#it was a perfectly sensible comment

[crazy-pages]

See I get this, but also, holy shit sometimes those gripe groupchats become an awful stew of shitting on everyone constantly for any and no reason. It's very easy to forget that "thoughts and feelings aren't bad, just how you act on them" and "you need to have a safe space to speak authentically" is not the same thing as a space where all your thoughts and feelings are validated and reflected back at you. There's no such thing as thoughtcrime, but there sure are thoughts we need to hear friends say "uhhh, no" to.

Places to gripe about your boss are great. Place to vent about a disappointing fanfic where you aren't shitting on someone who shared something for free are good. Places to ask friends "hey is it just me who's getting a worrying vibe off the new guy?" are important. But unless you're willing to hear that you're in the wrong, that's not a private place to vent you've got, it's an echo chamber for all your most hateful impulses.

Safe places to put your inside thoughts are important, but sometimes "safe" means a safe place to have them rejected. It means a place where you trust your loved ones enough to hear them say "I think you're in the wrong" and know to your bones that they don't mean "I hate you".

Safe doesn't mean the absence of negative feedback, it means a place where negative feedback is safe to receive. You might have deliberately curated positive spaces to calm down or recover from shit, but those cannot be the spaces where you shit on people. That's not creating a space for deliberate positivity, that's creating a place where no one is allowed to say anything if someone steps over a line.

There is no thoughtcrime, but working yourself into a frenzy over nothing because you and your friends don't know how to calm each other down or question the righteousness of your petty grievances is in fact a bad thing.

i cannot emphasize enough how important it is to have gossipy bitchy littl pirvate group chats or discord servers with like 4 people in them whose stated purpose is posting “new kind of guy” or “this reddit post is so fuckin dumb” or “i got into a fight on twitter today look at this idiot’s reply” so your homies can still see it and laugh and back you up but more importantly, so you are not tempted to post these kind of things on main

[vaegtersang]

I have reached levels of self-parody I simply did not believe were possible in this fanfic comment.

[1010ninetynine]

look im not asking for much but i'd really love it if there were discord chats where people are talking about my fic behind my back without actually leaving kudos/comments. legit sounds like something i should discover today actually

[headspace-hotel]

but seriously i think learning about nature is Hard for many people, especially adults, because you have to rationalize the symbiotic experience youre having next to the contemptuous and abusive way we treat the land. I think USAmericans fear nature as a way of making sense of the fact that we're waging war against nature, with our lawns and our suburbs and our landscaping and our cosmetic use of pesticides.

There was a post on facebook my mom was showing me where someone found a salamander and was asking what it was. thankfully half the comments were like "that's a SALAMANDER they are SPECIAL and a BLESSING and you must PROTECT it"

but the other half were things like..."I don't know, but I think it's time to move" "Burn the house down" "Kill it with fire" "I would scream if i saw that"

this is why i have such specific preferences in horror fiction that nothing seems to really hit: for me, horror is not about bad things happening, horror is about fear. So occasionally I find these really satisfying stories that are about fear of the unknown thing and the experience of fear, but the unknown thing being harmless is generally seen as a "twist" rather than a perfectly sensible and satisfying outcome.

on the face of it: why would you be afraid of a tiny creature weighing only grams, whose body is so delicate and frail? it's heartbreaking, but it's not unexplainable. What kind of a childhood makes someone an adult who is totally unprepared to comprehend the idea of something both unexpected and good?

a bizarre universe to try and place myself in, where a salamander is more likely to be...what? a mutated fetus of a brain-sucking alien? rather than one among the thousands of gentle creatures that you can marvel at, forever, for free.

It's the same way with bugs: people argue with the simple fact that nearly all insects cannot harm you, and I think it's because it's so difficult to reconcile with how liberally and carelessly we use insecticides with proven harms to humans and pets, and how we treat and speak about these creatures in general. If that weird bug almost certainly would not have harmed you, that means you killed a living thing because you didn't understand it, and that's a troubling thought.

[homunculus-argument]

I'm amazed how often some perfectly sensible post that ends with words like "unless you've got some medical issue that prevents you from doing it, I recommend that everyone should give it a try!" has someone in the comments going "well what about me? I've got anxiety, depression, PTSD, agoraphobia, turboautism and maladaptive daydreaming and I literally cannot make myself go do that!"

Like. bitch you. you were mentioned. your situation was specifically clarified for in the previous sentence. If you have a mental health issue, you have a health issue. If your mental health problem prevents you from doing something, you have a health problem that prevents you from doing the thing. How did you learn to type before learning how to read.

[gghostwriter]

How Three Became One

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Part 1 || Part 3 Summary: In the aftermath of your failed make-up anniversary dinner, the third person in the relationship reaches out to you Trope: Angst w.c: 1.6k a/n: There is JJ slander in this (doing it for the plot and to hurt you all, like how I hurt myself in writing this.) I’m mostly writing follow ups now of my one shots and this is part of a part three series, i swear once i get all these follow ups done I’m going to hibernate for a bit to focus on my crime series. Not proofread. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

The somber air inside the coffee shop threatens to stifle your already critical heart. Its’ clear window clouded from the cold. Dull shades of gray creeping from every corner of the room, draining life as it went, no matter the strain of each lighted lamp on the tables.

Your fingers pulled the sleeves lower, wanting to cover any sliver of skin, trying to fight off the chill, as if it doesn’t come from within. Why did you agree to this, you wondered for the nth time, what good would confronting your nemesis, the root of the problem—Spencer’s Achilles heel, bring?

Comfort? 

Not at all.

The truth? 

Maybe.

Closure?

Closure from what exactly?

The failed relationship still stuck in limbo, dreadfully waiting for its free fall or flight from the precipice it’s balancing on?

Spencer had given you space, an act you weren’t sure to be grateful for. Yes, it spoke about his gentleman sensibilities and respect to not hound you to talk but on the other hand, his presence in reminding you how much he cared was sorely missed. Couldn’t he have at least left you one voicemail, voice pleading and coated with sadness, to repeat over and over again? Or a singular flower tucked to your doorstep, wilting slowly each day for your eyes to lay on?

You wanted nothing but you wanted something.

It was a conundrum.

Late into the night, when the phone rang and when your steps hastened against the wooden floor, you almost wished it was him. Eyes unfocused, the name unregistered, you surely wished it was him, instead of Her. 

Her voice, blended with a slight static, was hesitant and soft as if she had encountered a wounded animal in need of her saving, tore through the paper-thin shield you’ve built around your bleeding, bruised heart. 

You wanted to lash out, to be quiet, and to agree to anything she asked for—anything to end the call immediately, but when she suggested to meet in this quaint hidden coffee shop, describing it’s freshly brewed coffee and tasteful pastries, a sob rose and lodged itself in your throat.

It was your spot.

A secret place in your neighborhood you discovered and happily shared with Spencer.

This once vibrant store, the backdrop of so many rose-tinted memories, turned ordinary—tainted with the truth that it was no longer just yours and his. It was also Hers. 

“Hi,” JJ softly greeted, occupying the seat in front of you. “Thank you for seeing me.”

Clearing your throat, the shred of what little courage you mustered leaving your body. “Yeah, uh, hi.”

Her blue eyes documented the lemon ginger tea in front of you, cooled and untouched. “I haven’t seen you in a while, how are you?”

“Fine, been doing good,” the darkness under your dull eyes painted a different picture, something that registered as her feminine shoulders drooped.

Lips pressed tightly together, she shifted in her leather worn bench, allowing the silence to further the divide between you both—the two female protagonists featured in Spencer Reid’s story.

“You don’t have to lie—”

“Right. A profiler, as if I could ever forget.”

“—Spence also isn’t doing well—”

You flinched, the sound of his name uttered out loud feeling like a thousand pounds dropping on your chest.

“—and just know that I’m here for the both of you, to clear up any misunderstandings. Let me help, ask me anything.”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s why we’re here after all.”

Your eyes examined how her golden hair fell perfectly around her, creating a halo of perfection you have never felt once before. You were always the kid who worked hard to seem put together—a stack of paper stick achievements built to hide how ordinary you turned out to be. A woman made of dismantled almosts. 

“Can you tell me—” clearing your throat “—about you and him. Anything, as team members, friends, your first date—just anything I need to know. He’d always quickly summarize the context of you as his best friend, defender, confidant. Never letting anything beyond that.”

She nodded with a slight smile on her lips. “He’s always been a little brother. I, like everyone else in the team, wanted to protect and guide him. Joining the BAU at such a young age and enduring hardships that come with it—the kidnapping, the Dilaudid, his parent’s involvement in a cold case, losing Maeve, and prison—is too much for anybody to bear all on their own. We’ve always been close, being exposed to the darkness that comes with our job will do that for you but I’ve never seen him like that with you. He was so light and happy, almost as if the younger version of Spence came back to life—” she laughed before the brightness wiped away from her face. “—and now, like this with you, he looks afraid, like he might lose it all, lose you. I’ve seen him sad when we weren’t able to save Maeve but this time, this sadness that comes from the thought of you leaving, seems too deep to come out from. I’m afraid that he won’t make it and for that, I feel responsible.” 

The deep red nail polish on your fingers were leaving chipped specks all over the white table, like blood on a pure white snow. The cage around your devotion and love threatens to topple down, releasing you from indecision. It seemed unfair to persecute a man of Spencer’s caliber for his past and for your fear of never being enough. 

A shadow of a smile peeked from behind your curtain of self-preservation. Maybe all could be salvaged with a deep talk between one another and a schedule to a therapist—solo and couple. You loved him strongly enough to tackle those doubts and reverently wish to see the relationship through, forever if time allowed it to.

But the small voice in the back of your head echoed above the chimes of change and courage, it’s deep tone trying to pull you back to stagnancy and reality. What did she mean by that? Why would she feel that way?

“Responsible?” you whispered, heart beating loudly against your chest. Its’ sound parroting on your ear. “Why would you feel responsible?” 

“During the last case, being held at gun point—” the bewilderment in your eyes causing her to gasp. “—he never told you, did he?” 

The anticipation, anger, and dread enveloped you, as if you were about to combust at the drop off a hat. If you looked down to any piece of you, you’d think you were doused with gasoline and a small flicker of fire started at the tips of your shoes. “Tell me what? JJ, tell me what?”

She took a deep breath, trying to delay the inevitable truth. “During that time, the unsub wanted us to admit, confess a secret no one knew and wanted nobody to know and I—”

You raised your hands, trembling from realization, to unsuccessfully block the truth from spilling into the world. You didn’t want to hear it—needed to never hear it. “Stop. Please, stop.” 

Droplets of sadness mixed with the specs of chipped nail polish on the table, your tears creating tracks on your ashen cheeks. This was enough to break you—the shaky mirage of your strong self was nowhere to be found as sobs freely escaped from the depths of your ribs. 

You came here, filled with indecision which turned into hope before rapidly decaying to death.

The final nail in the coffin.

“You’re married, JJ. You have kids, how could—” you pressed your fingers tightly to your lips, nails digging into the soft flesh. “—I guess I always knew, huh. I may not be a profiler but my woman intuition has never steered me wrong. Not even once.”

She hung her head, the locks of halo you once considered pure and perfect shrouded around her like a thick veil of shame.

“So what now? What about Will and I? Does he even know?”

Her watery blue eyes, pleading with yours. “No, nothing changes. I love Will and my kids and it’s just a secret I want to take to my grave.”

A vicious hollow laugh bled out of you. “Are you even inlove with him? Your husband?” 

The lack of response was very telling. Her love for her chosen partner was shallow compared to the other. You briefly wondered if there was no kids in the picture, would she have even stayed? 

The thought was dashed repeatedly in your head. It wasn’t your problem to speculate. Mind made up, you refuse to be part of this convoluted love story any longer.

“That’s cruel of you. I wouldn’t even wish that on my worst enemy,” you slowly gathered your things and any strength that could take you home. The only place you’d allow yourself to unravel. “I think, I should go.”

“But—”

You mustered a small smile. “Thank you for being honest, JJ. I wish you the best with all of this. Tell Spencer, I’m sorry and please take care of him for me, will you?”

Quickly turning away from the mess that shredded your love life into bits no longer salvageable, the dull shades of gray once crawling from every corner of the store followed your trail. 

Another dismantled almost to add to your ever growing collection.

The colorful world you and Spencer built with the thought of forever turned to ash. 

Burnt from the truth.

The remains charred to multitudes of gray that signified the end. 

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

[psychoticallykind]

Hypocrisy

'dramatic' - Jegulus Microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - 342 words

James walked into the library to see Remus sitting with his head down while Regulus read in his seat across the table.

"Hello, love," James said, kissing the top of Regulus's head. "What's wrong, Moony?"

Regulus looked up. "He's being dramatic."

Remus's head lifted just enough for them to see his scowl. "I am not."

"Sirius is helping Marlene with her makeup, so he isn't here to lie all over Remus. Cue the dramatic pouting." Regulus waved a hand at Remus, who was now sitting up as he glared.

"You, especially," Remus replied sharply. "Do not get to call me dramatic. It's practically half of your personality."

"That's ridiculous," Regulus said, rolling his eyes. "I'm perfectly sensible. It's not my fault you can't function without my brother here to bother you."

Remus snorted. "I can function just as well as you can after a day without James, hypocrite."

"I don't need James," Regulus shot back, and then twisted to glance anxiously at James's expression.

James just kissed his forehead. "Of course not, love. You're very capable of doing things on your own."

"He has to say that," Remus interjected. "Or you'll pout and throw a little hissy fit."

"I will not!" Regulus looked deeply offended. "I don't throw 'hissy fits'."

Remus raised a brow. "Would you prefer the term 'temper tantrum'?"

Regulus looked back at James. "Tell him he's being an idiot."

James took a deep breath. "Remus, please stop insulting my boyfriend."

Regulus rolled his eyes. "That was too nice."

"How about you come with me, and I'll be nice to you instead?" James offered, hoping this wouldn't escalate.

Regulus's eyes narrowed for a moment as he considered it. Then, to James's immense relief, he nodded. "That would be acceptable."

"Wonderful," James replied. He waved goodbye to Remus. "Moony, Sirius was almost done with Marlene when I left. I'm sure he'll be here any minute now."

He wisely didn't comment on the way Remus visibly brightened at the information.

Regulus, however - well.

James could only do so much in a day.

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Thoughts on...Getting Engaged to Sam, Bucky or Joaquín| Sam Wilson x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Joaquin Torres x Reader | Drabbles 1k words

Request: What about how Sam, Bucky, and Joaquin would all go about arranging the perfect proposal? Any of them prefer spontaneity? If they do, what kind of a moment would make them want to blurt out a "will you marry me?"

Warnings: Language and FLUFF

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Masterlist | Sam Wilson | Bucky Barnes | Joaquín Torres

Sam

Sam is organised. He's a precise man and he takes noticed of absolutely everything around him. And that goes double for you.

He notices when you start slowing down as you stroll past the jewellers together, he notices the way he smile at celebrities in love. He knows you want to settle down more, especially now he's Captain America. It scares you that this thing between you could be so fragile, a lease and shared TV subscriptions. He sees it in your eyes when he gets hurt and they won't let you into his room, he feels your love through the plexi glass, but he wants to hold your hand.

He's seen the way you smile when people call you Mrs Wilson, when the ladies back home say what a lovely couple you make.

And he wants it too. He wants to come home to you, he wants to give himself to you and take everything you'll give him in return. And he wants to make it big like in the magazines you like, the jewellery store windows, the movies.

So he rents out the terrace of your favourite restaurant in New Orleans, a jazz band playing covers of your favourite songs in the corner, and his favourite person strolling through the door expecting a quiet dinner and being greeted by Sam, on one knee, with a glittering ring in hand.

"Sammy, what on Earth…"

And Sam just grins and grins, knowing in your wide eyes and speechlessness that he's done it, "Honey, will you marry me?" And if there's a shake in his voice you don't comment on it. You just drop to your knees too.

"Oh, Sammy, yes!" You press kisses to his cheeks and he catches your lips. "I can't believe you did all this for me." You're crying and laughing and still trying to kiss him all the same time. You haven't even looked at the ring yet but he can't wait to see it sparkling on your finger forevermore.

"Of course I did, Honey, I wanted it to be as special as you are."

And then you cup his cheeks and press one last kiss to his lips, "Sammy, baby, I'd have said yes however you asked me, I just wanna be with you."

Bucky

Bucky struggled for a while with the concept of modern dating. He loved taking you out, buying dinner, spoiling you rotten. But he had no clue about any of the rules.

He would never, ever, complain about some of the improvements he enjoyed (getting to do more than kissing you on the doorstep is a huge bonus). But he can't help but be hung up by the rest.

So when the lease runs out on his Brooklyn flat he starts facing a dilemma. He wants to be with you. But living together, when you're not married…his ma would never forgive him for expecting that of you. And he'd never forgive himself if he let you slip away because of something as stupid as his own old fashioned hang ups.

So after a surprisingly supportive conversation with Sam, he decides he's going to do it. He'll propose and then he'll propose the move.

You had never really considered Bucky's old fashioned sensibilities, you've been wanting out of your place for ages, you love Bucky and you've both talked about moving closer to your friends in Louisiana. You're ready for all of that.

You've thought about marrying Bucky too, but he's been rushed and coerced so much in his life you'd never bring it up. You're perfectly happy as you are anyway, it would just be a lovely bonus to call him your husband.

But Bucky comes up with a plan. He finds a lovely neighbourhood, he gets together a few options for both houses and wedding venues. And he flies you out for the weekend.

Under the star filled sky, sitting on the jetty in Delacroix, watching the water, Bucky asks.

"Will you spend the rest of your life with me?—" he's prepared to finish his speech, to offer you here, or Brooklyn, anywhere in the world but he doesn't get a chance to finish because, despite telling yourself you'd be happy either way, you can't stop your shout of delight.

"Yes! Oh my god, Bucky, yes!"

You nearly topple him into the water with your enthusiasm, but he doesn't care, how could he when you're going to be his wife.

Joaquín

Joaquín likes to think of himself as incredibly romantic, in his head he's always sweeping you off your feet and making your heart race. And he's right, sort of, he does make your heart race (occasionally because he's reckless), and everything he does makes you feel like you're walking on air. But it's not because of any great romantic gesture, you just love him… and the way he can never quite contain his excitement.

He's planned a weekend away to Miami, because he's so sure you're going to say yes and, when you do, he's going to want to show you off to his Mama straight away.

There's a fancy hotel on the beachfront, the website described the rooms as fairy-tale and that's exactly how he feels with you. He's sure you'll love it. He has a table booked for a private dinner right on the beach because he knows you love feeling the sand between your toes, and he has the perfect ring picked out too.

He's been keeping the ring in a lock box in your bedroom, under the bed, so he can't lose it and you can't find it.

You're excited about the trip even without knowing about his plans, so you drag him out shopping for a new outfit for 'dinner on Saturday'. Joaquín can't help the huge smile on his face, knowing this is the outfit you'll be wearing when he gets down on one knee.

But when you come out of the changing room, soft fabric clinging to you just right, that twinkle in your eye you get when you've found something you love, he can't help it.

He calls you closer so you're standing above him, "dios mio, mi amor, you look beautiful," he sighs without thinking, "marry me?"

Then he pauses, going cold, he's ruined everything, the entire surprise, but your face lights up, that twinkle that this is something you really want. And then you're in his lap and kissing him and nodding yes.

[mahtariel-of-himring]

When Elrond stepped upon the ship that was to take him, Galadriel, Gandalf, Bilbo, Frodo and a few others to Valinor he was nervous. So long had imagined what it might be like, and for some time even questioned if he would ever sail.

But here he was, stood upon their ship with the undying lands finally in sight after months of sailing across the unending ocean. He might be a mariners son but he certainly had no great love for boats, he didn’t have a problem with them, but the knowledge of not having ground beneath his feet still made him uneasy.

At their arrival many awaited them, to welcome the newcomers into the blessed lands.

High King Arafinwë, in Middle Earth better known as Finarfin, and his other children had come to welcome Galadriel.

Gandalf reunited with some old Maia friends of his and then escorted the hobbits that had joined them to a nice little cottage for them to spend their days in.

He himself recognized many of the faces in the small crowd. First he spotted Gil-Galad, who welcomed him with open arms. Then his beloved Celebrian, who pulled him into a hug the moment he saw her, she was much better now.

A few soldiers of Rivendell were there as well, happy to see their Lord again.

Elrond ended up settling in Tirion with all the others and moved into Celebrian‘s home. It was a nice house with a good view and easy access to the market and other nearby shops and market places.

Tirion was flawless. The white towers with their pointy roofs, the elegant guards with their silver spears, the market place with its various stalls and merchants.

He met many of his ancestors, some he got along with and some he didn’t.

The first he met was Turgon, it took half an hour for them to end up in an argument about the moralities of handling delicate situations within one‘s own city and when to help those in need.

Luckily his second meeting went much better. His great grandfather, Fingolfin, was much more sensible and they got along quickly due to their shared knowledge on leadership and experience of hardships throughout their lives. Though the late High King did comment to his wife Anairë later about how he was sure he‘d bite his teeth out on Elrond eventually, comparing his stubbornness to someone else’s.

When he at last met Fingon it took the elf exactly five minutes to ask if he had been raised by Maedhros. To this day Elrond didn’t understand how he did it, for he himself wasn’t aware of the small details. Like how he did his hair exactly like the fëanorian had or that he held himself with something of Valinorian regalness he definitely didn’t pick up in Lindon.

But as time went on Elrond began to realize something.

Tirion was truly perfect.

Too perfect.

Everyone seemed to have collectively decided to ignore any pains and hardships experienced in Middle Earth or Beleriand and live their lives as if everything was perfectly fine.

When bringing this up to Gil-Galad he just said that they preferred it that way, even if it wasn’t perfect, not everyone had made the journey and seen war, and those who didn’t weren’t comfortable of discussing or displaying it.

The more time Elrond spend in the white city the lonelier he felt. It seemed as if he was the only one prepared to speak of or even mention anything of the things that happened to so many of them.

The more he realized that the more he felt out of place.

Because he wasn’t perfect, he was far from it actually.

He had gone through things most couldn’t imagine in their worst nightmares and had seen horrors he wished he could forget.

He had seen his city attacked, had been kidnapped, even though that did turn out positively in the end. Had witnessed war and bloodshed from young on, had served as Herald and later taken on the mantel of Lord. He had seen so much that he just couldn’t ignore.

So one day he mounted his horse and rode out of Tirion. He didn’t have a destination or any idea where he was going but he just kept riding until he was exhausted.

When he looked up he saw a large city with high towers, but no pointy roofs were atop them, instead there stood guards. The walls weren’t made of white stone and marble but steadfast and resistant cobblestone and tall pillars.

The front guards let him in after he explained his situation, and the moment he stepped through those gates it was as if he had entered another world. No excessive jewelry was worn, but rather detailed braids and head dresses or simple circlets.

Scars of all types were openly portrayed instead of covered up and hidden as if they were sometimes to be ashamed of.

Elrond saw elves with walking sticks and missing limbs and crippled bodies. They were warriors, they were survivors, they were the ugly but real truth, and it felt so relieving too see them.

He had no idea where he had ended up in, but he already knew it was much better than Tirion.

No one was putting on a fake mask of perfection and instead just acted as they truly were.

Elrond walked through the streets, talked with some of the locals and listened to their stories.

He heard everything from ex soldiers to healers like him to guards and even some escaped thralls of Angband.

It was so much better than the flawlessly perfect white city. It wasn’t fake.

Elrond ended up in what seemed to be a throne room. At the end of it stood a elf, dressed in a long robe, his hair littered with many braids and a elegant silver hammer in hand.

His eyes were of piercing grey and his hair as black as the night, but his gaze familiarly gentle.

Elrond knew before he spoke.

Elrond knew before he looked up.

Elrond knew before he stepped closer.

Elrond knew before he even acknowledged him.

He knew where he was, and he knew he would stay.

[becausebuckley]

michelle's buddie fic recs: week 47!

...plus a very special non-buddie fic!! an excellent reading week, once again. the 911 fandom has so many incredible writers!

this is a mix of fics with all ratings, so some include NSFW content. please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading! some might also contain spoilers for season 8.

if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

and i need you more than want you (and i want you for all time) | dykeries/@buddiesbian| 25.9k | E

Buck and Eddie's relationship changes over a series of phone calls. Along the way, their family finds its way back home to each other. there's something about phone calls for buddie that just hits so hard... doesn't matter if they're sex calls or emotional calls. this fic is so good, i devoured it!!

ball games | thesquinky | 8.4k | T

buck takes eddie to that lakers game, after all. buck and eddie at the lakers game!! kiss cams!! i was crossing my fingers someone would write a fic exactly like this and it did not disappoint <3

been there, done that (once or twice) | kaistinlove/@kaistinlove | 21.6k | E

the one where Buck wants to make a boudoir album and enlists Eddie's help as a photographer. i clicked on this SO FAST when i saw it!! so good so hot so perfect

DIAZ | mandolare/@confessionseddie | 3k | E

Buck wears the wrong jacket. buck needs to always wear the wrong jacket imo <3 so lovely!!

hold me like water | singomuse7 | 6.3k | T

Eddie's not the most oblivious person in the world and instantly understands what that closet joke meant, and instead of crashing out and blowing his life up about it, he gives Buck sensible advice and breaks up with Marisol. Cue 6k words of gay crisis during madney's wedding. i love love love this fic's eddie so much <3 so good!!

i belong with you, you belong with me (you're my sweetheart) | Distressed_Ladybug15/@cadiebug | 1.4k | GA

For a second they just stand there, staring into Chris’ room, then Buck tips his head back and to the side so he can meet Eddie’s eyes. “Hi,” he mumbles, voice hoarse and overused from work. i needed a little hurt/comfort like this a couple of days ago and it hit the spot perfectly <3

jee- yun's big day | rainbow_nerds/@rainbow-nerdss | 6k | GA

“So, Jee,” Mommy says. “You remember how we visited Daddy at work before?” Jee-Yun nods. “Captain Bobby says you can come to work with me for a whole day!” Daddy looks excited, and Jee thinks about it. Daddy’s work is pretty fun, she thinks. Captain Bobby cooked some really yummy pasta, and Uncle Buck is always there, and so are Aunt Hen and Uncle Eddie. THIS FIC. this fic is the non-buddie inclusion of this week but honestly i don't even care, i need everyone to read it immediately. the loveliest cutest jee ever, and such a lovely ensemble of characters around her <3

make a spark (break the dark) | prettyunhinged | 4.9k | E

Eddie is gay. Tommy sucks. Buck and Eddie frot about it on the couch. this fic is how i realised that there's an ao3 tag especially for eddie's couch and honestly, she deserves it <3 so hot so buddie so good!!

my home is your body | coldbam/@coldbam | 16.6k | E

Buck and Eddie have vastly different nights at Pride. Then very similar summers. this was a reread and it still hits so very hard. the ultimate buddie fwb fic!!

my man says he loves me (never says he loves me not) | colonoscopys/@colonoscopys | 9.7k | GA

croakett: I don’t know what to do tubbalubb: me neither He stares at the screen. Is this the correct time to bring up Buck’s abs? buddie online friendship AND irl friendship?? sign me right up wow i love this!! they're so silly and they love each other so much <3

please, please, please | bookinit/@bookinit02 | 8.7k | E

buck doesn’t touch eddie anymore. eddie’s losing it, a little bit. honestly eddie i'd lose it too. this fic combines pining and getting together and touch-starvation so basically if there was a venn diagram of my favourite fic tropes this would be right in the middle <3

red + white + boom | onlythemessenger | 3k | T

Unexpected fireworks catch Eddie off guard after a bad week. Buck and Bobby help him through the aftermath. bobbyeddie friendship my most beloved <3 love how this fic portrays them!!

this mortal coil (shuffle) | eirabach/@eirabach | 20.1k | M

Maddie was never supposed to be Buck’s mother. Eddie was never allowed to be his anything. But three minutes and seventeen seconds later, here they are. this fic hurt but in the best way. love maddie here in particular <3

this world turns over | dottie_weewoo/@dottie-wan-kenobi | 4.8k | T

Before Buck stands up fully, Eddie reaches out with his good hand to pet Christopher’s hair, pushing a few strands out of his face. “Goodnight, mijo,” he whispers, getting only a mumble in response. A soft smile steals over his face, his eyes moving from his son to Buck. “Hey, Buck?” domestic and wonderful <3 this was a lovely morning read on the bus earlier this week!!

we are bound | EiraLloyd/@unlifeira | 7.2k | T

Every human was born with a prophecy. That was the deal, or so they taught at school. But Evan knew better. He wasn’t born with a prophecy. He’d asked and asked and asked, but his parents shrugged every time, and eventually, Evan stopped asking. Why bother when he already knew the answer he’d get? i love the style and structure of this fic so so much, it's gorgeously written!! a true treat <3

you're looking like you fell in love tonight | devirnis/@devirnis | 1.1k | GA

There’s an arm slung across his waist, a head on his shoulder, soft hairs tickling the underside of his jaw. He breathes in, the cobwebs of sleep slowly dissolving in his brain, and he smells — Eddie. i did fall in love tonight and it was with this fic <3 so so lovely!!

[sargebarnesx]

Jealousy

Pairing: Jim Hopper x female reader

Rating: 18+ ONLY

Warnings: Age gap, dirty talk, unprotected sex, sex in his office, Hop’s a bit of a dom

Words: 2.3k ish?

Summary: Phil Callahan has a massive crush on you and Jim Hopper doesn’t want to admit that he’s jealous.

Author’s Note: please forgive me for two things: 1. If Hopper seems a bit OOC, it’s been a while since I’ve watched ST but I’ve been sitting on this idea for a while. 2. If I missed any warning/info that should have been provided. I haven’t posted fanfic on tumblr in about a decade so I’m out of practice. Hope y’all enjoy though!

Jim Hopper would never admit to being jealous.

He would describe himself as laid back when it came to relationships. Besides, when was he ever tied down to anyone long enough to get jealous? He would go with the flow, which usually meant he would have one night stand after one night stand and never call any of them ever again.

Until he met you.

You were a decade younger, but that didn’t bother him. You had a past, hell, so did he. He didn’t care. You started working at the station, that was great, he could see you every day and he definitely didn’t mind that. There was only one thing that seemed to be bothering him lately…

Phil Callahan had a massive crush on you.

Jim Hopper would never admit to being jealous, especially not of Phil Callahan.

You wore tight skirts and cute heels to work, a stark contrast from Flo’s ankle-length dresses and sensible shoes. You were young and pretty, what did he expect? You spent a lot of your time flittering around the station, helping where you could, filing, cleaning, making and answering calls. In between all of that, you found time to innocently flirt with Phil. You knew what you were doing; you knew it was going to make Jim’s blood boil every time he caught you sitting on the corner of Phil’s desk in your tight black skirt that hugged the curve of your ass perfectly. You were putting on a show, albeit one that had maybe gone on for too long. But you wanted to see how long it would take Hopper to crack.

Your white button-up top exposed your collarbone, giving everyone at the station a tiny peek of the smooth skin hiding underneath it. The black pumps that adorned your feet made a clicking sound as you walked back and forth and back and forth. Every time you passed by Jim’s open office door, he looked up from his paperwork in the hope of catching a glimpse. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of you.

Neither could Phil.

Why did that make him seethe with jealousy?

Deep down, he knew why. He knew why seeing another man’s eyes rake over your body drove him absolutely insane.

He knew it was because that body had been writhing underneath him a mere seven hours ago. He knew it was because when you woke up next to him this morning, all you wanted was his dick in your mouth. He knew that you were probably still thinking about the way he railed you before your morning shower with your hair wrapped around his fist. How could you not be? He certainly was.

You were walking around the station with a familiar swing in your hips, a skip in your step, humming one of your favorite songs. Flo had commented that you were in a surprisingly good mood for a Monday morning. No one knew the things the two of you did off the clock and Jim wasn’t sure if they should. He didn’t want people to think you only had a job because you were screwing the chief. You deserved a better reputation than the one he had earned.

Jim heard the clicking of your heels getting closer as you approached his office. “Hey chief,” you say, rapping your knuckles against the door frame. You held a brown folder in your hand. “Whatcha got?” Hopper asks, holding his hand out to take the folder. Before you could respond, you slowly pushed the door closed. “Somethin’ serious?” Jim raises an eyebrow at your actions but doesn’t question you further. You set the folder down on his desk gently.

“I can feel your eyes on me every time I walk by,” you say, sitting in the chair opposite his desk and crossing your legs at the knee. Hopper leans back in his chair, stretching his legs out. You can feel the tip of his shoe rub against your ankle. “Yeah?” He remarks, “Can you feel Callahan’s too?” You nod, rolling your eyes, “Of course I can, but you looking up from your paperwork each time I walk by is what’s got me distracted.”

Hopper smirks, dragging his eyes over your exposed thighs. “Is that so?” He asks, “Not Callahan panting like a dog at your feet?”

You run a hand slowly through your hair, flipping it to one side. “Phil has been like that since high school. Unfortunately, he doesn’t seem to realize that if he hasn’t gotten any from me by now, he never will,” you explain. Hopper nods, his face emotionless as he moves his legs away from you. You follow his actions and lean in toward his desk.

“Besides,” you say, “I’ve had a lot on my mind today and I can’t say Phil Callahan has crossed it even once. You, on the other hand…”

“Me?” Jim asks, leaning back in his chair with his hands crossed behind his head, “What about me?”

He knows what he’s doing. That was your invitation and he knows you’ll take it. He watches as your mouth quirks up the tiniest bit in the corner, always one for a challenge. Hopper watches intently as you stand and make your way around the desk. He happily obliges when you motion for him to push his chair back a bit.

His hands immediately fly to the backs of your thighs when you straddle him and he has to hold back a groan as your hot pussy brushes against him. He takes in a sharp breath as you lean close to his ear.

“The chief wants to know what I’m thinkin’?” Your breath is hot against the shell of his ear. He nods, rubbing his hands from the backs of your knees to the curve of your ass. “I’m thinkin’ about your cock, chief, and how it feels when you’re filling up my pussy,” you place a kiss on the side of his neck, “I’m thinkin’ about laying back on this desk so you can fuck me right now.”

Jim presses his face in the crook of your neck to hide his groan. He hopes his office is far enough away from everyone so they can’t hear him. “You feel too good, baby,” he thrusts his hips up, trying to get closer but there are too many layers, “You know I’ll be too loud.”

You kiss him, deep and hard, taking his hands and pushing them onto your ass. “Maybe Phil will hear you and realize he doesn’t stand a chance,” you whisper with a smirk against his mouth. Hopper squeezes your ass, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, undoubtedly leaving a mark.

You push yourself back up into a standing position, then take a seat on his desk. “So, are you gonna help me?” You ask, placing your right foot on the arm of his chair, feeling your skirt ride up. His eyes rake over you, going from your hip to your ankle, and you can tell his fingers are itching to touch you. “Or am I gonna have to do it myself?” You lift your left leg and place it on the opposite arm, exposing yourself to him. You trail your fingers down between your legs, feeling the wet heat that has soaked your panties.

“Touch me,” you whine, pushing your panties to the side to thrust a finger deep into your throbbing pussy, “please.” He watches under hooded eyes, his hands resting on your ankles. Your finger circles your clit and you hold back a moan, remembering that there’s only a door separating the two of you from everyone else. His hands creep higher and he traces lightly across your skin. “Unbutton your shirt,” he murmurs. You pull your fingers away from your pussy, wet and glistening, and slowly slip your buttons open.

One by one, you expose the skin of your chest to him. He can see the black lace of your bra and the swell of your breasts, heaving up and down as you pull your shirt off. “Fuck,” he mutters, “You’re so damn beautiful.” He gets closer to you with these words, filling the space between your thighs. He places a kiss at the base of your throat and you gasp as his beard tickles your skin. “Jim…” you groan, “I need you right now.”

He stands, crowding you, towering over you, with one hand on his belt buckle. You can see how hard he is, how his big dick strains against his uniform pants. “You gonna be a good girl and let me fuck you on my desk?” He asks under his breath, palming himself over his pants. You nod, lying back over folders and papers. He hooks a finger in each cup of your bra and pulls, exposing your tight, hard nipples. “You are so turned on, baby,” he whispers against your nipple before wrapping his lips around you, “Bet that sweet pussy is soaked.”

A chill runs down your spine at his words. You want nothing more than to have him ram his thick cock inside of you, but his tongue on your tits is driving you absolutely insane. You wrap your legs around his waist. “Jim, please,” you’re getting desperate at this point. You want him inside you now.

His belt falls open first. Then he pops open the button and lowers the zipper. You’re one layer away from finally feeling him. You tighten your legs and pull him into you, whining when you feel his length pressed against you. “Easy, baby,” he says softly, “Be patient.”

He pulls away from you and pushes his boxers down, finally. His cock bobs between the two of you and he hisses when the cool air hits him. He pumps himself a few times while you watch, wetness pooling between your legs. You want your panties off, you want him to fill you up, you want to feel him. “You ready for this cock, baby?” He says. You nod, “I’ve been ready. You know this pussy is yours.” He smirks, reaches under your skirt, and pulls your panties down your legs in one movement. You squirm as he takes his place back between your thighs. The head of his cock brushes against you and you moan, bucking your hips towards him.

Jim is grinning; he loves seeing how much you want him, how much you need him.

“You want it all?”

You nod again.

He pushes into you, so familiar, so filling. He groans into your mouth, bites down on your lip, and pumps his hips back and forth. You’re gripping his biceps, your noses are touching, and his eyes are trained on yours.

“Atta girl,” he groans, “Atta fuckin’ girl, taking my cock like this. Taking my cock on my desk at the station. You think Callahan could take you like this? You think Callahan could make your pussy this wet?”

You shake your head.

“You want Callahan to fuck you on his desk out there? You wanna tease him until he can’t take it anymore?”

His thrusts are getting sloppy, his desk is creaking beneath you. He’s already gotten you there twice and is working towards a third. “Oh…baby…girl…fuck,” he moans, his words each enunciated by a snap of his hips. Your hands are gripping the hair at the base of his neck and you know without a doubt that your bottom lip will have an intense indent from your teeth.

“You want my cum? You want it deep inside this pussy?” He growls. You nod, unable to form words, unable to think with the cloud of bliss that is currently fogging up your brain. “Use your words, baby. I wanna hear you…” he says, gripping your wrists and slamming them down on his desk above your head. “Yes,” you whisper, your voice shaking, “Yes, please, cum inside me.”

Suddenly, you feel like a rubber band snaps somewhere deep inside of you. Your back arches off of the desk and your eyes squeeze shut; you wish he didn’t have your hands pinned above your head because you’d love to dig your nails into his strong shoulders. Then he’s moaning - loud and deep, while he spills himself inside of you. Your body goes limp as he wraps his arms around you. He’s so warm and you cry out at the absence of his heat when he pulls out of you. “Jim…” you whine.

“Shh,” he says, digging through his drawers to find a random towel that he knows is buried in there somewhere. It’s scratchy and has a couple of holes, but he uses it to clean you up. His rough grips have turned to soft touches. He gingerly puts your heels back on your feet while you fix your bra and pull your shirt back on. When you stand, he pulls the bottom of your skirt down and gives your ass a gentle squeeze.

It’s a silent remark, something that tells you he enjoyed himself, that he loves you, and that he wouldn’t mind a round two this evening when you both get home.

“How do I look?” You ask, gesturing to your hair. Hopper leans back in his chair and lights a cigarette, “Gorgeous, as always.”

You smooth your hands through your hair and quickly swipe under your eyes, realizing then that you’ve been in Hopper’s office for far too long, your mascara is far too smeared, and your once crisp and perfect shirt is far too wrinkled.

With one last glance at him, you reach for his office door handle and pull it open. An officer is standing there, frozen in place with his fist in the air as though he was about to knock. You slip past him, grab a stack of folders on your way back to your desk, and call over your shoulder, “Oh, hi Phil!”

[johanna-swann]

This got a little long and it might sound a little mean at first, but. What exactly does Eddie bring to the table that adds to the bigger picture of the show as a whole?

Disclaimer: If you are a big Eddie fan and/or disagree with me, I am happy to have a civil discussion about this. I mean that, I love debates over fandom stuff. You can comment or drop into my inbox, whatever. Please do keep it civil though and if you could actually read the post before coming at me - that would also be appreciated. I can promise you I'll be nice as long as you are and you won't provoke any sort of reaction out of me other than some polite concern for your mental well being anyway. I pick the fights worth having carefully and if you're just ignorant or aggressive, I'll end up blocking you.

As per usual I'm trying to give my rant a somewhat sensible structure, stay as objective as possible and highlight it when I introduce a new point. Alright, let's go.

Observation number one. The firefamily worked perfectly fine as a found family of 4 in season 1. They were a somewhat dysfunctional family, but that's what made them interesting and they already cared about each other so much, even called themselves a family by episode 3 or 4. The show needed Abby and Athena for their respective perspective as dispatcher/cop, but they weren't integral parts of the firefam (yet).

For Athena that obviously changed quickly when she started hanging out with the 118 more and dating Bobby, they're married now and Athena is no longer just one of Hen's closest friends, she's family to all of them.

Abby didn't leave that big a hole because she was only really connected to Buck and no-one else in the first place. Other characters had scenes with her, but she was always there as Buck's girlfriend. The show needs one main character at dispatch, but that didn't have to be Abby. She was replaceable.

In season 2 we got two new main characters that weren't established members of the found family (yet), kind of like we had Abby and Athena in season 1.

Maddie was immediately connected to Buck of course, but then she also got together with Chimney (another main character) and they became a family as well, she has a handful of lovely scenes with Athena and the Wilson-Han family bonds are stronger now than ever. She is integrated into the firefam, her role as dispatcher is important and she's being played by thee JLH which makes her existence in the show load-bearing and basically irreplaceable.

[Side note: Everybody who has been following me for a bit probably knows I'm not exactly a Maddie fan - personally I wish she was written a little more active than reactive, a little more flawed instead of "crying white woman who suffers more than Jesus Christ himself" (I'm exaggerating to bring across my point) - but objectively speaking I know that Maddie is a perfectly normal character on a show that has much bigger issues and that doesn't change just because I personally find her annyoing. I get why the show needs her and why other fans like her.]

Which makes me ask again though, what does Eddie bring to the table? It's nice to have him, sure. I like all the Diaz family dynamics. I love Christopher. The friendship between Eddie and Buck is amazing. Buck's and Chris' relationship will always be special to me. I like Eddie and his weird ass drama. Does the show need him though?

To go with the "bigger picture" metaphor - it's like the show is one big picture and Eddie is a smaller picture that hangs on the same wall. It has its own frame and exists separately, it can be taken down or to a different floor of the museum without destroying either of the pictures. Walk with me:

On a meta level we just have to be realistic. Ryan Guzman is not a name that will draw a crowd like the names "Jennifer Love Hewitt", "Angela Bassett" or "Peter Krause" do. If people know him at all from previous projects then they'll either know him as Jennifer Lopez' eye candy or as that guy who was in one of those dance movies. (I wanna add here that I actually watched Step Up Miami Heat a few times as a teenager, it's a guilty pleasure movie for me that I come back to every now and then and I didn't even realise it was the same guy until somebody else told me.) So yeah, he's an okay actor and I'm sure he's a nice person (or maybe he's not, idk and idc about the actors that much), but I don't think a lot of people started to watch 911 because they found out their favourite superstar Ryan Guzman was in it.

As for Eddie in his function as a firefighter/army medic: We already have 2 firefighters and we already have 2 paramedics at the 118. Eddie is just extra. No disrespect, but we never needed him the way we need a Maddie to man dispatch or like we need an Athena for the police's perspective. The firefighter/paramedic front was already more than well covered.

So, we don't need him for the actor's star power or the character's unique career, what about personal relationships? Eddie's not particularly close to anyone in the firefam other than Buck whereas everyone else has multiple close connections. His friendship with Bobby is there I guess, but it's only shown in one scene every other season or so. I'd put it in the same category as the Maddie&Athena friendship. Heartwarming and nice to have, not integral to the show though. Nobody watches the show just because they love this friendship in particular so much. Eddie has very casual friendships with Hen and Chimney where they exchange banter or gossip here and there when they all sit in the truck together, but I don't remember many (if any) really meaningful scenes between them. To this day I don't think Eddie ever had scenes with Maddie or Athena at all.

Then there's the fact that next to none of his story lines are connected to the 118. All the other characters have had impactful story lines concerning their job at the 118 itself or their personal drama really involved other main characters. [I got side tracked thinking about this, but I don't want to derail the main train of thought too much here, so I put this part under the cut.*]

The Texas arc, beginning with Kim entering the stage in 7x07 and up until 8x13, only proved once again how disconnected Eddie is from the other main characters.

I don't think anybody except Buck knows what happened between Eddie and Christopher or at least nobody mentioned it. Nobody mentioned the break-up between Eddie and Marisol or Kim's existence either. Not even Eddie really talks about Marisol, nor Kim or Shannon for that matter. He is very focused on his son which, you know, fair enough. But moving to Texas, confronting his parents, stepping up as an actual parental authority again (instead of being a bit of a pushover because he's scared to mess up again) is only treating the symptoms, not the cause. The reason all of this happened in the first place is the Shannon-Marisol-Kim disaster and that hasn't been adressed at all by anyone.

Anyway. None of the other main characters were involved in the love triangle (square?) doppelgänger mess and even Buck took a very passive role here where Eddie told him about what was happening, but he didn't do much. Christopher hasn't interacted with Buck at all in season 8 which feels strange considering he was still willing to talk to Buck immediately after he walked in on Eddie and Kim and Buck was there when Christopher left - all in all they were still very close only one season ago. Now Buck is worried about Eddie, but he doesn't talk about missing Christopher. Not to Eddie or Maddie or Tommy.

Then Eddie moved. He's been in Texas for a while now and Buck has expressed that he misses his best friend, but he doesn't seem to be struggling that much to be honest. Before the move he was mostly upset because it seemed like Eddie didn't care, but they cleared up that misunderstanding. After the move it took him one episode to get over it. In the meantime he's getting closer to Ravi, spends time with his sister, still has fun with his job, settles into his new house - yes, he misses Eddie, it was an adjustment, but he's doing fine without him. They still talk to each other, phones exist. But Buck is okay and nobody else really mentions Eddie.

In comparison: When Chimney left in season 5 to get Maddie back everybody was affected. Eddie suddenly worked medical calls, Hen got snappy with Eddie because they hadn't found their rhythm yet, Buck blamed himself and thought about leaving the 118, Ravi had to step up because he wasn't just the new probie anymore, Bobby had to manage that entire mess and vented to Athena.

Eddie left to get Chris back, Ravi replaced him, even Buck got over it within a single episode. More at eleven. You see the difference?

Conclusion: Eddie is replaceable, you could argue that he doesn't even need replacing since there are still four other main characters working at the 118 who are also all friends with each other. When you pay a little attention it's obvious how disconnected Eddie is from the other characters, even Buck sometimes who shares emotional conversations with Eddie, but isn't always an active participant in Eddie's story lines. I don't like this, I'm not sitting here gloating that "my favourite character is superior", I'm just observing this and it's sad. I usually enjoy Eddie's story lines even when the writing could be better (see Texas arc), I see a lot of potential in his character, I spent the better part of 2023 reading Buddie fanfiction mostly from his perspective. But this insistence that "Eddie completes the firefamily" or that it's "just not the same without him" is more than a little exaggerated. The show is exactly the same without Eddie. It's almost funny how god damn unbothered everybody is by Eddie's absence. How did the Texas arc not make that clear?

*On the career themed story lines:

Chim was feeling like Bobby favours Buck which resulted in a bigger fight, a horrific car crash and the first moment where anybody actually said out loud that the 118 is a familly. He later had his turn as Interim Captain where we saw that while he does have a lot of experience and has been at the 118 the longest, he might not want to be Captain in the long run. As we learn a few seasons later, he could very well be cut out to become an instructor at the academy though, proving leadership qualities in a different way.

Hen had her med school arc and while that didn't lead to anything, it did emphasise and confirm for her that she is exactly where she wants and needs to be. She was also instated as Interim Captain several times which showed that she is Captain material and might take over a station at some point.

Buck was kept from his job and had a whole identity crisis about it in season 3, later "Buck Begins" sort of confirmed that after a lot of searching he found the job that is exactly right for him. In season 6 he was wondering if he could make Captain one day himself and in that season finale got a chance to prove that he can not only work under extreme pressure, he can lead under those same circumstances, too. (It was sadly a very short scene and we haven't seen "potential Captain Buck" since, but the point stands and the idea is out there.)

Bobby had to learn to trust his team so they could trust him in return back in season 1, a theme they also picked up again in "Bobby Begins Again" where he started settling in and making the team into, well, a team instead of just co-workers. We've seen him fighting to stay their Captain both in season 2 and recently in 8a.

Eddie on the other hand quit the 118 during his season 5 breakdown arc, but it wasn't about the job, it was about Chrsitopher. Then he had to extend his time away from active duty because of his ptsd. He never thinks about advancing in his career (everybody else either was Interim Captain at one point or at least showed interest in it) or tries anything else unless he sees himself forced to do it for Christopher. I don't think he even is officially a paramedic. Similar to Hen's med school arc it probably wouldn't really change anything because he's usually paired with Buck and he already (occasionally) works medical calls anyway, but (similar to Hen's med school arc) it would at least give him something to do and show that he is generally invested in his career. I haven't seen "Eddie Begins" in a while, but does that episode give us a moment where Eddie truly finds his calling as a firefighter like the others did? I don't think so, we just got two lines or so about "missing the camaraderie, seemed worth the shot" in season 2.

On to the "personal" stuff. Do any of Eddie's big story lines have any impact on the firefam?

Eddie's love life is a mess. Season 2 was all about Shannon and their marriage and the others gossiped a little about it, but what difference does it make to the firefam who Eddie is dating? None of Eddie's love interests ever have any connection to the other family members whereas the other couples are a) both main characters or b) in Buck's case do often have connections to the others. Abby was a main character who wasn't close to the 118, but still shared a lot of scenes with them. Taylor showed up on calls, had her own story lines when she investigated stuff, asked Bobby about Christmas presents, had dinners with Buck that involved other characters like Albert or Eddie. Tommy of course was good friends with Eddie and Chim, but also acquainted with Bobby, Athena and Hen. Even Veronica who only had one date with Buck then turned out to be his neighbour and dated Albert for a while.

Other than Buck I don't think anybody ever really had scenes with Eddie's love interests and even Buck barely met those women as far as I remember. Eddie talks about Ana and Marisol, sure, but do they interact with Buck much?

Then Eddie of course has story lines about being a (single) father, but somehow he always ends up talking to Buck about this instead of literally any of his friends who actually have children of their own. Denny and Harry are shown to be friends, but despite being about Denny's age, Christopher doesn't have scenes with them outside of that one season 3 Christmas episode. Only Buck ever babysits Christopher for Eddie. Recently even Buck hasn't had anything to do with Chris. He coached Eddie through some parenting decisions, but he doesn't have contact to Chris at all. Neither Chris nor Buck express that they miss each other or anything.

There's Eddie's fight club era which ended after one heart to heart with Bobby, but mostly affected his and Lena's friendship who, again, is a character who was Eddie's friend but barely had scenes with the other mains. This is connected to the fight he had with Buck of course, but while Buck's absence and the lawsuit impacted the entire family who picked sides or felt the tension in the firehouse, Eddie's personal issues with Buck are between the two of them. There are raised eye brows during that supermarket fight, but that's it.

He had the shooting story line and while the other characters worried about Eddie of course, it was Buck who was with him when it happened, Buck who took care of Christopher, Buck who rushed to the hospital when Eddie woke up, Buck who picked him up from the hospital and had a heart to heart with him, etc. The other characters existed in the vicinity of this story line, but only Buck was really in it with Eddie. Compare that to when Buck was struck by lightning. Every single main character had emotional scenes with Buck in that story line.

Eddie eventually started dating again and, once more, this was casual gossip fodder in the firehouse, but it was Eddie's aunt who had an actual, serious conversation with him.

The season 7 stuff is part of the Texas story line for me, so I'm not getting into that again.

[eu-nicola]

via part 2

and final

summary: In the dazzling world of high society, you are a young woman who lives an apparently perfect relationship with the pilot Pierre Gasly. However, when you discover that your boyfriend of years Pierre was unfaithful to you with one of your best friends you decide to walk away and what better idea than a vacation in the break of Formula 1 in Italy with one of your friends, Charles.

warnings: nothing

word counter: 7713

author's note: english is not my first language

tag: @pookiesnukoms

It had been two weeks since you returned from that trip with Charles, a trip that had turned everything in your life upside down. Emotions still felt like turbulent waves beneath the surface, but in the world you shared with Pierre, things seemed to be on hold. When he asked you to try again, to take a step back to remember what united you, you couldn’t say no. It was a decision you made with your head more than your heart; it was the most sensible thing to do, what the world expected of you. Pierre had been your refuge for so long that the idea of ​​completely moving away from him seemed inconceivable. 

That night, you were holding his hand as you walked down the red carpet of a charity event, one of those that brought together pilots, models, and high society figures. The flash lights dazzled you, exploding like shooting stars around you, blinding you with their relentless glow. You could feel the warmth of Pierre's palm against yours, a touch that once would have meant security, but now felt different, almost distant.

Pierre turned and smiled at you, that smile the whole world knew: calm, charismatic, perfectly calculated for the cameras. You smiled back, the cameras capturing every moment, freezing images that would later circulate in magazines and social media under headlines of the perfect couple.

You walked beside Pierre, greeting acquaintances and responding politely when someone approached to talk. Pierre kept his arm around your waist, a public demonstration that you were still together, that betrayal and doubts were hidden under the facade of a perfect relationship.

Your mind, however, kept wandering. Every time a laugh mixed in the atmosphere, every time a conversation became ephemeral, you thought of Charles. You remembered the intensity of those days, the glances that lasted a second longer than necessary, the whispered confessions under the starry sky. You had shared a world of your own, one in which attraction and complicity had arisen unexpectedly, like a fire in the middle of the fog. But now, the communication between you had been reduced to cold and short messages, as if everything that happened had never happened, as if the warmth you felt when you were close to him was a distant fantasy.

Pierre squeezed your hand lightly, bringing you back to the present moment. You turned your head and looked at him; in his clear eyes was a silent question, one that didn’t need to be asked: Are you okay? You nodded almost imperceptibly, giving him the answer he wanted. 

During dinner, the conversation flowed between jokes and anecdotes from the racetrack. Pierre relaxed, laughing and sharing stories with other drivers and their companions. You listened, nodding at the right moments and laughing when the mood called for it. 

Across the table, someone mentioned Charles, and your heart stopped for a moment before resuming its rhythm. They talked about his recent achievements, about his impulsive and passionate character that so distinguished him. Pierre laughed, commenting on Charles’s recklessness on the track, and everyone laughed, except you. You took a sip of wine, trying to ignore the pang of nostalgia and longing that threatened to break your calm. You were surprised at how strong that feeling was, how you could still feel his gaze on you even when he wasn’t present.

When the event was over and you stepped outside, the lights of the night and the murmur of the city enveloped you. Pierre, ever attentive, helped you into the car before coming around the vehicle and sitting beside you. The silence between you was comfortable.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” he finally said, his voice low and soft, as he turned his head slightly toward you. You noticed the shadow of fatigue in his eyes, a sign that the weight of the season and his own thoughts was affecting him as much as it was you.

“You know I’ll always be here, Pierre,” you replied, and though your words were sincere, they carried a tinge of sadness that he didn’t seem to notice.

The car glided through the illuminated streets, and as the city lights flickered in the distance, you wondered if you could ever feel whole again, if this new beginning with Pierre would be enough to paper over the cracks in your heart, or if there would always be a part of you that would still look back, searching through the memories of that trip with Charles for what once made you feel alive. 

The weeks following the charity event were an endless parade of social engagements and public appearances. The Formula 1 season was in full swing, and almost every weekend meant a new city, a new track, and a new spectacle in front of the press and fans. Cameras followed you everywhere, capturing every smile. The world saw the couple that had overcome a difficult time, the story that fit perfectly into the headlines: the solid couple that had weathered the storm.

Pierre worked hard to regain the trust he had broken. Calls and messages that could once have gone unnoticed now came frequently, always looking to make sure you were okay, that you were still by his side. In public, he was more attentive than ever, placing a protective hand on your back, leaning in to speak in your ear amid laughter and comments that only you could hear. There was a certain sparkle in his eyes, as if he was clinging to the hope that things would go back to the way they were. And you, used to being the image of loyalty and forgiveness, kept up that facade, doubting whether time would be enough to repair what had been broken. 

Yet no matter how many times you reminded yourself that you were doing the right thing, the feeling of emptiness persisted. Every event, every gala night or high society gathering was further proof of your ability to maintain your composure, to show yourself as Pierre’s ideal partner, the woman who knew how to forgive and move on. Sometimes, amidst the hustle and bustle and small talk, you felt your mind wandering to another place, another time. You remembered the laughter and moments shared with Charles, those days of freedom when there was no need to pretend or hide feelings. 

Charles was there too, at every event and every race, but he kept his distance. He had learned to position himself on the periphery, close enough to be seen, but far enough away that no one could detect the tension between you. When your eyes met his, he would quickly look away, but not before letting a spark of something you couldn’t define shine through them. It was a mix of pain, nostalgia, and perhaps a hint of defiance, as if he wanted to remind you that what had happened between you couldn’t be erased so easily. 

One night, during a post-race reception in Monaco, the air felt especially thick. The terrace of the hotel where the event was being held was filled with laughter, clinking glasses and raised voices. Pierre was chatting animatedly with a group of drivers, and you were making polite conversation with the couples of other drivers, all smiles and harmless comments. But you could feel Charles’ presence, even if you weren’t looking at him. He was a few meters away, talking to a journalist, but your heart beat faster every time he moved, as if your body instinctively responded to his proximity. 

You decided to take a breather and excused yourself to go to the terrace railing. The sea breeze caressed your skin and you looked out to sea, dark and dotted with the lights of yachts in the distance. This moment of solitude was a necessary respite, a pause amidst the spectacle of appearances. You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the night envelop you and, for an instant, you wished you could disappear into the sound of the sea, far from the expectations and doubts that tormented you.

“Pretty sight, don’t you think?” Charles’ voice made your eyes snap open. You hadn’t heard him approach, and now he was standing beside you, hands in his pockets and that expression somewhere between wary and defiant.

“It is,” you replied, feeling the space between you fill with palpable tension. You didn’t look at him right away, afraid that a single glance might betray the feelings you’d tried so hard to hide.

“You look… different tonight,” Charles continued, his tone barely concealing his concern. There was something in his words, a nuance you couldn’t ignore.

“It’s the same as always, Charles,” you tried to joke, but your voice shook slightly and the lie hung in the air, heavier than you expected.

He let out a soft sigh and leaned in a little, just enough for his words to be for your ears only. “No, you’re not. And we both know it.”

The echo of his words reverberated through your mind as an awkward silence took over the moment. You turned to look at him, finally meeting those eyes you knew so well, the same ones that had looked at you with a mix of affection and desire during that trip. And suddenly, all the coldness and distance of the past few weeks felt like a useless barrier, a paper wall that a simple glance had broken through. 

Before you could respond, a growing murmur interrupted the moment. Turning your head, you saw Pierre approaching, his smile disappearing as he noticed the proximity between you and Charles. The weight of his gaze said it all, and in that instant, you knew that the night would not end like any other. 

And you knew it, Camille's return was like a bolt of lightning on a quiet night: unexpected, blinding, and leaving behind a silence full of uncertainty. No one had anticipated it, and when she showed up again in the circle of friends, she did so with a carefree smile and the same confident attitude that had always characterized her. Her reappearance occurred at an informal meeting in one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city, where the group used to gather to celebrate after a race. 

The first sign of her return was a murmur among some acquaintances and a couple of furtive glances. The soft music and the clinking of glasses seemed to stop for a second when Camille entered the place, tall and slender, with a dress that hugged her figure and the same elegance that used to provoke admiration. At your side, Pierre tensed at the sight of her, his fingers, which were resting on your hand, contracted slightly. You didn't need to look at Charles to know that he had noticed her too; the way the energy changed in the air was enough. 

“Wow, it looks like tonight will be more interesting than I thought,” one of Pierre’s friends murmured jokingly, not noticing the awkwardness spreading across the table.

Camille strode confidently toward the group and raised a hand in a carefree wave. “I hope you saved me a spot!” she said with a light laugh, as if the circumstances surrounding her were nothing more than a passing misunderstanding.

The silence that followed was thick. Conversations had stopped, and only the soft sound of music and the murmur of the city beyond the windows could be heard. It was Pierre who broke the silence, trying to regain his composure. “Camille, I didn’t expect to see you… here,” he said with a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Camille tilted her head and smiled in a way that made you feel like everything was calculated. “I thought it was about time I got back. I couldn’t keep running away, could I?” His eyes met yours, and the challenge in his gaze was undeniable. For a moment, you didn't know what to do, caught between anger and surprise.

Charles, who had remained silent until then, stood up from the table with a forced smile. “I need a drink,” he said, and headed to the bar without looking back. The gesture was so abrupt that it elicited a couple of curious glances. You knew it was his way of avoiding a confrontation, of not being part of the spectacle that was about to unfold. 

Camille sat down in an empty chair, right in front of you. Her eyes locked with yours for an eternal moment before she turned to Pierre. “How have you been?” she asked, as if the betrayal they shared was a secret only they understood, a bond that, despite everything, kept them together somehow. 

Pierre responded with a curt nod, keeping his gaze down and avoiding yours. Awkwardness crept in like a shadow, and you noticed how some of the other members of the group exchanged glances, aware that the night had become much more tense than they expected. 

“Camille, it’s been a while,” you finally said, breaking the silence that hung over the table. The words came out firmer than you had anticipated, and the surprise on her face was evident for a fleeting moment. But soon, Camille regained her smile.

“Too long, yes. But, you know, things change. And I’m here to stay,” she said, as if that simple sentence could erase everything.

At the bar, you could see Charles with his back turned, his figure rigid as he spoke to the bartender. You wondered what he was thinking, if like you, he felt like things were about to explode at any moment. You turned your attention to Pierre, who was now staring at Camille with an expression that oscillated between discomfort and guilt.

The evening continued, but the laughter and banter felt forced. Camille joined in the conversations, seemingly oblivious to the wary glances and tension her presence generated. With every comment he made, with every smile he threw, the memory of the betrayal was renewed in your mind, fueling a silent rage that only you could feel. Pierre tried to maintain an apparent calm, but the sweat on his forehead and the nervous gestures with which he swirled his glass gave him away.

For his part, Charles returned to the table after a while, his expression neutral, but his eyes filled with a contained emotion. When he sat down again, his fingers drummed on the table for a moment before interlacing, as if trying to anchor his patience. Camille glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and sketched a crooked smile, a gesture that made him clench his jaw.

After that night, Camille's presence became an uncomfortable constant. Where before there had been laughter and carefree chatter, now there was a tension that crept into every conversation. Camille appeared at events and group meetings with the same confidence as always, as if she were unaware of the emotional whirlwinds that her return had caused. But you knew it wasn't ignorance. Camille was smart, and her apparent nonchalance was just a mask.

Pierre tried to act as if nothing had changed, but his efforts to appear normal only made doubts crowd your mind. The small details, once insignificant, now shone with new relevance: the shifty glances, the pauses in the middle of a conversation, the meaningful silences when Camille was around. You began to notice how Pierre tensed every time she spoke, how his answers were more cautious, more measured. And you, who had previously trusted him blindly, began to question whether the story he had told you was the whole truth.

It was during a quiet afternoon, on the terrace of a café, that your world began to crack. One of Camille's friends, a young woman with a sharp smile and a quick tongue, sat next to you without warning while you waited for Pierre. "It's funny how things repeat themselves, don't you think?" he said, his tone bordering on joking and venom. His eyes, bright with the satisfaction of someone who knew more than he should, studied you carefully.

“What do you mean?” You asked, trying to stay calm, even though your heart began to beat faster.

“Oh, nothing, just that Camille always knew how to make Pierre pay attention, even before that night in Monaco,” she commented with a shrug, as if her comment wasn’t going to set every corner of your mind on fire.

That night in Monaco. You thought you knew everything about her, but Camille’s friend’s words planted a seed of doubt that quickly germinated. What else had happened? What other secrets were Pierre and Camille hiding? Her return, their meaningful glances, Pierre’s discomfort, everything fit together in a way that you had previously ignored for fear of seeing the reality.

The tension reached an unbearable point when, days later, you received an anonymous message. It was a blurry photo, taken in what looked like a dark corner of a party. In it, you recognized Camille and Pierre, too close for it to be a friendly gesture. The caption, simple but devastating, read: “Do you know everything?”

The ground beneath your feet seemed to fade away. That night, you confronted Pierre. The conversation was a whirlwind of accusations, justifications, and tears. “It wasn’t like you think!” Pierre exclaimed, his voice desperate as he looked at you with eyes that sought to find in you some of the lost trust. “What happened with Camille was a mistake, one I immediately regretted, but… there was no more.”

“There was no more?” you repeated, your words barely a whisper. Anger and betrayal mixed in your chest, making you feel like you were short of breath. “Why did you never say so? Why did you let me believe it was all over when it clearly wasn’t?”

Pierre brought his hands to his head, a gesture that revealed his frustration. "Because I knew that if you said it, you would have left me. I wanted to protect what we had, what we were."

What we were. Those words echoed in your mind like a cruel taunt. What had been your relationship now felt like a fragile illusion, a carefully maintained image that had been broken beyond repair.

You had enough of those days with Pierre and you didn't want to have any more inconveniences, but there was always something or someone that made it possible. In the midst of all this chaos, Charles began to appear even more than you were used to: at social events, at meetings with friends, even at the coffee shop you used to frequent. At first, you thought it was a coincidence, but the way his eyes searched for you in the crowd, the way his words hung in the air, made you doubt. No matter how much you both tried to ignore what had happened between you, there was something that persisted, something that could not be erased by the passage of time or Pierre's lies.

One such encounter occurred at a dinner hosted by Pierre's team, where all the drivers were present. You were talking to other couples, pretending that everything was fine, when you felt a gaze fixed on you. You looked up to find Charles across the room, a glass in his hand and an expression that was a mix of curiosity and concern. There were no words, but the weight of that gaze was enough to disarm you. When Pierre came over and touched your arm, a gesture of possession and reassurance, the discomfort became tangible. Charles looked away, but not before a shadow of disappointment crossed his face.

The passage of time did not make the situation any easier, but quite the opposite. The weeks that followed the confrontation with Pierre and Camille's return felt terrible. The glances you exchanged with Charles became open secrets, electrifying and tense, always charged with everything that had not been said and everything that could not be.

One evening, while you were flipping through a magazine in the living room of your apartment, your phone rang with a message. It was from one of your friends, someone who was always up to date with the latest gossip from the paddock and the social life that surrounded it. The notification contained a link and a simple sentence: “Have you seen it yet?”

The link took you to an article on a celebrity gossip site. The headline, in large, bold letters, read: “Charles Leclerc spotted with mystery woman at intimate dinner in Monaco.” The accompanying photo showed Charles, standing next to a tall, elegantly dressed, brown-haired woman. Their laughter seemed genuine and their bodies were leaning towards each other with a familiarity that made your heart ache. You could see the spark in his eyes, the spark you recognized well because you’d seen it when he looked at you. 

The text described how the evening had been relaxed and full of complicity, quoting a witness who claimed that Charles and the woman seemed more than friends. You felt a pang of jealousy shoot through you, unexpected and hot. You knew you had no right to feel that way; after all, you had decided to get back together with Pierre, you had tried to put what happened with Charles in the past. But jealousy didn't follow logic, and the image of Charles smiling at someone else stuck in your mind like a thorn.

It didn't take long for the rumors to spread. During events, conversations and barely veiled comments reached your ears. "Did you see Charles and his new friend?", "He seems to be moving on, don't you think?", "After everything that happened, it's good that he found someone." You tried hard not to show a reaction, to keep your composure and pretend you didn't care. But every mention, every whisper, fueled a fire in your chest that you couldn't put out.

Confirmation came one afternoon during a team meeting at the Monza circuit. As you chatted with other team members, your eyes met Charles. He was across the pit lane, talking to a group of people, but something in his expression changed when he saw you. He paused for a moment, as if he was hesitating whether to approach her or not, but before he could do anything, a female figure approached him and took his arm. The same woman from the article. She laughed and Charles, albeit briefly, smiled and returned to his conversation. The complicity between them was evident, and you felt a wave of emotions ranging from frustration to sadness. 

The rest of the day passed in a haze. The laughter and comments of the others seemed to come from a far away place, and Pierre, busy with his own concerns with the team, didn't notice your silence. You glanced at Charles from time to time, looking for some indication that what was between him and that woman wasn't so serious, that there was still something left of what he had shared with you. But every smile he gave you, every kind gesture, made the hope you had kept secret fade little by little. 

One night, after an event where Camille had also made an appearance, you decided to leave early. The atmosphere had become stifling, and you needed air. You walked across the hotel terrace, the city lights stretching out before you like a sea of ​​stars. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm raging inside you.

“Is everything okay?” Charles’s voice broke the silence, soft but firm. You opened your eyes to see him standing a few feet away, hands in his pockets and worried looking.

“Yeah, I just needed a moment alone,” you replied, your voice colder than you intended. You couldn’t bring yourself to show him how much he affected you.

Charles nodded, but didn’t move. He stood there, as if he was debating whether to move closer or respect the distance you had imposed between the two of you. “I saw you left earlier… I thought maybe you needed company.”

The irony of his words didn’t go unnoticed. “Looks like you have enough company already,” you said, unable to stop a tinge of jealousy from seeping into your tone. You regretted it instantly, but the damage was done. Charles narrowed his eyes and took a step towards you.

“Is that what you think?” he asked, his voice low and laden with emotions you couldn’t quite identify. “That this is all simple for me?”

“I don’t know, Charles,” you replied, feeling the barrier you had built begin to crumble. “All I know is that it hurts to see you move on so easily.”

He sighed, and for a moment, the sadness in his eyes mirrored yours. “Nothing has been easy. But you decided to walk away, you decided to go back to something you knew was broken. And I… I couldn’t wait forever.”

The words hung in the air, full of painful truths and silences loaded with meaning. And in that instant, you knew that the wound left by everything that happened between the two of you was still open, and that the rumors and new presences were only part of the challenge you both would have to face.

After the conversation on the terrace with Charles, you didn’t go back inside. The air felt heavy, and every step you took away from the party was a conscious decision to get away from the chaos. You couldn’t just stand there while your inner world fell apart. 

The drive home was silent, broken only by the low hum of the radio you didn’t really listen to. Deserted streets passed by as your thoughts circled around what Charles had said, his words echoing in your mind like a persistent echo. “You chose to walk away.” You couldn’t deny the truth in those words, but you also couldn’t help but feel like circumstances, lies, and Pierre and Camille’s secrets had pushed you to do so. 

When you got home, you dropped your jacket on the couch and collapsed into bed, not bothering to turn on the lights. You knew that the next day you would have to face another facade: a party where perfection and fake smiles were the norm. You took a deep breath, trying to erase the shadow of Charles and the jealousy that still gnawed at you from your mind.

The next day came faster than you expected. You meticulously prepared yourself for the party, selecting an elegant dress, adjusting your makeup, and practicing that smile you had learned to hold under any circumstances. When you arrived, the place was already packed with people, music and laughter echoing in the air. Pierre was waiting for you along with some colleagues, and although he greeted you with a kiss on the cheek, you felt there was a distance between the two of you that you could no longer ignore.

The hours passed between conversations and toasts, and although you did your best to maintain your composure, your mind wandered. It wasn't until you saw Camille walk in, wearing a red dress that caught everyone's attention, that your heart raced. She smiled at you with that familiar mix of confidence and mystery she had always had, and you tried not to respond. But the tension became palpable when, minutes later, Charles appeared. His eyes met yours for a moment before he looked away. His expression was serious, as if this evening was more than just a social appearance.

Pierre and Charles had barely exchanged words since the start of the evening, but that all changed when the two ended up close together in the same conversation group. A casual comment from one of Pierre’s friends about “how life takes unexpected turns” lit the fuse. Charles set his glass down with a thud and looked at Pierre with an intensity you couldn’t ignore.

“Yes, unexpected turns,” Charles said, his tone hiding deep reproach. “Like the times when truths come out, even when everyone pretends they don’t exist.”

Pierre looked at him, his jaw tensing. “What do you mean by that, Charles?” he asked, his voice defiant but shaky.

“You know exactly what I mean,” Charles replied, taking a step toward him. “To the lies, to the betrayal, to everything you tried to hide while pretending to be the perfect man.”

Silence fell over the group, the murmurs of the others fading away as the guests watched the confrontation. You felt trapped, unable to move, as the atmosphere became charged with an electricity that announced an inevitable outcome.

Camille, who had been standing to the side until then, suddenly raised her voice, breaking the tension. “Enough! There’s no point in continuing this.” Her gaze flicked from Pierre to Charles and then settled on you, reflecting a mix of guilt and resolve. “It’s time for everyone to know the truth. That night, in Monaco, Pierre and I… it wasn’t just a kiss, it was more. It was a mistake, a mistake I immediately regretted, but one he never wanted to admit.”

The air escaped from your lungs as Camille’s words reverberated in your head. Pierre tried to say something, his face pale and drawn, but the words died in his throat. The murmurs became a dull rumble, and everyone’s eyes fell on you.

“Why now?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. Camille looked at you with an expression you’d never seen on her: genuine remorse.

“Because it’s time for it all to end,” she replied. “I can’t continue to be the shadow of what happened. You deserve to know.”

Without another word, Camille walked away, and the emptiness she left seemed to engulf everything in her path. Charles, who had observed the scene with a mixture of fury and sadness, turned on his heel and walked out of the room without looking back. You couldn’t just stand there. Without a second thought, you followed him.

You found Charles in the garden outside, the moonlight bathing his tense figure. He turned when he heard you arrive, and for a moment, the full weight of the night was reflected in his eyes. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice broken and tired.

“I couldn’t just stand there,” you replied, tears threatening to fall. “Charles, all of this… I don’t know what to do.”

“Don’t you know?” he replied, taking a step towards you. “I’ve been waiting for you to admit how you feel, to stop clinging to lies and appearances. But you always come back to what hurts you. Tell me, will you ever be able to admit how you really feel about me? Or will you still choose the easy way out, even if it destroys you?”

Charles’ question hung in the air, a broken heartbeat echoing in the silence of the garden. His eyes, which had so often looked at you with tenderness, were now filled with a mix of pain and despair. The intensity of his gaze made the words get stuck in your throat, unable to answer, unable to admit out loud what you both knew but had avoided acknowledging.

“It’s not that simple, Charles,” you finally said, your voice cracking, barely a whisper. “I’ve tried to hold it all together, to keep from breaking down. But it seems that in the process I’ve only been lying to myself.”

Charles stepped closer, his jaw set and his hands clenched at his sides. "Why do you keep choosing what hurts you? Why do you keep going back to Pierre, when you know he's not what you want, when you know there's something more between us that you can't ignore?"

A tear rolled down your cheek, cold in the night air, and you looked down, unable to meet his gaze. “Because I’m scared,” you confessed, voice shaking under the weight of the truth. “Scared of what it means, scared of what I could lose. And because, somehow, going back to him seemed the easiest, the most familiar.”

Charles let out a sigh, a sound laden with frustration and sadness. “Familiar doesn’t mean happy, and you know it. I’ve seen you pretend, I’ve seen you force yourself to smile when your heart is broken. How much longer are you going to allow yourself to continue to suffer over something that isn’t worth it? When are you going to choose yourself?”

His words echoed in your chest, a truth you had tried to ignore for far too long. Tears spilled over, and before you could stop yourself, you sobbed, covering your face with your hands as your body shook under the weight of pent-up emotions. Charles, without saying anything, stepped forward and wrapped you in a hug, strong and secure, as if he wanted to protect you from all the pain you had been carrying. His hand rested on your hair, and his breathing, slow and deep, mixed with yours as you tried to calm yourself down.

"I'm so sorry, Charles," you managed to say through tears, resting your forehead on his shoulder. "I'm sorry for not being honest with you, or with myself."

"It's not about apologies anymore," he murmured, pulling away just enough to look you in the eyes. "It's about you making a decision, a real one. One that sets you free."

You took a deep breath, feeling the cold of the night give you a clarity you hadn't had in a long time. You knew at that moment what you had to do. You had spent too much time living under the shadow of mistakes, lies, and expectations. It was time to break the cycle.

The conversation with Pierre happened the next day, in the living room of your house. The curtains let in a ray of light that illuminated the room with a deceptive softness. Pierre arrived unsuspectingly, with the same smile he had learned to use to mask his own demons. But as soon as he noticed your serious expression, his face changed.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his eyes searching for answers in yours.

You took a breath, gathering the necessary courage. "Pierre, I've been thinking about everything that's happened, about us, and about what I want for my life."

He frowned, a shadow of worry passing through his gaze. "What do you mean? I thought we were trying to fix things."

You shook your head, feeling the lump in your throat slowly unravel. "That's what we've been doing: trying, pretending that everything is okay. But the truth is that it isn't, and you know that as well as I do. What we had was beautiful, Pierre, but it broke, and no matter how hard we try, we can't go back to what it was before."

The discomfort in his eyes turned into a mix of hurt and resignation. “Is this because of Camille? Because of what happened?”

“It’s because of everything,” you said, your voice firmer than you expected. “For the lies, for the doubts, for the times I tried to convince myself that this was what I wanted when I was really betraying myself.”

Pierre ran a hand through his hair, letting out a heavy sigh. “I always knew there was something broken about us. But I thought we could fix it. I thought you… that we…”

“I don’t want to keep pretending,” you cut him off softly, taking a step toward him. “I want to be honest, and I know you need it too. This is what’s best for both of us.”

Silence stretched between the two of you, and Pierre nodded slowly, his eyes shining with suppressed emotion. “I always wanted the best for you,” he murmured, his voice muffled. “And if this is what you need, then I accept it.”

The moment felt like the end of a painful phase, a necessary closure that, though it hurt, brought with it the promise of something new. When Pierre left your apartment, the feeling of relief was immediate. You felt lighter, as if you had finally let go of the weight you had carried for so long.

You walked over to the window, looking out at the city lights with a small but genuine smile. For the first time in a long time, you felt that the path you had chosen, as painful as it was, was the one that truly belonged to you.

A few days passed in which the house became your refuge and your thoughts, although turbulent, found space to flow freely. You were not looking for immediate answers or solutions, you just wanted to be with yourself, to understand what you wanted and to let the emotions settle. The mornings were spent reading and enjoying the peace of a hot coffee by the window, while the world continued to turn outside. The afternoons, on the other hand, allowed you solitary walks in the park, feeling the sun and the fresh air on your face, as if it were a reminder that you were alive and that, despite everything, you could find moments of serenity.

Charles' call came on a Friday night. It was brief, his voice tense but restrained. "We need to talk. If you agree, we could meet tomorrow." You did not hesitate to answer, although your heart was pounding. "Okay, Charles. See you tomorrow."

The next day, the sunset was turning the sky into shades of orange and pink when Charles arrived at your door. He was dressed simply, a dark jacket and a white t-shirt that accentuated his eyes, which looked at you with a mix of nervousness and determination. You stepped aside to let him in.

He sat down on the couch, and you took a seat across from him, hugging your legs as you watched him. There was a moment of stillness where neither of you seemed to know where to begin, as if words were too big to break the silence.

“How are you?” he asked at last, breaking the barrier that separated you.

You sighed, a small, wry smile appearing on your lips. “I’ve been better, but I’ve also been worse. I’ve spent these days thinking, trying to figure out what I really want.”

Charles nodded, his hands resting on his knees, knuckles white with tension. “I’ve been thinking too. I can’t keep pretending none of this affects me.” I can’t keep pretending I’m okay when you know as well as I do that I’m not.”

“I know,” you admitted, your voice dropping to a whisper. “I know what’s happened between us isn’t something that can be ignored, but I also don’t know what it means or where it’s going.”

Charles leaned forward, his gaze meeting yours. There was something in his eyes, a glint of vulnerability you’d rarely seen. “I’m scared of what I feel for you,” he confessed. “It’s always scared me, because you’re more than someone I can love. You’re someone I’m afraid to lose, someone I’ve always wanted to protect, even from myself.”

The weight of his words settled in your chest, warm and painful at the same time. You bit your lip, feeling the emotions building up in your throat. “And I’ve been afraid to admit what I feel,” you replied, looking down. “Because to do so means changing everything, losing the security of what I know. But I can’t deny it anymore.”

Charles stepped closer, his hand brushing yours with a softness that made your skin crawl. “I’m not asking you to have all the answers,” he said, his voice so low it was barely a whisper. “I just want to know if there’s something in you that I want to try, no promises, no guarantees, but for real.”

You felt the tears threaten to fall, but this time they weren’t from sadness, but from relief. “I want to try, Charles. But I also need time, I need to learn to be okay with myself before I can be with someone else.”

The understanding on his face was immediate. He moved away just enough to give you space, but he didn’t break contact. His fingers intertwined with yours were a reminder that you weren’t alone, that even though the answers weren’t clear yet, you were both willing to try, step by step.

The conversation continued until the light of day faded completely, and the shadows of night crept into the room, enveloping you in an intimate, quiet bubble. There were no promises, no commitments, just the certainty that you were both willing to face your fears and desires, to explore the possibility of a future that you didn’t fully understand yet, but that belonged to you both.

Meanwhile, you weren’t the only ones making a decision, Camille was making one too, and one that would change the course of everyone. She had spent days facing the stares, the rumors, and most of all, her own guilt. She knew she couldn’t stay, that her presence only perpetuated the damage she had caused. One afternoon, as the golden sun bathed the city streets, she wrote a short, simple letter, saying goodbye to those who were once her friends and promising to find her own path, one that would help her rediscover who she was without the shadows of her mistakes. 

She left quietly, leaving an empty space that, although painful, was necessary for everyone to heal and move on. 

After all the time passed and the turbulence that had enveloped their lives began to settle like dust after a storm. Weeks turned into months, and little by little, the emotional debris of everything that had happened was cleared away. Pierre, in particular, seemed to have found a new direction. Acceptance had arrived, slowly but surely, and with it, a renewed focus on his career. Training and racing became his sanctuary, an escape where he could feel the adrenaline rush without the weight of emotional complications. He had learned to separate his personal life from his professional life, and although he still watched you with a mix of nostalgia and respect when your paths crossed, there was a clear distance that you both had chosen to maintain. 

The last time you saw him was at a meeting of the racing community, a formal event where Formula 1 stars and their loved ones met under a glittering roof of lights and lively conversation. Pierre greeted you with a slight nod and a restrained smile, a gesture that showed that, although the memories were still vivid, he had accepted that what once existed between you belonged to the past.

For your part, the rebuilding process was arduous but rewarding. You immersed yourself in new personal projects, exploring interests you had put aside for too long. You put modeling aside for a few months and began collaborating with a charity that promoted youth education programs, using your experience and knowledge to create campaigns and events that left a positive mark.

Confidence and self-esteem, which had suffered the ravages of betrayal and insecurity, began to flourish again. There were days of doubt, nights when you wondered if you would ever be completely at peace, but each step forward was a reminder of your strength.

It was on one of those calm days, when summer was beginning to tint the afternoons with a warm glow, that Charles reappeared in your life. Communication between the two of you had been sporadic at first, small messages that served more as reminders that you were still in each other's lives than as a true conversation. But over time, those shy words turned into longer, more meaningful chats. At first, it was anecdotes about racing or comments on the photos you posted of your projects. Slowly, the tone became more intimate, more reflective. 

One afternoon, you met Charles at a small café you both used to go to in the past, a secluded place where shared memories intertwined with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the sound of distant traffic. He looked fine, relaxed but with that restless spark that had always characterized him. When he looked into your eyes, you noticed something new about him, a serenity that had previously been absent. 

“I’m glad to see you like this,” he said after a while, breaking the comfortable silence between you. “You look… like yourself again.”

You smiled, grateful for the compliment, but also for what it meant. “I’ve worked hard to get here,” you admitted. 

Charles nodded, his gaze reflecting genuine understanding. “That’s something I had to learn too.”

You’d both grown, stumbled and learned, and while there were still unanswered questions, there was something liberating about not feeling the urgency to figure it all out right away.

“Do you think we could ever have something more?” you asked, your voice soft but not shaky. It wasn’t a desperate question, but a sincere curiosity.

Charles looked at you with a small, honest smile, the one that usually appeared when he let his guard down. “I think so,” he replied.

You nodded, feeling a comforting warmth in your chest. You didn’t need anything else at that moment, just the promise that no matter what, you’d both walk the path with the lesson learned, willing to explore whatever might arise between you, but always prioritizing truth and mutual respect.

And as the afternoon progressed, with the murmur of the city and the back and forth of conversations in the café, you knew you were exactly where you were meant to be.

[maknaeswrld]

the way i loved you | m.yg

wc: 2.2k

genre: song fic; lovers to strangers; rebound!bang chan (sorry bby);

cw: rebound!Bang Chan; relationship arguments; it feels a lil toxy but understand I only wrote the tail ends of their relationship and it’s based on a Taylor Swift song; open ending

a/n: just a lil thought that tickled my brain on a roadtrip when I heard The Way I Loved You (Taylor’s Version)

“Here, let me get that for you.” Chan said with that breathtaking smile of his as he pulled the door open for you.

“Thank you.” You smiled back.

“You look absolutely stunning tonight.” 

His hand was placed respectfully on your mid back, guiding you gently through the restaurant.

“You don’t look too bad yourself.”

It didn’t take the two of you long to find your table.

“Y/n!” Lia squealed, rushing to hug you. Giggling, you threw your arms around her.

“It’s been too long!”

“Agreed. We need to work on that.”

Pulling away, Lia turned to your guest, sticking a hand out to introduce herself.

“I’m Lia, the best friend. You must be Chris.”

He accepted her hand, smile lighting up the room.

“I am. Y/n’s told me a lot about you.”

Lia’s eyebrow raised as she looked back over at you.

“All the terrible things, I’m sure.”

He just smiled, taking the joke in stride.

The night went on a little too easily. Conversation flowing easily, the atmosphere comfortable. Chan picked up the bill and offered to order an uber for Lia, to which she rejected, looping her arm through yours instead.

“Well, it’s been a great evening, but if you don’t mind, I’m gonna be taking our girl with me. We have a bit of catching up to do.”

“I don’t mind at all. It really was great to finally meet you.” He smiled at Lia before looking at you. “Call me when you get home?” He asked, you nodded in agreement and he grinned, pressing a gentle kiss on your lips. “You two ladies enjoy the rest of your night then.”

You both watched on as he walked away.

“Damn, he has a great ass.” Lia commented, whistling in appreciation.

You laughed, smacking her shoulder. “Don’t catcall my boyfriend.”

“I’m just callin’ it like I see it love. And that man has a fine ass. But he’s got an even better personality, like damn girl, talk about moving up in the world.”

“I mean I guess you could say that. He does respect my space. And he’s always on time, and he’s charming.”

“He could be charming when he wanted to.” You didn’t need her to clarify who he was.

“And he’s sensible, you know.” You continued, ignoring her attempt at getting you to talk about what was really at the tip of your tongue. “He always has an answer to everything. He’s genuine with me, it’s all perfectly comfortable.”

“But…?”

But.

Because of course there’s a but when it comes to such a seemingly perfect guy. 

The lights were giving you a headache, you thought if you had to talk to one more stranger you’d pour your drink on their head or start crying. 

You’ve dated Yoongi long enough to know this is just how nights like these go, that once it’s been long enough that he won’t get in trouble with his management for leaving, he’ll wrap an arm around you and swish you away.

You just kept smiling, having perfected the show smile early on in your relationship. You stayed close to any of the boys you could find. You sat with Jungkook for a while before he wanted to dance, you’d found a corner with Tae and Jimin, which lasted until Jin called them over for a conversation he’d been having with some snobby looking people. All in all, these events were possibly your least favorite thing that came with dating a member of a world famous group.

You were ready to excuse yourself to the bathroom for the duration when a hand found its home on your lower back. Almost too low to be appropriate.

“What’s a gorgeous thing like you doing all alone?”

Smiling, you turned towards him, looping your arms around his shoulders in a way that you knew seemed dainty.

“I believe that’s the first real smile I’ve seen out of you all night. Is this really that miserable?”

“I just don’t feel very good. I’m ready for my pajamas and maybe a tub of ice cream.”

“And an episode of our show?”

You couldn’t help but grin at that. “Oh absolutely.”

“Perfect. Okay, let me say goodbye to the boys and let my manager know we’re leaving. I’ll be right back. I love you so much.” Placing a gentle kiss on your nose, he squeezed you once before releasing and moving further into the room.

The flash of cameras turned your attention away from him and you waved shyly, keeping a polite smile plastered in place and knowing the media will be eating up such a tender moment of the Suga. You put on a show for them anytime you knew the cameras were turned to you, knowing the tenderness they catch a mere glimpse of is your reality everyday.

“Hey! That door was shut for a reason.” You grumbled.

“Yeah, to keep everyone else out.” Yoongi said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Exactly. Everyone else.”

“That’s what I just said?”

“Everyone includes you, Yoongs.”

He just shrugged before making himself comfortable on your bed.

You rolled your eyes, huffing in annoyance. “You know, girls have boundaries, right?”

“I know. I just don’t see you actually setting them. Do you want me to leave, Y/n?”

“Oh fuck off.” You responded, shoving his shoulder.

“That’s not a yes.”

“I can’t stand you.”

He just laughed, pulling you into his chest and kissing the top of your head.

“I don’t understand what the big deal is.”

“The big deal is that you spend more time cooped up in your studio than you do with me, Yoongi.”

“You knew what you were getting into when we started dating.”

“And I’m not asking you to change, I just,”

“Well damn, Y/n. It kinda feels like you are. I can’t just stop doing my job because you’re feeling needy.”

“I’m not asking you to! I’m not. I am just asking you to act like you give two shits about your girlfriend once in a while and show up when we make dinner plans!”

You watched as his eyes slowly widened in realization. “That was tonight?”

Sighing, you turned and opened the door to his studio, already halfway out. “Yeah, Yoongs. That was tonight.”

You were outside and walking down the cold rainy street when Yoongi caught up to you. 

“You’re gonna catch a cold.”

“Not like you care.”

“Come one, don’t say that. You know I care.”

You stopped and turned on your heel, causing him to almost run into you.

“It doesn’t really feel like it right now Yoongi.”

“I’m sorry I forgot about our dinner plans,” You scoffed, turning to continue walking. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t care and it definitely doesn’t mean I’m just gonna let you wander around in the rain and get sick!”

“You wouldn’t even know I was out in the rain if I hadn’t come to your studio.”

He reached out, hand enclosing gently around your wrist and tugged you back into him. 

“You’re absolutely right. Because I would’ve assumed my beautiful girlfriend was safely in our home curled up on our couch or in our bed, all cozy and perfect because you love rain but hate going out in it. But now that I do know you’re out in it, I’m not gonna just let you get yourself sick.”

You didn’t know how to respond, eyes flitting between his hand and his eyes, which were so soft and earnest, your lip stuck between your teeth. Sighing, you finally felt your body begin to relax.

“I’m still mad at you.”

“And you have every right to be.”

You nodded, reaching a hand up to clasp around his, “Do you have an umbrella?”

He blanched. All color draining from his face before he flushed bright red. “No…”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, grinning as you pulled him in closer for a kiss.

His hands quickly found their home around your waist, pulling you closer to him. And you relished in the warmth of his body against yours, at war with the cold rain hitting the rest of your exposed skin and seeping into your clothes. You brushed some wet clumps of hair out of his eyes after pulling away.

“Take me home, Yoongs.”

You stared blankly out the car window as you watched lights from buildings pass by, the air thick with tension but you had no interest in being the one to break the silence. Yoongi’s knuckles were almost white from how tightly he was gripping the steering wheel.

You felt his eyes on you for a moment before you heard his tongue click against the top of his mouth in a tsk.

“Are you gonna say anything?”

You spared him a glance before locking your eyes back on the window.

“Got nothing to say.”

“You and I both know that’s a lie, Y/n.”

“We’re both upset and talking right now will just lead to more arguing.”

“Then let’s argue, Y/n. We’re in a relationship, people in relationships argue. I’d rather have a million arguments with you than have you feel like you can’t talk to me.”

You scoffed a laugh, finally dragging your eyes away from the window. 

“I don’t want to argue, Yoongi. I’m so tired of arguing. I just want to be able to enjoy time with my boyfriend without wondering if there’s going to be something that sets one or both of us off.”

“I’m leaving.”

“What?” His voice was so soft, almost non existent despite the silence of your shared apartment. The place you’d called home for so long.

“I love you. I love you so much it hurts sometimes. I just can’t do this anymore, Yoongi.”

Y/n watched as he bit at his lip nervously, brown eyes shiny with tears. He closed them, looking up at the ceiling and taking a deep breath.

When he looked at you again, you felt all the air rip out of your lungs.

“I love you too, Y/n.”

He pulled you closer, kissing you with as much emotion as he could put into it. You looped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him flush against you. You ran your fingers through his soft hair and kissed him until your body was protesting.

“I will always love you.”

When you pulled away, you touched your forehead to his, refusing to open your eyes and see the turmoil in his.

“Goodbye, Yoongi.”

Taking a deep breath, you pulled yourself out of his arms, ignored his voice calling your name, and walked away.

“But he doesn’t know me. He can’t tell when I’m faking a smile. He doesn’t really get my jokes. He doesn’t break my heart.”

“That one doesn’t sound like a bad thing, Y/n.”

“It is though! He doesn’t break my heart because I don’t really feel anything at all. He’s just, fine. He’s quite possibly the kindest, most generous man I’ve ever met. I literally could not ask for a better guy. But he’s not,”

“Yoongi.”

You nodded, shoulders slumped as you admitted to your best friend the thing you’d been struggling to admit to yourself for so long.

“I feel like I’m just stringing him along and wasting his time all because I can’t get over the man that I couldn’t make it through a week without fighting with. I miss him, Lia. I miss how batshit crazy he made me feel, I miss the screaming and fighting and making up, I miss him. I miss the way I loved him. And I don’t even know where he is or what he’s up to. I’m dating the world’s most considerate man, and I feel nothing because I just keep comparing him to Yoongi. And despite the hell he put me through, Yoongi always wins.”

Lia’s eyes were filled with pity, which would drive you crazy in any other situation, but you needed someone to be sympathizing at that moment.

“What if I could tell you where he was?”

Your head shot up at your friends words.

Lia shrugged. “I kept in touch. He was my friend too, y’know?”

Uncertain on if you wanted to cry or squeeze your friend out of joy, you just nodded.

With a raised brow, Lia’s lips quirked into a crooked smile as she pulled out her phone.

It rang a few times before he answered, you held your breath as Lia chatted with him for a moment.

Before you could decide to back out, have her hang up, realize quite how bad of an idea this probably was, especially with Chris waiting on you to text him, Lia turned her phone to you and painfully familiar eyes locked on yours.

You were torn between wanting to reach over and end the call, or curl up and talk for hours, basking in his addictive attention

He looked good. His hair was a little longer than he used to keep it, messy from where he’d probably been running his hands through it while working on a song. You wanted to reach out and smooth it down.

“Y/n.” His voice sounded stuck in his throat. Like he couldn’t fully believe he was saying your name to your face. And you were drawn in, throwing caution and sense to the wind.

“Hi, Yoongi.”

a/n: in my mind, there is no cheating, they just chatted some that night, Y/n called Chan the next day and they sat down together and she told him everything and they very maturely agreed it wasn't going to last much longer anyways and Chan encouraged her to get her mans. I do have somewhat of a sequel in mind if anyone would want that but I also think this is a perfect little short fic in its own right lol.

thanks for reading and as always let me know what you thinks!

[oraclekleo]

Special Tiny Pendulum Game

(Always check status for the game on my blog, not just in reblogs.)

Status: CLOSED

Hello my dear Kleotics and random visitors of this blog!

Let's play again today but this time I will once again use my pendulum and I'm going to answer all question where the answer is

YES or NO (alternatively also TRUTH or FALSE)

Some rules:

I RESERVE THE RIGHT TO NOT ANSWER QUESTIONS I FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE ABOUT (such as celebrity rumours, for example)

NSFW asks are allowed - minors do not engage!

Anons ARE NOT allowed this time

I'll use my pendulum and pendulum board

Requirements: Be a follower of my blog, Like this post, Comment on this post with a bicep emoji (💪), Ask your YES/NO or TRUTH/FALSE question(s)

Multiple YES/NO or TRUTH/FALSE questions in one ask are allowed

Request ONLY through inbox (no DMs)

Pendulum divination is not science and this whole game is for entertainment only, I can never guarantee any of it

I don't read energies, I don't meddle with yours or anybody else's

Feedback is highly appreciated but not mandatory this time

Mind the fact that I will simply tell you YES or NO to your question(s) (or TRUTH or FALSE) and I won't be doing any further clarification. I strongly advise you to AVOID asking about celebrity rumours as this method is truly for fun only and it's not reliable at all. Please do not spread false information. If you ask about your life, that's perfectly okay but remember that this is a game and no divination method is ever 100% reliable. While you might get some insight and push towards improvements from it, do not base your life decisions on what some stranger online tells you based on them messing around with a piece of amethist attached to a chain which they got from Chinese seller. 😊 Be sensible, people!

[collapseintonever]

mcr at project revolution in charlotte, nc. august 8 2007. photos by buttertooth on livejournal. picture commentary under the cut

more concert pics here

pic 2:

When MCR first came out onstage, Gerard strutted on like he was all badass with a black bandana on his face. For some reason, he reminded me of an anime cartoon character when he was wearing that. Anyway, the decision to wear the bandana came back to bite him in the ass later because he couldn't get it to untie from his neck when he realized how ridiculously fucking hot it was out there. I didn't realize it was still around his neck but he made a comment about it between songs when he was trying to catch his breath. Haha. Oh well, everything can't always go perfectly, right?

Anyway, since the picture of him (that I tried to take) with the bandana turned out all blurry and awful, here is a picture of Gerard just after he took it off. Might I point out how foxy his hair looks. Hooray for Gerard not looking like a mad scientist when I saw them perform!

Gerard made multiple comments on the heat, but you know what? He sort of deserved being hot since he was out there in his JACKET! It's a wonder he didn't pass out. He did spend a lot of the time lying on the stage or sitting. Early in their set (maybe three or so songs in?) he said something to the effect of (this is NOT a direct quote, just a paraphrase) "I was going to say something later about guys taking their shirts off, but, fuck it, it's too hot. Go ahead and take them off now." Then when they got to "Prison" he said it again about just the guys taking off their shirts and that he didn't care what size you are, you're still attractive. Gotta love Gerard and how he tries to make the fans feel good about themselves. I think he was just trying to charm the guys out of their clothes, though, really. He stressed that only the guys should take their shirts off and swing them around their heads. I think some guy threw his shirt up there and he picked it up and swung it around, but it could've been a rag or something. It was a black cloth of some kind, anyway. And of course, someone threw the obligatory feather boa up there, and Gerard put it on. I swear, Gerard must be crazy because he's in a jacket, singing his lungs out, on a stage with PYRO in the 103-degree heat for fuck's sake and he puts one of those itchy feather boas on.

pic 3 & 4: Unfortunately, these were the only two pics that had Ray in them since he stayed wayyyyy over on his side and I couldn't see him. But his playing and singing was amazing as usual!

pic 5: Right before the pyro came on Gerard said "Shit!" which I took to mean that he knew it was about to happen and he didn't want to feel the heat. I could be wrong, but that's what it seemed like.

pic 6: Towards the end of the concert Gerard said (again just a paraphrase because i didn't get it all, unfortunately!) that he was sweaty and nasty and everyone should "make some noise" because of it. I love MCR and all of the band members, genuinely I do, but if Gerard didn't take a shower after that concert, he is officially a nasty motherfucker. :P

Frank was a little more sensible with his attire, since he was wearing a sleeveless shirt. He flopped down at one point and it just looked like he was hating the heat.

On the second song (which I managed to get video of! Woot Woot!) Frank's guitar string broke (I think that's what inspired his fit of rage) so he smashed up his guitar. Then he picked up the one with the zombie on it and started playing again. The picture above came after he smashed up the first guitar.

pic 7: When he came down to my end of the stage, I could see that Gerard had something written on his neck again. I think it said "Truth" but it could just as well have said "Truce" because I could only see the first three letters. I don't know why it would say "Truce," but it could've (ETA: I read a review somewhere that it did indeed say "Truth". Stil havent seen any pics of it though). I tried to get a picture of his neck, but it came out blurry. Boo! Hiss! If anyone else has proof of what it said, I'd love to see the photo.

pic 8-10: And for those of you out there wondering, there was some mild Frank/Gerard action going on. By the time it happened, I had already used up all my video space and could only take photos. But the good news is that my camera has a photo burst option which lets you take three photos in a row. They're not the best photos ever, but I did get the shots when Frank walked past Gerard and grabbed Gerard's crotch. And I got Gerard's reaction to it. It happened really quickly so it was easy to miss.

pic 11: Oh and about halfway through, Frank put either a shirt over his head (one of the one's that got thrown onstage when Gerard told the guys in the audience to take their shirts off), presumably to mop up the sweat, but maybe he just wanted to be a weirdo. In the first photo it looks like Frank is smelling his armpits but really he's trying to wrap the cloth around his head.

pic 12-14: He played with the cloth over his head for most of the song.

pic 15: Gerard singing and Bob drumming away…

pic 16: Just Gerard…

pic 17-18: Frank taking a sip of water in the dark… …then spitting it on the audience. It didn't land on me. Not to sound horridly grungy or anything, but I kinda wished the water would've landed on me because I would've welcomed anything that would help cool me off at that point.

pic 19: Frank and Matt in the same stance. And yes, Matt, Frank does have a nice ass.

pic 20: Gerard pointing….

pic 21: And now for a little Matt Cortez: Gerard said he's got "arms of steel" and he ain't lyin'…

pic 22: Matt Cortez, being awesome. Gerard even gave a shout out to him and walked by and ruffled his hair…

pic 24: Matt's back…

pic 25: Matt's so cool, you can see through him!