#wild.

[ceaseless-tosser]

Martin when Jon wants to hurt innocent people: What the actual fuck. I need to call an intervention. This is insane.

Jon when Martin wants to hurt innocent people: *blushes* Oh you~

[sunsetbuddie]

"i understand him feeling threatened by what me and eddie have" is Such a crazy thing to say and i think it gets lost a little on account of the craziness of the rest of what buck says in that conversation. but it's a fucking insane thing to say. because it shows that on some very real level buck knows that his and eddie's relationship is Not Entirely Normal. to the extent that he understands his (ex)boyfriend feeling threatened by it. and not just that but he specifically says BY WHAT ME AND EDDIE HAVE. and it's like. buck. what do you and eddie have? that's the question he really needs to reckon with. he's aware they have Something. something entirely different to any other relationship in his life. but he won’t look at what that something is. he won't put words to what he and eddie have. it's i understand him feeling threatened. but not i understand WHY he feels threatened. because to answer the why would mean that what he and eddie have becomes less an ambiguous Something that he doesn't have to look too closely at.

[hastyart]

this is only slightly ahistorical*

[lukewarmtomatosoup]

exceptionally rare oc art

[ghostalservice]

(the one where Dr. John Carter is a camboy instead of an RA, epilogue)

parts 1-13 linked here. entire fic on ao3 here.

The train pulls into Union Station only twenty minutes late, which is better than John had expected—he didn’t even realize you could take a train from California to Chicago, but Andrew hadn’t wanted to deal with the TSA or anything, didn’t want to use his real documents or risk false ones, and didn’t want to travel without at least a knife (John argued it down from a couple guns. It’s... an ongoing negotiation).

John knows Andrew’s worries do make sense, what with everything about his life. Still, John isn’t quite sure he believes he’ll be on this train, even after everything that’s happened the last few months.

Andrew’s traveling under an assumed name. His family’s got issues (John can relate, although his family's issues are... significantly different than Andrew's), and there are various agencies who want to keep track of him (John can relate less to this one, although he’s certainly been hit up for money by organizations who (1) should not have his contact information in the first place and/or (2) should know that he no longer has access to the Carter family money). So he’s Andrew Carter for this trip, which. Well. It makes John feel all sorts of ways!

After nearly two days on Amtrak’s Southwest Chief, in a little private sleeper train car that he’s sent John dozens of pictures of—Andrew is enamored of it in his intense, quiet way. It’s a marvel of civic engineering, the views incredible, the construction years in the making—and John knows that after an orgasm or two to relax him, Andrew will be infodumping about the route, the engine, and the history all night long.

That’s alright. John can’t wait to hear it.

Because it’s been six months—half a year!—of video calls and phone calls and texts and pictures (both filthy and mundane), and this, moments from now, will be the first time he’s seeing Andrew with his own eyes, touching him with his own hands.

That is, if Andrew gets off the train.

John stares at the line of traincars as it slows to a stop—and there, through the glass of the window of the exit door in the car third from the locomotive, he sees a familiar silhouette standing stock-still and his heart starts to pound. He hurries down the platform, dodging people and suitcases and benches, and when the door slides open, John is there, waiting. Ready.

“Hi,” he says, and he can feel the way his face is split open with a grin, because—he’s here. He’s real.

Andrew steps down from the train car, backpack over one shoulder, and smiles, tiny and hopeful and a little shy. He’s shorter than John had imagined, shoulders just as broad, bronze-silver hair catching the light, and he’s just as beautiful—and John steps forward, reaches out, and pulls him in close, wrapping him tight in his arms. Their bodies fit together perfectly, no awkwardness, only a shocking, immediate familiarity.

Andrew buries his face in John’s neck, breath hot against his skin, and laughs under his breath, just a little.

“You’re here,” Andrew murmurs, muffled, exhalation hot against John’s skin.

“So are you,” John says.

“You’re wearing my sweater,” Andrew says, and his hands tighten around John’s waist, holding him close, not letting go.

There are details to work out—rearranging John’s apartment, fencing the backpack full of stolen jewelry Andrew’s holding, getting documents and having fights about the dishes—but for now?

This is enough.

(sequel)

[selfmaderibcageman]

every post about charlie hebdo on tumblr is In French or someone saying they deserved it.

[batfambrainrotbeloved]

Got sent this and I am estatic-