaned in then, and gave Bahorel a kiss that had the taller man grinning once more before he spun Feuilly around, momentarily forgetting the movie in favor of dancing with the redhead.
Heyyy can you tell me about The last man on earth??
Yes!!! Explanation here!
And another snippet:
He tries to put together some nice clothes, but it turns out clothes were not one of the areas of his life he’d kept up. They’re clean, of course, but everything’s worn, and at some point before he’d settled here it had all been paired down to comfortable essentials: worn jeans, sweatpants, gym shorts, t-shirts, and hoodies. Almost all of which have holes or material otherwise going transparent with too many washes.
