#bucks gonna get there when he figures out he already has the perfect recipes - he just keeps trying to improve on what he already has

[stagefoureddiediaz]

Something something about us being shown Eddie developing his cooking skills before buck - that were shown Eddie being able to cook a full meal (and bake) before were shown Buck doing the same thing. And something something about that foreshadowing Eddie having his full feelings realisation before buck.

Eddie’s cooking skills are on display in 5x11 outside looking in when he cooks dinner for buck Chris and Taylor - and he’s baked cupcakes for desert as well.

But we don’t actually get shown buck cooking a full meal until the 6x01 lasagne. He’s only got as far as breakfast foods when he makes Maddie an omelet in 2x04 stuck but we don’t get shown him actively cooking again until he makes the lasagne.

After that its hit and miss on the cooking and baking front for buck - burnt lasagne in a 7 and I’m assuming his baking isnt that great in 8x07 by the way Chim has one bite and then pushes the loaf away before he masters the ziti, garlic bread etc in 807 and then later the scones in 8x08.

[between-two-fandoms]

Cheesecake Debacles

Crossposted onto ao3.

1k words.

Yes this is based on the cheesecake gate of 2020. Also this is really bad but I'm just leaving it as it is aoettjkwkkk.

When Julie finds out Luke hates cheesecake she decides to take matters into her own hands and bake her mom's world famous cheesecake, determined to change his mind. 

Julie watched as Alex and Reggie bantered back and forth. It always got like this when Luke wasn't there to act as a middle man. Most of the time their blabbering conversation passed right over her head as she scribbled down song lyrics… until she heard Reggie say something that didn't settle quite right. "I'm sorry did I hear that correctly? There's something that exsists that Luke hates more than Trevor Wilson?" Julie asked, giving up on the melody she was trying to play. She turned around and crossed her arms. Reggie and Alex both instantly grew more anxious (more so on Reggie's part, Alex was always anxious). Reggie bounced on his heels, his arms wrapped tightly around his body as Alex placed anxiously behind him.

"Uh… yeah, I guess so." Reggie said quietly, like he let something slip about Luke Julie wasn't supposed to find out. Julie glanced at Alex, then narrowed her eyes at Reggie.

"Tell me," Julie ordered. If there was something Luke hated more than the man who stole his songs Julie couldn't help but be curious about who it was. Reggie screwed his mouth shut, shaking his head furiously.

"Nope, we can't do that. Luke will kill us if he finds out we even so much have thought about it." Alex muttered, pulling off his sweatshirt when he started to sweat through it. Julie heaved a sigh before closing the distance between her and Alex, gently placing her hands on his shoulders. 

"Alex breathe," Julie said, watching Alex carefully for any signs of further panic. Luckily he got it under control before it got worse. "Now. What does Luke hate more than Trevor Wilson?" Alex avoided her eyecontact, muttering the answer under his breath. "Alex you need to talk louder," Julie said apologetically, "I can't hear you."

"Luke hates cheesecake…" Alex mumbled, his cheeks heating up pinker than his sweatshirt. "Always has, Bobby did too but the idiot went vegan for six months so he had a valid excuse." Julie let out a snort of disbelief, but when she looked at Reggie she could tell they weren't lying.

"Luke hates Cheesecake?" Julie asked, a plan formulating in her mind.  Reggie frowned, his eyebrows furrowing together in confusion.

"What are you planning?" Reggie asked when Julie turned back around and scribbled down her idea. Both of her boys poofed next to her to read over her shoulders.

"You want to trick Luke into eating cheesecake?" Alex said with a snort, his voice ridden with disbelief. "Phat chance of that happening. The last time Luke ate cheesecake he was at Gerald from fifth grader's house and he got sick."

"Please, twenty bucks says I can get Luke to eat cheesecake by the end of the day," Julie said ripping the sheet of paper out of her notebook. She scribbled down her mom's mouth drooling cheesecake recipie from memory. Reggie exchanged a look with Alex before shrugging.

"Not like we have anything to loose, right Alex?" Reggie asked. For some reason Alex tended slightly and Reggie apologized saying, "too soon?" Alex nodded,

"Way too soon man. I don't think it's ever not going to be too soon." Turning to Julie the drummer held out his hand. "If you can get Luke to eat cheesecake by the end of the day you'll get twenty bucks from the both of us." Reggie let out a squawk of protest, whacking Alex's hand down before Julie could shake it.

"Dude Julie's just gonna bat her eyelashes and Luke's going to crumble. I love him but he's always been weak." Reggie said, refusing to let Alex shake Julie's hand. Julie rolled her eyes crossed her arms, glaringly at the bassist.

"Don't you want to see Luke taken down a peg or two? He's said no to Home Is like, five times already. Reggie, your country music is good. I don't care if it's not our usual sound," Julie said, grinning when Reggie himself finally took her hand in his.

"You got yourself a deal Molina," Reggie said before pulling Julie in for a hug. Julie pushed out of Reggie's hold with a smile stretched across her face. She reached up to pat his spongy hair before skipping off to start making her mom's cheesecake from scratch. Reggie watched Julie walk off and nudged Alex's shoulder with his elbow. "I hope you got twenty bucks somewhere in here cause we're both going to lose." Reggie said before poofing to the house to watch Julie cook.

Julie spent the afternoon preparing everything and trying to keep Luke out of the kitchen: which proved to be a more difficult task than it was worth. He'd sneak a small handful of chocolate chips when she wasn't looking, or swipe a finger in her frosting bowl. She's end up hitting him with her spatula before he poofed away. It took her an hour to figure out how her mom used to do everything because when the chocolate cheesecake was done it looked absolutely perfect. "Oh yeah, we're so going to loose," Reggie said, poofing into the room, leaning on the back of a chair at her kitchen table. Julie grinned at him wickedly, letting him and Alex both sneak a slice of the cheesecake before Luke saw it.

"Def'ly 'oose," Alex said with a full mouth. Julie rolled her eyes and handed him a napkin.

"What are you guys eating?" Luke asked, appearing directly next to Julie, eyeing the cheesecake warily. Julie shrugged and innocently placed the cake within Luke's arm's reach. Reggie and Alex both poofed out of the room before Julien could say anything. Cowards, Julie thought, her anger hidden behind the same smile she gave him when they sang together. Luke glanced down at the cheesecake suspiciously, like it was a snake coiled up ready to strike. "Jules what's you spend an hour baking?" Luke asked, trying to hide how uncomfortable he'd gotten.

"I found a box of my mom's old recipes. This is supposed to be her world famous cheesecake but I think I messed up…" Julie said, trying to sound disappointed in herself. On cue Luke's instincts kicked in and he wrapped his arms around her.

"I'm sure it's not that bad Jules. It's cheesecake, how hard is it to screw up?" Luke asked. Julie sighed dramatically, turning around in his arms.

"If only there was someone who could taste test it for me," Julie said, pouting her bottom lip out. Luke scratched the back of his head, taking a step away from the table.

"Well uh. I can go find Reg or Alex for you if you want… they both love cheesecake for some unholy reason." Luke stammered, trying to come up with a reason why he couldn't test it himself. Julie just took a step closer to him, holding a little bite on a fork.

"Oh come on Luke, it's just a little cheesecake. Nothing to be afraid of," Julie promised, slowly guiding the fork closer to Luke's mouth. Luke gently wrapped his hand over hers and leaned down to take the bite of cheesecake. Julie waited to see if he would actually swallow it before raising to her toes to place a kiss on his chin.

"Thanks Luke! Reg and Alex owe me twenty bucks," Julie exclaimed, pushing past him to run to the studio to claim her victory.

"I'm sorry Reggie and Alex what?!" Luke yelled after her, chasing her to the studio.

[buckleysjareau]

you feel like the perfect escape now

"In the symbolic language of jewels, a sapphire in a wedding ring means marital happiness."

or

Eddie planning his proposal with the help of Hen and Karen. Featuring good ol' Buck and Chimney banter, soft and in love boyfriends, and tooth rotting fluff.

part two of three in my series ‘cause i’m not too far and you’re my favorite place on ao3

Eddie Diaz was never the type of guy to actually think about marriage. He’ll sound horrible saying it, but he didn’t really think about his marriage to Shannon. He loved her, he’s loved her since their third date when they were caught in the rain and instead of freaking out, she grabbed Eddie’s hand, dragged him out from the shelter and spun them around, head falling back in happy, care-free laughter. He loved her when she told him, with tears in her eyes, that she was pregnant. He loved her as she walked down the aisle with a grin on her face, carelessly happy. He loved her when she gave birth to their world.

But he never thought about it as it happened. When she’d told him she was pregnant, after he got over the initial excitement, his first thought was oh, we should probably get married now. Before that, it never occurred to him that he would ever marry Shannon, even though he loved her.

It was different with Buck.

Realizing he wants to marry Buck, not because he should but because it’s the only thing he can think of when he goes to sleep at night and when he wakes in the morning. He realizes the difference in the thought when it comes to planning his proposal to Buck and how he treated Shannon’s proposal.

He loved Shannon, but he was never in love with her. The thought sends an uncomfortable amount of guilt through him, but he hears Buck’s voice in his ear saying, you can’t help who you fall in love with.

Not exactly what he meant when he said it but it helped Eddie shake a lot of the guilt.

He was wholeheartedly, one-hundred percent, completely, utterly and stupidly in love with Evan Buckley.

The second it struck him how much he not just wanted, but needed to marry Buck, he couldn’t wait a second longer to start planning it. 

The first thing he has to do before he even starts planning anything, though, is ask Christopher if he would be okay with him marrying Buck. He knows his kid loved Buck more than life, but sometimes he’s scared that Chris will think that if he marries him, he’ll be replacing Shannon.

When it happens that Buck and his schedules don’t line up, he takes Christopher to lunch at his favorite place and asks. 

“Christopher, can I ask you a really important question?”

He giggles when his son looks up from his triple chocolate pancakes with whipped cream and chocolate already covering his mouth. “What is it, dad?”

“Abuela’s gonna kill me for letting you order all of this sugar.” He shakes his head as he smiles before he clears his throat. “You know how before Buck and I got together, I asked what you’d think about it?”

“I said I loved my Buck and got really excited.”

“That’s right! Well, Christopher, how would you feel if I asked your Buck to marry me?”

Chris’ smile grows immediately. “You’re gonna marry Bucky?”

“If that’s alright with you.” He smirks.

“Yes! Yes!” 

His heart soars. He was really going to ask Evan Buckley to marry him. 

After he texts Hen for her help and the twenty texts he receives of her freaking out in the language of keyboard smash, he tries to plan it. Keyword: tries.

From Hen;

Alright, alright diaz-buckley, how do you plan to do this

To Hen;

I have no clue!!! That’s why i asked for your help to research and what not. I’m not Buck, i’m not good at research or whatever

Also

*future diaz-buckley, we’re not married YET

From Hen;

boy... you’re in love in love huh

Your boy is sitting right across from me 

*photo attachment*

What’s he smiling at eddie?

To Hen;

Probably dog videos 

Now helllllppppppppppppp

From Hen;

You were right. A golden retriever looking at videos of golden retrievers

Patient, diaz! 

Got a call, we’ll talk later

To Hen;

Tell buck to be careful!

You too obviously

bu t you know what I mean 

He doesn’t know why he thought he could get anything done regarding the proposal through text. That’s how Hen and him were, they had never been able to stay on one conversation at a time when texting. There was one time when Hen had asked him for a recipe Buck wouldn’t give her, followed by a text about a playdate with Denny, and a text asking his high score in Candy Crush. He responded to say he’d ask him and send it and continued the conversation. Talk of playdates turned into talks of weirdest calls, talk of high scores in Candy Crush turned to talk of modern technology and so on. By the time Hen stopped responding, presumably because Karen got home, Eddie realized he’d never given her the recipe. 

It was different in person, they could sit for hours and talk about the same thing. He cherishes any conversation with Hen, though. He cherishes their friendship so much. Next to Buck, Hen was his best friend. 

That’s why he couldn’t think to ask anyone better to help him plan the next step in his life with the man that he loves.

From Hen;

Heads up, your boys in a sour mood 

Dont worry though because ik you are!

Im sure a nice cuddle from his soon to be fiance will do the trick

To Hen;

Why shouldnt I worry? An hour ago you sent me pic of him smiling 

Now hes in a bad mood? Something happened

Hennnnnnnnn tell me what happppppennnnnneddddd

What was the call

im bored and worried 

From Buck; 

Can I stay the night? Ill bring wine and chinese <22222

<4444

To Buck;

You okay there babe? Haha

You never have to ask 

Or bribe me with food and alcohol

But i will accept it <3

From Buck;

You know i hate texting don’t judge me!

See you in 10 love love love you <3

Eddie’s worried. Buck practically lived at the Diaz’s, he never had to ask to stay the night and he knew that. All Hen had sent back was the shrug emoji so he was on his own to figure out why.

As promised, Buck walks in ten minutes later with two bags of chinese food and a bottle of white wine. He seemed tense, but when he sees Eddie in his presence, he can automatically see his whole body relax. 

“I hate when we’re not on shift together.” Buck says in lieu of a greeting. He places the wine and food on the coffee table in front of them before he plops down next to Eddie.

He leans into Eddie’s touch, instantly lying his head on Eddie’s chest and closes his eyes.

Eddie smiles down at his boyfriend, automatically moving to run a hand through his curls, wrapping the other arm around Buck’s chest. “Me too. I missed you today. So did Chris.”

“I missed you both like crazy today. I can’t wait to just cuddle up to you and fall asleep.” He mumbles. “You’re my world.”

Even after all of this time, Buck can still make Eddie blush like it’s nothing.

He presses his lips to Buck’s forehead. “And you’re mine.” 

It stays quiet after that until Eddie’s stomach growls, startling Buck into sitting upright in laughter. 

“I think it’s time to eat, huh?” 

“You’d be right.” 

Buck gets up and gets two wine glasses from the kitchen. The way in which Buck walks so comfortably around his home will never fail to bring a kaleidoscope of butterflies to his stomach. He knows where everything is and he knows how everything works and it feels empty when he’s not there. 

Eddie turns on the TV and picks a random station that’s playing reruns of a cop show he’d seen here and there. Eddie and Buck’s legs are interlaced and resting on the coffee table, food in their laps when things settle. The ease on Buck’s face makes him wonder why he was even worried in the first place.

They don’t talk as they eat their food and sip their wine. They just take in each other’s company as they watch what’s on in front of them, perfectly content in just being together. 

Buck’s phone rings from the coffee table. When he lets it ring through to voicemail without even looking at ID, Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t you the one who said you should answer every phone call because it might be important? Or are you just a clone of my boyfriend?”

Buck snorts. “I know it’s not important.”

It starts to ring again and Eddie sees Maddie’s name flash on the screen. “It sounds important.”

“I promise you it’s not.” 

Then she calls a third time and Buck groans. “Fine, fine. I’ll answer.” 

He doesn’t leave the room, doesn’t make any effort to grab his phone, just sits back and pouts as Eddie hands him his phone. 

He listens to Buck’s side of the conversation closely. He’s talking about not wanting to go somewhere because he doesn’t know if someone is going to be at that place and he doesn’t want to risk it. Hm.

“I was having a nice, relaxing night with Eddie before you called about something you knew the answer to, so if you’ll excuse me, I’d love to get back to that.” He throws his phone onto his lap after he hangs up, then smiles sheepishly. “Any chance you can ignore that?”

“If you don’t want to talk about it right now, that’s perfectly okay. But we do have to talk about it eventually. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you snap at Maddie, so something must have happened.”

Buck cuddles back into Eddie’s chest, revelling in his arm comfortably wrapped around his shoulders. “It’s really not a big deal, Eds. It’s just stupid.”

“Well, lucky for you, I like hearing everything you have to say. Even if it’s stupid.” 

“Did you just boop my nose?” 

“And what about it?”

All Eddie feels is the shaking from Buck’s giggling. “Shit, whoever decided I was good enough to have you in my life is someone I’d like to meet because...man, I love you.”

“Hi, nice to meet you.” Eddie smirks.

Buck hides his face in the nook of his neck. “Stop making me blush.”

“Never.”

It’s quiet again after that until Buck finally talks. “So, uh…”

“Yeah?”

“I got a wedding invitation in the mail today. It’s from my cousin, she’s getting married in Los Angeles so she invited Maddie and me. We get along just fine, always have, but I haven’t talked to her in a few years and now Maddie thinks it’s completely necessary to actually go to her wedding. I just don't know if I want to risk going and have them be there as well, you know?”

“Your parents?”

“Who else?”

“Well think about it this way. If the risk of seeing your parents again was out of the equation, would you want to go?”

Buck sighs. “Of course I would. It’d be nice to see her again and have a good time, but Eds… you know how my parents are.”

It’s true, he did know how his parents were. He remembers when they’d come to Los Angeles when they found out their first grandchild had been born. He remembers how tense Buck had been the entire time, how he let his parents walk all over him and tell him how big of a failure he was like it was a normal day to day conversation. He especially remembers yelling at Buck’s father after a particularly barbaric comment on Buck’s lifestyle. 

He knows why he’d want to avoid his parents, because Eddie would too. 

“Can you bring a plus one?”

“What?”

“Can you bring a plus one to the wedding?” He smiles when Buck nods. “Take me. If your parents are there, I’ll have your back. Plus, your cousin seems nice, I’d love to meet the family that’s not pretentious.”

Buck choked on the wine he’d taken a sip of. “You think Maddie’s pretentious?”

“Oh, yeah, definitely pretentious.” He jokes. “I mean your extended family. You’ve met mine.”

Buck sighs. “Whatever. I guess we’re going to a Buckley wedding. I really did want to see McKenna so you win.”

“I always do.” He grins before he connects his lips with Buck’s and giggles against it when his fingers press against the only ticklish part of his body.

“What? Did that tickle?” Buck gasps. “You said you weren’t ticklish!”

“I’m not!” 

“Mhm.” 

Then suddenly, the wedding worries were long forgotten, tickle war long taking its place. 

“Oooooooh, so you’re going to a wedding with him, huh?” Hen wiggles her eyebrows from where she stands across her kitchen. “That’s gonna be you one day.”

Eddie sighs exasperatedly. “Not if I have nothing planned. I wanna make this special, okay?”

Hen’s face softens. “Anything you do to propose will make it special, honey. You’re Buck’s world, a simple Marry me? would be the most romantic thing in the world to him.”

“Maybe so, but that’s how it was with Shannon. She was pregnant with Christopher so I thought the next logical step would be marriage, but this is different. Buck is different.”

“Alright, alright, let’s get to work, then.” She opens her laptop. “What are some of your favorite things about him?”

Eddie’s face erupts into a look of pure adoration at that question. “Oh, Henrietta, you have no idea what you just got yourself into, asking that. What are some of my favorite things about Evan Buckley? Let’s see… When he wakes up in the morning, he makes this cute little noise when he stretches and it makes my heart fill with joy. He loves Christopher like he’s his own and he never treats him differently. He just has so much knowledge about literally anything. Random facts upon random facts are stored in that beautiful brain of his and whenever he tells me one of these random facts, it’s suddenly the most important thing in the world. He’s so selfless, you know this. When we got together and I still wasn’t sure about being open about my sexuality, he put my fears above his own fear of telling you guys. He’s an amazing cook, so amazing I have a hard time believing that before he joined the one-eighteen the only thing he could cook was ramen. Even if he could still only cook ramen, I’d still love him, we’d just be living off of frozen food. I love the little family we’ve got going on now. I can go on for hours, but I won’t. Any of that help?” 

By the time he was done, Karen was home and trying her hardest not to tease the lovesick man.

“Oh, honey, you’ve got it bad.” Karen giggles. “Buck has it just bad, though.”

Hen clears her throat. “What’s something that’s specific to you and Buck? Christopher, too. You can always propose that way. Doing something and it’ll just come completely unexpected?”

The metaphorical light bulb over Eddie’s head flashes on. “I have it!”

It’s a Friday morning at the firehouse and Eddie finds himself next to Hen, looking over her shoulder as she helps him navigate what needs to be done to propose. 

His eyes travel up to meet his boyfriend’s as he walks up the stairs, and even though his smile is bright as he sees him, there’s bags under his eyes. The second his eyes land on Chimney though, he deflates and rolls his eyes. Chimney has a smug look and Eddie knows he definitely missed something.

“You can’t avoid me forever, Buckaroo.” 

Buck looks over to Hen and Eddie, making an exaggerated face of confusion. 

“Did you guys hear something?” 

Bobby laughs from where he’s at in the kitchen, Hen snorts, and Eddie is grinning, looking between the soon to be brother in laws.

“How mature of you, Evan.” Chimney rolls his eyes. “I just wanna talk about the wedding next week and he keeps rolling his eyes and running away. Eddie, make him stop.” 

Buck scoffs. “You’re sitting here whining and you’re calling me the immature one.” 

“I wouldn’t be whining if you just talk to me for once. I just want more information, who I’m gonna meet, if your parents are coming, c’mon give me something.”

“Alright.” Buck smirks. “For good luck, Egyptian women pinch the bride before the wedding.”

Chimney groans. “What?”

“Engagement and wedding rings are worn on the fourth fingers of the left hand because it was once thought that a vein in that finger leads directly to the heart.”

“That’s beautiful, but I wanna talk about the wedding next week.” Chimney whines.

Eddie is torn between wanting to laugh and being worried about his boyfriend. It’s obvious Chim doesn’t know that this is Buck’s classic mode of deflection, and Buck seems to know this. Eddie can tell Buck is just beginning, too. 

“Seventeen tons of gold are made into wedding rings each year in the United States.”

“Maddie says you would know more about the family that’s going to the wedding, so why won’t you just tell me?”

“Ancient Greeks and Romans thought the veil protected the bride from evil spirits. Brides have worn them ever since.”

Chimney turns to Eddie and Hen, arms out in exasperation, desperate. “Eddie!”

Eddie shrugs his shoulder. “If he doesn’t wanna talk about the wedding, don’t make him talk about the wedding. I’m not gonna make my f- my boyfriend do something he doesn’t want to do.” 

Buck’s too distracted in his minds’ files of facts on weddings to tell Chimney to hear him almost slip up, but Chimney’s got his eyebrow raised and he hears Hen snicker under her breath, nice one. 

Chimney eyes him suspiciously for a moment before he goes back to the problem at hand. “Maddie doesn’t know her cousin all that well, she’s more around Buck’s age, I just want to know what I should expect because I know how the Buckley’s are. Why can’t you just tell me something, man?”

“The most expensive wedding was Sheik Rashad Bin Al Maktoum’s son’s marriage to Princess Salama in Dubai in 1981. It was forty-four million dollars.”

“What about your cousin’s wedding?”

“In the symbolic language of jewels, a sapphire in a wedding ring means marital happiness.”

Before Chimney can ask once more, Eddie cuts in again. “He hasn’t seen anyone in his family in years, why would he know who’s going?”

“Thank you!” Buck sighs and drops next to Eddie, who shuts his laptop so fast it probably would have broken the screen. “I have plenty of more facts about weddings if you want to keep talking about the wedding, though.”

Chimney hears the message it is and sighs. “I’m sorry, I know you don’t like talking about your family. I’m just feeling a little anxious here, ya know?”

Buck sighs. “Me too, Chim. But if it helps you any, McKenna is not at all as pretentious and callous as my parents. That’s all I can and want to tell you about though, so please… Let it go.” 

Hen reaches over and places her hand on Buck’s in an attempt of comfort before her soft smile turns to a smirk. “So Buckaroo, why do you know so much about weddings?”

Eddie’s eyes go comically wide. 

“A little late night reading.” He shrugs. 

“Hm.” She turns to Eddie with a smirk when Bobby calls Buck over to help.

Eddie groans softly, resting his head on the cold wood of the dining table. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

Three days later, Eddie finds himself at a jewelry shop on Wilshire with Hen and Karen.

“I feel like all of these rings look the same.” He whines. 

“You’ve looked at four rings and this store is huge.” Hen rolls her eyes. “You’ll know when you’ve found the right ring, okay?”

“Will I?”

Karen snorts. “Yes, you will. Trust me, I went through this same thing when I was proposing to Hen. You’ll just know.”

So Eddie keeps looking. He’s completely indecisive as if it’s him that’s going to be wearing the ring, because Buck definitely wouldn’t care about a fancy ring or any ring at all, but Eddie needs it to be special. 

“How about this?” Karen calls from the other end of the store. When Eddie reaches her, she’s pointing at a black band, definitely something he can automatically picture on Buck’s hand. It still didn’t feel right to him, though. He says as much to Karen before he starts searching the glass case in front of them for more. 

He gasps as soon as he sees it. Hen was right about just knowing.

He calls over the jeweler and asks to see it. The second he’s holding it in between his fingers, he can see himself getting down on one knee. He can see it on Buck’s ring finger, shining brightly to everyone Buck proudly shows it to. It’s definitely the ring.

“This is it.” He grins, looking side to side at the women standing next to him and then smiles at the jeweler. 

Karen and Hen squeal loudly. “What is it about this ring, Diaz-Buckley?” 

“In the symbolic language of jewels, a sapphire in a wedding ring means marital happiness.”

[mychemicalrachel]

Finally, Finally

Buck x Eddie.

My take on Abby coming back.

Part 2/3.

Part One here

Word count; 1653

Also on Ao3

Part Two: Buck

Buck is up to his elbows in green goo. It’s a mix of glue and some sort of solution and food coloring and he’s not even sure what else at this point. As he tries to pull away, it sucks him closer. Christopher laughs from where he’s sitting on the counter to Buck’s right.

They’d been attempting to make slime. It was a simple enough recipe Buck had found online and once they realized the bowl was too small, they’d plugged up the kitchen sink and… well from there, it had only grown and now Buck was in danger of being sucked right down the drain along with the slime if the stopper happened to come loose.

Of course, it was in the midst of this mess that a knock came from the door.

“Uhh…” Buck looked up at Chris, then over to Eddie, standing on his son’s other side, and grimaced. “Can you get that?”

Eddie was already pulling away from the counter, a fond smile on his face. “You better figure out how to get that junk off before it dries in your arm hair.”

This sets Christopher off into another set of giggles, dramatically leaning away when Buck reaches a slime covered hand toward him.

“Your hands should be in here, too,” Buck tells him. “Why am I the only one covered in slime?”

Christopher reaches out tentatively and presses a single finger into the slime before jerking it back.

“Here,” Buck motions for Chris’s hand with a wiggle of his own fingers. The slime makes a webbing like ducks feet, clinging to his skin. “Come here.”

A small open-palmed hand is outstretched to him and Buck carefully places a glob of the goo in the center. He watches as Christopher’s face scrunches up, his nose wrinkling and lips grinning, as he squishes it between little fingers.

“Gross, right?”

Christopher beams and repeats, “Gross.”

“Buck?”

He attempts to twist around, catching sight of Eddie standing there. And next to him, a startlingly familiar flash of pale red hair. His mouth goes dry and the smile slides like slime from his face, landing in the sink with his hands.

His mouth moves on its own accord, reacting on instinct before his brain has a chance to catch up. “Abby.”

Something like a smile twitches on her lips. Her hands wring together in front of her. She looks out of place, he realizes, in his new apartment; a piece of some other life slotted uncomfortably into this new one.

A second, or maybe minutes, hours, pass in silence. If Buck blinks he thinks maybe she’ll be gone. He closes and opens his eyes, but she’s still there.

Eddie steps forward, shoulder jostling Buck’s, like he’s waking him from a dream.

“How about we get you washed up?” But Eddie doesn’t wait for an answer as he swipes Christopher off the counter, setting him on the floor.

“Uh--” Buck says and raises his eyebrows at Eddie. It says a lot; please don’t. Help. Seriously, I’m glued to the kitchen sink. Don’t just leave me here.

Eddie flips on the water for him and offers nothing more than a quiet shrug and a half-hearted pat on the shoulder before following Christopher to the bathroom.

As he focuses on scrubbing the slime off his arms, he sees Abby from the corner of his eye moving a bit closer. She makes a wide arch around him like she’s cornering a frightened cat. He pretends not to notice.

“Here,” she says, and squeezes some Dawn into his open palm.

“Thanks,” he means to say, but instead says, “Why are you here?”

He focuses twice as hard on the slime. He watches as it dissolves and disappears in green swirls down the drain. His hands are clean but he keeps scrubbing so he has something to do.

“We should talk,” Abby says.

Buck snorts. “You broke up with me already.” He tries not to sound bitter and fails. As much as he thought-- knew-- he was over her, having Abby suddenly reappear in his life is offsetting. It puts her in control, and Buck hates the feeling of vulnerability that leaves him with.

Just barely loud enough to be heard over the running water, Abby sighs. He used to know that sound, inside and out. Her breathing was his own personal Ambu bag, giving him life when he felt like he was suffocating.

Now, the sound is just that; breathing. Empty air that dissipates around him.

“I’m getting married.”

Whatever he expected her to say, it wasn’t that.

From the look of surprise on her own face, he supposes that wasn’t quite what Abby expected to say either.

He turns off the water, wipes his hands on his jeans, and waits. For what, he isn’t sure.

More words, maybe. An explanation.

Or maybe he’s waiting for the feeling of betrayal, of anger or pain, to curl up in his stomach. But instead, there’s nothing.

“Hey, Buck?” Eddie has reappeared in the kitchen and just past him, he can see Christopher gathering his bag in the living room. “We’re gonna head out.”

Buck frowns. “What? No, I told Chris I’d order pizza tonight.”

Eddie nods slowly, his gaze sliding shamelessly to Abby for a second before once more settling on Buck. “Don’t worry about it. You can make it up to us tomorrow. You two probably want to talk.”

He wants to argue, but the look on Eddie’s face is set. Christopher comes into the room with his backpack slung over one shoulder. He hands it to his dad before moving to wrap his arms around Buck’s waist. “Bye Buck,” he says.

He brushes a hand through Christopher’s hair and sighs. “Bye, buddy. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” Chris echoes back.

Eddie offers a nod and a small wave before following Chris to the door. Just before they disappear, Christopher’s voice filters back to them. “Love you, Buck.”

Without a seconds thought, Buck calls, “Love you, too, Chris.”

The door closes and Buck has nowhere to look other than Abby.

“He’s cute,” she says.

Buck nods, deciding it’s the right thing to do. “Yeah. He’s a pretty great kid.���

Abby’s smile turns wry. “I meant the dad.”

He supposes that’s true, too. “He gets that a lot.”

This isn’t how it’s supposed to work, Buck thinks. He and Abby used to be perfect together, flawless, two pieces of a puzzle that fit together seamlessly. It’s not supposed to be awkward. And yet here they are, unable to look directly at each other without uncomfortably shifting their gaze away.

“I’m sorry to just show up like this.”

“You could have called,” Buck says, and then immediately flinches away from his own words. “Not that it isn’t great to see you. Just… a warning would have been nice, I guess.”

“You’re right,” Abby concedes. She can’t seem to find what to do with her hands. They flutter helplessly at her sides, butterflies held by strings to her arms. “I wanted to see you, though. It was probably selfish, but I didn’t know if you would want to see me.”

Buck laughs. “So you made sure I couldn’t say no.” He shakes his head. He tries to play the scenario out in his mind-- he imagines his phone ringing, seeing her name flash across the screen. It would have given him pause, he thinks, but he also thinks he would answer. It reminds him of the days before everything fell apart between them, when it was just two disconnected voices through a phone. It’s as honest as he can be when he says, “I would have said yes, Abby. It is good to see you again.”

She visibly deflates, as if Buck had just lifted a weight from her shoulders. “You have every right to be mad at me.”

It takes a moment for him to inventory his own feelings. The initial shock at seeing her has worn off, leaving in its place a sense of contentedness. If he feels deep enough, he can reach the points of entry. It’s a vague sort of happiness that he always felt around her, even when things between them had first started. But… different.

So in total honesty, Buck says, “I’m not mad. I never was.” He opens the fridge and pulls out two beers, popping one open and holding it out to Abby. A peace offering. She takes it. “I was sad,” he continues, gripping the neck of his own bottle. He doesn’t open it yet. “Alone, unsure. But never mad.”

“I never should have made you feel that way.” Abby stares into her beer for a long time. “I loved you, Buck. I really did. That was one thing I was never uncertain about. But I needed time, and space, to figure myself out.”

“Did you,” he asks, “figure yourself out?

Abby nods. “I did.”

“And you’re married?”

“Engaged,” she corrects, because the distinction is important. He notices that she’s not yet wearing a ring. “I needed to get closure with you before I can really move on and be happy. That’s why I’m here.”

Buck chuckles. “You want my blessing?”

Abby smiles. “I want your friendship.”

For a long time after Abby left, that’s the thing he missed most. Not the sex or the dates. Just being friends, knowing that she was always there for him. It took awhile before he filled that hole in himself, that gaping cavity that she once had her home in.

They didn’t fit the same, he thought, but other things melded together to fill that void. Having his sister back in his life. Spending time with Chris.

Eddie.

After nearly two years, Buck doesn’t feel that empty space anymore, not as much as he used to. Sometimes there’s a distant ache in his chest when he sees something and his first instinct is still to tell Abby about it, but it’s a dull sort of pain now. Something that resounds fondly instead of painfully.

Buck steps forward and sets his beer down on the counter. “We’ll always be friends, Abby.”

And as Abby sighs, it’s as if her relief fills the entire room. He breathes it in, letting it wash over and under his skin.

Closure, he thinks, is a hell of a drug.

[browneyedhimbo]

Christmas Adventures

Paring: Kit x Steve

Summary: Steve doesn’t know what to get Kit for Christmas and turns to the one person he thinks can help him the most (mentions of some of the YA’s)

Warning: le FLUFFFFF, some swearing

Word Count: 2k

A/N: Sooooo for secret santa I got my wonderful, amazing, talented, beautiful tumblr wife Kit. I honestly didn’t know what to do lol. I had thought, ooh maybe a little song cover. But my singing is trash, and my writing is more decent. I tried but gave up on triple checking the grammar. HOPE YOU LIKE IT WIFEY!

Please let me know if you want to get tagged in any of my works. Enjoy!  Masterlist

“I don’t know what to get her! I keep driving myself crazy but I just argh,” sighing defeatedly Steve plopped on the sofa next to his best friend, “I don’t know Buck.”

“Jewelry?” Bucky asked while popping some popcorn in his mouth. Steve shakes his head and sighs once more. 

“Something more personal, something that has meaning.”

“Hey! Jewelry can have meaning,” Bucky threw some popcorn at him. “Besides, you know whatever you give her she’ll love it.” Silence washed over them, the sounds of whatever was playing on TV in the background.

“Where’s Mel? She’ll be of more help than you.” Getting up and stretching, Steve looked down at Bucky before crossing his arms.

“Check the kitchen. She’s probably trying to find the cookies I hid from her,” Bucky looked at Steve before looking back at the TV. Shaking his head, Steve ventured to kitchen. Low and behold, upon entering he sees Melody standing on a chair trying to reach the top shelf.

“Fucking Bucky. I’ll get my cookies. Nothing’s gonna separate me from my cookies,” she says reaching for a box that’s all the way at the top.

“You’re going to fall.”

“SHIT!” Mel jumped and wobbled on the chair. “I thought you were Bucky - wait, how much of that did you hear?” She bit her bottom lip.

“Just enough,” Steve chuckled. “Listen, I wanted to ask for your help.” Mel nodded, gesturing for him to continue. “I don’t know what to get Kit for Christmas.”

“You do realize Christmas is in two days right?” She chuckled and hopped down the chair. Steve sighed for the third time that day. 

“Yeah, I know. I feel bad,” he shook his head and leaned against the counter. Looking around, he spotted a blue book on the top shelf. Grabbing and inspecting it, he found it was a recipe book. “What about getting her a baking recipe book?”

“Hmm, not a bad idea. But I think she already has one. Oh, and her grandparents and family gave her recipes too I think.” Mel hopped up and sat on the opposite counter of Steve, by the sink.

“You’re probably right.” He patted the book against the counter.

“Say, if you can reach to see if there are some cookies up there, I’d really appreciate it.” She beamed at him while pointing to the top shelf. With a chuckle, he set the book down.

“Bucky would kill me if I let you near those cookies.” He smirked at her pout. 

“Jerk,” she mumbled under her breath. “She’s your girlfriend, you should know this stuff Stevie,” she chided.

“Then why did you complain to me for days not knowing what to get Bucky?” 

“Seems like you don’t need my help then,” she hopped down the counter and started walking away. Steve gaped at her reaction. Gathering himself, he trailed after her like a lost puppy. Turning around she stopped him in his tracks. “Alright lover boy, try looking around her room. Go over previous conversations you two’ve had and go from there.”

“I have and here I am.” Steve was just desperate at this point. It was their first Christmas together and he wanted it to be memorable. He knew it wouldn’t be perfect, nothing ever was with these chaotic people they call family, but he wanted to give her something special. The jewelry idea Bucky gave him wasn’t all bad, it’s just not what Steve was really going for. At least not this year.

“What about drawing something for her? Something deep rooted and personal?” He smiled at that. “You already did, didn’t you?” He nodded. Of course he did, that was the first he did. He always draws her different things different days; skyscrapers, parks, animals, you name it. 

They stare at each other, both in thought. A beeping sound pulled them out. Looking down at her watch, Mel presses a button and looks back up at Steve. “Sorry to cut this short capsicle but Tony and Bruce need help back down in the lab. Something about Kat, Laura, and Blaize causing an explosion. Again.” She rolled her eyes and saluted to him before disappearing around the corner down the hall.

“Back to square one.” Steve muttered to himself. 

———-

The day came and went as any other and Steve still didn’t know what to get her. He had already looked through her perfumes, lotions, and her closet at the different clothes she had the night before. As well as going through her mission suits and seeing if there was a design he can add. During his morning run is when it finally hit him. The one place he completely forgot to look. The bookshelf. Cutting his run short, he headed back inside and ran to her room. He opened the door and darted his way to see all the books she had. Good thing we share a room, he thought. He pulled out his phone and sent a few texts. Then he grabbed a small box that had a few more books that didn’t fit and laid them out on the bed, taking a picture of them and the one’s on the shelf. After putting everything away, he walked out and headed towards the kitchen.

———

“It’s Christmas Eve! Why aren’t you super excited? You’ve literally been counting down the days.” Sam said while flipping a pancake. 

“Fuck you it’s too early for this shit.” Mel huffed and groaned while taking a sip of her coffee, Bucky chuckling beside her. “You know she’s not a morning person Sammy.” He teases. At that moment, Steve walked in and sat down next to Melody with a pen and paper. 

“Oh look, the devil himself. Wanna tell me why the fuck your frozen ass woke me up by blowing up my phone with texts so damn early in the morning?” Mel glared at Steve. He pulled out his phone and started writing on the paper, occasionally glancing at his phone to copy something down.

“I finally figured out what to get her!” Steve moved the pen and paper aside while Sam was serving them. 

“Yeah? What’s that?” Bucky asked while stuffing his mouth with pancakes.

“Books! She absolutely adores them,” Steve smiled widely. “I just need to write down what she has and sees if she needs another copy or if she’s missing from a series.” He grabs a piece of bacon and stuffs it in his mouth.

“I can easily solve that problem blondey. Ender’s Game. She’s been going on that book for a few days.” Mel says grabbing the syrup.

“And you didn’t tell me yesterday because…” Steve stares at her, a hurt expression making it’s way on to his face.

“She just wanted to see how long it was going to take you.” Sam smirks, knowing that’s exactly why. All she did was smile at her plate and eat. 

———-

After breakfast was done, Mel lead Steve to the lab. She was talking about a new upgrade or invention but Steve wasn’t really paying full attention this time. His mind was elsewhere. Thinking if she’d even like the idea of getting books for Christmas, if she’ll just think he’s a huge dork for it. He shook himself of those thoughts when they entered the lab.

“Friday, play time,” Mel walked over to a big desk, beckoning Steve to follow suit. He did and sat next to her, a big holographic screen popping up in front of them. He was still getting used to the whole technology thing, and stared at it in wonder. “Ender’s Game. All the books. How many are there, like eight? Let’s see where we can get some copies.”

“There are nineteen so far and there seem to be many available copies of each of the nineteen books in stores scattered all over the city.” Friday’s voice boomed through the lab. Both Steve and Mel’s jaw dropped.

“NINETEEN?!” Mel scoffed. “How the fuck are we gonna get eighteen books from different stores all over the city in less than a day?” Mel looked at Steve. Steve shrugged and slumped in the chair. They had 1/19 of the books. This is not how he wanted Christmas to go.

———-

It was Christmas morning and everyone was running to the comm room where the tree was set up the month before. Just about everyone was there, including Thor and Loki.

Hot chocolate was being passed around, cookies as well, and the best part, it was snowing outside. Everything was going pretty well. Until…

“Anybody seen Mel or Steve?” Bucky called out. Leave it to his girl to find trouble Christmas day. Everyone shakes their heads. Kit slowly makes her way towards Bucky.

“So I’m not going crazy. Good,” She smiled a bit, worry evident on her face.

“I just figured she stuck herself in the lab the rest of the night. Moment I noticed Stevie was gone -” He got cut off by the door getting shoved open and two supersoldiers stumbling in, boxes in their hands. They set down the boxes and closed the door, shaking off all the snow from their coats. 

“Fuck it’s cold out,” Mel panted, pealing her coat and hat off. Steve doing the same. “The shit you pull on me Rogers, you’re lucky I like you,” she hung her coat on the coat rack, breathing a sigh of relief. “Better save some of them cookies for me,” Mel points at Laura and Thor who are teasing her. Bucky shakes his head and walks over to her. 

Steve pulls Kit to the side, away from the cookie commotion Mel is causing. He takes a deep breath and wipes his hands on his jeans.

“Sorry it took us long honey. We were getting your gift.” He smiles sheepishly. A small blush coating his already rosy cheeks. 

“You don’t have to apologize, I just got a little worried.” She grabbed his hands and looked into his baby blue eyes. They were sparkling with anticipation, worry, guilt, and excitement. That much she could tell. But boy was he nervous. Biting his bottom lip, he pointed to the boxes by the door.

“Sorry I couldn’t wrap them.” He nervously chuckled nervously. He guided her to the boxes and handed her his pocket knife to use to open them. She took it and gave him a reassuring smile. Opening the first box, her jaw dropped. She picked up the cover of one of the books and opened it, gently flipping through the pages. She put it down and launched into his chest, engulfing him an enormous hug. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. He heard the wobble in her throat through. He kissed her temple and gave the cheesiest smile. “And we got all of them,” he whispered back before shey slowly pulled apart. She gave him a kiss on the cheek and started opening the other boxes.

“I really hope you like it cause man was it a bitch to bring home,” Mel walks and stands behind her. Kit gives her a playful glare before standing up and hugging her.

“I love it, thank you for helping him.” Kit smiled and chuckled. “Were you two really out all night shopping for these?” She gestured to all the boxes. With a sigh and a nod, Mel starts telling the story.

“So after Friday gave us the locations to all the books, we just took the quinjet and started flying over the city, picking up book after book. We got around to 9/19 and Stevie Wonder over here said, ‘We should get her a new bookshelf.’ So we did, and got snowed in for about two hours. Then we had to get all the shit on the jet and clean out all the snow and still go pick up the rest of the books.” She finished with a huff. But they knew she was exaggerating by the grin etching its way on her face

“It wasn’t that bad.” Steve looks at Kit. “She’s exaggerating,” he smiles, "But it was totally worth it.” They stare into each others eyes. “Merry Christmas darling.” He nudges his nose against hers.

———————————————————-

@agentpeggybarnes​ @katbtracy​ @justmebeingtheweirdmeiam​ @theladyoffangorn​ @blaizeannyt​ @ilovetomatoes3000​ @writing-for-hours-on-end​ @theofficialyoungavengers​

[mirajens]

a cosmic shift

paring: mirajane/laxus rating: t chapter 5 of the rockabye series part two of sandbox bullies  found on ff.n

Sometimes, all it took was one action to rearrange a galaxy. For Mirajane, whose Milky Way took shelter in the adorably round face of her six year old, Yukino, the shift felt cosmic.

She'd been worried about Yukino's transfer to another class. Her girl had already been through so much with the move; was it wise to make her adapt to more change when she barely settled into the last one?

The transfer to the other class proved to be a good one. Mira wished she knew it would be that simple. Kids weren't picking on Yukino anymore and she came home from school still excited about the friends she played with. Mirajane felt her heart was swollen with joy. The whole household was drastically altered: cheerful since they left the comfort of their old lives. It felt like things were finally, finally falling into place.

The decision to leave behind the town she grew up in, all the family and friends that supported her through her pregnancy and the first years of Yukino's life, had been a difficult but necessary one. But no matter how crucial, it had been painful. There had been challenging moments when Mira considered going back with her tail between her legs, were it not for the desire to give her child a better life. In the end, homesickness couldn't trump ambition.

These days, Mirajane would settle into bed exhausted, but warm thinking of how her baby had a bright future ahead of her, how she bubbled with giggles so often or how her aura radiated. Sure, things weren't perfect, but they might as well be.

Mirajane wished she had the foresight to take better care of herself, though.

She was supposed to take Yukino to the lake today but the tightness in her chest last night turned out to be a fever this morning. Yukino only looked disappointed for a few minutes before crying from driving herself into a pit of pity for her ashen-faced mother.

"I promise I'm fine, baby." Mirajane smoothed a hand down her daughter's cap of hair, a shade nearly identical to her own. "I'll just take a nap for a while and then you can help me cook lunch, okay?"

"Yes, mama." Yukino sniffled, her nose pink and running. It almost made Mirajane laugh. Kids had a tendency to be entertaining when they were being dramatic.

"You can watch TV for a while, but don't sit close to the screen."

Yukino scrambled off Mirajane's bed and sat by the foot of it in front of the television. When the History Channel blinked into Elmo, Mirajane let her eyes flutter close, falling asleep to a song counting in multiples of two.

.

.

Mirajane startled awake a couple of hours later to the loud ding of the doorbell. She saw Yukino bolt up from her sprawl on the floor.

"I told you that you can't answer the door without me, Yukino." Mirajane sat up and put her feet into the house slippers Yukino got for her.

"Don't worry, mama, it's only Mr Dreyar," Yukino told her as she exited Mirajane's bedroom.

Maybe it was the fever, but Mirajane took a while to remember a Mr Dreyar. When she did, she was speed walking down the hall, the stairs, while simultaneously taming her hair into something that didn't resemble pulled cotton. When she reached the landing, Yukino was already smiling up at her old teacher as he hung his coat on the hat stand.

Mirajane had kept correspondence with Mr Dreyar enough that she was on a first name basis with him. There was a lot to discuss about the transfer, meetings with the guidance counselor, reports of academic process, more meetings with the new teachers, and then some. Mira enjoyed most the unnecessary but absolutely appreciated status reports that Laxus sent her about how Yukino had crawled out of her shell and played raucously with the children in her new class.

Admittedly, it was a bit weird that he was here, in her house, apparently expected by her daughter. It wasn't a bad weird, though.

"You… look like you don't know why I'm here," Laxus said cautiously when he finally saw Mirajane.

"I'm sorry, I just woke up."

"Mama has a flu," Yukino said.

"A fever," Mirajane corrected. "Did I-?"

"Yukino called me on your phone. She asked me to make lunch for you because you were sick." Laxus couldn't quite stop his amused smile. "I assumed she told you about it, and that she had your permission."

"No, it's fine. I'm just sorry to trouble you." Going down the rest of the stairs, wishing she wore anything other than the most embarrassing clothing she owned (matching yellow Yoshi pajamas that she reserved specifically for days that had zero chances of anyone seeing them), Mirajane told herself to calm down. "I was gonna call a sitter for her," she said, feeling the need to defend herself for some reason.

Laxus shrugged. "Great. I normally charge an exorbitant forty bucks an hour because I have a PhD in babysitting. But we can discuss alternative payment later. I bought supplies for lunch." He shook the bag of groceries in his hand. "I hope you're not violently opposed to soup. It's the only thing aside from Hennessy that I know is good with fevers."

The laughter that bubbled out of Mira made her temple throb. She placed a hand on Yukino's head and lead Laxus to the kitchen. "If I'm going to pay a premium, I might as well make proper use of you, shouldn't I?"

There was a funny look on Laxus' face when he stopped by the counter, one with a brow raised and a small, smug tilt to his lips. "I suppose you should. I wouldn't be opposed." He began to sort out the groceries, and then helped himself to the utensils and equipment.

Mirajane probably shouldn't be so at ease with a guy she barely knew cooking in her kitchen. Red-faced (and definitely not from the fever), she made her way to the eat in area, intent to check her email for all the work she missed for the last couple of days as she listened to the quiet noise of someone cooking.

"Do you like celery?" she heard Laxus ask. When Mira looked up, she saw him addressing Yukino who sat on the counter beside his chopping board.

Yukino stuck her tongue out and made a disgusted face in answer.

"Too bad. It's good for you, so it goes in the pot," Laxus said as he continued chopping.

"You're putting an awful lotta green in there, Mr Dreyar," Yukino remarked, her face retaining the sickened look. "You said this was gonna be chicken soup."

Laxus turned to dump the cut vegetables into the chicken broth. "It's chicken soup with vegetables." Laxus' eyes flickered up to catch Mirajane's gaze for a second, before facing Yukino again. "Some crazy old lady yelled at me because you didn't eat veggies so I'm putting some in the soup. It's my grandfather's recipe and he used to make me eat it before he let me go out to play with my friends."

"Crazy old lady, huh?" Mirajane called out.

"Yeah. White hair, angry little face. Pretty, though," Laxus replied. He celebrated internally when it got his intended reaction, which was a smile.

"I have white hair!" Yukino declared with a beam.

"You sure do, kid. Wanna go set the table for your mom? This is gonna be done in a bit."

Mira tried to relax and not hover as Yukino retrieved three bowls from the dish racks. The small girl asked Laxus for help getting the pitcher of water in the refrigerator before bringing it to her mother with a glass. Yukino sat in the curve of the nook, her legs swinging under her.

"Thank you, baby. Isn't this very nice service? And all I had to do was get sick."

Laxus hefted the steaming dutch oven from the burner and brought it to the table. It smelled good enough to bypass the nausea.

"I didn't know I was so hungry until now. Thank you, Laxus. This is great."

Laxus placed a filled bowl in front of Mirajane. "Good. Because you're gonna have enough leftovers for a few days. This keeps really well in the fridge."

Mirajane didn't make it a point for any man she was interested in to meet her daughter (much less bring him home) unless she knew it was serious. So far, none had gotten past the third date, and yet here Laxus was, no date, but already making lunch with Yukino. It was kind of surreal, wasn't it? And funny. It seemed to Mira that it was Yukino who found Laxus first and brought him to her. This time, in a literal sense.

She ate and watched Yukino collect the peas from her soup on her spoon.

"Mr Dreyar?"

"Yeah?"

Yukino gave the bigger man a sweet, heart-melting smile before putting her spoonful of peas in his bowl. She giggled when Laxus made a play at being distressed.

"Now I gotta eat peas. I don't like peas."

"Why did you put them in the soup?" Yukino asked.

"Because we're not the ones sick, so it doesn't really matter if we like peas or not."

Mirajane grinned at him over her soup. "I don't like peas, either."

"Right. I'll keep that in mind next time."

Next time. That sounded nice.

"Mama, can Mr Dreyar see Angel?" Yukino asked, already inching out of her spot in the banquette, soup untouched if not for the bits of chicken she fished out of the mix.

"If you clean the pen real quick, then yes. She wouldn't want her guest to see a dirty home. Be careful." Mira called out to her already sprinting daughter.

Laxus jogged his memory. He remembered an Angel from one of Yukino's art projects. "Her rabbit, right?"

"She begged and begged. I'm only human and I couldn't say no. I got her a pair."

"Understandable. Only a rock could say no to that face."

"I'm glad you agree." She studied his face for a bit, unabashed. She liked the way his expressions hardened, and then gave way to softer ones. "I've been trying to figure out why you look so different today. I just noticed that you're not wearing your glasses."

Laxus' lips fell into thin lines and his eyes expressed the fakest attempt at annoyance. "I doesn't go with my outfit."

His dry tone made her laugh. "Well, who really needs good vision when you're wearing a band shirt, right?"

Laxus made a not very subtle attempt to sweep his gaze over Mira. "I can see well enough." And the view looked terrific. Even in Yoshi pajamas.

The silence that passed between them was easy. For a very brief moment, Mirajane thought to herself that she could get used to this: having quiet meals with a gorgeous, educated man who got along well with her daughter. The idea made her blush before it could even pass. Hoping to clear the heat simmering under her cheeks, Mirajane cleared her throat and set her spoon down beside her empty bowl."So… about that payment."

"I was kidding. I don't really charge forty bucks an hour."

"Cool How about dinner, then?"

"Dinner as in you want me to stay a bit more and make you guys dinner?"

"I was thinking along the lines of me getting an actual sitter. We can go somewhere fancy. Maybe you can take me back when Yukino's in bed." Mira was sure her hand wasn't shaking when she reached for her glass of water and sipped. All things considered, she was being really cool about all this. She liked the man. Really, really, really liked him. The fact that he was a kindergarten teacher made her heart swell, and to make it burst was the fact that he saved her baby from bullies. He was efficient, kind and he knew how to cook soup. His ass was great in his jeans and his glasses, when he wore them, turned her on. Why shouldn't she, for once in her life as a mother, do something potentially reckless? "She's a very heavy sleeper."

Laxus looked like he was about to choke or go through several red-hued complexions at Mirajane's suggestions. "You're forward. I love it."

All Mira could do was smile proudly because Yukino chose that moment to come running back into the kitchen.

"The cage is clean!" Yukino announced, planting her palms on the table, looking straight at Laxus with the manic eyes only an excited child could possess. "Come see her, Mr Dreyar."

Laxus got up and took Yukino's proffered hand. The conversation wasn't over with Mirajane and he thrived off the promise of more.

"Angel has a friend named Racer because he's fast!"

As Yukino urged Laxus away, Mira settled back into the breakfast nook and smiled at the sight. When Laxus looked back to grin at Mira, she winked back, feeling, perhaps for the first time in a very long time, both frightened and thrilled to let someone into her life.

[ringokhan]

Star Spangled F*cktards

... Or Why I Hate the 4th of July

I hate the 4th of July more than any other holiday. Hell, I hate it more than I hate tax day, and I'm a self-employed writer who never manages to set aside enough dough to pay the IRS or remember to apply for an extension. Yes, Independence Day sucks worse than the tax man.

What's to like about a day that celebrates our nation's birth (via the anniversary of the adoption of the Declaration of Independence by the Second Continental Congress), but does so via the detonation of explosives that follows drinking in the hot sun All. Damn. Day.? At least that's how the day plays out down here on the Redneck Riviera of the Florida Gulf Coast. Each year I pray for rain, and this year that asshole on the television promised me we'd get some—and we did—but my 4th of July still turned out to be the worst one yet.  

It all started on the eve of the big day while I was driving home from work—in the rain—when I suddenly felt the telltale bump-bumpity-thump of a flat tire. The rubber on the Fiero had been balder than my editor's head since Memorial Day, but this being tough times for freelance journalists of my ilk and political leanings, I couldn't put together quite enough scratch to spring for a new set.

I pulled over into the Amscot parking lot on Manatee Avenue to inspect the situation. It wasn't good. The steel belted radial looked as though a grenade had gone off inside of it. I had no umbrella or even plastic poncho to speak of, so I embraced the warm, sticky rain as it soaked my clothes and pulled the spare out of the trunk. It wasn't in much better shape than the other three but would have to suffice.

For the next 40 minutes, sweating like a whore in church despite the rain, I filthied myself up while proving that I would never work in a NASCAR pit crew—and not just because of my snobbish aversion to motorsports and the people who watch them (particularly those who advertise their favorite drivers on ball caps and window stickers).  

Just as I was finishing up, a man whose clothing suggested homelessness emerged from the Amscot to ask if I had a dollar he could borrow in order to get something to eat. Everyone knows that Ringo is down with supporting the less fortunate, but I was nonetheless unable to manage anything more than an angry look meant to say, Do I, the sweat-soaked gent in the pouring down rain who’s changing the blown out tire on a piece of shit (if classic) '86 Fiero, and changing it with a bald spare, no less, look like I'm well heeled enough to spare a generous thought let alone a buck?  He shook his head and mumbled, “fucking cheapskate,” as he walked off.

Properly shamed by the (possibly) homeless man—though it had by this time occurred to me that you usually come out of Amscot with money—I made for home. On the way, I stopped for a sixer of my new favorite beer, Motorworks Pulp Friction Grapefruit IPA—the perfect antidote to this blistering summer heatwave—but only after I'd checked the balance in my checking account on my phone to ensure that there would be enough left for the bargain basement tires that the Walmart oil, lube and tire clerk had just told me they could put on the next day, being the only tire center open on the 4th.

Hoping to settle in for the night, catch a buzz, drink a couple of tasty, refreshing beers and binge watch some Silicon Valley on the HBO Now account my roommate’s ex-girlfriend had forgotten she'd programmed into our Smart TV, I was halfway there only to be awoken by the sound of what seemed to be large-caliber gunfire or possibly anti-aircraft missiles raining down from above. It had started already. Actually, the first signs of Redneck Christmas had presented themselves as early as Sunday, but the festivities had indeed begun in earnest by 10:45 p.m. on the 3rd.

To make matters worse, my roommate, who was out of town with his new girlfriend, had coaxed me into dog-sitting said girlfriend's boxer, Rufus, who, I shall make it known, has no affinity for fireworks and had pissed on the hardwood flooring (is there softwood flooring?) of the house we rent on three occasions by this point. He and the other dogs on the block—which often seem to outnumber the humans—were barking, whimpering and I suspect pissing more or less in unison through much of the night, giving us all a preview of what the 4th would bring, which is to say utter redneck misery.

Rufus whose best trick is impersonating a thoroughbred horse, while taking a piss.  

Actual Redneck Christmas started off the way the usual mornings in my neighborhood begin, which is to say to a chorus of barking dogs that their lazy asshole owners let out as early as 5:45 in the a.m., as to not have to put the beasts on a leash and walk them to the corner.

Being self-employed, I give myself the day off for all Federal and Jewish holidays (I'm not kosher or even Jewish for that matter, but they have a lot of holidays, which often seem to fall on weekdays, so I figure observance is the least I can do, given their historic plight). My disdain for dealing with the muckety-muck on Redneck Christmas notwithstanding, I had decided to go to the beach, as I do on most holidays. I knew I'd have to get there early, well ahead of the parade of morons who typically tend to spoil our national holiday by 2 p.m. when the island falls prey to a large assembly of low-brow, lite beer-drinking fucktards with expensively-modified pickup trucks emblazoned with fishing, NASCAR and/or “Salt Life” regalia.

Having successfully fought the urge to hit snooze a seventh time, I rose from bed by 8:20, pressed the handle on the cold-pressed coffee and cruised into the public parking lot at 9 a.m., easily scoring a choice spot and setting up my gear far enough from the maddening crowd to safely pull out my Pulp Friction and enjoy a cold brew—its pinkish can can easily mistaken for flavored water or a sports drink. For five glorious hours, I enjoyed one of the only fair-weathered, rain-free beach days this summer. 

By noon, however, the crowds had swelled and the beer was being imbibed more liberally and openly, despite the signs warning of illegality and threats of steep fines. It was already a menacingly-hot 94 degrees, topped with staggering humidity. Beach-goers had long since ran out of bottled water and were drinking their hooch more for the sake of hydration than to chill out—never a good recipe at this devil latitude of just 27 degrees north of the equator.

It's hard to properly describe such a day to anyone who's never been a problem drinker and/or lived in a sub-tropical environment. The heat here in July and August is nothing short of evil, a relentless blanket of bad vibes that fouls the air with the scents of dying musk and vegetative detritus. Most of us have no choice but to drink cold and stubbornly alcoholic beverages that, while refreshing, have the effect of pulverizing good sense and obliterating sound judgment. For those in this region who begin their cool, air conditioned, non-alcoholic mornings with much less common sense and sound judgment than the average high-school dropout—and by this I mean the ignorant, under-educated, possibly-inbred, red-necked hillbillies of which Florida has plenty—the results range from disappointing to disastrous.

By 2 p.m., the scene had turned ugly. A few feet from my chaise lounge, a pot-bellied man who one could only guess sustained himself with a bullshit disability claim had begun yelling at a fat lady in a confederate flag bikini whose daughter insisted on feeding grapes to the sea gulls.

“They're gonna bite her fucking finger off!” he screamed. “Whatcha gonna do then, you dumb broad? DCF will take her ass off you for sure.”

“I told her not to do it,” the woman slurred back. “What the fuck do you want from me? She don't listen! If I beat her, they'll take her from me just the same. I suppose you think she'd be better off in foster care? I fuckin' hate you!”

It took a couple of moments for me to put enough of the conversation together to surmise that they were a couple, and though they had recovered enough of their anger to be kissing sloppily by the time I had finished packing up my gear, it still seemed like bad foreshadowing of things to come.

As I crossed the parking lot at 2:15, cars were now hovering for open spots like vultures looking to descend on festering carcasses. An available space had apparently emerged, and two rednecks with aggressive trucks began fighting over their entitlement to it from their respective cabs, each revving their engine and inching toward the other's flat-black bumper.

The one whose bumper stickers ran the gamut from INFORWARS.COM to #Vaginatarian and Your Girlfriend On Board seemed to be winning the pissing match thus far, but the beefy-armed sport with the Louder Than Your Girlfriend Was Last Night sticker over his suspiciously-large exhaust pipe seemed to be making inroads, nonetheless. I waved my hand and told them that I'd be pulling out of my spot in the next row, and that they could refrain from scratching the paint on their pretty trucks, but they looked only half-happy to receive such news, since it meant the redneck mating ritual would come to an end without bloodshed or gunplay.

*************************************************************

While driving home, I wrote a haiku as I waited out a painfully-long drawbridge opening, while wishing that I'd sprung for a Freon charge for the air conditioning unit of my car. After getting back onto the mainland, I spun by Walmart and shopped for a new deodorant that could stand up to this year's particularly brutal summer heat while the crew put the “performance” discount tires on my ride (because the Fiero is nothing if not a high-performance vehicle), while the skies finally opened and the rains fell. Yes, I screamed to no one in particular, celebrating the fact that a downpour might tame, or at least mildly dampen that evening's explosives. Again, no such luck.

The skies cleared by early evening, and the mood for the night was set around dusk when a large woman with red and blue curlers in her hair and too much of herself spilling from a tank top emerged from a neighbor's (above ground) pool party with the kind of rubbery-legged sway that suggested shitfacededness of the highest order.

“Fuck you and the horse you rode in on,” she screamed at the much skinnier man that was giving chase. Her words came through the sort of slur that is generally only facilitated by a full day of drinking hard liquor in the Florida sun; that or a liberal dose of prescription opioids. Faaaaawwwwk youuuuuuu, she said again to punctuate her statement, using a slurred out oral elongation that would have made Michael Buffer proud.

Another girl emerged to successfully cajole her back into the party, which by 9 p.m. had become a full on cacophony of high-powered munitions that left my neighborhood sounding like the war-torn streets of Aleppo, crossed with Beirut in the '80s. Rufus began pissing on the floor before I got through half an episode of Silicon Valley and, after cleaning it up, I realized I was out of beer. I am not ashamed to admit that I cried … a lot. By 10 p.m. the dog had muddied the floor, and I'd had about all I could take of this absurd carousel of hillbilly horrors. 

Fit to be tied, I stormed over to their bungalow and fought my way through the overgrowth of landscaping to the back patio where a decades old four-foot (above ground) pool with a tiny cylindrical filter that could not have possibly been managing all of the dirty urine these exceptions to Darwinism were spilling into the chlorinated (I hoped) water—at least judging by the pile of semi-crushed Natural Ice cans littering the landscape.

“Excuse me, my friends,” I said in the voice of an angry pacifist. “Might we have adequately awoken the dead?”

“What,” said a tall, thin peckerwood with tattooed arms, one of which held a beer, the other an e-cig. I recognized him as the man who was chasing the woman with the curlers down the street earlier.

“The fireworks,” I explained. “What say we be done now?”

“It's 4th of July,” he answered, looking at me as though I were wearing two more heads on top of my own.

“This is true,” I conceded, “but while I can't be entirely certain, I'd be willing to bet that we've met whatever quota on explosives might be required to prove that we're good, patriotic Americans.”

“You don't look American,” said a red-headed gent with freckles and bottomless eyes who was standing in the (above ground) pool while lighting firecrackers.

“Well, I have some Pakistani on my mother's side, and my dad's British, but I was born here,” I explained. “So were they, in fact.”

“So you're an immigrant?” asked the first one, suspiciously.

“And a Muslim?” asked/said the other.

“No, actually, when you're born here, you're American, particularly when you're born here to other people who were born here, I mean not more so, but it should be more clear, I would think. My citizenship is not in question. I am, as they say, a native, and a second generation one at that.”

They looked at me like I was speaking French.

“So you pray to Allah?” asked the ginger.

“No, I'm an atheist, though I did consider praying to Buddha, L. Ron Hubbard and Jesus Fucking Christ Almighty that the explosions would cease, but thought that instead I might come over here as a good and decent human being, appeal to your humanity and ask you to cool it on the fireworks so that my dog—Rufus, well, he's my roommate's new girlfriend's dog—will stop pissing on the hardwood floors.”

“What do you want us to do, light fuckin' sparklers like a bunch of fuckin' pansies?” the first one asked. “Maybe throw some snaps and light them little snake things, while we're at it?” he laughed. “That shit's for kids!”

“Look, Ace, I hate to point this out, but it's all for kids, and I feel that it's worth mentioning that I don't see any of them around (thank God), just a bunch of grown men getting their jollies on loud explosions. I'm not sure what that's all about, but I know Freud had some interesting theories.”

“You sayin' we're queers?” asked the red head, who had clearly not worn sunscreen for the afternoon leg of the party.

“No, and neither was Freud,” I answered. “He was suggesting impotence, or at least fears of inadequacy in terms of, shall we say, boudoir skills.”

They both turned their heads sideways and looked at me as though they knew they should be offended but couldn't say why.

“He's sayin' your dicks don't work, you fuckin' retards!” shouted the large woman who'd given the suggestion about leaving town on a horse earlier in the day. “And I know he's right in at least one of y’all's cases (apparently there is a such thing as softwood, and this house had some).”

Utter silence. 

“Look, buddy,” said the tall fellow. “I didn't serve in the Marines for 10 years to come home and be told that—as a veteran no less—I don't have the right to celebrate our country's birthday.”

Finally, some commonality.

“Look, I served too—Coast Guard—but I ...”

“Fuckin' Coast Guard?” he managed to say through his hysterical laughter. “Are you shittin' me? What the fuck kind of pussy are you?”

At this, they all had a good laugh.

“Look, pal,” said Red. “You can call the cops, or you can come over here and try to stop us from settin' off these here fireworks, or you can go fuck yourself, for all I care. But that's about the long and short of it. So why don't you just take your pansy, Coast Guard ass home and clean up the dog piss.”

Being a devout pacifist, I put my palms in the air and walked off, shaking my head at yet a bit more lost faith in humanity.

“Yeah, go on now,” shouted the large woman who'd understood the Freudian reference. “And one more thing, FAWK you AND the horse you rode in on, AND your damned dog Rufus!” she cackled as the three of them broke out into more side-splitting laughter. 

"It's my roommate's girlfriend’s dog," I muttered in dejection.

Defeated, I headed back to the house, cleaned up the newest puddle of piss and decided to make the best of a bad situation. I pulled out the last of the edibles my sister had sent me from Colorado from a shoe box under the bed and ate them greedily, though not before tossing Rufus one of the sweet gummies to help with his anxiety. Then I put in my Redux edition DVD of Apocalypse Now with the extended footage.

Somewhere around the time Captain Willard and the boys had made it halfway up the river toward the camp of Col. Kurtz, the THC began to take hold. By the USO scene, the collective fireworks were blending into sync with Coppola's masterpiece and soon I couldn't tell the firecrackers in the street from the bombs on the TV. Rufus had managed to settle into chillax mode, as well. Somewhere around the time Robert Duval was giving his famous, “Charlie don't surf!” line, I dozed off into a peaceful sleep where I remained until half a dozen dogs began the morning chorus that calls me to wake each day in this godforsaken hell hole of a neighborhood.

When I left for my morning walk with the dog—because I'm that kind of guy, the assholes in my neighborhood notwithstanding—the smell of dynamite from the quarter sticks and M-80's was still lingering in the already thick and humid air. And for once, that's all there was … that chalky, smoked out dynamite smell. It smelled like … victory.