#but he does also miss when it was just the two of them

[eightstarr]

pacify — sevika.

summary: is it possible to miss a stranger, or does one thing negate the other? maybe you miss sevika because she isn't a stranger, because she stuck her claws far too deep in you and never let go— or just because she looks really fucking good sitting there, looking at you like she's waiting for you to say "hello again".

warnings: mild descriptions of violence, smut (mdni!), pre time jump sevika!

notes: my thesis with this one is that eating out a woman you love will revolutionize you in a way nothing else can and i'm joking but also dead serious. also dear god please me and who… okay bye i love you

・。.・゜✧・. ────

“You know, I’ve always liked this place the best.”

It’s the first thing you remember him saying, blue uniform to match his now slightly reddened eyes, vile alcohol in his breath. You’re at a different bar, not Vander's, the first actual job you ever had if you don't count what came before— the shiny rock of a stranger’s ring in your pocket, another’s gold coins in your bag, all from the quick trips to the city above with your father. “It’s not difficult to steal from a Piltovan,” he’d say, squinting at the engraving on the inside of a sparkly bracelet, a small bounty spread over the kitchen table, “they’re all show, all ego.”

Now watching the smirk on the Enforcer’s face after he downs his fourth glass without taking a breath, a laughable skill for an audience of no one, you find it hard to disagree with your father’s assessment. The well nurtured instinct to wonder what you’d get if you slipped your fingers inside the pockets of his tailored jacket grows loud and tempting in your head, but you shove it away and keep your eyes on the dusty floor you’re meant to sweep, determined to keep this job.

“The drinks are better than up there, I’ll give you that,” the drunk man continued, half empty fifth glass tipped dangerously towards the brooding barman, your only coworker tonight. There’s barely anyone left in the bar at all except a couple regulars. Tension has been brewing through the entirety of your shift, an argument in one of the booths during your first hour, a drink on someone’s face by the third, a wave of tired scoffs when the man in uniform walked in near the end of the night; the last nail on the coffin. In your head, you’ve listed all the possible exits you could use to escape enough times to memorize them.

The man takes a surprisingly controlled sip, thin lips furrowed in a grimace. “Wish it was enough to make up for that fucking stench.”

The air in Zaun is different to foreigners. You’ve never minded it the way they do. It's your air, the first to ever fill your lungs, the one you’re so used to that you can feel the way it shifts— the way it becomes a stench, as he called it, when blood is about to be spilt.

The barman does, to his credit, offer you the chance to leave. Or orders it, morelike, his sharp eyes meeting yours and then a tilt of his head towards the door. Maybe he pities you for the nerves splashed all over your face, or maybe he’d just find it a shame to lose an employee he hired barely a month ago. “You. Out.”

“Out?” the Piltovan repeats, turning his head, his voice grossly high pitched. “Why? What's gonna happen now?” he’s drunk enough that you notice the seconds that pass before his eyes properly focus. You remember the exact way his smirk faded, the deep-set wrinkles between his eyebrows when he recognized your face, a nauseating anger. “No. No, you don't move.”

Enforcers never go anywhere alone. Maybe the man had just remembered this, just now realized the true risk of his cockiness when it's not backed up by two or three of his colleagues. Maybe that's why he finds it easy to target you rather than the angry figures lurking in the tables behind him. Maybe that's why he draws his gun so fast.

“I know you, little thief—”

A woman approaches at the same time he does, and you don't know why exactly you decide to focus on her instead. A plea, maybe. You remember the dull gray of the brass knuckles on her fingers, the thick leather belt hung around her lower waist, the thump of her boots against the old floorboards. You've never noticed her before. How ridiculous it feels to think that she was there all night. How lovely that she could be the last thing you see. There's comfort in her being there, a morbid, sad thing that feels almost like company. At least you’re not alone in the room with the monster, at least there's someone to watch you die. 

Her hand falls on the Enforcer’s shoulder and she pushes him back with little effort, the quickest movement, almost without thought. The man stumbles (blame the well praised alcohol or Sevika’s strength), and the glass that had stayed in his hand shatters against the edge of the bar at the same time his gun fires a loose shot to the wall behind you.

Next comes a blur, a vague memory of hearing the Enforcer hiss in pain, a thread of red spilling down the open palm of his hand.

“You got somewhere to go?”

Her voice is the first and only thing that brings you back, the only sound louder than the heartbeat pounding in your ears. She sounds smooth, clear-headed, not like a woman who just stepped in the middle of the fastest paced violence you’ve ever encountered. Gray eyes move across your face, then the rest of you, and you quickly look down at yourself as if to check along with her that you’re actually unharmed.

Your lips feel awfully dry when your tongue brushes against them, enough air passing through to let you breathe, but not quite talk. You nod your head and remember in a rushed, distorted thought— somewhere to go, yes, home, now.

Sevika returns your nod, small praise, an odd way of saying something like good job. Less odd than the quiet satisfaction you feel for having earned it. She tilts her head towards the door, short black hair brushing her shoulder, her voice the kindest you’ve ever heard to this very day. Perhaps the thing you remember most. “Go on, love.”

─────✧･ﾟ: *✧･

Years pass, deaths and joys and new odd jobs, and you still think about it. She sits at the back of your head like a softly worded reminder. And then one day, as things go, you find her again. Her making a deal at the back of The Last Drop, you behind the bar serving drinks.

There's a chance she doesn't remember it. What are the odds that she thought about you at all after the incident? You were just a stranger on a random night. It's not often that people fully understand the weight of what they did for someone, the trickle down of an action, of a kindness. There's a chance for you to go home, alone and unchanged. Instead (and not for the first time) you work for an hour longer, unpaid labor for a chance to serve her a drink.

Sevika doesn't come every night. You see her maybe once a week, talk to her maybe once a month. You don't expect tonight to be any different, but—

“You gonna watch me all night?” she mutters it into her glass, swallows the last sip before she looks at you. The are tiny wrinkles beginning to form on the corners of her eyes now, along each side of her lips from her smiles. Watching her is entrancing, the easiest thing you do, as natural as drawing a breath. “What are you still doing here?”

You blink downwards at the washed glass in your hand, continue to dry it like it could ever be half as interesting as being under her spell. “Working overtime.”

“Vander can't afford to pay you overtime,” Sevika scoffs, the corner of her mouth lifting in a smirk. 

You frown, maybe a little flustered. “He—”

“She's right. Why are you still here?”

The man himself stands tall to your left, glaring at this one permanently stained spot on the bar, working at it with a rag like he hasn't tried the same thing a hundred times before. There are dark shadows under his eyes, a purple hair tie on his wrist— Powder’s, if you were to guess. You’ve grown close to Vander since you met him, even closer when he hired you to work here. “‘S not a favor,” he’d said, quickly catching the suspicion on your face. “Just a gesture to him.” Turns out a lot more people knew your father than you thought; Vander isn’t old enough to have grown up with him, but they still found ways to end up at the same places. If he hadn’t been so secretive about who he was beyond the man who raised you, maybe you would’ve met Vander years ago, became friends at some bar in your teen years instead of at a diner a few days after your father’s funeral. But gaining a friend is a timeless thing, it obeys luck, not sensitivities. One day he wasn’t there, and then the next he was.

You spray some cleaning liquid over the spot on the table, roll your eyes as he leans closer to wonder at how the stain begins to slowly fade. “I’m working,” you repeat.

He looks at you from the corner of his eyes, one eyebrow raised. “I ain’t paying you.”

“I know, okay? It's fine,” you cross your arms over your chest, embarrassed to have been caught even though neither Vander nor Sevika seem to know what the real reason behind you staying late is. “It's a busy night, take it as a favor.”

“I can't afford favors.”

“Good thing they’re free, then,” you deadpan.

Sevika chuckles at the banter, forever amused at your unreserve, how simple you make things. It makes no sense to her to be that generous, that open, but it makes even less sense to think that you’d be any other way. Sevika isn’t particularly trusting, but she is loyal— the more you talk, the more watching you becomes addicting, her thing. She fixates on learning new things about you, clings to your words like a cat to its owner’s scent and wonders, over and over and over, if you remember her. From all those years ago. From last week. With you, she’d take anything.

And when she does finally see you up close, finds a good enough excuse in asking you for fire or a refill, there's little you could ask that she would say no to. It's senseless and thrilling and above all, it's true. She feels it down to her bones, painfully clear, like it's written all over her face.

“What do you do, Sevika?”

Sit and wait for you, she thinks, and instead replies, “What?”

“For work,” you clarify, your hand against the bar, leaning slightly forward. “I see you every week and I still don't know.”

You do know what she does, at least as much as anyone else does— too little to run your mouth, enough to stay away. And if you didn't know, you know her enough to be certain that she wouldn't tell you. It's a pointless question. Unless, of course, you’re as infatuated as you are.

Sevika takes another gulp of her drink, her eyes tracing over the line on your waist where the apron ties behind your back, the soft curve that the pull of it forms. She needs a smoke. “Same shit as everyone else,” she answers, and palms her pockets for a cigarette case. “What do you do? Other than this.”

“This is it,” you watch her flick open the case and shrug. You don’t sound particularly sad or frustrated, just plainly aware. “I pour drinks for people who all seem to do the same shit.”

Sevika hums, sets the case down, a click of metal against well worn wood. An unlit cigarette sits between her index and middle finger. “Be honest,” she starts, and it's the same voice that's been talking to you this whole time, but the gruffness still manages to catch you off guard. “Am I just as bad?”

You chuckle, the same addicting shimmer of genuineness in your eyes that she chases everytime you speak. “Just as bad as what?”

Her eyes follow your hands where they go to pull a lighter from the chest pocket of your apron. “The drunks that flirt with you while you do your job,” she lets the cigarette hang from her lips and leans forward.

“Hm,” you hum. The reflection of the flame sparkles in her eyes before you pull it away, orange against gray, odd and pretty. “I don't know.”

You’re not sure if she looks amused or slightly offended. It's a nice view regardless, the way her eyebrows lift and her lips curve downwards for a second before she breathes out, spilling smoke from her mouth as she talks, “You don't know.”

“I guess I didn't realize you were flirting with me.”

Sevika chuckles, a tiny half moon of a smile line on her cheek when she smirks, smugly aware of the way your eyes are looking at her. “You’re funny.”

Sevika is loyal. It would be easy to say that she doesn’t get what this feeling is, that it’s meaningless, that she doesn’t understand it— but she knows. She knows what it is even if it goes unnamed, because she’s the one deciding to keep it, stubborn and tight gripped, close to her heart. It’s in her dreams, in her first thought of the morning, in the disappointment that sours her mouth when she doesn’t find you at the bar. It’s in her stomach, tugging with need, when she looks at your face and realizes that if she asks if you wanna go home with her tonight, you will say yes.

She takes the leap. Parts her lips, names herself yours. “You wanna get out of here?”

─────✧･ﾟ: *✧･

You rarely pour your own drinks anymore. It’s a funny thing— Sevika doesn’t ask about your preference, which liquor is your favorite, if you’d like for her to do it for you. She figures it out like she does most things, making a study out of it, watching you enough. Maybe a little extra, too. The cork slides up with a pop!, her fingers around the neck of the bottle. The warmth of her still lingers on your thighs, your own fingers sitting restless over your lap now that her hair is not close enough to play with.

It’s been months since the first night she came home with you. You wouldn’t yet say that the newness is gone, or that you’re as quick of a student as she is, but there are things you know about Sevika already. Vivid truths, bright like the visions of her in the sunlight that you dream about sometimes. Reassurance is one of the first languages you learn from each other.

For Sevika, it's almost always about touch— you notice it immediately at the core of most of her silences, the way closeness makes her demeanor shift to something calmer, more true to herself. Slide closer to her on the couch and her arm will find itself around your shoulders immediately. Pat the empty spot next to you on the bed and she’ll let out a heavy sigh of relief, join you in sleep instead of torturing herself about tomorrow’s line of business. Part your lips when she's kissing you late at night with no goal other than to kiss you and she’ll let out a sound that vibrates through you and changes her mind on what was once an innocent gesture; she’ll tug your shirt off instead. Brush your hand over her shoulder when she's resting her head on your lap and she’ll guide it to her face instead, a lazy hold on your wrist while your thumb brushes her cheek. Coming to love her is the warmest science. But it’s not always exact.

You watch her pour you a drink at the bar table that sits in front of your bed— watch the dark hair that sits against the nape of her neck, messy and loose, watch the waistline of her pants sitting low on her waist, watch the bareness of her back. If there’s a reason why you decide to say it now, you don’t yet realize it. The words just spill out of you before you have a chance to stop them. “I remember you, you know."

Sevika’s hand hovers over the whiskey glass before she hums, resuming the movement and bringing it to her lips. "You didn't say."

“You didn’t ask,” you rest your back against the bed frame, watch her carefully.

The air sits still and you see her shoulders lift, muscles shifting as she shrugs, a big gulp of golden liquor sliding down her throat. Her voice comes in a mutter, low and almost shy, "Thought I might scare you off.”

The idea is so ridiculous that it's almost laughable. A startled chuckle dies in your chest and leaves room for aching sadness, your back leaving the frame as you lean forward and pray for her to turn around. "He was going to shoot me. Nobody moved a finger but you, Sev," you shake your head, try to manage your expression from saying too much, from confessing to something that’s been inside of you for years. At the tip of your tongue sits a raw desperation for this exact unraveling, for her. "How could you scare me?"

Another moment passes before Sevika turns to face you, lower back against the edge of the table, holding her drink down by her side. She won't look at your eyes— can't, maybe. You wonder if she's considering leaving, if she's already decided that she will, as soon as this is over. A part of you, small but dramatic and loudly pessimistic, is surprised that she’s entertained you this long. Even more surprised when she asks, "Is that what this is?" a turn of her head and the gray in her eyes finds you in a second, mechanical and unforgiving, the snap of a bear trap. You don't think you could look away if you tried. "Are you here because you think you owe me something?"

Your reaction is something close to a flinch, your frown deepening, feet firm on the floor instantly. "You can't seriously think that."

Sevika feels the regret come instantly. It splatters on her face, the pads of her fingers rough when they're brushed over her cheek to wipe herself clean of it like she does blood, gunpowder, fear. She watches out of the corner of her eye the way you part your pretty lips and can hear it in her head, imagine it so clearly, you asking her to leave. 

She's already reaching for her coat to make quick work of obeying your wishes when, instead of that, you ask, "You wanna know why I’m here?"

Sevika lowers her hand and the glass hits the table with a thud. Her head tilts to make the slightest nod— and that's as much of an answer as you'll get, you think.

“Look at me,” your finger sits under her chin, a touch barely there, the rise of her head more her choice than your doing. “You’re good, Sevika,” she grimaces, feels like she's swimming in gross viscous shame older than herself and barely surviving it. You press your thumb into her cheek, firm but kind, and keep her from being swept away by it. If she used to find your openness sweet, right now she finds it fucking miraculous. How can you call her good and mean it, how can someone else know so deeply that she could be, that she will be, when most days she doesn’t even know it herself? How can she look you in the eyes and deny you that truth? Her face relaxes, grimace replaced by an aching need as she listens to you. “I see it better than most, but they all catch up eventually. Whatever you put your mind to, you’re fucking good at it,” you pause, try to read her expression and find yourself unsure, but calm. How lovely to think that there's still so much to learn. “You don't owe me and I’m not trying to change you… you don't need—”

Sevika rests her hand over your cheek, a warm hum from her throat to acknowledge what you're saying, a desperate shake of her head to say but I do. “I need you,” her forehead falls against your own, in her brain a chant of please.

You look at her through your lashes, nod your head and feel warm, warm, warm. Her hand guides your face closer, a needy pull of her fingers where they press against the back of your neck, your whisper of “me too” spilled into her mouth. Sevika kisses like there's nothing in the whole fucking world she’d rather be doing, nothing that could possibly distract her. She has kissed you in nightclub bathrooms even with someone's knocks shaking the flimsy door, in alleys with her knuckles still bloody from a fight, dangerously close to opening hours with your back against the very bar where she rests her drinks every night. She's hungry, insatiable, and every time you can't wait to part your lips and let her in.

It takes godlike strength to hold on for as long as you do, but there's power in making her wait too, a satisfaction that feels drunk and just as divine as it makes its way down your spine. A few more chaste kisses take seconds or a century, and Sevika indulges them for as long as she can before she breaks, falls to her knees at your altar and breathes, “Please.”

There's nothing you like more than hearing her beg, except maybe what happens after you give in— the relief, the sigh against your mouth, the wet warmth of her tongue and the desperation in the way she pushes her body against you like she hadn't til then realized just how famished she’d been. Her hands wrap around your waist meanly, pressing indents, and you're too busy soothing your own hunger on her lips to realize that she's switched your positions.

You feel the harshness of the table against your back and pull away to look down, catch up, your daze maybe a little too obvious judging by the curl of her mouth. She's panting as much as you are, though, tongue peeking out barely to brush over her lips, tingly and wet from your kisses. “Up,” she says with a tilt of her head, more a warning than a command, her hands already down on your hips to get you sitting over the wood.

Sevika is a sight, pretty and inviting and overwhelming— you reach for her waist and pull, entranced by the way she follows, the way your legs interlock. A thin layer of sweat glimmers over her chest and you've never found so much beauty in the undercity’s humidity, never felt yourself get wet as easily as she makes it, never been so desperate to find some relief from the aching between your legs. Your thighs squeeze into Sevika’s and looking up to meet her eyes feels like a punch, like the sweetest blood, a sea of glazed-over gray barely visible against the black of her pupils. A mirror of your wanting; how the hunger grows when it meets reciprocation this delicious. You lean forward to taste it from her lips and she meets you halfway, a hand traveling up your spine and ending at your neck.

You don't know when you started grinding against her, but you know you want more. And you know Sevika’s holding back, savoring the same power you’d tried before, a smirk against your lips when she feels you speed up, hears you moan from somewhere deep in your throat. It suits her, the way she holds control. Sevika likes to wonder if she’d ever hold on longer, make you really wait. Sometimes she thinks she might, and then (like now) your voice fills her ears and clouds every thought that says anything other than please, god, fuck, let me make you feel good. “Don’t be mean,” you say this time, breathy and achingly sweet. “Please, Sevika.”

The first grind of her thigh against your pussy makes you end a kiss with your teeth biting into the meat of her lower lip, rougher than you intended. “Fuck, Sev—” you say, cut yourself off with a gasp when she does it again. Sevika figures out the angle unsurprisingly quickly, a hand on your hip and another on your ass to guide you back and forth at a rhythm that matches the movement of her own hips, enough fervency behind it that you know she needed this as much as you did. Maybe more, judging by the groans she spills on your neck every time you press up into her.

Full lips kiss at your pulse, open mouthed, her breath cool against your skin when it meets the wetness she left there. Your nails rake over her shoulder, over her scalp where your fingers are buried in between strands of dark hair— and when Sevika groans it sounds raw, a broken noise, her hips moving desperately faster. You can feel her warmth on your thigh and you've never wanted so badly to have her undressed, laid out, rubbing her pussy against you, leaving a mess on skin rather than the fabric of your pants. She's getting carried away, you know it, chasing her high and barely giving you a chance to catch up. You've never wanted anything more than to let her use you.

“You feel so fucking good,” she grunts, wrecked with need for you to pacify when she lifts her head from your neck, her eyebrows furrowed. You watch her get lost on your lips and you can imagine what they look like, how plump she left them, how the pride of that must simmer in her lower abdomen. Her thumb brushes over them once, then again, and you barely register that she's asking for permission before your mouth moves on its own accord to let her index and middle finger inside. It's filling, just what you needed; how beautifully unsurprising that she knew it more than you did, or that she needed it just the same.

You're fully caged in now, your back pressed against the wall, Sevika’s free hand on your waist still steering you back and forth on her thigh. “Too— hm, fuck,” her fingers slide out of your mouth and press wet indents into your cheek as she holds your jaw, traps you in her eyes. She’s far too gone to warn you but she doesn't have to, it's so painfully clear. Her eyes two dark pits to swallow you whole, lips parted, the grinding brutal and so fucking good— she says it until she can't form the words anymore, her head tilted back, thighs stuttering and tightening around your leg as she comes.

Your tongue tastes the skin of her bared neck and you feel yourself get closer and closer, fed by the feeling of her nipple under the pad of your thumb, by the shaking moans she spills into your ears as you keep grinding against her. Sevika must feel it too, in the same way you did, notice the change in your breath or the speed of your hips— because she pulls away and knows to soothe the needy desperation on your face with a messy kiss before she gets down on her knees.

“Shh,” her shushing comes soft and agonizingly kind, your whines barely contained as she presses kisses to the inside of your thighs. “What happened to my patient girl?” she asks, a tilt of her head and a smirk, the meanest angel.

Your palms press onto the table to lift yourself up enough to let her slide your pants and underwear off in one motion. “Spoiled me too much,” you answer, your mind foggy, drunk on the sight of her kneeling in front of you.

It takes Sevika a moment to reply, the pads of her finger pressing into your thighs. Her eyes meet yours and she wants to tell you, how could I not? You’re not trying to change her, you’d said, but you do. These days, she doesn't think about anything else like she used to— I love you prefaces everything. I love you, so I’m winning this stupid fight and making some money. I love you, so I gotta get home alive. I love you, so I think we could change this city. I love you, you should have every-fucking-thing. But Sevika's not really a woman of many words, especially not when you're looking at her like this, especially not when she's this hungry, so she shrugs her shoulders and says (like it explains everything, and maybe it does), "Look at you.”

The intensity of her makes your legs squeeze together, but you barely make it an inch before she’s pulling them apart and hooking them over her shoulders exactly how she likes.

Your face feels like it's burning, heat crawling up your neck, your grip on the table tight. “Please.”

Sevika barely manages to pry her eyes away from where you're open and glimmering, soaking her fingers after just one brush of them against your lips. Her voice comes out strained, drowned in hunger. “Please what?” 

You must sound worse, but the thought barely registers, hardly matters. “Please, Sevika, make me come.”

And she does— pretty nose bumping perfectly against your clit whenever her tongue is too busy inside you, her lips shiny and wet and relentless. Like everything else, she's fucking good at it.

[incandescentflower]

You can always tell when the writing for two characters and their conflict is compelling because you start to see continuous fights break out about which character is "right."

But in the case of Let Free the Curse of Taekwondo in particular, it really feels like the entire point of this drama is being missed by a mile to engage in that kind of thinking.

It does remind me of that quote from Blueming that my mind comes back to from time to time.

About pain, it's an absolute thing for a person. It's not something you can compare. If I feel pain, then it is pain. No body can judge you.

Some very wise words about how pain is not something that can truly be compared. And I do think those ideas continue through this narrative as well, but with the nuance of what if it's the person who you love that hurts you because you are both trying to manage that pain.

I know for many people it comes down to how one person treats the other - either directly (Dohoe pushing on Juyoung, challenging him, trying to make it seem like he can cut off Juyoung because it doesn't matter) and indirectly (Juyoung keeping a relationship with Dohoe's father who was both their abuser, pushing him to confront things he isn't ready to confront, thinking he needs to protect Dohoe from himself by keeping the gym even when that is the opposite of what Dohoe says very directly).

It's interesting because I identify with Juyoung's way of dealing with this trauma more, but it doesn't make it the correct way. And I do feel like the story is trying to say that. The 12 year separation really emphasizes that you can't make someone else deal with their trauma on your timeline no matter how much you love them. Love isn't this magic balm. You can't save someone else. But love can be a brightness in the dark, love can be hope. It's a really beautifully nuanced message.

And when you love someone you can hurt them and be hurt by them. You have to be able to see outside yourself and listen to the other person's needs to be in a relationship. And sometimes you have to decide that loving that person is too harmful to you.

It's Dohoe we see struggling with this, thinking loving Juyoung might be too harmful to him, thinking him loving Juyoung is harmful to Juyoung.

Juyoung is not thinking of that harm so people want to protect him, but that is about his own issues he also needs to deal with. He is just as responsible for figuring out his boundaries and deciding what he can manage and what he can't. He has to communicate his truths to Dohoe. There is still so much that he has held back.

And we see him start to do it. We see Juyoung calling Dohoe out on not saying how he feels and retreating so quickly. We see Juyoung saying what he needs. We see them starting to communicate, starting to smooth some of those edges and we can only hope they keep doing that.

Juyoung apologizes to Dohoe, but it seems like it's for trying to push Dohoe too hard too fast. Dohoe is being very clear about what he needs and Juyoung is now finally listening.

It's like a quote from To My Star (another Hwang Da Seul drama) I think of often:

I really like people like you. People who have their walls up. They seem really strong.

Dohoe's shutting things out is what has helped him survive. You can't just open the flood gates up all at once. Dohoe's avoidance is his protection and you can't just bulldoze it down.

This is a dance of loving someone where their needs are in direct conflict with yours and trying to manage that and figure out how much you can accept a little less of them or give a little more of yourself and hopefully bit by bit you come to some place in the middle together.

[revelboo]

Hey, Happy Halloween, would you consider writing for Rodimus/Hot Rod?

Yep, I absolutely did. It’s fixed now 😅

Attractive Today Pt 1

MTMTE Rodimus x Reader

• How can one very large mech just disappear when he wants to? Venting as he walks, Rodimus keeps searching for his missing co-captain. He’d assumed Megatron would be on the bridge, in his quarters, or in Rung’s office. Because all in all, the former warlord isn’t that exciting. He doesn’t hang out in Swerve’s or mingle with the crew unless made to. Having to hunt him down for a meeting is a novelty he doesn’t appreciate, because Megatron is hiding from him. And the former warlord calls him immature.

• The high pitched scream shocks him from his thoughts and he’s moving toward the sound, because that hasn’t been a Cybertronian and it had sounded terrified. Rung’s therapy human? Rounding a corner, he’s not startled to see Whirl, though Trailbreaker is a surprise. But it’s the human running from Whirl’s outstretched claws that snags his attention, because it’s the wrong human. He only has a moment of consternation before it spots him, shrieks at the top of its lungs, Whirl lunges, and it bolts. Face first into a wall and bounces right off. And then Whirl is doubled over laughing, reaching for it. “Oh, this one’s mine. It’s defective,” Whirl says, but Rodimus catches him by the wrist.

• “Absolutely not,” he says as he carefully lifts the limp form to cradle against his chassis. You’re out cold, head lolling against him as he glares at the other two. Trailbreaker’s already lost interest, heading in the direction of Swerve’s as Whirl straightens to his full height like he’s considering trying to just take you. “Where’d it come from?”

• “No idea. It just glitched into what sounded like very painful existence in the hall, saw us and ran screaming,” Whirl grumbles, claws opening and closing. “And I saw it first.”

• Primus, help him. “No,” he growls, looking around for Magnus or Megatron. Someone else to deal with this. All he does know is that he’s not just handing you over to Whirl, the mech is unpredictable at best and not exactly trustworthy. Ignoring that problem, he glances at your little form. Glitched into existence? Brainstorm. Groaning, he starts walking, aware of Whirl following. Somehow that maniac has to be responsible for this. They’d never figured out how Rung’s little human had gotten on the ship and it hadn’t been able to provide any answers, either. It had just came to on board and found Rung. “Go make sure there’s no more stowaways.”

• Whirl stares at him from his one optic, helm tipped disconcertingly. “If I find one, I’m keeping it and teaching it Cybertronian swears,” he mutters before walking away. “The good ones,” he calls over his shoulder and Rodimus isn’t sure if that’s a threat or a promise, but he doesn’t have time to figure it out, either. Heading to Brainstorm’s lab space shared with Perceptor, he lets himself in and the other mech looks up from where he’s bent over something. And immediately stiffens when he notices the human. “I have no idea where that came from,” he says just a bit too quickly. “And I can’t send it back.”

• “You knew this whole time where Rung’s human came from?” He demands, suddenly understanding why Ultra Magnus is always so exhausted. He can feel your little heart beating against his servos, the warmth of you, helping calm his frustration. “Why did you bring them here?”

• “It’s not like I was trying to. It wasn’t supposed to be able to move organic life. I was working on a sort of mini space bridge, a compact version, and things went a bit sideways through no fault of mine,” Brainstorm says in a tone that clearly implies that he’s also not dealing with the fallout from his mistake.

• “There’s just the two, right?” Rodimus growls, servos flexing before he remembers you and eases his grip.

• Brainstorm rolls his hand in a vague gesture. “That’s a bit unclear. There might be two on the Lost Light. There might be a few others. Maybe some not on the ship.” Brainstorm shrugs and Rodimus grits his denta. Reminds himself that as the co-captain, he shouldn’t punch his crew in the face. Even if he dearly wants to. Some not on the ship, what in Primus does that even mean?

[sleepyparalysisdmon]

Happy Ending

The three times you try to convince Seokmin that you don't hate him, and the one time he gets it.

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: implications of history of abuse, bad ex

This is part of the Three Times series. This one is inspired by this reaction.

One

Seokmin is sure you hate him. 100%, no, 1000% sure. It’s the only explanation for why you act the way you do. Seokmin would like to think that he’s a likable person. He thinks he’s nice and thoughtful, and when Vernon first brought you around the group, he went out of his way to be friendly with you because you seemed nervous. And he couldn’t lie, he thought you were pretty.

You have no problems cracking a few jokes with some other members. You and Vernon speak almost exclusively in memes and references from TikTok and Vine. You gang up on other members with Jeonghan to tease them. You become animated with Seungkwan when you play board games or with Wonwoo when you play video games. 

But not Seokmin. When Seokmin cracks a joke, you blink at him. You must not think he’s funny and that stings at first. But then he tries to engage in conversation without goofing off so much. You don’t have much to say then either. 

So he’s stopped trying because the message was received. He’s polite with you, don’t get me wrong, but he doesn’t understand why you hate him and he has just a bit too much pride to ask. Or to ask you directly at least. (His members are sick of the whining he does on occasion about the topic.)

It’s game night and Jeonghan’s just brutally knocked you out of the game. You sigh, standing up from the table. “I’m going to get another drink. Does anyone need anything?” There are a lot of echoes around the table saying ‘no’ and Seokmin is surprised when you notice he didn’t answer. “Seokmin, do you need anything?”

He furrows his eyebrows. You don’t often address him directly. “Oh, uh, I’m good. Thanks, though.” He misses how you deflate a little at his disinterest and he also misses how Vernon and Jeonghan roll their eyes. 

Two

It’s a late night in the studio and everyone is exhausted, but they have a least a few more hours to go. Seokmin rubs his tired, irritated eyes as there’s a knock on the door. In you come with a few bags of dinner. Many members crowd around, thanking you and taking the food. Seokmin doesn’t move. He’s starving but he’s tired and is even in a little bit of a bad mood. He’s had to do so many takes of the same line because he just can’t nail it and it’s been frustrating.

He’s got his eyes closed when he hears a little cough. You look a little awkward as you place a container in front of him. “I wasn’t sure what you liked, but if you don’t like this, I’ll trade with you.” 

Seokmin blinks a few times. “Oh. Thank you.” He means it, even if he sounds confused. He looks inside the container and he must be wearing his thoughts all over his face. The dish isn't his favorite.You’re moving fast and before he can think to fight you on it, the container in his hand is replaced by another. “Y/N, you don’t have to do that. Eat what you ordered.” Some sense is snapping back to him and he’s stubbornly trying to hand the new container back. 

But you’re shaking your head with a little smile, already walking away to find your seat next to Vernon. “Nope. Enjoy your dinner, Seokmin.” 

He does, but his head is swimming with confusion. This feels like an awfully kind gesture for someone who hates him. He keeps glancing at you for the next couple hours until you leave. 

Three

It’s raining when he steps out of the restaurant. He sighs. This week has been rough and he’s just left a really bad date that he arrived separately to, and this is just the cherry on top, forgetting an umbrella and jacket. He won’t melt walking in the rain, but he’s got a busy schedule in the next few weeks and can’t afford to get sick. He decides to wait it out and see if it will stop. 

“Seokmin?” 

He spins because he knows that voice. You’re dressed up for dinner and he can’t believe he didn’t notice you inside. “Hey, Y/N,” he says a little weakly. He doesn’t have the energy to wonder why you hate him tonight. 

“Rough day?” You muse, glancing around at the street as the downpour goes on. 

“How could you tell?” It’s a genuine question. He isn’t sure how you notice when you never so much as glance at him. 

“You’re not your usual self.”

Seokmin doesn’t know what to say about that, so he says, “You look nice. Date tonight?” 

You shake your head. “Work dinner. Very dull. What about you? You look nice too.”

He glances down to his dress pants and button up shirt. “Thanks.” The word feels lame but he’s confused again, much like he always is in your presence. “Bad date. Want to wait out the rain with me?”

You smile, digging into your bag and presenting a compact umbrella. “Or, we could walk together. What do you say?” 

The invitation is too good to pass up. He grabs the umbrella from you, popping it open. You move halfway under the umbrella and he tugs you in a little tighter, sacrificing his shoulder to get wet. You both begin walking. 

It’s light conversation over the rhythmic sound of raindrops on plastic, but it occurs to him that he’s never been around you alone. You still aren’t the warmest person, but you’re warmer now under the umbrella with him than you’ve ever been. 

He’s actually kind of sad as you both arrive at your apartment building. “Do you want to come in? Wait for the rain to pass?”

His eyes bulge at the offer. “Oh, I shouldn’t. It’s late.” 

“I don’t mind, really.” You look… nervous? “But I get it. It’s been a long week and you’re probably ready to rest.” That’s true and he’s kind of touched that you give that grace. He starts to lower the umbrella and close it to give it back to you but you push it back up over his head. “Keep it. Give it back to me another day. Get home safe, Seokmin.” 

He does but he doesn’t get much rest, too confused about what you might think of him. 

Four

He’s out at the bar with a few of the members. He knows you're here too, mostly because Vernon is here. You two come as a pair lately. However, he hasn’t seen you much tonight. 

He excuses himself to go to the restroom and when he comes out, he finally sees you. There’s a guy crowding your space and you look anxious. His gut twists when he hears a plea to stop and leave you alone. He’s shoving the guy back before he can really think. 

“Are you deaf?” Seokmin snaps. The guy is clearly drunk, wavering on his feet, but he looks pissed at the interruption. 

“Back off, she’s mine.” The words come out in a slur, barely understandable. 

Seokmin turns to you, where you’re cowering against the wall. He tries to be gentle in his question, but he’s angry. “Do you know him?” 

“He’s my ex,” you choke out. 

Seokmin turns back to the man. “The ex part makes it sound like you should leave. Go on.” Seokmin can see the swing the guy is going to throw from a mile away, so he shoves him back. As drunk as he is, he loses his balance and hits the wall behind him, sliding down onto his ass. Seokmin knows he isn’t hurt but he’s probably down for a minute, so he grabs your hand and tugs you out of the hallway and then out of the bar entirely. 

You’re hyperventilating by the time you hit the sidewalk. Seokmin tugs you to the curb, making you sit. “It’s okay, Y/N. Just breathe for me.” He tries to soothe, rubbing your back but he hates the sight in front of him. He knows you aren’t the warmest person out there, least of all to him, but he never wants to see you suffer like this. He helps you wipe your tears and when you lean into his side with a sniffle, his heart lurches. “What was his deal?”

“My ex,” you start, even though he already knows that part. “Things didn’t end well. Well… things were never what I’d call good between us.”

“In what way?” He tries to ask lightly, but he saw the aggression and possessiveness in the guy’s eyes in that hallway. He also saw how you cowered and begged for him to stop, like you’d been there before and knew what was coming. 

“It’s hard to talk about,” you say. It’s obvious you’re trying to dodge the question. 

“Did he ever hurt you?” He sighs when you finally nod into his chest. “I’m sorry, Y/N. That’s terrible. You don’t deserve that.”

“Maybe I do.” You sniffle again. “I mean, I’m not the nicest person. I’ve made you think I hate you somehow.”

After only a beat, he pulls back to look at you, confusion painted on his face. “You don’t? Hate me, I mean.”

A watery laugh bubbles up your throat and you look amused by the question. “No, I never did. Your warmth is just intimidating sometimes. I’m not used to it. Vernon and Jeonghan have been trying to help me show you that I don’t hate you in little ways, but I don’t think it’s been very effective.” You sniffle again, looking down the street as traffic passes by. “Kind of stupid, isn’t it? I don’t know how to act when someone’s nice to me.”

Things are clicking into place fast for Seokmin. He laughs because he feels like an idiot for misinterpreting everything, for not observing more. “No, it’s not stupid. I’m sorry I misunderstood.” After a few beats of silence, he stands, holding out his hand. “Come on, let’s go home.” 

You smile up at him, grabbing his hand and letting him pull you up from the curb. You even bite back a little giggle as he swings your arms when you walk. It’s nice. The warmth isn’t so scary now.

[discordiansamba]

was rotating another thought while making dinner about an idea in which, after being duped by azula at the start of season two, zuko makes a frustrated wish to not be so easily tricked by people's lies... which gets heard by a spirit that's a bit of a trickster.

or: zuko wakes up the next day and realizes he can now hear people's thoughts. this wasn't what he meant, THANKS.

zuko responds to something that iroh didn't say out loud. he just stares at his nephew- and then quietly asks zuko in his mind if he can hear him. zuko stares at his uncle in confusion. of course he can hear him. he isn't completely deaf. what kind of-

uncle why aren't your lips moving.

he cannot for the life of him shut it off. the more crowded an area, the more thoughts he can hear. it's headache inducing.

iroh helps zuko develop a few meditation techniques that help with the constant background noise of other people's thoughts.

he gets a. really rude wake up call when he encounters azula again, and can hear her laughing at him in her head. he knows she didn't even think twice about attacking uncle, because he could hear her think it- and then do it.

but he can also hear the genuine concern and desire to help in katara's thoughts. so when she offers to help heal iroh... he lets her this time.

(also, can they all stop thinking about how he has hair now.)

katara heals iroh. she says he'll probably ideally need at least another session to be certain he's free of any unexpected complications. zuko can hear that she's suspicious of him, but her concern for iroh outweighs it.

zuko tries to avoid them. they try to give zuko space. it's very awkward all around.

toph does not care about any of this. toph cares about the nice old man who gave her tea and good advice. zuko doesn't even need to read her mind to know about her conversation with iroh- she just tells him as much.

...and well. he's been hearing uncle's thoughts for weeks now. he knows beyond a a shadow of a doubt how much he cares about him.

long story short: zuko ends up tentatively joining the gaang here. mostly it's just for his own self-preservation at first. it's obvious azula doesn't care if he dies. he has better odds if he sticks with them. he still tries to keep his distance- but it's hard to do that while on the saddle of a flying bison, while you have mind reading powers.

(he goes with them to wan shi tong's library. he asks one of the knowledge seekers if they have anything about being able to hear people's thoughts. he doesn't really find anything conclusive. great.)

iroh makes the choice to part ways with him at ba sing se. his nephew has a chance to pass through the city unnoticed, but iroh cannot say the same for himself- at least, not if he's in the company of the avatar. zuko can hear for himself just how hard a decision this was to reach.

zuko: also. what's the white lotus.

(iroh sweats)

what's up it's round two of hearing your sister's thoughts. he hates it as much as the first time it happened.

zuko, meet joo dee. there's literally nothing going on in that woman's head. it's freaky.

(BA SING SE IS SO NOISY.)

at least the upper ring is a lot quieter. the gaang just watches zuko constantly get headaches and nod to themselves. yeah, that's zuko. he's just cranky.

how to find the avatar's missing bison: just read long feng's mind.

no need to figure out a way to tell everyone else this. just go get the bison yourself. also uncover a secret brainwashing facility?

toph knows something is up with zuko. she's just not sure what. his heartbeat just randomly went crazy when they were talking to long feng. and then when he comes back with appa and says he overheard the dai li talking? a total lie. spill it sparky. what's UP with you.

zuko: ...I could tell you, but none of you are going to like it.

sokka: try us.

zuko: I can hear everything you're thinking.

sokka: ...okay, yeah. I don't like that actually.

aang: zuko! you should come with me to meet the guru! maybe he can help you with the mind reading thing!

(he cannot, but zuko appreciates the offer.)

time to read your sister's thoughts! part three! she still makes zuko the offer to join her, but this time he can hear all of her underlying thoughts. she needs his help? more like she wants someone she can blame if things go wrong.

(but they don't. things always go right for azula.)

[facewithoutheart]

Five plus One, fic recs

A post is going around about fics you consider classics in the Snowbaz fandom. I’d like to take it a step further by asking …

What are five fics you consider your inspiration/influences for writing, plus one of your fics which you think best represents what you want to bring to the fandom?

5. Hang the Moon by @captain-aralias

@captain-aralias is, to me, the snowbaz fandom fic writer of our time. Her commitment to detail, to nailing Rainbow’s voice, while infusing every fic with a heart and purpose that will leave you changed. Every fic of hers is chef’s-kiss-perfection but I’m highlighting Hang the Moon specifically as a fic I often think about (Baz, wet tennis clothes, helping Simon fight the merwolves), and a fic that was my introduction to what fanfics could be/do. I think I finished this fic and just stared at the wall for an hour because I was just like, oh. Oh.

4. The Pitch by basic-bathsheba

Local Hero is one of my favorite fanfics but I wanted to highlight this fic because it’s just such a powerful and understated story. It’s love in the details. This Simon is the model for all of my Simon’s, just a complete simp for Baz haha but also a man who is comfortable and confident being the man who loves Baz even if he doesn’t get to claim it publicly.

3. Stay Up With Me by @sharkmartini

Not sure what to say about this that hasn’t been said a million times. It’ll break your heart; it’ll put you back together. The concept is brilliant and the exploration of two Simon’s will definitely put your emotions through a wringer. Time travel/what-if fics will always grab my attention but this one in particular makes the same case Rainbow posed in Carry On: what if the villain isn’t the villain? And takes it a step further, because Simon realizes he could be the villain, too. Absolutely beautiful.

2. Can’t Find My Way Home by @carryonsimoncarryonbaz

This is one of those fics that just has so much heart and sweetness. I love a good second chance AU, and this one has such Hallmark vibes in the best way. I just love the slow burn of it, and the amazing ending. A perfect holiday fic to snuggle up with. Reading this feels like being cozy up by the fire with someone you love. Actually writing this makes me wanna reread this so much; now that I live with actual Fall I wanna feel cozy like this again.

1. Basil Pitch’s Diary by @bookish-bogwitch

I know it’s a bit weird to rec a WIP as an influence, especially one that’s being written as we speak, but working with/beta-ing Em’s works have made me a sharper, smarter writer. I know this fic is a classic in the works and it’s something I think about on a weekly basis. The Baz Em gives us, to me, feels like canon Baz taken to the next level. What if Baz was the villain … but only to himself? Em’s writing really is just economical in the best way; every line hits, every paragraph teaches me something. And then the heart. It’s genuinely so hard to do what she does and I’m so lucky to get to see her work in realtime.

+1 This Will All Go Down In Flames

I think, at the end of my fandom career, I want this to be the snowbaz fic people associate with me (Spadey being a close second hahaha). But I do feel like it’s got a lot of fandom in-jokes, humor, and sweetness, plus the fun high-stakes of them being in the spotlight. I got to celebrate the Austin I love and miss, as well as poke fun at my own hipster upbringing. I put a lot of Me™ in this fic and it always feels so lovely when people like it. Besides, I got to work with the amazing @tea-brigade and their art just takes this fic to the next level. A dream collab.

(Throwing in the caveat that I started reading long before I got an ao3 account so it’s very likely I’ve missed some amazing fics from before 2021; I’m so sorry!)

Tagging everyone listed above and six more peeps to start: @cutestkilla, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @larkral, @ileadacharmedlife, @thewholelemon & @aristocratic-otter

[troublesomesnitch]

Book Sauron vs. Movie Sauron

(and why people complain about Rings of Power's portrayal of the character. In my opinion). Nerd rant I guess.

I think a big reason why a some viewers are unhappy with RoP Sauron is that there is a big discrepancy between Sauron in the books, and Sauron in the Peter Jackson trilogy. And most people have probably only seen the movies (which is fine, I am not a book purist and I have personally only read 1.5 of the books, and tbh I found them pretty boring.)

But anyway:

In the films, Sauron is an entity. He can’t take physical form. He is evil incarnate, a nameless fear, a flaming eye etc. Whereas in the books, Sauron is way more of a person and actual character.

We only hear stuff about him from other people, but he does have a physical form. Sauron personally tortured Gollum, and Gollum was later able to describe his appearance to Gandalf, saying that he was missing some fingers on one hand from when Isildur defeated him. We also learn from Eomer that Sauron had approached Rohan wanting to buy horses from them. Rohan refused, so Sauron just stole the horses instead - but his initial intention was to buy the animals fair and square, with normal human currency. At a "great price" according to Eomer.

Recently I also read that Sauron had apparently become somewhat fond of Shelob and jokingly referred to her as his cat lmao. That is mentioned in the Shelob chapter in The Two Towers. Just little things like that make a huge difference. I cannot imagine movie!Sauron making jokes like that.

Mordor is also different book to movie. In the books, there are some farmlands in the Southern parts of Mordor, which makes sense because orcs do need food obviously. Return of The King says this:

"Neither he nor Frodo knew anything of the great slave-worked fields away south in this wide realm, beyond the fumes of the Mountain by the dark sad waters of Lake Nurnen; nor of the great roads that ran away east and south to tributary lands, from which the soldiers of the Tower brought long waggon-trains of goods and booty and fresh slaves. Here in the northward regions were the mines and forges.”

In Tolkien’s own illustrations, Mordor also looks a little bit more normal.

All that to say: if your idea of Sauron is an evil-incarnate entity who has no physical form and only talks in raspy, wheezing Black Speech, then yes, it is probably very grating to see Charlie Vickers running around with hair bows and pretty little ringlets falling in his face, being sarcastic, flirting with elf-maidens etc. But I personally don't think there is anything inherently un-Tolkien about it. Despite Tolkien's vocal dislike of allegory, Sauron is a pretty obvious allegory for the devil/Lucifer - he is quite literally a fallen angel taking on various forms to tempt and charm people into doing his bidding. I think the true evil-incarnate character is Morgoth. Sauron is more likely to weight his options and try for a diplomatic solution before throwing all his resources into waging war on people.

[erendur]

I agree with all that has been said above, and would just like to add that I, personally, like the fluffiest kidnap fam content possible, because I love the Fëanorians (and Elrond and Elros) and it's nice to see them doing something that is not murdering/tragedy/falling into despair, for once.

However, psychologically speaking, I think that the more conflicted they are, about all of their parents, the better. If we think realistically, they are bound to have conflicting, ever-changing emotions about the whole situation, no matter what we readers think about the whole situation. They are not us !

They can be both admirative of Eärendil for his courage and his accomplishments, and be resentful, at times, because he left them when they were very little and they probably have no memory of him. At the same time, the fact that they have no memory of him but also is the only one of their parents that they can still physically see as adults probably makes for very potent stuff. Also, because he is the one that was the least involved in their upbringing, it lends itself very easily to hero-worship, when they were little. He was a brave man who never told them off or made them do their homework.

Same with Elwing, but with the complicating factor that they would have had memories of her, very likely both good and bad (no parent, no matter how martyred they were, is always 100% great and never make any mistakes). Let them miss their mother, at times completely idolise her (she's the lost parent, and also, again, the Good Parent that would never have forced them to eat their soup), at times resenting her for abandoning them (and yes, kids would see it as abandoning them, no matter what we readers think of the situation). Can be all at the same time and on the same day.

Maglor of course they would resent for what he did to their family. But also for little, silly things. Again, forcing them to study or to go to bed early. Love grew between them, but he is also the one that actively raised them, with all the resentment/conflicts that result from that. Elrond plays the harp. Sure, the Lúthien connection and so, but he was also raised by the most famous Elf singer/harpist. I think not seeing a connexion there is as blind as not seeing all the ways in which he does embrace his Sindarin heritage.

And their feelings about the whole situation would of course evolve over time, as they grew up and became adults, and parents. Elrond not wanting to discuss the complexities of his upbringing in public rings true. What he thinks about Maglor is his own business. Eärendil is a much less divisive figure, and his father. What does he think about him as an adult, a ruler, a warrior, and a father ? Probably conflicting things as well. What does he think about Elwing ? Same, but probably also a good amount of pity at how young she was, retrospectively. What does he think about Maglor ? I would say quite a lot of pity as well. Elrond also spends two ages fighting a villain and his evil jewellery, I'd say his take on things people do for the sake of it would be pretty nuanced, considering.

Kidnap Fam vs Earendil and Elwing controversy: Regarding the twins

Maybe I’m too practical-minded, but I see a lot of people either supporting or exaggerating kidnap fam, hating it with all their being, or ignoring the whole ‘love grew between them’ to translate into ‘emotional manipulation, hatred, resentment… etc (being anti-canon)’. I’ll respect opinions, frankly, I really could care less about them, but it does get irritating when people throw canon away for the drama (I certainly get annoyed when extreme pro-kidnap fams fans make it all sunshine and rainbows as if it wasn’t a difficult time or situation).

By the way, I can and will say that the twins can feel emotions, they are allowed to do that. Resentment and love can exist at the same time (for only a period of time) but one or the other must fade in order for the other the linger. One has to be consumed in order for the other to burn.

But just a thought, Elrond and Elros could love all of their parents equally, no more, no less than the others. One became a healer and the other, a king, I think they came to understand their foster father(s) and their bio-parents’ decisions.

(Ay maybe I just suck at emotions and all this feelings stuff and have no idea what I’m tolkien about)

And I’m not trying to call out or bash anyone!

I saw (and wanted to share) the quote,

“if your anger burns the furnace in your soul your whole life, you will be forever cold in the grave.”(I’m paraphrasing, I can’t remember the exact quote)

I cannot imagine Elrond or Elros being resentful to the point were they are vicious or unforgiving, whether it was towards Elwing, Eärendil, Maglor, or Maedhros (I really don’t think he was involved too much but if you swing that way).

I don’t want Elros to be cold in his grave, and I certainly don’t want Elrond's fëa to be burning for the rest of his immortal life.

Then I also had the thought, 'if the Fëanorians had never committed the third, worst, kinslaying, then Elwing would have never flown the Silmaril to her husband and they would have never gotten the help of the Valar.'

I personally headcanon that it was Eru’s work at hand to have Maglor raise Elrond and Elros. Think about it, what if they were spoiled in an alternate universe? What if something worse had happened to the twins? What if? What if?

What if they didn't become who they were meant to be if it wasn't for who they were raised by?

By the way, I read LOTR, I know Elrond refers to Eärendil publicly as his father and he makes no mention of Maglor. I analyzed this in three ways. 1.) Elrond must keep (the memory of) Maglor closed off, locked in his heart rather than talking about him more. 2.) It would've caused drama in his realm and in the counsel. 3.) Elrond really doesn't care, his father is his father, that's it. Zip. Maglor raised him, but Maglor is gone now. In a way, Eärendil is more present than Maglor in Elrond's life by the third age. Elrond can physically see the star, but he can't see Maglor.

I see it in the third way mostly. Eärendil is Elrond father, biologically, so why would he do this "My 'real' father" BS? It just seems like a waste of time. Tolkien probably didn't want to confuse anyone since the Silmarillion couldn't be published with LOTR.

Remind me of that quote from Yondu, "He may have been your father, boy, but he wasn't your daddy." But I really didn't want to refer to that quote considering Peter and Yondu's relationship is not the best example to compare this cluster of daddy issues to. Nevertheless, there is a point to be made in that statement. There is a difference between relation in regard to Nature vs Nurture, and the effects of it.

I guess the whole point of this post is, the fandom tends to take canon lore to the extreme or over analyze things to the point where they're just projecting. Trust me, I've been there, done that. I've learned my lesson (I think) and I wanted to share what I've learned.

Also (this is purely opinion) I don’t think Maglor was manipulative about anything, in the book, he just didn’t come off that way, for as little as he appeared, he actually seemed to be pretty optimistic (*regarding Eärendil) and honest (*the debate with Maedhros). He didn’t try to excuse himself or get the twins to pity him. Maglor raising the twins was out of pity/mercy, yes, but love grew (like what Tolkien said). He probably educated them on the facts and encouraged them to form their own opinions, whether that costed him their love or not. Maglor did have the more accurate moral compass compared to his brothers (in the end of the book!- Put down your pitchforks Maedhros stans!), especially if he knew that the Silmaril was better beyond their reach than where the enemy can also reach it. It was an accurate moral compass, although not a big one.

Argue, agree or disagree, or discuss with me! I want to hear different perspectives or opinions on this matter.

[justenjoythegossip]

CHRIS & ABBA’S LATEST PR STUNT & THE VISIBLE ENDGAME OF THE PR STRATEGY or… “WILL YOU JUST GET OVER IT ALREADY? IT HAS BEEN TWO FREAKING YEARS”…

Recap of recent events: 

Yesterday was the premiere of Red One in Berlin. Go Germany. Chris didn’t walk the red carpet before Dwayne as he was supposed to, arrived late with his wife, walked the carpet (after almost missing it) without her, played with the precious very ostentatiously for the cameras, she and Chris shared a moment together as they hugged and she gave him a look of... disgust(?). Then they were filmed sitting together for the movie and Chris seemed angry/pissed(?) at her as he gestures, seemingly does a nervous tick by pressing on his glasses and she rolls her head… #couplegoals LOL

Side note: kudos to the PR agent sitting next to Abba for her clapping as it seemingly helped indicate to her she was supposed to applaud her loving husband and also served as miraculous blocking from this angle, to show us only what they want us to see. 

She was always going to be there…

I have been asked many times if I thought Abba would show up at the premiere. And I always answered that I was 50/50 on the matter. When we learned that it was actually Justin who arranged that podcast for her, I was leaning towards no. Because why would she feel the need to go on a podcast no one asked for, if she was going to get the exposure of a big Hollywood premiere soon, right? Then we got the Avengers’ PR stunt where they endorsed Kamala Harris and Chris was flashing his ringless hand so ostentatiously. And then I immediately thought, of course she will be there. Her saying her marriage year was terrible coupled with his non wearing his wedding ring was meant to manipulate his fans into thinking the end was near and like always to add shock value to their next PR stunt. 

And of course she was going to be there, this is actually a big part of why he did this PR stunt in the first place. He wanted the world to know he was a married man and there is no better platform than a Hollywood event to push a narrative… even when you push it as discreetly as you can so that you don’t offend your fandom and the general public any further…

Why did we get a remake of what happened at the Ghosted premiere and what does this mean?

If people remember the Ghosted Premiere, they did not walk together as they infamously made their red carpet debut for the Vanity Fair party. At the time, I theorized that the reason they didn’t was because they wanted to ease his fans in as they knew there was quite a lot of backlash from his fans but also from the general public. I still think that was the case but it’s even more obvious after today’s stunt, as this was a win-win for Chris. He gets to sell the married man brand he is craving so desperately while putting his kinda wife in a corner.  Go Berlin! She gets to come but has to make sure she is not seen too much as her presence could offend his fans and a part of the general public and more importantly have an impact on his movie’s box office and his career more generally speaking. And look how his “fans” take this as a victory… 

But it’s not, it’s just more manipulation and gaslighting on Chris and his team’s part. 

Because clearly all the content of the 2 of them was not meant for the general public but destined to his fandom. And as you can see they didn’t make it to the Just Jared article this time. But they did get to sell the “we are real and private/we are just PR” narrative. Badly like always because it’s the point. 

https://www.justjared.com/2024/11/03/dwayne-johnson-lucy-liu-chris-evans-more-premiere-new-holiday-movie-red-one-in-berlin/

But now we finally get a clearer sense of why Abba felt the need to go on a podcast no one cared about for the first edition of a small festival that got little to no media coverage! She is basically reduced to a prop that has basically no voice or agency but is taken out for minimal lowkey PR stunts when it’s absolutely necessary. But since she a Nazi sex worker, I am guessing we should all be ok with this. But more on that later. 

The latest appearance of the precious ring and its use from a PR standpoint… 

I have already discussed the ring profusely and even recently when he went to the walk of fame for Kevin Feige. Here are a couple of posts where I give my 2 cents about it.

Before I dive into the latest shenanigans with the precious, it’s important to note that playing with wedding rings is very “in” right now. And so what Chris did last night was textbook CAA. Just look at what Jennifer Lopez and Ben Affleck recently did with theirs or even more ridiculously how Dakota flashed her engagement ring during an arranged papwalk. 

Here you can see a video of Chris with the very purposefully loose ring:

As people have pointed out, the ring is way too big, isn’t it? And clearly that’s the whole point since it feeds the “it’s only PR” narrative, isn’t it? But that’s not even the most interesting part about this little clip. Look at where the fans are on this video, then pay closer attention to the camera placement. Can you see how much emphasis the person who is filming (not a fan) is putting on the loose ring and how CURATED this all is?

And now look at Chris playing with his ring so naturally and organically (sarcasm) as the photographers are taking his picture. 

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Chris Evans Army (@cevans_army)

They want you to see it, they are showing it to you, as ostentatiously as it gets. Even when Chris plays the game of “hide the ring”, it is to draw more attention to it while trying to gain sympathy from fans who are so desperate to see a glimmer of regret in his demeanor. 

The programmed obsolescence of Team Real/Team PR and the endgame of the PR strategy 

I have discussed months ago, how this strategy of “divide and conquer” which was symbolized by the discourse and fighting between Team Real and Team PR was just a starting point. A PR strategy can only be understood and appreciated when it can be analyzed in the long run. Those 2 trolling teams were the loud extremist voices that were obnoxious and repulsive enough (in their tone or rhetoric) to drive fans away from them and the narratives they were selling, paving the way for the more reasoned and rational Team Middle. I wrote a post about it if you want to check it out. 

As Team PR and team Real have become completely redundant, all that is left is the narrative Team Middle are pushing. Notice how they purposefully keep blurring the line to disorient (classic manipulation tactics by the way) and make people accept what they are selling. And today they might distract you with the loose ring, the presence of her relatives, the not walking the red carpet together or taking pictures together (but just you wait for the NY premiere as it is just around the corner), their bad body language around each other, the awkwardness and coolness of their exchanges, her cheap outfit while he is dressed in designer clothes by his scientologist and rapist apologist stylist, or they will point out as over the top and fake he was in his reactions at the premiere and I could go on and on… All of this is true BUT it is all a distraction and misdirection. 

As they have pointed out repeatedly, it has been two years, so you should just accept it or move on. The fandom no longer needs your services if you are not capable of enjoying the content they “so kindly” provide for you. They will feed you the crumbs showing how fake it is to appease you and to distract from Chris’ complicity and manipulation as long as you behave. 

The seemingly counterintuitive promoting of this girl by plants, their vicious trolling and what purposes it serves..

So many plants allegedly hate Abba but talk about her constantly. The amount of attention she is getting from them seems incommensurable. Like posting her numbers religiously or obsessing about what she is wearing and so forth.

If it weren’t for them we would hear very little about her. For example, we would have known she was going to do a podcast in her home country only after she posted about it and not a long time before hand. It's also important to note that most of the time she is mentioned, it is in a very negative way as they usually make fun of her and humiliate her. As you know, “there is no such thing as bad publicity”. But in this instance, it’s interesting to ask ourselves why and also what purposes it serves more specifically.

Well, I have just mentioned that bad publicity is still publicly, but another key rule is: know your audience. And obviously Chris’ fandom dislikes her so intensely that talking about her in a negative way, showing animosity towards her is the smart approach to gain the trust of his fans you want to manipulate. The goal here is to paint her as an absolute villain. I am not defending her by the way as she is an awful person but she has 0 power in this story but she makes for a hell of a scapegoat in this shitshow. And indeed, people can easily project all of their disappointment, anger and negative emotions onto her in order to soothe their frustration. 

You see the industry makes you do things you don’t want to do if you let it, talent agencies are as unethical as it gets and will play an awful game if you let them, the PR wife that you selected (or agreed on) might be a POS… but at the end of the day, it’s all a reflection of your own choices and of who you are… 

NB: special thanks to friends and mods who provided me with content and shared with me their smart observations. If I don’t thank you by name it’s to protect you from being blocked LOL

[allthatmay]

so. totally unrelated fandom post.

i've only seen the first episode of the wizards of waverly place sequel (wizards beyond waverly place) but i have thoughts. the basic premise of the show is that justin russo has settled down with a non-wizarding wife (giada), has two kids, and has become an ordinary middle school teacher after being fired from wiztech. his life is upturned when his sister, alex, drops round with a delinquent young girl named billy who needs help learning magic—and, oh yeah, she's supposedly part of some big prophecy to save the world.

so far, all i've seen is criticism of the characters and the show in general, but i think a lot of it is unfair. i'll concede that replicating the character dynamics from the original show (with giada as theresa, justin as jerry, billy as alex, roman as justin, milo as max, etc) was a bad move, but justin's character in particular has received a lot of flack that i, personally, find unreasonable.

people say that justin wouldn't dare give up being a wizard; that the trajectory of his life makes no sense given his love of magic. but life doesn't always work out the way we imagine, even with meticulous planning and preparedness. we can't forget that justin's own father was very much the same; that jerry was a very skilled wizard who loved magic and could never imagine giving it up. given that, i think it makes sense for justin's character to settle down with a non-magical wife and become a school principal. he held on to magic the longest of the three siblings because he defined himself by his skill with it, but he learned, as he aged, that magic wasn't everything.

besides, seeing justin lose his magical lifestyle as his ages only to reclaim it again at the start of this series is a great, if obvious, analogy for what happens to most of us as we age. even those who hold on tightest to their younger years can find themselves losing the the magic felt in childhood; we have to reach out and take it back for ourselves. children are sometimes the best ones at showing us what we have lost, hence: justin teaches magical children and in doing so rediscovers his own magic.

(side note: being a middle school principal suits him for obvious reasons: his love of learning, love of rules, love of wonder. the whole "being fired from wiztech because of an incident with a unicorn" also makes sense to me because, as much as alex learned from him, he learned from alex, too.)

i have nothing to say about alex's character because selena gomez came back and fucking crushed it. the biggest problem is the delivery of the prophecy: she just drops it like "hey billy's the only one who can save the world" and then leaves. now, do i think this is bad writing? yes. but i also think it would make sense if this was utter bullshit; if alex only said this to justin to ensure he really, truly enveloped himself back into the magical world because she knows just how much he misses it. (it's just a prank, bro!)

what would i have changed? i'd probably have made it so that alex had a kid like justin, and justin had a kid like alex. i would not give justin two boys as i don't think that does anything for his character. i would include both jerry and harper, as their actors have a goddamn podcast about the show and deserve to be included. (not to mention how jerry's character, in mirroring justin's, could be very informative for the whole plot.) also, justin's wife? she's fine, but please at least address what happened to juliet. was it the whole "i'm a vampire and i don't grow old but you do" thing? because that only adds to the reasoning behind justin giving up his magical lifestyle.

(also, and this is a tiny thing, but people are wondering how justin the principal and his investigative reporter wife can afford their house? and, HELLO, we get told that max is now a billionaire—thanks to his sandwich enterprise, i think. he would've totally bought them a house after giada convinced justin to accept it.)

[livelaughloveluffy]

Hi HELP uhm this is my first time um asking but like idk if you do requests but uhm I was wondering if you could do luffy comforting reader on their period,, perchance... if not that totally finee ❤️🤑 I hope you have a great day or night I also enjoy your writings alot they r so sweet and they make me happy ,, okay bye 🥷

comfort - monkey d. luffy

a/n: firstly!! thank you so much for your request!! im so happy you enjoy my writing!! 💗 this was definitely well timed since i was planning something similar to your request!! i hope you like this!!! you have a great day/night as well!!! 💗💗💗

nothing but fluff here! 💗

---------------------------------------------------------------------

when he comforts you:

-luffy is the sweetest boy and the second he picks up on you feeling slightly off, he's all over you. clinging to your body, asking you hundreds of doting questions. the phrase "are you sure?" is something you are destined to hear millions of times because luffy does tend to miss some social cues and he really want to make sure he understands how you're feeling because you mean the world to him 😭

-this baby will do anything and everything to make you smile. silly faces galore, bad puns and jokes, you name it, he's done it. it breaks his heart to see you without a smile, or to not hear the sound of your laughter.

-his simplistic and naive nature unironically makes luffy give the best advice 💀 he doesnt even do it on purpose, he just has a way to instantly comfort and ease you. "everything will work out!!! im here for you!" he'll tell you with the sweetest smile and his signature laugh

-he's a clinger, he'll hold onto you super tight, wrapping his legs around your waist with his arms dangling around your neck giving you constant cuddles. his soft raven hair tickling your cheek as his chin rests on your shoulder, his warm soft skin radiating through your clothes. he doesn't want to leave you alone and physical reassurance is so extremely natural to him.

-luffy is for sure a praiser. you've heard hundreds of thousands of reminders of how amazing, kind, smart, funny, cool, thoughtful, etc. you are. he showers you with words of affirmation as often as possible

-when you're sick, injured, or on your period: he's such a worrier 😭😭😭 he absolutely refuse to leave your side at all, no matter how much you protest and say you're fine. luffy will 100% crawl into your bed, pulling you into his arms, wrapping them two times too many around your waist, holding you close to him. he's always down to get you plenty of snacks, as long as you promise to share, however this often ends up with sanji barging into your room chasing after luffy, with his arms holding half the contents of kitchen pantry. you are his favorite snack buddy after all 😌

when he needs comforting:

-physical touch is a huge comfort to luffy, he will constantly need your hands all over him, your body pressed against him, kisses peppered across his skin, any and all physical contact instantly relieves him.

-he definitely appreciates it when you steal extra food and snacks for him, or sweet-talking sanji into making special desserts that you then pass to luffy.

- luffy does thrive off of hearing praise, so its a great relief to him when he hears you tell him how he's doing a good job, he's a great captain, and other similar sentiments.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

a/n: luffy's my sweet boy and i love him so near and dear to my heart 😭😭😭 i'm thinking about starting a taglist, so if anyone is interested in that just let me know!!

a/n: enjoyed this fic? here's my masterlist!!

[brainddeadd]

the main boys seeing baby devin and matt together for the first time and they can admit it’s obvious his in love the two are and how sweet matt is too her

Realisations

It was supposed to be a low-key evening. Y/N and Matt had slipped out for a quiet dinner, hoping for a break from the usual chaos of the season. They’d found a cozy little spot tucked away downtown, one where Matt could hold her hand across the table and give her those soft, lingering looks he reserved only for her. With the low hum of conversation around them, they felt perfectly hidden, lost in each other’s company.

But little did they know, a few booths down, Jack, Nico, Luke, and Dawson had also picked the same spot for their post-practice dinner. They were mid-conversation when Jack’s gaze drifted over, landing squarely on Y/N. He froze, jaw going slack as he took in the scene unfolding across the room.

“Is that… Y/N?” he whispered, nudging Nico, who turned to look, eyebrows shooting up as he saw their teammate with Matt, a soft smile gracing her lips as she leaned in close, her hand still intertwined with his on the table. Dawson and Luke quickly followed suit, craning their necks to see.

"Well, I'll be damned," Dawson murmured, unable to hide his surprise—or his grin.

The boys watched, trying to keep their reactions low-key, as Matt gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind Y/N's ear. He was looking at her with a softness that none of them had ever seen in him, as if she was the only person in the room, or the world, that mattered. And judging by the way she smiled back at him, eyes sparkling, the feeling was mutual.

“Do you see the way he’s looking at her?” Luke whispered, a mix of surprise and admiration in his tone. “Like, that’s serious.”

“Yeah,” Nico agreed, folding his arms as he took in the scene. “That’s not just a casual thing…he’s head over heels.”

Jack shook his head, both in disbelief and amusement. “When did this happen?”

They all exchanged glances, realizing that they’d somehow missed the fact that their ‘little sister’ was wrapped up in what looked like the start of something deep and lasting. It was strange, seeing Y/N like this. She was always one of them—someone they teased, protected, looked out for like family. But now, watching her with Matt, they could admit that there was something incredibly sweet, even tender, in the way he treated her.

Matt leaned forward, saying something soft that made Y/N laugh, her face lighting up in a way that was rare off the ice. He smiled, eyes lingering on her, a hand resting gently on her arm. There was a quiet confidence in the way he was with her, a gentleness that none of them had seen him show with anyone else.

“Alright,” Dawson murmured, breaking the silence. “I’ll admit, I’ve never seen her like that… and he’s clearly treating her right.”

Jack nodded, half-impressed, half-bewildered. “Honestly, I think he’s in love with her.”

“It’s obvious,” Nico agreed, eyes still on them. "And she looks pretty damn happy."

“Alright, let’s let them be,” Nico finally said, his voice low but laced with a grin. “But I say we give her hell for this later. We’ve been sparing them too much.”

They all chuckled, knowing full well they’d bring it up when Y/N least expected it. But as they walked away, a warm pride settled over them. They were her team, her family, and seeing her like this—with someone who clearly adored her, who treated her with such care—was something they could all admit was worth letting go of a little protective edge.

“She’s got herself a good one,” Jack said quietly, a rare softness in his tone.

Dawson clapped him on the shoulder, nodding. “Yeah, she really does.”

[pinksugarscrub]

Guts

Hobie Brown x fem! spider! reader

Event by @the-kr8tor and banners by @the-shroom-garden

Thank you @hyperfix-wip! (beta reader) you know how excited I was to finally finish

Can you tell I like Olivia Rodrigo yet? Thanks to my little brother for forcing having me to listen to her music 💜

word count: 1,770

parts: 1, 2

cw: cursing, suggestive comment from Peter, and simping

~

Tap, tap, tap

Tap, tap, tap

“Oi mate-” Hobie’s foot tapping falters as he turns around.

“You look bloody fit,” Ned groans. Draped over the edge of Hobie’s bed bored out of his mind. “Will you get out of here? You’ve only got ten minutes.”

Hobie’s shoulders sink as he glances at himself in the mirror again. His fingers running over the leather of his jacket. A plush lining to keep him warm after your persistent warnings about New York Autumn.

“Oh mate…” Ned’s expression falters as he turns to lay on his stomach. “You’re really worried about this.”

Hobie swallows as he tears his gaze away from his reflection. “No shit.”

Now Hobie knows tonight is nothing more than a casual dinner. It really isn’t anything special. Just pie and more pie and oh wait, more pie. But it’s also the first time he’ll meet your family and the encounter feels more like an indoctrination than an introduction.

He wants to make a good impression and when did he become the kind of person to care about impressions? It’s just that these people care about you and you care about them ten fold. If he fucks it up with them will he even have a chance with you? 

Hobie can see you smile in the back of his mind. He doesn’t feel good enough for you but he also doesn’t want anyone else to have you either. Doesn’t that sound egregious.

He wants to hear you sing. He really does and he’s somewhat terrified the moment he does he’s going to fall deeper in love with you. 

He really wants to be there for every wonderful moment the way you’ve been there for him. There isn’t a show you’ve missed or a song you haven’t listened to that he’s recommended. Hobie wants to be by your side and the feeling is as suffocating as it is satisfying. He didn’t even know you played until he caught you fiddling with his guitar. 

Is it weird he wants to hold you in his lap while you strum a few chords? Sing to him like his own personal songbird.

Damn he was whipped.

“Listen, Hobs.” Ned’s hand clasps his shoulder. He softens his voice too to a tone only reserved for moments much like this one. “You’ve got to trust her.”

Trust her? With what? His unyielding affection and admiration.

“If it’s meant to be it’ll work out.” Ned bites his tongue. Unsure if he’s said the right or the wrong thing. 

Hobie sighs and finally turns to Ned. A half hearted smile on his lips as he pats his hand. “I know but…”

“Doesn’t make waiting any less shitty?” Ned replies. A weak laugh escaped him. 

“Yeah,” Hobie chuckles. Wrapping his arms around Ned and becoming dead weight. 

“Want me to go with you?” Ned shifts Hobie in his arms to keep the two of them from collapsing. 

“Nah, I couldn’t ask you to do that for me.” 

“You’re not asking, I'm telling.”

Their flat goes quiet and Ned knows Hobie is seriously debating the idea so without much thought he drags him along on his way to his room next door. 

“Is it a shithole? Because I don’t want to lose my good chucks.” 

“It’s a good part of town,” Hobie mumbles. Face hot as his nerves finally seem to settle. “Thanks Neddy.”

“Shut up and get off,” Ned huffs. Snatching his favorite jumper and searching for a pair of jeans. 

“Really mate-” Hobie slowly grins as Ned shoves him off. It deters him none as he makes obnoxious kissing noises. “You’re the best.”

“Bloody back off!” Ned chokes on a laugh. “These lips aren’t for you, you little shit.”

“Promise I’ll make it up to your date.”

“I don’t want you anywhere near Riri.”

Ned cringes as soon as the words leave his lips. Well, fuck.

“Riri!?” 

-

The venue is loud. Not burst your eardrums loud which Ned agrees with, but definitely loud. 

“Are you sure we’re in the right place mate?” Ned scans the room before shrugging. “Looks like a regular old pub to me.”

“It’s a different kind of show.”

“Really? Different how?”

Hobie doesn’t know. You were so nervous when you asked him to your show he couldn’t bring himself to pull it out of you.

“Guess we’ll have to find out-”

A quiet buzz forms from the back of his neck down his spine. Subtly he turns his head. 

“I’m too old for this.”

“Oh please, we’re in our late twenties.”

“Early thirties,” someone else corrects.

They look familiar but he can’t quite place them until one person from the group catches his eye. It’s your MJ.

“Oh, hey! I’d recognize you anywhere.” She grins as she leaves behind who he now knows to be Peter Parker and Harry Osborn. “You must be Hobie.”

 Hobie’s hands suddenly feel sweaty. “Yeah, pleasure to meet you miss.”

Ned looks over at him flabbergasted but doesn’t say a word. Only makes a twirling motion with his finger and silently mouths ‘whipped’.

Hobie glares, prepared to give him the greatest beat down of the century until Peter and Harry finally seem to catch up. Then he’s all smiles and polite laughter.

“Babe you totally ditched us b— woah, hello sailor.”

MJ sighs while pinching the bridge of her nose. Way to make a good impression, she thinks.

Peter leans in close to her ear. “I see the appeal.”

“We…we can still hear you,” Ned interjects. Perplexed as he turns to Hobie. “They do know that right?”

“Hey, Hobie right?” Harry smiles. Pushing past Peter with a much softer tone to his voice. “Our girl has told us so much about you. You must be…?”

“Ned, Leeds.” Now Ned feels like quaking in his boots and he’s not even the one needing moral support.

“Ned, ah, I’m glad you could make it.” He nods toward the stage. “Should be starting any minute. Mind if we join you?”

Hobie yelps before nodding and letting out a hurried, “yes of course.”

“Great.”

Hobie thinks Harry’s turned away for his benefit. He takes the opportunity and rubs his side. 

“Did you really have to hit me that hard?” He hisses.

“Nah, I just enjoy torturing you.”

“You little-”

“So, are you two excited?” MJ chirps back in. “You’re the first friend I think she’s ever invited to one of her shows.”

That gives Hobie pause. “How come?”

“Oh well she’s always kept to herself. Society's been good for her. I trust you’re looking out?” 

Hobie nods, “I’m taking care of her, I promise.”

MJ smiles and nods in return. “Good.”

“Looks like it’s just us.” Peter wraps his arm around MJ’s shoulder. Eyes on his phone. “Junior just texted her other friends will meet us at F.E.A.S.T. after the show.”

“So it’s just Hobs she invited?” Ned asks. Not even hiding his cheshire grin.

Peter immediately matches his energy. A cheeky grin on his lips. “Just him.”

The butterflies in Hobie’s stomach grow worse. So much worse. Then the lights shut off and cheers erupt.

To be completely frank, Hobie doesn’t pay a lick of attention to the bands on stage. He’s just waiting for a glimpse of you. 

Time doesn’t feel fast enough but when he hears your voice, he wishes he could stop it.

“Is everyone enjoying the show!” 

The cheers grow even louder and your laugh, god his heart tightens in his chest.

“Wonderful! Well, I have the honor of closing tonight so I’m pleased to introduce The Mary Janes!”

Goosebumps break out on his skin the moment the guitar riff echoes into the area. It’s the exhilarating feeling he gets from playing with Ned and the others. Listening to music with you in your car, talking nonsense all at once.

Driving on the right-side road

He says I’m pretty wearin’ his clothes

And he’s got hands that-

Wait, was this song about him?

Feet on the dashboard, he's like a poem I wish I wrote

I wish I wrote

Please be about him.

And he laughs at all my jokes

And he says I'm so American

Oh, God, it's just not fair of him

To make me feel this much

His heart skips a beat when you lock eyes with him. There’s a slight falter in your voice but you push through. Smiling at him as sweat builds up on your skin.

I'd go anywhere he goes

And he says I'm so American

Oh, God, I'm gonna marry him

If he keeps this shit up

I might just be in love

God, I'm so boring, and I'm so rude

Can't have a conversation if it's not all about you

The way you dress, and the books you read

I really love my bed, but, man, it's hard to sleep when he's with me

When he's with me

Yeah, he’s kissing you tonight

I apologize if it's a little too much, just a little too soon

But if the conversation ever were to come up

I don't wanna assume this stuff

But ain't it love?

I think I'm in love

Shit he wants to kiss you now.

The final chords ring out and the screams have been loudest out of the whole night. 

As soon as you’re out of sight he looks to Ned and Ned laughs. With a shove he points his best friend into the direction he’s sure the backstage is in.

“Go get em’ tiger!” MJ yells.

“Please keep the tongue to a minimum!” Peter cries.

The pounding of his heart and the smack of his boots on the floor are all he can hear. Skidding to a stop he slips through a door with a taped over sign.

He spouts apologies and jumps over drum kits until he barrels into you or, you barrel into him. You’ve really got to watch where you’re going.

“Hobie-!” You feel dizzy after the clumsy collision of limbs. “What are you doing back here?”

“Was that for me?” He asks out of breath.

You blink as you finally register his presence. A shy smile makes its way onto your face. 

“If it was?”

“If it was?” He laughs. “You’re such a cheeky little thing.”

“Hey! I’m-”

The words die on your tongue as he crashes his lips onto yours. His hands moving from your shoulders to your face. Gently caressing the skin there.

“Yeah.” You answer when you part. Dizzy for a whole different reason. “It was for you.”

Hobie laughs again.

“Well what are you waiting for?” You sigh. “Kiss me again.”

So he does.

I had so much fun participating and hope we can continue to have this mass collaboration moving forward. You all did wonderfully and if I haven't gotten to your work I hope to do so soon. Well done everyone! 🫶

[izaacs-notdeadyet]

The outsiders zombie apocalypse au say whay?

Chat.. let me say I have been COOKING.

Storyline is loosely based on the last of us, in the sense that Johnny takes the role of Ellie, and Darry of Joel. This is inspired by a post I saw talking about a tlou outsiders au but I couldn't find who made the post to tag them in this ☹️☹️

More info and designs under the cut (tw for guns, violence, and death)

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Johnny Cade:

Lore: [Johnny was born seven months after the start of the apocalypse. His mother had been pregnant with him and managed to survive up until his birth, when she ended up getting bit by a zombie when she went into labor. She managed to escape back into her and Mr Cade's cabin, where he would find his wife who had turned, and his newly born son.

Johnny's father did NOT like his son. He only took care of him cause he felt some kind of obligation to his late wife and it's really a miracle Johnny didn't die under his watch or because of him. One day, Mr Cade sent Johnny out scavenging for supplies on his own (horrible idea.) Johnny ended up being chased and leading them back. Him and his dad ended up escaping, just barely.

Johnny had been bit in their escape. His dad had seen it first. His dad wanted to shoot him before he turned, but Johnny, terrified with a gun to his head, lashed out and knifed his dad to death. He sat there for awhile, waiting to turn. But Johnny never did end up turning. He grabbed his dad's gun and his stuff, and set off for the road, leaving his dad's corpse cold behind him.

He survived for around a year mostly on his own, occasionally falling in with some travelers but mostly he was on his own. Somewhere in that year timeframe he got jumped by Paul and his gang, getting his scar and losing his gun in the process.]

Extra commentary: i honestly had so much fun with drawing Johnny. As for his character, I think his growth was stunted due to stress and malnutrition. Similar to in the book he also looks younger. It would still bug him, but he's gotten good at playing up his youthfulness to gain the trust of unsuspecting people, and then mugging them.

I think he'd be pretty efficient with his bow, especially since his gun was stolen and he hasn't been able to find another one yet. In a way he likes that the bow gives him more control, but he also misses the confidence that having a gun gave him.

He carries around a mini sewing kit, he's gotten pretty good at fixing holes in his clothes and bag and even repaired the hole in his jeans. He needs to find more scrap fabric though to repair his other pants leg.

He's pretty shy. Just in general but also because he doesn't really trust people. He's paranoid about someone finding out about his immunity and then using it against him. If he can't wear his jacket, (which is rare, but sometimes) he'll wrap gauze or extra fabric around the bite tightly to keep it hidden.

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Darrel Curtis:

Lore: [Darry doesn't remember much from before the apocalypse, he would've only been four. He does remember a panic and them having to leave town, his mom Carrying his baby brother Soda in her hands. The Curtis parents were very good about keeping their children safe. They ended up going to a sanctuary city. It was rough, but it was more like Jackson than Boston, it was a safe place to raise their kids.

That was, until it wasn't. One day, two years before canon, a horde broke in, and the city was overrun with zombies. Darry managed to find his brothers, along with Steve and Two-bit in the chaos. They stopped by their house, Darry packing a bag and taking his father's shotgun, he was trying to find his parents and also keep his brothers and friends safe at the same time. When he found his parents, it was too late. They were turning, and Darry had to shoot them to save Soda.

Steve ended up hotwiring a car for them, and they fled the city. Darry has been doing his best to take care of them sense, even though the group gets on his last nerves, especially with their insistence to keep adding people to their group and stop by long abandoned tourist traps when they're meant to be looking for the nearest sanctuary city.]

Extra commentary: I LOVED drawing Darry. If I had fun drawing Johnny than I can't begin to explain what drawing Darry did to me. It was my first time drawing him and he just came so easy to me.

For his design I don't have much to say, I think he'd have a habit of biting the tip of his knife (something @deim0sdread came up with that) and it ended up giving him a scar on his lip from the blade.

For his bag though I have a lot more to say, I think he'd be the one that's most prepared, he tries to keep his first aid kit packed with the essentials. I think if he found the group all walkie talkies he'd be set. He's kinda like a mom in the way he runs around making sure everyone's set, that ponyboy didn't leave anything behind and that he's actually paying attention, or that Twobit isn't trying to drink fucking rubbing alcohol. He kinda resents having to do so much for everyone but he loves them and couldn't do any different

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Mandatory tagging of the moots [ @deim0sdread @urmomatron700 @b3st-sunday-dr3ss @ari-the-silly ]

[hishumanbelle]

Deborah was in her room in her bed. The air was heavy because she was in heat. Her breathing came out painfully and in fits and starts. She kept touching herself. She rubbed her clitoris and fucked herself with two fingers in her pussy. She also helped herself with a vibrator, but nothing seemed to satisfy her. She came copiously, but nothing was able to make her have a real orgasm. She needed a partner, a night of sex. Her suffering continued to drag on and she began to cry and scream, tired of all that physical and mental pain. It was then that Alastor knocked on her door, and entered without waiting for an answer. "My dear, what's wrong? I miss you", his eyes fell on her. Alastor was worried, she had been locked in her room for several days without being seen. Her musky, wet earthy scent reached Alastor's nostrils, and he immediately understood. "Are you in heat, my sweet doe?", his tone possessive and seductive. "Please, get out. I'm... I'm so sick. I can't be your company right now", she replied exasperated. "Oh, but mon cher... I can help you", he said, moving closer to her. With one hand, he reached for her entrance between her legs, and slipped a finger in, then another. "You're wet, mmm", he pulled his fingers out and licked them one by one. "You're so delicious", he grinned sinisterly again. "Alastor, please... I'm in pain. Get out", "why should you continue alone when you can use me?", he said, his erection swelling his pants, rubbing against her skin. "I understand your suffering. Let's make a deal: I'll help you every time you're in heat, as long as you do the same to me", "Fine", she said, reaching out her hand to seal the deal, "nuh-huh, I want to seal it in another way", he replied, bringing his face closer to her and kissing her deep with his tongue. Alastor had become hungry for her. He placed his hands on her knees and opened her legs, positioning himself in the middle and starting to lick her pussy on the surface, while with two fingers he fucked her. With his tongue he entered until he reached her g-spot, and continued to fuck her. "Ah- Alastor, I need to come", she said crying. Alastor realized that her pain had been going on for several days and he didn't want to make her suffer any longer. He got on top of her, unzipping his pants. "I'm putting inside", he said softly. She put her arms around his neck, while she was panting and crying. "My ovaries, they hurt so bad", she sobbed. "I know, my love, I know. But don't worry, now I'll fill you up and you'll feel better", "do you have a condom? I don't want to risk it", "no, no condoms. Your womb will be filled with my seed", at those words Deborah became even more horny and wanted only to have an orgasm. "A-Alastor, make me come!!! I need it desperately, fuck me! Fuck me harder!", she screamed. Alastor then began to push his cock deep inside her, hard, faster, while he looked into her eyes, getting drunk on her expressions of pleasure. "Ah-Alastor, I love you!", she screamed in the heat of the moment and the coupling, and Alastor, with just those two little words, was brought to the brink of orgasm. "I love you too, Deborah! Did you come?", he asked cautiously, placing his hands on her face and pounding her; she nodded as she caressed his hips. Alastor held her hair as he continued to look at her and kiss her passionately, hammering her completely. "I'm-I'm cumin-", he couldn't even finish the sentence but pushed himself into her again with force. Deborah wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling the collar of his shirt. Alastor kissed her neck, leaving a hickey. "Mine", he growled. "Alastor, uhm, I said something earlier, but... I was caught up in the moment", she said, breaking her gaze. He lifted her chin with a finger, "I'll make you repeat those words, my love, I know you are in love with me. And now, you belong to me". That night, the promise of a love ritual was created.

[schrijverr]

I Didn’t Mean to Say I Do, but I Do. I Do. 16

Chapter 16 out of 50

Secret marriage of convenience buddie slow burn AU, where Buck and Eddie have been married for years so Buck could adopt Chris and no one at the 118 knows.

In this chapter, Maddie gets convinced to stay by Buck. The two of them reconcile and share pieces of themselves the other has missed out on. Though they still keep things to themselves too.

On AO3.

Ships: Buddie (slow burn)

Warnings: referenced domestic violence, emotionally abusive parents mention, misogyny mention, homophobia mention

~~~

Chapter 16: Abuela’s Roommate

When Buck comes home after speaking to Maddie at Abuela’s house, he feels emotionally drained and exhausted. He missed Chris’s bed time and he mourns that fact now, though he’s also glad he just gets to drop on the couch next to Eddie with a groan.

Eddie frowns in concern. He knows Buck is happy to have Maddie back again, could see it waft off him the whole shift. Had Chris slipping up really put such a dent in his mood? Was he embarrassed about admitting everything to his sister? Did she say something about it to Buck that she didn’t to him? What happened?

He quickly stuffs all those feelings down, poking Buck in the side as he gruffly asks: “What’s up with you?”

“I think Maddie is homophobic about our non-gay gay marriage,” Buck says, voice muffled by the pillow.

“What?”

Buck un-buries his face slightly and repeats: “I think Maddie is homophobic about our non-gay gay marriage.”

“Are you sure? She seemed pretty okay with it when I spoke to her. She was nice,” Eddie frowns.

“She didn’t talk about any of it. She didn’t even mention Chris. Like at all! It’s as if she was not saying anything on purpose,” Buck says. “And of course she’s nice. Your family is hosting her.”

Eddie’s frown deepens. “She really didn’t mention Chris? That’s weird. She told me we have an adorable son and that he loves his two dads. When I told her no one knew, she seemed understanding and nice.”

“Wait,” Buck comes out of his hiding place on the couch. “What did you say. Like exactly? Word for word?”

“Uh, she thanked me, then said that Abuela was nice and that we have an adorable son, though I suppose the you can be just me. That he loves his two dads,” Eddie repeats. “I panicked a bit, so she said my name and then I told her she can’t tell anyone to which she said that she wouldn’t.”

“Okay, but my name was never mentioned? And you didn’t say what she can’t tell anyone?” he asks for clarification, a small hope bubbling up in his chest. He always wants to believe the best of people, especially Maddie.

“You think she didn’t realize the other dad is you?” Eddie says, picking up what he’s putting down.

“Maybe,” Buck shrugs.

“That’s good then, right? You didn’t want to tell her yet anyway.”

“Yeah, but what if I’m wrong?”

“Do you think you’re wrong?”

“I mean, no, but I don’t know,” Buck sighs, rubbing his face. “I haven’t seen her in years, Eddie. I love her, but I don’t know her anymore. And she doesn’t know me…”

They’re quiet for a moment and Eddie has a thoughtful expression on his face. Buck gives him time to think it all over. In the end, Eddie just asks: “So what do you want to do?”

“Huh?”

“She’s your sister. What do you want to do?”

Now it’s Buck turn to think about it. When it came down to Helena and Ramon, he always let Eddie make the final call. Same when they moved here and it came to Abuela and tía Pepa, he’d been prepared to never be introduced to them should Eddie want. With Maddie it’s his family and his call. That still feels weird. Having family here.

But it’s a good weird, the kind of weird he wants to get used to until it’s normal. Maddie says she’s just passing through, but Buck wants her to stay. He’d do anything to get her to stay.

And despite saying he doesn’t know her, he does. He knows she is one of the kindest people he has ever known, that she has always been in his corner, even when it would have been better for her not to be. She’s as protective as they come. If she thought he was married, she’d corner him and question him until she was satisfied.

It’s most likely scenario. The reality he wants to believe in. However, he selfishly also doesn’t want to risk finding out he’s wrong. Not yet.

“I say we let it be,” he finally decides. The coward’s way out. “If she doesn’t know already, she’ll find out eventually and if she already knows, she knows not to talk now. Let’s not confirm or deny until we know what she’s going to do.”

He holds his breath waiting what Eddie thinks of his decision. If he’ll judge Buck for not wanting to make sure, for giving her space, even if he might be wrong. But Eddie just says: “Okay,” easily. “Are we going to tell Chris not to talk?”

“Nah, he already has and I don’t want to teach him to be ashamed of us. Even if we aren’t actually gay, we’re still two men raising him,” Buck says.

“Agreed,” Eddie nods.

Then Buck realizes something and he says: “If it is the misunderstanding we think it is, you realize that Maddie thinks that you’re gay, right?”

“It’s not the first time someone’s assumed that,” Eddie replies, rolling his eyes. It’s something he’s gotten used to. The army knowing he is married to a man hardened him a little to the assumptions and after the so manieth comment, he stopped bothering to correct people. They’ll think what they want, Eddie knows better. He’s not gay, so it’s not true what they think anyway.

Buck studies him for a moment, just to be sure. He himself is actually gay – well, bi – but Eddie isn’t and he’s from a macho culture. Ramon at least seems to think even being non-gayly married to a man is affront to not only Eddie’s, but Ramon’s masculinity as well.

However, Eddie truly doesn’t seem to care. It makes Buck feel a little warm and fuzzy inside, knowing that Eddie will have his back.

With that confirmed and cleared up, he goes back to the logistics. When Eddie took the job at the 118 neither of them could have predicted the kind of web they would be caught up in, but it’s a little too late to back out now.

Out loud Buck muses: “It might be easier if I don’t drive Chris to and from Abuela while Maddie is staying there.” It’ll put that chore on Eddie, so he checks: “Is that okay?”

“Course,” Eddie smiles.

Buck doesn’t know what he did to deserve Eddie. Eddie, who trusts him with his son, who lets him fit into his life however he can at the time. Eddie, who doesn’t care if Buck is being weird about telling his sister about their not-gay gay marriage. Who wants Chris to not be homophobic, even if he really has no stakes in it. Who doesn’t care if people assume things about him even if it would be easier for him if they didn’t.

He’d say he could kiss Eddie, but that’s not an uncommon feeling. However, it’s more on the foreground than it usually is, watching Eddie comfortably sprawled over on the couch, talking with him about raising Chris and the shape of their family.

God, some days Buck wants this to be permanent, wants to be real so bad. He knows he’s greedy, but he can’t help but want more. Want to be able to lean in and kiss Eddie. It doesn’t even have to be a full blown make out session that can lead to more, he wants the domesticity of a simple kiss as thanks just as badly. Sometimes more badly, even. He wants to share his life with Eddie in every way, wants to wear a ring on his finger and have it mean something other than convenience. Wants it to mean being wanted, never being left.

But dwelling on those things is never good. The more he lets himself dwell, the deeper he’ll fall and the harder it’ll be to ignore. He needs to prevent falling in too deep, so he can keep holding on.

“Wanna watch the next episode of that telenovella we started?” he asks to deflect.

Which might not be the smartest move, since Eddie loves them and Buck only gets invested, because Eddie is and now Eddie is sending him a beaming grin, before excitedly grabbing the remote. It’s adorable as fuck and Buck wants to scream into a pillow.

Fortunately, Buck is well versed in acting normal around Eddie when he secretly wants to squish his cheeks, maybe gnaw on his arm a little to get it all out. So, Eddie doesn’t notice.

Once the TV is on, the excitement of today catches up with Buck and he watches the show through half lidded eyes. Mostly following due to Eddie’s reactions and rants. It’s nice. Soothing. He falls asleep right there without his permission.

Some undesignated time later, Eddie is waking him up. Softly shaking his arm as he whispers: “Buck. Buck, you gotta wake up. If you sleep here, you’ll have a crick in the neck.”

“Hngn, couch is comfy,” he murmurs, burrowing his head into the back of the couch again to hide away from the shaking.

Eddie lets out an amused huff, before shaking him again: “Come on, you ass. Don’t make me drag you to the bathroom and force a toothbrush in your mouth.”

“But if I brush my teeth, I’ll have to be awake again,” Buck protests with a pout.

“And if you don’t brush your teeth, you’ll get cavities and I will take the money to fix that out of your little treat budget,” Eddie threatens, using the knowledge Buck shared against him.

“Ugh, you’re so mean,” Buck complains as he drags himself off the couch, glaring at a smug looking Eddie as he follows him to the bathroom so they can brush their teeth side by side.

In the end, he’s a little glad to have been woken up for this. Somehow brushing his teeth next to Eddie is one of his favorite things. It’s silly, he knows, but there is something so intimate and domestic about it and it sends a pleasant flutter through his stomach every time.

With their teeth brushed, they bid each other goodnight, before parting ways to climb into their respective beds. As predicted, Buck is awake again now and he spends the whole night tossing and turning, reconsidering his choice, then arguing himself into it again.

So he’s a little groggy when a small weight launches itself onto the bed, despite usually being a morning person. He groans: “Morning, Chris.”

“Good morning, papi,” Chris grins way too brightly for the early hour. Ugh, childhood chipperness, if he is anything like Eddie, he’ll grow out of it come teenagehood. But for now, Chris is here, pulling at his arm, while Buck tries to burrow deeper into his pillow. “Can you make pancakes?”

“Go ask daddy, he’s on breakfast duty,” Buck tells him, already sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, knowing what will come next.

“But daddy can’t make pancakes,” Chris whines as expected.

“And it’s a school day. You know we said no pancakes on school days,” Buck reminds him.

“It’s a stupid rule and you break it all the time,” Chris protests. And he’s right too. Buck is a weak man and he knows he works on weekends from time to time, so he makes them on school days too, because then he has time. So, it is technically a rule, but not an enforced one.

“Alright, alright, I’ll make pancakes,” he caves, because of course he does. “Go wake daddy.” Even if Eddie is gonna go back to sleep after breakfast, he’d want to kiss Chris good day.

“Okay,” Chris says brightly, before climbing out of Buck’s bed to go barge into Eddie’s room.

Buck watches him go with a smile, before getting out of bed and pulling on the clothes he finds first on the chair of limbo. Since he is in uniform for work often, he doesn’t wear his clothes long enough for them to get laundry dirty, so they live on the chair until he has a day off again. He always gets clothes that go with all his other clothes, so he can just pull on whatever.

When he’s dressed, he goes to the kitchen. Chris is already there, he had heard banging on Eddie’s door, but it seems Chris didn’t go in, too excited about pancakes to properly wake Eddie when he can go in the kitchen to talk Buck into making chocolate chip pancakes.

He is about to pour the first of the batter in the pan when Eddie comes stumbling in, still in his pajamas and his hair a mess. Chris gives him a big smile as he informs him: “Papi’s making pancakes.”

“Yes,” Eddie cheers, lighting up and waking up more at the news. The love for pancakes is something the two Diaz’s share and it’s adorable.

Still, Buck sends him a deadpan look, making Eddie rub the back of head sheepishly. Then Buck grins and shakes his head fondly. “Good morning. There’s coffee in the pot.”

“You’re the best,” Eddie tells him, pouring the coffee and gratefully cradling the warm mug. Noting that Buck is dressed, he asks: “You driving Chris to school?”

“Yeah, gonna swing by Abuela after, see how Maddie is,” Buck answers.

Eddie gives him an understanding nod, but they don’t continue on about the topic, instead turning to Chris and asking what is he going to do at school today.

Breakfast is a pleasant affair and after Eddie gives Chris a kiss on the head, wishing him a good day, before returning to bed, like Buck had predicted. Buck himself does as he said, driving Chris to school, before going to Abuela’s house.

Abuela opens with a smile and hugs him. After they’ve said their hellos, she tells him he has a lovely sister, which is both nice to hear because he wants Maddie to be liked and Abuela probably wouldn’t like her if she’d said anything homophobic.

He doesn’t know that both have been avoiding the husband topic out of politeness. Abuela still isn’t sure if she can say and Maddie thinks that while Abuela knows, her generation means that she prefers not to mention it. So they exist in a limbo outside of it, having bonded over different topics instead.

Maddie is out in the back garden and Abuela gives the two some privacy to catch up. So, he joins her with some tea, handing a cup to her too as he says: “Looks like you two are getting along. She might just adopt you and not let you leave.”

“I’m probably not going to stick around long enough for that to happen,” Maddie replies, smiling to look disarming, as if she is joking, but there is a tightness to that smile and a tension to her posture that sets Buck’s teeth on edge.

She is trying to hide, trying to run. Before Buck let her and he regrets it so much. He can’t let her do it again. He won’t. So he says: “Why not? Maddie, what really happened with Doug? Why are you running away from him?”

“No,” she’s shaking her head, almost moving as if to leave. “I’m not gonna bring my little brother into this.”

And he already kind of knew, but this only confirms it. It also only solidifies his resolve to keep her close. “Standing in between you and anyone who thinks they can hurt you is exactly where I want to be standing. Maddie,” his voice turns from fierce to almost pleading, “are you in some kind of danger?”

Apparently almost a decade of no face to face contact has not hardened her to his pleading eyes, because she sags back in her chair and sighs: “The stuff that mom and dad hated about him, that you picked up on even as a teenager, it all got worse. Much worse over the last year or so.”

She swallows thickly, tears gathering in her eyes. Buck wants to comfort her, but doesn’t dare breathe or move for fear that she’ll stop finally telling him what’s been happening.

“When I threatened to leave, he threatened to kill me.” Her voice breaks properly now, the mask of strength chipped away to nothing. “And he meant it.”

Fucking hell.

Buck wants to get on the first plane to Pennsylvania and give Doug a piece of mind. Preferably with his fists. But Buck knows he’s not a fighter and that will end badly, not to mention that it’s not what Maddie needs right now. And what Maddie needs is far more important than anything Buck wants to do to Doug. So, he just holds out his hand, waiting for her to grab it, before he squeezes softly in support.

The gesture earns him a watery smile, before Maddie continues: “You know, when women in abusive relationships used to come into the hospital, I got to be honest, I would pass judgment. Like, why don’t you just leave him? Now I get it. It’s like you can’t even believe it’s happening.”

“But you broke free,” he reminds her, finally speaking. “And I’m proud of you.” Because he is and she needs to know that, but she also needs to know that she doesn’t have to be alone, so he tells her that too.

Looking at her face, she isn’t entirely convinced. She looks as if she wants to believe him, but can’t imagine that such a thing is true.

It breaks Buck’s heart and he is quick to suggest. “You should stay. Here. With Abuela and me and the 118, alright? Abuela loves you and otherwise I have room, I promise you can always ask. You’ll get my room, I’ll take the couch. All the privacy you want. And if Doug comes looking, then- then I know a lot of cops.”

At that Maddie gives him a small smile, eyes hopeful, and that is all Buck can ask for, especially when those eyes turn determined. “He won’t,” she says. “He doesn’t know you live here. He doesn’t know what you do. It’s a real benefit to being married to someone who doesn’t ask any questions.”

It’s a weak attempt at lightheartedness, but Buck doesn’t challenge it, instead matching her smile. He has permission to cling to her now. “Okay, that’s perfect. You can start over. I can help you. I can help get you a great nursing job at one of the hospitals.”

“No.” The answer surprises him and he’s sure his whole body pauses. Maddie explains: “I really miss helping people, but I can’t do that job every day, looking over my shoulder, wondering who’s walking through the front door.”

“Okay,” Buck nods thoughtfully, mind whirring. “So you want to help people, but not deal with them face to face.” He is neck deep in the helping people business – in all facets of that job – so he should come up with something. It hits him. “Yeah,” he grins. “I think I might have an idea.”

Maddie gives him a skeptical look, much like when she still lived at home and Buck had another idea for an afternoon activity that ‘will totally be so fun. Maddie, please, come on.’

“9-1-1 dispatcher,” Buck reveals proudly, a little smug when Maddie skepticism gets replaced by surprised delight.

“9-1-1 dispatcher,” she repeats, sounding it out and testing it on her tongue. “That sounds… interesting.”

“It is, they’re integral to the entire first responder system,” Buck says excitedly. “I interact with them every day. They make sure everything keeps running and keep people calm until we get there, they help them through the emergency before we can reach them. You’d be great at it.”

He is so excited about the idea and Maddie’s heart melts a little. She has missed Evan. Missed her little brother.

All these years she missed him, worried about him, clung to every card she got, hoping they’d never stop, because they were the only thing holding her together. Actually seeing them is the equivalent to the temporary studs being replaced by structural repairs.

She has always been his protector, but he’s always been her comforter. When she was fighting with her parents, he’d cuddle up with her, and when she was angry with Doug as a teen, he was there to try and cheer her up.

Evan has always been a helper. He’d stand next to her in the kitchen, watching her make a sandwich with big eyes and handing her the peanut butter jar. He’d tell their parents Maddie stayed with him after a nightmare, when she’d snuck out with friends. He’d given her an offer to get out, before it got worse than it ended up being and kept reaching out, even when she didn’t come with him.

And here he is, years later, still reaching out, still covering for her to her parents, still handing her what she needs. She loves him for it. She loves him so much.

The love she feels for him bubbles up in her and she pulls him into a big hug as she fiercely whispers: “Thank you so much. Thank you, Evan.”

“Of course,” he whispers back, holding her back equally tightly and equally fierce. And for as long as she needs him to.

When she lets go, she clears her throat. Even after everything she just told him, she wants to be strong and not cry on him. So, she says: “So. Uhm, what’s the Buck all about?”

“Oh, well,” Evan blushes, “it’s a nickname. There were a lot of Evan’s in my class at the fire academy. It kinda stuck,” he explains, then softly he adds: “I like it.”

It’s quiet and vulnerable, despite being so simple. She remembers Evan being yelled in the house, loaded with the heavy disappoint of not being someone else. How he has always shrank away from it, unless it was her saying it. Being Buck instead of Evan looks good on him, she wishes she could have been there to see him grow into himself, but she guesses she just has to learn to live with the ache of finding out about all the things she missed out on when she let him walk away.

Her smile is probably a little watery, but her voice is strong as she says: “I like it too. Buck.” And the blinding grin she gets in reply is worth everything she missed out on, because he is here now in front of her. Happy. Happy looks so good on him too. It hurts that it’s an unfamiliar expression on his familiar face.

They continue to catch up in Abuela’s back garden. She learns a lot about the people she met yesterday, surprised when Buck mentions Eddie started recently, with how easily he offered his grandmother’s house, she assumed he must have known them all for a while already now.

It’s also clear to her that her little brother is a little enamored with the man. He hasn’t mentioned anything about his sexuality to her. Another thing she missed out on.

She is already planning for the inevitable heartbreak when Eddie feels comfortable enough sharing that he has a husband. A husband who isn’t Buck. She hopes chocolate ice cream is still his favorite, that that hasn’t changed in all these years. That she still knows pieces of him.

Besides that, she gets some extra information on Chimney, the cute firefighter from the station she saw briefly. It’s not that she is going to do anything, she isn’t even sure she’s going to see more of Buck’s coworkers (other than Eddie, of course), but she wants to know anyway. So she has a better picture to fantasize.

Maddie has gotten really good at fantasizing to cope and Chimney is definitely someone she wants to fantasize about. He sounds like a good guy. She can use a good guy.

By the time Buck leaves, he feels less like a stranger she used to know and more like her baby brother. Plus, she has a job and a ride for her first day. Maddie has stopped having hope or being optimistic years ago, but something about Buck makes her want to try again. The smile doesn’t leave her face the whole day.

~~

A/N:

If I think about the Buckley siblings for too long, I go insane, istg.

Also their little lie getting out of control is so iconic to me, I love writing stories where one small thing gets out of hand and them not just ripping the band aid with Maddie now, is the beginning of the end xp