#maddie writes spice

[neuvilette-tea-party]

₊ ˙ ⊹Steb x F!reader₊ ˙ ⊹

Headcanons Pre-Relationship SFW

Part 2

I came to realize this format is for shorter stories? But I am an idiot and I cannot stop writing about best boy!

Request open for Best boy Steb <3

As a junior Medic, Steb is your mentor. He silently, but patiently, teaches you. 

Trains with you every day, with a scalpel or boxing gloves. 

Steb is a really good boxer and even better with batons, while you excel in Judo. 

You live life at his pace when you are in the barracks, eating when he eats, training when he trains, sleeping when he sleeps, practicing medicine when he decides it is time to teach you... You become his shadow. 

You practice incisions and stitching wounds on a dummy under his impartial but merciless gaze. He has an unconventional approach to the job himself, but no defective stitches escape his eyes. He asks you to start over each time he finds one, and even if he is instransigent he never refuse to helps, showing you an easier method or a quicker trick.  

You get better and better every day and he appears pleased with you, congratulating you with a nod and a pat on the shoulder. 

When you’re lucky you go on Patrol with him and Maddie, when you are extra lucky only him. But most of the time you are partnered with someone else and you cannot wait to come back to the barracks to train with Steb again! 

He is dead silent but extremely expressive when he wants to be. You learned to decipher every throat muscle contraction, every side eye, every blink, if he uses his third eyelids or not... Every infinitesimal facial twist speaks louder than any word he could say and you’ve gone pro at decoding every single one of them. 

Maddie gets crazy when you have an entire silent conversation with Steb with only raised eyebrows, head tilts, and nods during work. Loris just laughs his ass off at her getting more and more exasperated. 

Steb shows you all the little tricks he learned on the spot and in dire situations, what truly makes the difference between life and death under gunshots, things you do not learn in books or on a dummy. 

He had to stitch some of your wounds after an intense training session, making him softly grin while you sighed deeply, a little bit embarrassed to be so careless. 

You did not know if it was appropriate to eat fish in his presence at first, so you did not. 

He ever so slowly relaxes around you, letting you see his less stoic side from time to time. This is a rarity tho. 

Your unit as a game: the first one to assemble his weapon blindfolded, wins. Steb always beats you with the riffle but you win with the revolver. Loris beats everyone with every weapon. 

Steb keeps you under his wing for months, keeping you company during breaks, playing cards with you, watching movies late at night in the break room, arm wrestling with you when you feel feisty, he cannot beat you to billiards tho but he is good sport. Each days at the barracks you are attached to the hips, so much so that seeing one of you alone raises eyebrows. 

You earned the nickname “Mini-Steb” at the barracks for a time. You find it quite funny but Steb less so. He took the floor, a rarity, and asked your colleagues to respect your individuality and character. This was such a rare occurrence that everyone obeyed without a second word, while you looked at him with round eyes. 

He is a pretty good cook and handles spices at a higher level than any human, that’s why they put a rule in place for him not to spice the dishes himself, this is the only thing he cannot do in the kitchen, cause everyone would have a rough time. You love it when it is your turn to cook with him, Maddie finds it boring because he is even more non-verbal than usual but you love it, you try to match his pace and speed as best you can like a game. 

And because he looks pretty cute in an apron, you have to be honest. 

You discovered Steb had gills on his neck and his ribcage. You noticed the last ones when he took off his shirt during a training session to use the towel on his chest. You went immediately still at that view, completely shocked and hypnotized by that scene. You had to mentally slap yourself to manage to take your eyes off that... beautiful sight and you drank your entire bottle of water in one go, feeling incredibly parched out of a sudden. Maddies asked you why you did not finish your sentence but you could only wipe the sweat off your forehead, trying to make sense of your inner turmoil. 

Him who is usually so modest and rarely if never takes off layers in front of people... You were so unprepared but that sight! 

You both have your habits on patrol, you go to the same cafes, visit the same tea salon and always go to the same bar at the end of a shift. He always asks for a consomme while you change dishes each time. 

You notice that you spoke less and less yourself, mimicking your mentor, finding words more and more superfluous when you could just act on a matter. 

Steb baked you a cake for your birthday, without you having to remind him of the date. 

Excellent chess player, owns several books on different Chess masters that he reads religiously during breaks while also learning to play Go. He goes easy on you with other games but he will hand you your ass without any mercy with those two games. 

You learned he like to spend time in libraries and bookshops during his leaves and crossed paths with him on several occasions with his bag full of new books. 

Never took a puff of tobacco of any sort in his life and heavily avoids any smoking area. His eye twitched once when you revealed to him you tried weed once with friends in high school, but he remained silent, neither approving nor disapproving. 

Drinks alcohol only for big occasions and will limit himself to one glass only. 

Keeps his uniform immaculate, his helmet shiny and his weapons squicky clean. 

Good with cats and animals in general. Owned a bird in his childhood. 

Undisputed champion in the pool. Every once in a while someone thinks that they can outspeed him in water and is immediately proven wrong, but you get the occasion to play the cheerleader to support him each time, so you don’t complain. You handed him his towel when he got out of the pool, water trickling down his well-carved body and your eyes got lost for a second before so much skin, mouth slightly agape before such a spectacle. 

 You are Steb’s perfect assistant in mission, guessing his needs and demands in advance, handing him the correct tools without him having to ask to save your comrades’ or civilians’ lives. You move and think like a single being, creeping out Maddie. She told you you both look like possessed when you save lives together under fire like you were connected like a hivemind. You don't see her problem: you are saving lives! 

After each successful mission on the terrain, Steb pays you a drink, always wrapped in his usual mustism. You take an ale while he usually goes for iced tea or squach, making you giggle as you imagine the thought of the other patrons discovering a 6’1 ft  stern enforcer in full gear sipping sugary juice at the bar with a straw. 

But those drinks are between you and Steb only, between Mentor and Protege 

And maybe a bit more, you bust yourself hoping? 

One day Steb takes you aside in an empty room and hands you a piece of paper. Your official recommendation and aptitude certification to enter the Medic examination of the Enforcers. Signed by his hand. You look up at him with a gasp, full of hope. 

He grabs your shoulder, looking straight into your eyes. and nods with a tight smile. 

[saveyourblood]

Roll the Dice (Buddie x Reader)

Summary: Buck makes a humming noise, rubbing his lips in thought. “I could do it.” You and Eddie share a look. Eddie is the first to test the waters. “Do what?” “Give someone a lap dance.” The one where you're best friends with Buck and Eddie, the three of you are drunk, and the topic of lap dances comes up.

Word Count: 2.4k Prompt (from @happyhauntt): buddie and reader are hanging out and drinking maybe and maybe they're watching magic mike as a joke or they had a call to a strip club earlier that day and buck asks reader who they think would give a better lapdance, buck or eddie, reader bluescreens and they both give a demonstration. A/N: This was such a fun write! Thanks for letting me steal your idea, Ollie! You can find their work on AO3 too. :^) Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays everyone! Warnings: Spice (not smut), drinking, mentions of vomiting

It started with beer. 

Well, it started with the boys drinking beer. 

You’ve never been a big fan of beer. You’ll occasionally indulge in something on tap at a fancy bar, but other than that, it isn’t your drink. And that cheap shit that Buck buys at the corner store? Absolutely not. 

So, it started with the boys drinking beer and you drinking a canned cocktail. 

See, Buck may have bad taste, but he has a good heart. He always has a 6-pack of cheap beer in his fridge, but since you started coming over, you notice he always has a 12-pack of ready-to-drink canned cocktails. You know he doesn’t drink them; he buys them for you. 

You really don’t drink that much, in terms of both frequency and amount. It takes a singular drink for you to feel a nice buzz, and really, that’s all you need. You’ve never had the desire to get blackout drunk, and more than three drinks gives you a raging headache in the morning. 

You were only going to have one, maybe two drinks, just like you usually do. 

But then Eddie found the fucking tequila. 

“Where’d you even get that?” you giggle. You'd be embarrassed by the sound if you were even a little bit sober. Thankfully, you’re halfway through your second can, and any sense of embarrassment is filled by the warm pool of alcohol in your stomach. 

“Maddie made margaritas the night I moved in,” Buck says, raising his beer bottle to his lips. 

The boys are both on their third beers, but between the lower alcohol content and their stronger tolerances, they aren’t as drunk as you are. Hopefully, the tequila will even the score. 

“Where did she buy it?” Eddie laughs as he inspects the bottle. 

It’s cheap: you can tell that much by looking at it. It’s a 1.75 liter plastic bottle — not exactly top shelf. You expected nothing less from Maddie, since she doesn’t strike you as a girl who sips high-end tequila. No, she’s more like the girl who makes way too strong margaritas and bullies her brother into taking shots in the kitchen. 

Buck shrugs. “Grocery store, probably.”

Eddie starts looking through the cabinets. “You got a blender?”

Buck snorts. “I have shot glasses.”

“I’m not doing shots,” you laugh. “Tequila shots and I have… a bad relationship.” 

Eddie gives you a look. “What type of relationship?” 

“Whatever type ends in me throwing up in someone’s sink.”

Buck tips his head back and cackles. “You did that?! You?!”

“I just graduated from the Academy and went out with some classmates to celebrate,” you explain, cheeks flushing as you smile. “It started with bar hopping and ended with tequila shots at someone’s house.”

“Sounds like it actually ended with you throwing up in someone’s sink,” Eddie points out. 

“And you’re trying to make it happen again!” You accuse as Eddie continues scouring the kitchen. “Shame on you, Diaz!”

“Hey, it would be nice to see the most professional member of the 118 get a little crazy,” Buck says. 

You snort again. “I’m the most professional member of the 118?”

“Professional isn’t the right word,” Eddie says, finally finding a cocktail shaker. 

“Formal?” Buck proposes, looking to the other man. 

Eddie hums in consideration as he fills the shaker with ice, leaving the tequila on the island. “Classy?”

Buck shakes his head. “No, that’s not it either.”

Eddie sets the shaker, now filled with ice, on the island. He then opens the fridge door and comes back with lime juice. “Proper?”

“Proper,” Buck agrees, leaning his hip on the island. His body is turned towards Eddie, watching him as he pours the ingredients into the shaker. 

“Proper,” you echo, your lips wrapping around the word as you say it. “How exactly am I proper?” 

“I don’t know,” Buck says after taking another sip. “Just… the way you carry yourself, I guess.”

“How specific.”

Buck flicks a beer cap, previously sitting on the island, at you. You try to catch it, but it slides off the table before you can catch it. You flip him off. 

“Not so proper anymore,” Eddie remarks. 

The tequila takes you by the hand and leads the three of you into Buck’s living room. You’re on your second margarita on the rocks, courtesy of Edmundo Diaz. The boys decide to take two shots each, back to back, and simply watching them kind of made you sick. 

“You are so full of shit!” you yell. 

You don’t know much at this moment, other than the fact that you’re completely and entirely drunk. Not wasted, not blackout. You’re in that sweet spot where you’re sober enough to know that you’re being obnoxious but too intoxicated to care. As someone who normally presents as ‘proper’ (apparently),  it’s a combination akin to fire and kerosene — absolutely ruthless. 

“I am not!” Buck laughs.

Buck claims he’s never had a lap dance, and you don’t believe him for a second. 

You’re not entirely sure how you got on this topic. It definitely didn’t start like this, that you’re almost entirely most likely probably sure of. It had something to do with the ‘old partners’ discussion. Or maybe the ‘craziest night out’ swapping of stories. It’s hard to tell — you’ve cycled through several topics tonight, and you’ll be lucky to remember half of them. 

“Eddie, do you believe him?”

Eddie chuckles as he raises his hands. “I’m staying out of this one.”

Like you or Buck would let that happen.

“What about you, hotshot?” Buck asks, cocking an eyebrow. “You ever had a lap dance?” 

Eddie’s eyes narrow slightly, almost like he’s sizing up Buck. It makes the alcohol in your belly burn a little warmer. 

“Once,” Eddie eventually answers. 

You turn your head to the side like a curious dog. “Oh?”

“Do tell,” Buck says, leaning forward. 

“It was at my shitty excuse of a bachelor party,” Eddie explains, taking a sip of his fourth beer. “One of my friends in Texas insisted. We went out to a strip club, he paid for it, and… that’s it.” 

“He paid for it,” you echo. “What a gentleman.” 

Sitting in the armchair, Eddie gently kicks your leg on the coffee table. You giggle, pulling both your legs back onto the couch. Buck, at the other end of the couch, puts his feet in your lap. 

“You’re being awfully quiet,” he observes. “Have you?”

You snort. “Have I ever had a lap dance?”

“Or given one.”

You press into the nailbed on one of Buck’s toes using your thumb. He yelps and pulls his legs back. 

“Half an hour ago, you were calling me ‘proper.’ Now, you’re asking if I’ve given someone a lap dance,” you recall. You turn to Eddie. “Can you believe him?”

“Absolutely not,” Eddie says as he shakes his head. “...Have you, though?”

Buck cackles as you kick Eddie’s leg. 

“I’ve never given anyone a lap dance,” you answer loudly. “I almost got one, though.” 

Both the boys raise their eyebrows.

“Do you remember that call we went on a few months back? To a male strip club?”

“Yeahhh,” Buck says. At some point, he replaced his beer bottle with the tequila bottle, which he’s now cradling like a baby. “What was that place called? Thirsty?”

“Just Thirst, I think,” Eddie remarks. “The one where a dancer rolled his ankle, right?”

You nod. “One of his buddies offered me a dance for being such a great first responder.”

Buck smiles and takes a swig of the tequila, wincing as it goes down. You nudge his knee, then pull your fingers towards yourself, gesturing for the bottle. Buck’s smile looks a little more cocky, but he hands the bottle over anyways. 

“You didn’t accept, huh?”

You sip a  little more of the tequila than you should. You can’t help it — it goes down so easily, leaving nothing but fuzzy warmth in its wake. You’ll regret it tomorrow, but for now, you’re basking in it. “Not really my thing.”

“Not even for the story?” Eddie asks. 

“You don’t get to be the ‘proper’ one by doing something ‘for the story,’” you counter. 

Eddie makes a face of contemplation as he reaches for the bottle. “Fair.” 

“You are really hung up on that word,” Buck notes. 

“It was… surprising, that’s all,” you chuckle. 

Buck makes a humming noise, rubbing his lips in thought. “I could do it.”

You and Eddie share a look. Eddie is the first to test the waters. “Do what?” 

“Give someone a lap dance.” 

You can feel your face get hot. You swallow the lump that suddenly took residence in your throat. 

Meanwhile, Eddie laughs. “You’ve never gotten a lap dance, but you think you can give one?” 

Buck shrugs, leaning one elbow on his knee. “Why not? I’ve seen Magic Mike.” 

“You’ve seen Magic Mike but never gotten a lap dance,” Eddie continues after taking a swig of liquor. “That makes sense.” 

You reach for the bottle, which Eddie grants you. You take a long drink, gulping a few times. Pulling the bottle back, you use your thumb to wipe your bottom lip. “Do your worst, Buckley.”

He turns his head to stare at you. He huffs out a laugh, looking at you the whole time. “What?” 

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” you continue, leaning back in the couch. You prop one arm on the back and the other on the armrest, the tequila bottle hitting the end table in the process. “You’ve never given a lap dance, I’ve never gotten one. We’ll pop each other’s cherries.” 

You’d never say any of this sober. Shit, you’d never say any of this two drinks in. You’re in so much deeper than that now; between the margs and the sips, you’ve had at least 6 shots. You can practically feel the alcohol in your blood. It’s hot, thick, and wanting. 

You're 100% throwing up in Buck's sink tomorrow.

You blink, and Buck is on top of you. His hands press into the back of the couch, holding his weight so he can be face-to-face with you. If the booze in your veins is hot, then his breath on your lips is fucking scalding. 

He lifts his hips and brings them back down in a rippling motion: he’s grinding on you. You giggle, high-pitched and shameless. You move your hands to cover your mouth. You can’t wrap your head around the idea that this is actually happening. 

Buck sits up straighter in your lap. He’s careful to keep his weight on his knees, which are on either side of your legs. He puffs his chest before rolling his shoulders forward and his ass backwards on your thighs in a fluid motion. You can feel the friction of his pants on your bare legs. You thank your past self for choosing to wear shorts. 

He gently takes your wrists, moving your hands from your mouth to his chest. He’s fully clothed, so you’re dragging your hands down his sweater. Still, you can feel the rippling of his muscles under his shirt. You throw your head back in laughter at the sheer ridiculousness of it, but you know the burning in your stomach is no longer entirely thanks to the liquor. 

“Not bad,” Eddie critiques from his seat. 

You laugh harder. 

“What, you can do better?” Buck challenges. 

Eddie narrows his eyes again before smirking. He pushes himself out of the chair, shooing Buck away with his hand. 

Buck raises his hands in surrender, turning on one knee before flopping on the couch beside you. 

“This isn’t happening,” you laugh, shaking your head like you’re trying to wake yourself up from a dream. 

You’ve had a crush on both of them since the first time you saw them. How could you not? They are completely and utterly gorgeous men. When you realized how funny and caring they both are, it just sealed the deal. You never, in your wildest imagination, pictured yourself in a situation like this with either of them, let alone both of them. 

Not that you’re complaining, of course.

Eddie takes Buck’s place, only he’s towering over you since he’s standing instead of sitting. He puts his hands on your sides, trailing down to your thighs. You shudder under his touch, hoping it isn’t noticeable. The way the corner of his mouth turns up tells you that it’s definitely noticeable. 

Eddie’s hands reach your knees, which he loops his fingers under. In a swift motion, he pulls your legs up and presses his body against yours. You yelp in surprise and wrap your legs around his back, somehow pulling him closer. 

His hands move to your back, and he picks you up. You yelp again, astonished by the ease he can lift you. You shouldn’t be so shocked, considering his career. When his grasp moves from your back to your ass, though, he’s no longer Firefighter Diaz; he’s Eddie, the man you have a crush on. And the man who’s currently holding your ass. 

Eddie turns on his heel and carefully lays you on Buck’s coffee table, which makes you cackle again. Your laughter dies in your throat when Eddie places himself over you again. Your chests are touching, as are your noses. 

You look into Eddie’s eyes, and it’s as if you can suddenly read his mind. “Dancers aren’t supposed to kiss the clientele.”

Eddie smiles again. It’s the kind where only one corner of his mouth curls up, and his lips shift to the side. “Good thing I’m not a dancer.”

His lips meet yours, and it’s nothing but heat. He tastes like a mix of cheap beer and tequila, and if you weren’t already, you could get drunk off of it. Your tongues meet and separate like lovers on a dance floor. When you’re out of breath, you wonder if you could suck the air out of his lungs, just to keep you connected to him for a little longer. 

Eddie pulls away first, his chest heaving desperately for air. 

“You lose,” Buck remarks. 

“How did I lose?”

“It was a competition?” you interject. 

“It’s called a lap dance,” Buck points out. “That wasn’t in her lap.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes fondly. They eventually settle on your mouth. “Eh, I think I won.” 

[leothil]

hey pal i’m flying to finland this week!

it’s a brutal ~24hr trip from australia and i’m wondering if you have any long fic recs that will get me through these flights? 🙏🏼🙏🏼

(with no or minimal spice bc i cannottttt read that with other people around)

Oh hey, welcome to the north! I hope we can offer you slightly better weather than today (gray with rain) once you land! Let's see what I can dig out:

tell me about despair by @hattalove. Obviously. Thee unrepression take on Eddie's journey during S5.

i don't swim and you're not in love by @hattalove. In which Buck is going THROUGH it while Eddie is dating Ana.

let's hear it for the boy by @hattalove. Ok I swear this list won't be only her, but Kris is always on my mind or something. In this one Eddie attends a self-empowerment group for queer men and pines horribly over Buck. Also sort of pseudo-adopts a lost angry teenager.

stitch my soul by @onward--upward. Soulmate fic where Eddie doesn't realize Buck's given name is Evan.

steppin' into fate by @onward--upward. Buddie hockey AU! I shouldn't need to say anything more!

keep me as your finish line by @btbonescanon. Buck and Eddie meet at the gym, where Buck develops a horrible crush on Eddie and then they become friends. This IS rated E, but as I recall the only smut comes in towards the very end of the fic, so it's easy to scroll past!

In the Darkest Time of Year by @elvensorceress. On a call, Buck disappears in a corn maze, and Eddie has to go through an Orpheus-esque ordeal to get him back. This is technically part three of a series, though it was first written as a standalone. You can check out parts 1 and 2 as well!

snowed inn by @gayhoediaz. Competing journalists buddie get stuck at the hotel they're there to write about, and Buck is forced to confront what his feelings towards Eddie really are. Has one smutty scene towards the end iirc.

a good day to be by @hetrez. My favourite fic of all time. Dance instructor Eddie meets Buck, who fills his life with colour again.

i want your midnights by @littlespoonevan. Buck needs to move out from Abby's place, and Eddie decided to rent out his spare room to help cover his bills. A different first meeting roommates fic!

your dreary mondays by @henswilsons. Eddie needs a babysitter, and Chimney suggests Maddie's brother who recently moved back to town. Cue Eddie losing his mind over everything Buck is.

let the world have its way with you by @shitouttabuck. Buck makes a bucket list to feel more settled after dying in the lightning strike, and Eddie helps him fulfill them. Does have a smut scene towards the end.

These are all 30k+ fics, I hope they'll last you at least part of the way! I can make another list with more long fics later if you want, but here's these for now!

[starstruckbyacomet]

Goodbye for Now

Almost 2 months ago I posted a list of possible hurdles that Oliver had warned us about (link):

It's possibly because of something from Tommy's past (we might get a Tommy Begins of some sort).

It possibly would happen through episodes 8x05 and 8x06.

Buck will go to Bobby, Maddie, and Eddie for support during that period.

Buck might find out about Tommy's past (being a racist and mysoginist a-hole) and couldn't accept it, or

Tommy might meet Carla. Carla might tell Buck that Tommy had lied to Abby and used her as a beard in the past. Abby was hurt badly because of it, and Buck couldn't accept it.

Buck might break up with Tommy.

Buck might try to date another man or a woman (if they want to emphasize that Buck is bisexual, not gay).

When I made the above list, I half-jokingly wrote down the worst posssibilities I could think of. The purpose of my post back then is to prepare other Tevan shippers who at the time had doubt about the relationship. I told them that grown-up relationships had all sorts of challenges, including break-ups. I also told them to watch Disney Princess movies if they couldn't handle it.

Who knew that almost 2 months later I have to swallow my own pills?

As contradictive as it sounds, I'm not happy that my predictions come true, including the possibility of Buck dating men & women again (prediction #7) which could happen based on interview with Oliver Stark (link)

Will Buck and Tommy make up?

Negative sign:

There are two interviews with Lou which I still refused to read, because the writers used to be Buddie baiters. But according to fans who have read it, the break up seems final.

Positive signs:

A)) 9-1-1 official Instagram account wouldn't follow Lou in the first place if he wouldn't stay for long term. Last time I check, 9-1-1 account still following Lou.

B)) Things that I wrote in my previous post still stand (link).

Tim and Oliver has said they wanted Buck to get out of the relationship hamster wheel and have a steady meaningful one instead.

Unlike Abby, whom they broke up with Buck because Tim had difficulties in writing her interaction with other 118 family members, Tommy has known most of the 118 family even before Buck does. There is no difficulty in making scripts where Tommy interacts with other 118 members without Buck's presence.

And the most important reason is: THE RATING IS HIGH when Tevan relationship is going strong.

My conclusion: There are 2 options:

The break-up is only temporary, to spice things up. Unfortunately, the timing is really bad because it is aired after the fuck-up US election result 🤦.

Tommy is moving to the new 9-1-1 spin-off, which probably located in Hawaii (link). If this happens, the break-up might be permanent, but it will be good for Lou's career.

What's next?

Although I think Tommy will come back in the 9-1-1 universe, I'm still upset. The 2nd term of Trump and Tevan's break-up happened within the same week! WTF??? I refuse to deal with both at the same time.

This is a list of what I will and will not do, and what I've done:

I will not harrass Tim Minear, Oliver Stark, or even the show on social media. I will not post my disappointment on unrelated social media contents. We have experienced how annoying it was when toxic Buddie fans did it. I refuse to do the same. I suggest other Tevan fans too. We are better than that.

I have unfollowed all 9-1-1 related social media accounts, both official and not. Yes, it is included 911bts and 911cast Tumblr accounts. I think this is a healthy way to voice my disappointment and to maintain my mental health.

I will stop watching the show until Tommy is (or, is officially announced to be) back on screen. The only exception will be when they show Bathena's new house for the first time, because I've been waiting to see it. Other than that, just no. Not even when Eddie reunites with Chris, if that happens before Tommy is back on screen. This step might even save me a few bucks, actually 😅.

I will stop engaging with 9-1-1 related contents on the internet. I will not read any articles about the show. I will not comment, post, reblog or do anything with contents about 9-1-1 on the internet.

I will stop reading 9-1-1 fics because I never comfortable following ships which are against canon. That's why I don't ship Buddie. And now that Tevan broke-up, I cannot engage with AUs where they are still together.

If you think Tevan will make up, why do you quit the show? Because:

I consume entertainment contents to be entertained, not to be depressed. I used to skip sad chapters on novels, and only read them when I'm ready. Buck without Tommy is a sad chapter for me, so I skip it.

This is my way to voice my disappointment in a healthy way. Things that matter the most for the show are rating/viewership and rating/viewership-related metrics. My actions may not have significant impacts to the show, but I am satisfied, nonetheless. Especially, after Oliver's comment that he has actively asked Tim Minear to 'Let Buck F–k' men and women (link). His ask is not only a regression to slutty Buck 1.0 (which we thought he has grown out of), but also strengthening the stereotype that bisexual people are easy to fuck around. A stereotype that a lot of bisexual people want to shred.

Tim Minear and Oliver Stark have the right to make the story as they see fit. This show is not customed to my preference. I'm very much aware of that. This is a "love it or leave it" product. So, I choose to leave it. For now.

To my followers: As I mentioned in my account, you can unfollow me. I use Tumblr as a scrapbook, not to gain followers. I was actually surprised and felt a bit guilty when people start following me, because I don't create arts, gifs, or fics. So, feel free to unfollow me. No hard feeling.

To other Tevan shippers: I know this is beyond disappointing, but please keep your online behavior in check. Please keep in mind that if you post your disapointment in social media, toxic Buddie shippers will eat you alive. Even if you don't, Buddie shippers will be gloating all over the internet. If you can't handle it, I suggest to forgo any interactions in 9-1-1 social media, at least temporarily.

Special thanks to my fellow Tevan fans and the lovely Buddietommy multishippers whom I've met during this journey. I hope we'll meet again. What a roller-coaster ride.

Now, back to Disney Princess movies... 😂

[vladdyissues]

so i keep thinking about just how thoroughly knocking vlad up would fix a lot of his issues (or it does in the series as my ass would write it). i also keep thinking the timing is SO bad on giving him any in the canon

SO

TIME TRAVEL

-Danny (late teens) is given a chance to change the past

-he decides to go and antagonize Vlad a few years before canon to distract him from murder attempts on Jack. draw his wrath onto himself and displace his previous rage target. that's a nice safe range of time travel right? how badly could he possibly throw things off when he already exists and is most of the way to who he was when he was starting out?

-small side effect--he catches Vlad's full attention. he hadn't planned to go after Jack and Maddie for a few years yet, when everything was lined up, meaning Danny is the ONLY one he has eyes for right now. it's a level of intensity he was not ready for

-Vlad, meanwhile, is unprepared for how he feels to see another half-ghost. he had been ready to go those whole 20 years totally alone, preparing for that perfect moment of sweeping Maddie off her feet. now it's a little difficult to focus on the big picture. he needs to figure out EVERYTHING about this stranger

-over a course of about three months, shit gets romantic. and physical. not necessarily in that order

-Danny realizes he's THOROUGHLY fucked the timeline as WELL as his archnemesis, so actually tells Vlad the whole story--he can't stay in the past forever, but his memories of being here and doing this will sort of... snap into place when this timeline's danny reaches the right age. Here's events between then and now, here's things he would like to still happen, here's things he never wants to happen

-he does NOT expect Vlad to wait and they're still in that spicy in-between part of enemies-to-lovers so Vlad sure as fuck isn't promising that, but he's certain he isn't obsessing on taking Maddie from Jack anymore, so looks forward to the option of picking up where they left off

-(dick so good it can fix homicidal rage)

-Danny goes back to the new future at the end of those three months since much longer and he'd start forgetting relevant details in living a day to day life and ohhhhh fuck, fuck, FUCK WHAT DID HE DO

-meanwhile in the past Bitter Reunions happens and Vlad has no desire to do anything to Jack or Maddie besides introduce them to his adorable tiny four, soon to be five year old daughter Danielle, with whom he plans to move to Amity Park soon when she starts kindergarten. openly offers to train Danny with no strings attached, he's just invested in making sure he survives for at least a few more years

-(jailbait wait, but make it sci-fi)

-Vlad is much more chill about things with an attainable goal and a small child that needs him at his best

-he doesn't see his Danny in this newbie, but now he knows the future, knows that if he's just patient and helps Danny out now, HIS Danny will come back to him

-when the timelines eventually sync, THERE'S THAT FULL, INTENSE, ATTENTION AGAIN

-as well as several years of memories of becoming intensely attached to Dani and Vlad being an infuriating jackass without being an antagonizing one, keeping some of that hateful spice without actively committing crimes against everything Danny values. in fact, his help was still instrumental in pulling things off

-Vlad has been waiting for this Danny for some time now, full-on obsession building up steam, so if Danny wants it to not happen, he had better say something about it

-he does not. he kinda dreaded losing it on snapping forward, actually. and Vlad managed to thread the needle of training him and building a bond with Dani without totally shifting their relationship's tone

Time Travel makes me cry because my stupid ogre brain is not good at parsing temporal phenomena but the parts I understood were excellent and make perfect sense. And the thought of Jack and Maddie being surprised (and maybe relieved, because 20 years without a peep from Vlad and suddenly a party invite? Kinda unnerving. Is he still mad?) to find their old college friend is a happy single father to an adorable little girl who—wow, Jack, doesn't she look so much like Danny when he was that age?—is just 💯💯💯

And Vlad knowing that there's something wonderful (a relationship, family, love, connection and understanding like he's never felt before) waiting for him at the end of this journey if he can just be patient would, I think, do a lot to tone down his villainous proclivities.

Vlad's essential problem is that he's so desperately lonely and impatient that he can't see beyond his immediate need to satisfy himself. He can formulate elaborate plans, yes, but he doesn't really plan for the future beyond those plans. He's totally still living in the past (at least until this AU happens), metaphorically driving a car with the pedal to the metal but looking nowhere except the rear view mirror. And this AU totally breaks that and gets him looking ahead, invested in the present again. I love it.

[intheorangebedroom]

Hi Maddie! I hope you are having a wonderful September and you are enjoying the start of autumn. This might sound obsessed or weird, but PTMY and TYBTM are seriously some of my favorite things I've ever read... ever, like I'm putting it up there with novels I've read. It is insane to me how much talent there is in this fandom. Like the Pedro girlies are literal authors, putting out works of art. For me, you are the best of the best! Obviously, both stories have me very hot and bothered lol, but it's just the way you write intimacy and relationships, the peculiarities of your characters and the world's they inhabit so brilliantly, beautifully. I'm sure you know that at times you write like it is poetry! It is so immersive and I love it deeply. My question (apologies in advance) is about writing. I was wondering if you have any tips on (a) how you have improved as a writer, like in terms of how you've been to find your style? (b) how to overcome perfectionism? I've been wanting to take a crack at some Frankie ideas I've had, but I get so weighed down by self doubt and inertia. And also, I worry it's just not original enough. Okay, sorry for the rant! I will never be as good as you OBVIOUSLY lol, but for you I am grateful. I'm so excited for the next part of TYBTM and sad we are almost halfway to the end. I'm so excited for whatever you have in store for the future. Sending you so much love and hope you're having a great day.

Hey Nonnie 🧡

I apologise in advance for the length of this answer. 

Your kindness, your generosity and your time mean everything to me. I’m the worst at expressing gratitude when I’m paid a compliment. "Compliment" doesn't cut it to qualify what you said about my stories, it’s too much, it’s so incredibly kind. You made me so soft but also so much stronger. Thank you 🧡 My first impulse upon reading your message was to throw away my phone and scream I’VE NO IDEA WHAT THE FUCK I’M DOING but I owe it to you to at least try to answer you. Also do you need some blood? A kidney? I have two. You name it it's yours.

I would like to start with the second part of your question, if you don’t mind. 

I have never ever thought any given piece I wrote to be perfect. At best, I think it’s not that bad, but that’s when I read it again a month after posting, because at the time I post it, it’s more like omfg if I read that shit one more time I’m gonna stab myself in the eye.” 

But life is too short for perfectionism. I’m sorry to be speaking like an old fart, but it is. You blink and it’s over. If you have a milligram of creativity in you, do not hesitate. Channel it. Create what you want, what you like. I’m serious. DO IT. Enjoy doing it. 

Self-doubt is a fucking bag of dicks. I’m riddled with it. In every corner of my existence. Every step of the way. Every word I type (not in my mother tongue…). How many times have I wanted to give up, especially during PTMY. The current tybtm chapter has fucking killed me dead. I hate it. It’s not good. Bad. But I’m forty fucking five years old and I’ll be damned if I let self-doubt and fear prevent me from achieving what I set out to do.

When I came back to tumblr in 2020, I saw numerous posts saying “you write for yourself first,” and I did not really understand what they meant. It’s nice to have an audience! It’s nice to be liked and validated! It’s nice to connect with people over something you’ve created. Musicians play live, and get a hell of a kick out of it, right? Why not us, writers? And one day, I think at the beginning of tybtm, it hit me. I understood. Fuck yeah I’m doing this for me. Because I need it. I need to tell this story. I need the satisfaction of having done it. The entire process makes me both incandescently happy and abysmally miserable, and you know what? That’s the fucking spice of life. I want both. I am alive when I write. Through the pleasure and the pain. So if you need it too, well, go for it. Don't let anyone, including you, tell you you're not good enough. Got for it.

There are 99% of chances that what you’re gonna write has already been written. So what? It hasn’t been written by you. No one sees people, life, or Frankie the way you do. Even if you write an age-old trope, even if you write the same trope over and over again in every story (me!), you’ll still bring your own precious singularity to the story, the characters, and the narration. That’s worth EVERYTHING. Please trust me. Maybe no one will like it. Maybe every one will like it. Whatever. At the end of the day, you still did what you set your heart on. I cannot stress enough how important this is. Carpe diem, baby.

Then, how did I improve as a writer, oh Nonnie, I’ve no idea. I don’t think I’m any good. I don’t think I am legitimate to give you any advice. 49.5% of the time, I think I’m too much (too gothic, too lyrical, too big with the feelings and emotions). 49.5% of the time, I think I’m not enough (not precise, concise, clear, good enough). But alright, I’ll try. For you. But please bear in mind I say all this in the most humble spirit.  

I write. All the time. In my head, in the shower, walking in the street, driving, aaaaaall the time. And then I type it down in a doc. And edit it and revise it again and again and again, until it feels smoother and/or I want to puke at the thought of having to go through it again. 

I try to take my time without panicking. If I’m stuck or in a bad mental place, I try to let it rest a bit.

My first year at uni, I studied screenplay writing. I would be unable to tell you precisely what I learned, but I think some of it is ingrained? In terms of conveying intentions through actions and dialogues (I know I tend to write pages and pages of introspection, and I swear I try to restrain myself, even if it doesn’t always translate to the doc).

Then, I’m an art vampire. I soak up everything I can, especially painting, music, and movies. I let it inspire me. I take notes on my feelings, fleeting emotions that I can’t articulate at first, and reflect and work on them until they become fully formed ideas I can inject in the writing. 

I read. A lot. And sometimes not at all when it feeds the self-doubt (comparison, you bitch!). I wait until I feel better, stronger. It may take time. 

With books/fanfics and movies, I analyse the narrative process employed. What I liked or disliked, what moved me, what didn’t. I take notes. To that effect, you can read reblogs of your favourite fics! Sometimes people reblog with some pretty neat analyses, just soak it up!

My obsession is finding the Right Word. I can spend days on the quest. A thesaurus helps. And sometimes it doesn’t. I also read my stuff out loud, because I like when it has a certain rhythm. And when the meaning of a sentence doesn’t work in a rhythm, I rework it tirelessly until it does. Fun times... 

I want to say that if you take the leap and start writing, after a while, you will feel instinctually what works for you. What feels right in terms of personal style. Maybe at the beginning you'll subconsciously write like someone else, but with practice and patience, your style will come out. If you need someone to cheer you on, I'm here.

Oh yeah because, very important, I whine to the very good angel friends in my phone whenever I’m stuck (they will recognise themselves if they read this)(okay they are @dreamymyrrh and @pedrit0-pascalit0). I forfeit all dignity and beg them for virtual hugs. I don't know what I did to deserve them.

And lastly, I have been privileged to witness the genius of Kelli ( @frannyzooey ) in the works and wow. She's it for me. Everything she writes resonates with me, so I just soak. it. up.  

So yeah. to sum it up: carpe diem and be a vampire 🦇

Hope that helps 🧡

I’m also gonna leave that here: 

Claire ( @just-here-for-the-moment ) is one of the best people I’ve been fortunate enough to meet here. She’s patient, sweet, kind, and SO FUCKING SMART. Don't be afraid to reach out.

Nonnie, again, I'm so sorry this is so long. I sincerely hope you'll find something useful in all this gibberish. If not, come back to my ask box with any question. And again, thank you 🧡 From the bottom of my broken vampire heart, thank you 🧡

[cafe-con-letty]

re: my last post: what i think the 118 & co’s spotify wrapped looked like + my reasoning behind them (pt. one)

***this is all just headcanon please be nice 🫶🏽

****also this is a LONG ASS post, so i did put a cut just in case you want to scroll past :)

bobby:

completely based on vibes alone. i was going to add bruce springsteen but i forgot :(. i think that bobby belts in the air tonight on his way to work every morning and if he pulls up before the song is over, he stays in the truck with the windows up until it’s done.

chimney:

idk i just feel like he listens to really bad music. as you can see, to me he is unironically an ice spice fan. i actually fw gwen stefani, but the everybody else on his top 5 is trash imo. obviously, art is subjective, but i feel like 4/5 of his top artists are universally acknowledged as terrible. i also feel like he doesn’t know he has garbage music taste and actually insists it’s superior to everybody else’s. they will not hesitate to put him in check though.

hen:

this is also based off vibes but also kinda pulled from music aisha has put on her story (namely that she is a fan of rap/hip-hop). also hen is canonically a beyoncé fan and i think we should acknowledge that more. it was a toss between noname and rapsody for a moment, but i reeeeally like noname 🤷🏽‍♀️ no hate to my girl marlanna though. in my head hen and buck went to a migos concert together and screamed when they came out. i also think that she was a fan of drake when he first came up, but post-scorpion he kinda fell off so she leaves his newer shit alone. when denny’s in the car she plays age-appropriate common songs for the social commentary and life lessons they provide. because of this denny’s favorite song is currently the light.

buck:

lowkey inspired by obama’s summer playlist, but a little less eclectic because there’s overall less on it. originally i had blackpink and iu on his top artists and songs, but i changed my mind because ptv fan buck is very important to me. i feel like his music taste as a whole has probably been derived from all the people in his life, which is why aaliyah’s try again is number one on his top songs. we know that maddie used to pick him up from school and i cannot get the image of a young buck was in the passenger seat of the jeep singing his heart out to whatever love song he definitely cannot relate to out of my head, sooo…here we are. i have a lot of thoughts about his music taste but that is for another post.

eddie:

this was literally the easiest one i did. i also think he likes corridos but there were too many artists in the pool if i included them so i kept it down to country. i feel like nobody who follows me knows what corridos are, but just know that eddie’s love of corridos is included in pretty much all of my writing featuring him. ofc i had to put selena on there because i love selena and i think that eddie, being the tejano man that he is, also enjoys selena. idk why whiskey whiskey is on there. let’s just say he’s in his edmundo noches era or something idc. he also likes to listen to songs that chris liked when he was little because he thinks it’s funny when he covers his ears and stares out the window, but also a little bit because he misses baby chris in the backseat singing along to florida georgia line. he is very delighted in five years when chris takes his girlfriend to a florida georgia line concert as a date though.

ravi:

this one was harder because Ravi The Landlord definitely listens to the fit and fresh podcast on his way to work in his stupid cybertruck (because i know he has one okay) but also i feel like he has to listen to music, so i took songs off my spotify wrapped from last year. i don’t actually like drake that much, but her loss was my SHIT when it first came out + i do think that ravi very much enjoyed search & rescue. he is team kendrick for all intents and purposes though. unfortunately ravi and i are both sufferers of rod wave syndrome. nobody lets ravi pick the music at any event because he will put on great gatsby. i also think he likes kevin gates but that’s something i will not be addressing today.

[vanmarkus]

Re: Buck's loft decor - they kind of established that his designer /artist girlfriend (Ali) designed the place or at least had a heavy hand in picking things out.

Yeah I can give credit for most of the furniture to Ali, but that's about it. But thank you for this ask, because it made me go down the rabbit hole, so here are the details of Buck's loft in regards to what Ali had influence on and everything that changed since.

So this is the scene immediately before she broke up with Buck and just around the time Buck moved in. Seemingly the pictures by the door aren't there yet, nor are the baskets and the pictures on the shelf by his bed (see later pics), it's very much the bare minimum, right? Furniture, kitchen appliances, TV, some rugs and blankets.

The next time we see the loft is in season 3 when Eddie comes to help Buck pull himself together. If you look at the shelf you have some baskets and pictures there that are pretty distinctive and were not there when Ali dropped him off. Obviously people will have stuff on their shelves in their homes, that's not my point here. But look at the basket and the little box beside it... Whatever's inside, it sure as hell looks decorative to me.

Then moving onto the covid era. There are pictures by the door, but also a new dining table. (The one that was presumably picked by Ali was round.) The rug in the kitchen seems new too.

As far as I could tell this is the first time we see this plant, but I admit I might be wrong about that, because we don't exactly see this corner when Ali breaks up with Buck.

Then going forward with the other small stuff from later seasons (before and after Taylor moved in).

Look at the plant and the baskets on the dining table (you can see them on most pics actually). Clearly decorative.

And then there's the fruit bowl. Again, not trying to generalise one bit, but how many cishet guys do you know who live alone and have a fruit bowl? (Same guy "who's idea about healthy food is a side salad" apparently.)

I also honestly doubt that the gloves and the apron are coming from Ali either, but I'm willing to write them up to Maddie or Taylor (except these are colours we see Buck wear regularly when off duty).

This one is just for my amusement, because look at all those spices! (Actually I will point back to this in a minute.)

And finally this picture to talk about the cleanliness.

That is a hell of a light coloured kitchen furniture. Do you know how hard it is to keep something like that clean? (Unfortunately I do, from experience.) Especially when you're a guy who regularly cooks and bakes and not just easy meals, but like very elaborate recipes, admittedly even trying them out 3 times before even serving it to anyone.

But this is my main point: This is not a real flat. This is not a real kitchen. This is a set.

The set designers' job is to create a set that corresponds to the story and the characters interacting in it (while you also have someone on set who pays attention to continuity with objects and stuff, but sometimes you still end up with Starbucks cups on a medieval set, whoops), their job also includes adding tear, wear, dirt and grime accordingly to the usage of certain places and objects.

Of course, it's more than possible that they never really thought about it from this angle, they just wanted the set to look warmer when filming scenes in it and having it clean for continuity purposes.

All that being said, within the show this is Buck's place and someone's home tells you a lot about the person. So, regardless of it being intentional in most cases, this loft and the items in it aren't exactly what you'd normally find in a bachelor's pad. (Nor do I think someone could afford a place like that alone in LA, but that's an entirely different topic.)

[fantasy-so-far]

Updated Character List

This is a multimuse blog and the roster changes a bit from time to time. This is the updated list as of January 2024.

Main Muses

Laurent Toussaint

A former Garlean conscript who was sponsored and rehabilitated by a family in Old Sharlayan. He’s a man learning to make the most of this second chance.

 Exploration of Freedom // Meeting Oneself for the First Time // Healing // Alchemy // Angst for the Sake of Growth

#Laurent

Fangsong Searsha

On the surface, Searsha is a club owner who appears to thrive in a vibrant nightlife. This is not the depth of her character, but it is probably who you will meet first.

Ninjas and Neon // Vipers and Venom // Personality Plasticity at the Cost of Closeness // Intensity as a Love Language

#Searsha

Reverie ‘Evie’ Heart

A baker with a past who looks hopefully to the future. She’s a spiced cinnamon roll who just wants to live a life full of small daily joys.

Fluff with a Hint of Angst // Service as a Love Language // Beach Bum with a Tackle Box // A Comfort Character

#Evie /  #Reverie

Other Characters

Violetta Grimm [https://violetta-grimm.carrd.co/]

Due to a recent blow to her personal story, Violetta is around but playing a smaller role in my writing.

Dark/Vampiric/Gothic Themes and Aesthetic

#Violetta

Holly The Rover [https://holly-the-rover.carrd.co/]

Like Violetta, Holly was a main for a long time, but now he’s just sort of lurking in the background until he gets wound up in new shenanigans.

Hedonist and Hunter // Job Broker

#Holly

Alice Graves [https://aka-alice.carrd.co/]

Alice will return with Dawntrail and the Pictomancer because it is what she was unknowingly made for. She’s an odd character, and I look forward to future chaos for her and those who know her.

Learning to be Wholesome // Reckless Adventurer //  Inner Child Exploration

#Maddie / #Alice / #aka Alice

[cody-the-kirby-used-psi]

A Silly Idea

Spawned from reading too many of Star_going_supernova's Godzilla stories.

So I've got this kinda stupid idea in my head.

It started with me remembering the old Godzilla cartoon from 1998( henceforth being referred to as the only thing of worth coming from the 1998 movie) and I thought that it would be cool if they did something like that nowadays with the Legendary versions.

It was at that point my brain threw the Legendary Godzilla in a blender with some 90's era ‘we'll-make-a-cartoon-outta-anything’ juice mixed with a bit of Star_Going_Supernova influence spice, hit puree, and spilled this slurrie everywhere.

Which I will now regurgitate to any one willing to read this.

So Cody's Idea Corner now presents:

Envoys of the King:

A Godzilla Pilot.

So it starts with a view of an aircraft carrier. We see the Monarch symbol emblazoned upon it. Monarch employees bustle around on it, giving an 18 year old sitting on a crate a large berth, or rather the large bear-sized lump of familiar scales behind him a large berth. 

The teen looks tired, like ‘put through the ringer and now I'm just done tired’. He has short black hair and brown eyes. He's of Japanese descent and wearing a long brown coat.

In walks Maddie Russell. She walks straight up to him.

“Hi,” she says.

“Sup,” he responded.

“I'm Maddie.”

“Martin.”

“So Martin,” she starts. “Why's everybody avoiding you?”

“Think they're more avoiding the big grumpy lizard than me.”

He points back to the lump of scales. Maddie stares at it.

As if sensing her stare it raises its head, its face is familiar to Maddie.

“Who's that?” She asks. “Kindda looks like Godzilla, if he were smaller.”

Martin sighs.

“That's because it is Godzilla.”

Maddie double takes.

“...what?”

“It’s… it's a long story.”

Behind him Godzilla huffs. Martin rolls his eyes.

“Which the lizard wants me to tell apparently.”

“Wait, you can understand him?”

“That's…”

“Also a long story?”

“Eh, more of the same story.”

“Okay this I gotta hear.”

“Pull up a crate,” Martin says, waving over to some other boxes. “Don't got much else going on right now.”

Maddie pulls over a box and sits down. Expectantly waiting for Martin to begin.

He sighs.

“Okay, where to start…”

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

So about a year ago my grandpa passed. In his will, he left me four things.

The first was a bunch of money. Said to use it to travel the world. Find myself.

The second was this bag that had eight, uh, guess I'll call em crests.

Third was this crystal sword.

Fourth was a journal. The journal was full of writing in different languages. What I could read was just confusing and made no sense. At the back of the journal was a message from grandpa; ‘you'll know what to do when it's time.’

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

Maddie: That's it?

Yep.

Maddie: Well, that's… vague…

You're telling me. Anyway, with nothing else to go on, I did the other thing he told me to do, I went traveling. Till I ended up here.

I'd heard Monarch was doing some sort of dig outside of town. Cordoned it off and everything. Normally, it wouldn't have mattered to me but, I don't know, I felt… drawn to the place. Like I'd just be doing my thing and suddenly I'm staring off in the direction of the dig.

Maddie: So what did you do?

What I imagine any self-respecting teenager with no adult supervision and an inexplicable draw to an off limits sight would do.

Maddie:... you broke in?

I broke in, yeah. And… I got caught. That. Is when the crazy stuff happened.

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

Martin sits in what appears to be an interrogation room. He sits in the chair, slouched back and staring at the ceiling.

‘You're an idiot, Martin!’ He scolds himself.

Before he can berate himself further, the door opens, letting in a woman with blonde pixie cut hair. She wore a lab coat and held a tablet in her hand.

“Martin Yami?” She asked as she sat down in front of him. “Or do you prefer Yami Martin.”

“I was raised in the states,” he grumbled. “Martin's fine.”

“Very well.” She smiled softly. “My name is Leana Marpole. I work as a Doctor of archeology for Monarch.”

Martin raised a brow.

“Archeology? Thought Monarch was full of Kaiju researchers?”

Before she could answer, he shook his head.

“Nevermind, doesn't matter. Look Miss Marpole-”

“Call me Leana.”

“Fine. Miss Leana, if you guys are gonna pull a ‘Men In Black’ on me, could we just get it over with?” He sighed. “It was a mistake to go in there. I'm not even sure why I did it.”

She chuckled.

“I don't know what rumors you've heard about Monarch's technology, but we're not advanced enough to rewrite memories.” She smirked. “Or perhaps you were referring to the methods of the original comics?”

Martin blinked.

“I… was actually… how do you know that?”

She laughed.

“A fond part of my childhood,” she said brightly. “Regardless, I can assure you that we plan on doing no such thing.”

“Hmm.”

His eyes narrowed in thought.

“Wait, those comics are like thirty years old. You read them as a kid? So you're like-”

“Although, I could convince the General to adopt some of those methods, if you would like to continue down that train of thought?” she interjected with a clearly false cheer.

“Uhhhhh… noted…” He coughed. “Uhm, a-anyway, if you're not planning to do… that… then why am I here instead of with the police for standard B'n'E?”

“To answer one of your earlier questions,” she began as she tapped away on the tablet. “Titans have existed long before humanity. There are even records of temples of worship to some of them, and I will be the first to tell you, zoologists, do not make good archeologists.”

“Okay, fair,” he said with a nod. “So Monarch needs archeologists to study these supposed kaiju temples. Still doesn't explain why I'm here.”

“Kaiju…” she mumbled. “Most of the world refers to them as titans.

“Its… just what my grandpa always called them,” he said softly. “It stuck.”

“Ah, yes, your paternal grandfather. Your file mentioned he passed a year ago?” She asked, her eyes glinting with sympathy. “It must have been hard, losing your only family.”

“Uh, y-yeah,” he glanced away.

Even a year later, it still hurt.

‘For it to still hurt, means that there is still love there.’

His grandpa's words echoed through his head. 

He took a deep breath.

“Can we- can we get back to the part about why I'm here?”

Leana nodded.

“You are still here, Martin, because I would like to ask you about some items you had in your possession when you were detained.”

Martin sighed and leaned back.

“Well, sorry to tell ya, but it's a dead end. They were just in a box my grandpa left me in his will,” he said. “You all probably know more about them than I do.”

“If you would just humor me for a minute, Martin.”

“Fine, but all I got is puns,” he mumbled under his breath.

She snorted before setting the tablet in front of him.

“Do you recognize this symbol?” She asked.

Martin studied the image. It looked like it had been carved into a stone wall. It also did look familiar.

“Actually… yeah… it looks like one of the symbols in the book.”

“Yes,” Leana agreed. “It's pretty much an exact match. You said your grandfather gave you the book?”

“Yeah but I know he didn't write it.”

“No, the brush strokes and marking are indicative of multiple writers,” she explained. “We dated the book as best we could and while it is only a few hundred years old-”

“A ‘few hundred’ she says.”

“Some of the language used in it is much older.”

“Yeah, but it's probably all written in code,” Martin said with a shrug. “There's kanji in there. I can read kanji but it just seems like gibberish.”

“Yes, we noticed that,” she said, taking back the tablet. “Moving on, what do you know about the sword?”

Martin leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling.

“Well there's not really anything special about the tsuka or saya,” he supplied. “But the blade and tsuba are made of some weird materials.”

“Referring to them in the traditional way,” she hummed. “Are you a swordsman, Martin?”

He shook his head.

“Just did some kendo when I was younger,” he said. “They nail those terms into your head before they even let you look at a boken.”

“And do you still practice?”

“I still know the basics, practice ‘em once in a while.” He sighed. “Grandpa said it may come in handy one day.”

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

“So your grandpa made you take kendo as a kid,” Maddie interrupted. “Encourages you to at least practice the basics, dies, and then leaves you a sword and a note saying ‘travel the world’ and ‘You'll know what to do when its time.’?”

Martin nodded.

“Yep. Really suspicious in hindsight.”

“Okay, cool,” she said. “Not just me.”

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

“Anyway,” Martin continued. “The whole blade is some kinda crystal and the tsuba looks like its the same kinda stuff as the crest.”

Leana nodded.

“Correct,” she confirmed. She showed him the tablet once again. “The materials used in the blade, the ‘tsuba’-”

“You can just call it the guard if you want,” Martin said. “Wouldn't be insulting me or anything. Not like it's a common term.”

Leana smiled and continued.

“And the crests are all incredibly dense, but thanks to another artifact Monarch has access to we have been able to identify the substance used to make the blade.”

“And what's that?”

Leana grinned and showed him the tablet. On it was a picture of the katana next to another picture that looked like a crude axe.

“The axe you see has the same makeup as your sword and the axe is made from the dorsal plates of ‘Titanus Gojira’,” she said, steppling her hands. “Or, his more common name-”

“Godzilla!?” Martin cried. “The thing is made out of one of his back spines!?”

“It would appear so,” she stated. “And with the crest's unique feature of absorbing radiation-”

“Should I be worried about that?”

She shook her head.

“While they do absorb ambient radiation, their output of radiation is no worse than that of a banana.”

“So avoid eating 20,000 of them, got it,” Martin joked.

Leana chuckled.

“Yes, but as I was saying, based on that fact, its likely they are made from Godzilla tissue as well, likely his scales, if I had to guess.”

Martin rubbed his forehead.

“Why the heck did you have these, Grandpa?” He asked softly.

“And that's the million dollar question, Martin,” Leana said with a sigh. “The cultural significance of these items alone is incalculable, not to mention what they would be worth to collectors.” She looked him in the eyes. “It's clear he knew to some extent the meaning behind these objects. So why did he leave them with his grandson, and why did said grandson try to sneak onto a Monarch research site?”

Before Martin could even think of how to respond, an alarm went off.

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

After that, some stuff happens, I got my things back, small monsters show up, chaos and destruction, Godzilla stands in the bay, and me and Ms. Leana end up at the top of an altar Monarch dug up.

“... I feel like you're skipping a bunch of stuff.”

It was mostly just a lot of running and screaming every curse word I know.

“Ah, yeah, been there. Welcome to the club.”

Are there t-shirts?

“I'm getting some made. What size do you want?”

Put me down for an extra large. Anyway, so me and Ms. Leana are on top of this altar, right?

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

As the two crested the stairs, Martin could admit that the altar had a pretty good view of the bay. There wasn't a lot at the top. Just a single stone wall to his right with writing on it and a large stone ring in front of him.

“Don't cross that line, Martin,” Leana warned, pointing to a line on the floor. “Everything past that line, I'm told, is radioactive. To a point, it would be lethal to stand in it too long.” She turned to the wall. “I haven't been up here yet.” She gasped. “Martin, look, these symbols match certain pages of your book.”

She sighed.

“Oh, if only we could read them.”

Martin stared at the strange symbols. His hand went to one of the crests now hanging from his neck.

A brow raised.

“Wait,” he mumbled. “I can… I can read this!”

“What?”

The letters glowed, rearranging themselves into a form he could understand.

“Martin,” Leana said with another gasp. “The crest is glowing! It must be somehow tied to the ruins!”

“Its letting me understand the words.”

“Well, what do they say?” she asked giddily.

“To you who now faces the trial of the envoy,” he read slowly. “Show your strength and courage to the King. Let his starfire cleanse you of indecision…”

“Fascinating,” she breathed. “If I had to guess, it must relate to some kind of ritual, most likely towards Godzilla, given the interaction with the crest and the use of the word king.”

“A ritual involving the King of monsters,” Martin mumbled.

He glanced back towards the arch.

“The use of starfire though,” she pondered. “Perhaps, a primitive understanding of his atomic breath?”

“Maybe,” he agreed, walking back over to the line. “Everything past that line is radioactive.”

“Perhaps these supposed ‘envoys’ were meant to stand in that area as a test of courage.”

Somehow, Martin didn't feel that was right. An arch with a direct line to the bay, plus a radioactive area, plus the phrase ‘let his starfire cleanse you of indecision.”, yeah, Martin was starting to get a clearer picture of this ritual.

It seemed Leana was as well, as she suddenly went tense.

“We should go,” she said firmly, almost nervously.

Suddenly there was a loud noise, a sound from the bay. Martin glanced out. Godzilla was looking at the top of the altar.

‘No,’ Martin's brain supplied. ‘He's looking at you.’

Somehow, it felt like the great lizard was locking eyes with him. Martin felt rooted to the spot.

Godzilla let out a roar. His dorsal fins began to glow.

Martin gripped his head.

‘Best grit your teeth, welp!’

A demand. Somehow entering directly into his mind, from the king himself.

“Martin!” Leana called over the roar.

She stood behind him.

“Run, Ms. Leana!”

“Its too late!” she cried. “We'll never make it before he fires!”

As if to prove her point, Godzilla fired directly at the arch.

A single thought entered Martin's head as he threw the sword's sheath aside and raised said sword high above his head.

‘I am about to do something very very stupid.’

The beam approached and Martin swung. 

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

“Hold up! Wait!” Maddie interrupted. You are telling me that Big G fired his ATOMIC BREATH, a beam as wide as a skyscraper at you, and your reaction is to try to CUT THROUGH the beam like a shonen anime protagonist?!”

Look, no matter how you slice it, I pretty much thought I was gonna die anyway. If I'm gonna go out, I might as well try something cool.

“...fair enough. continue.”

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

It burned. It burned his arms with the strain. It burned from the heat. It burned his very soul.

Or at least it felt like it.

The strange sword split the beam, diverting it around them.

‘WHY IS THIS WORKING!?’ he mentally screamed.

He held on through the onslaught. He doubted he could have let go even if he wanted to. It felt like his hands were melted to the hilt.

In a seconds that felt like years, the beam finally stopped.

Martin dropped to his knees, panting hard. The now glowing blade was still in his hands. Up his arms were glowing marks, similar to litchenburg figures. The glow from the marks soon receded down towards his hands, like the blade was drawing it out of his skin.

Leana dropped beside him.

“Martin!” she cried. “Are you okay?”

“WHY DID I DO THAT!?” he screamed in a rather manic manner. “AND WHY DID THAT WORK!?”

Another sound brought his eyes to the kaiju out in the bay.

Did… did Godzilla just nod at him.

Apparently Leanna saw it too as she let out an audible gulp.

“C-congrats, Martin,” she stuttered

 “I think you passed the test. You're an envoy to the King.”

“What does that even mean?” he growled.

Leanna helped him stand up. His hands were no longer numb, so he removed one hand from the sword and flexed his fingers.

Leanna grabbed said hand and looked it over.

“The burning looks minimal,” she mumbled as she looked him over. “Rather fascinating given the circumstances.”

Leanna pulled a first aid kit out of her bag and tended to his burned palms.

“We're lucky to be alive,” Martin grumbled. “Overgrown lizard nearly fried us.”

“Careful, Martin,” she teased. “That overgrown lizard is your new king.”

“Well, I didn't vote for him.”

Leanna chuckled. She finished wrapping his hands and put an arm around his shoulder.

“All done,” she stated. “Now let's go before the King decides to test you again.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Really don't want to do that twice today… or ever.”

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

“After that?” Maddie asked.

Martin looked up at the sky.

“Uh, well,” he began. “After that, we went back into the tunnels, met the monster again, this guy shows up out of nowhere, now somehow small, helps hold down the strange spider creature and I stab it.” He taps his chin. “Think that covers it.”

Maddie stares.

“...oh, is that all,” she says sarcastically.

“Its… kinda all one adrenaline infused blur for me.” He shrugged. “Sorry to disappoint.”

She shakes her head.

“It's fine,” she says with a chuckle. “An envoy to Godzilla.” There's a small amount of awe in her voice. “That sounds so cool.”

“It's really not,” Martin grumbled. “He's cranky, grumpy, won't stop calling me ‘welp’-”

Godzilla growled from his spot.

“What? Why?”

“What did he say?” Maddie asked.

Martin turned to her and looked at her critically.

“He… wants me to give you one of the crests…” ----------------------------

Ctk: From this point, Maddie would get a crest and not need to do a trial because, in Godzilla's ‘words’, ‘the pup already proved her strength when she roared at the Usurper when she was nothing but a hatchling.’.

From there it would be revealed that Godzilla is smaller due to a pact he made with humans long ago, but he can return to normal size briefly if his ‘priestess’ (the titan language doesn't have a direct translation for Maddie's role, so priestess it is.) recites a phrase from Martin's book. (Meaning that big g has a transformation sequence that will be used every episode, usually after Martin spouts a pun related to the monster of the day.)

Godzilla goes on to explain that something is coming, he can feel it, and he needs to gather new envoys, because, as loath as he is to admit it, it will take more than himself to stop it.

Cue action-packed adventures of Martin, Maddie, Leanna, and Godzilla traveling the world, fighting monsters big and small and finding the supposed envoys.

… that's what I got.

This has been a stupid idea from Cody.

So long.

[rainbow-nerdss]

👀 👀 😎 😎

hoo boy, you get some good stuff here nolan!

As usual, bear with me because the fwb is spicy rn so that'll be second, under a cut.

Here's bodyguard first!

Buck thinks of Bobby’s house, he thinks of Eddie’s house, and Maddie’s apartment, he thinks of everywhere he can be himself, with the people he loves. The 118 is just another place, amongst the many, which feels like home to him now. And none of those places, he realises, is his apartment. The apartment he’d fought so hard to keep out of some sort of desperate attempt to cling to the life he thought he wanted. His phone chimes, reminding him it’s almost time to collect Eddie from his appointment—he’d offered to get an Uber, but Buck insisted on collecting him, saying it was on his way home from the firehouse anyway—only a slight exaggeration, really. “You have to go?” Bobby asks. 

aaand, the spice:

He reaches out again, but feels Eddie's arm block his way. He looks up. “No condom,” Eddie says, and the expression on his face almost knocks Buck out—he looks wrecked, eyes red, cheeks pink, marks on his bottom lip from where he must have been biting it. God, Buck’s going to have to figure out a way to look at Eddie when he’s doing that some day. He surges up, needing to kiss him. He kisses the tear streaks on his cheeks, tasting the salty residue there, he kisses his lips, soft, closed-mouthed, until Eddie wraps an arm around him again, opening up, licking in to his mouth and moaning. 

Make me write!

[try-set-me-on-fire]

omg so I can't read your bobby dies fic because I am incredibly emotionally unstable, but kudos on breaking everyone I have heard Horrible/pos things congrats. I wanted to ask about your outline system that you posted about the fic? It looked SO cool what's your process with that?

Have a good day, you are incredibly talented at words and images, thanks for creating!

Thank you hehehe!! I’m glad people are liking it, sorry for all the anguish everyone!

So for awhile my only outline for proposal fic looked like this:

But that’s all just really general ideas of a scene and gives me more work to do while I’m writing because I still have to think a lot of things through. For the Bobby fic the outline was a lot more thorough, with each scene plotted out beat by beat as much as I thought would be be helpful. So something like this (sorry its going to be a little sad):

Turned into something like this:

Buck goes back to work the following Tuesday. He'd only been superficially wounded, the scrapes on his face already fading, and he'd used his three (3) working days with pay, up to a maximum of five (5) days subject to the approval of the Department Head of bereavement leave. He comes over for dinner Sunday night and when Eddie asks if he's sure Buck gives him a look like he's had to answer that question from every single person they know, but then he softens out a little, gets a little honest.

"If I don't go back now I don't think I'll ever be able to," he says quietly into his beer.

So Buck goes back, and Eddie is told by the doctor that his ribs aren't healing as well as they should - there are some pointed comments about the importance of rest - and when he leaves the office he's staring at 6 full weeks of mandatory time off, and Buck is at work, and Eddie is at home, and Bobby is dead.

Mehta has been shuffled over from the 133 while they're in between captains. Eddie's glad it's someone they know, a good man who's easy to work with, who always has good control of a scene. Eddie sits at home and tries to tell himself it's fine. He's not there with Buck and he can't do anything if something goes wrong, he's not there and he can't have his back, but Mehta is a good captain, Ravi is still there, the rest of the station is still there. It's not like him being there made a difference last time, anyway. Eddie sits at home and is helpless, and Buck goes back to work.

It's fine. Buck says it's fine as he makes dinner in Eddie's house again after the first of two shifts he'll work alone before Hen returns. Chris is doing homework at the table, so Eddie doesn't really expect him to go into any gritty uncomfortable detail, but he seems like he’s telling the truth as he says it's weird, but fine. There was a small house fire, a few minor car accidents, a gas leak. All routine.

“I feel like Maddie or whoever might've been rerouting harder calls,” he says, stirring chili. “Heard there was a thing with hikers that got messy. Out of our range I guess, but we’ve been up in the hills before.”

“I’m sure somebody else was just closer.” Eddie is sitting at the table

“I guess.” His hand looks tense as he adds whatever spice is next in the recipe floating around his head.

Later, after dinner and after Chris has gone to bed when Buck is even softer and even more honest and a Dodgers game is quiet on the tv, he whispers like he’s at confession.

“I think it's better that no one is there. It doesn’t feel like real life.” He’s looking at the screen so Eddie is watching him in side profile, and he can’t tell if the shine in his eyes is just the reflected light. “Maybe I’m just still dreaming.”

The dream, where Bobby was dead and Eddie was gone and Buck was loved by his family but he was not here, not loved by the people here who are his family. “You’re n-“

“I know I’m not.” He looks at Eddie, away from the light and his eyes are still shining. “I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

Buck shrugs and settles into the couch, eyes on the score, locking that softness back away again. He doesn’t stay the night.

So now I’m going through and making a more thorough outline for proposal fic, which will hopefully help make writing it much easier! I have so many scraps of scenes that I need to connect and string together, actually planning out how to do that instead of just staring sadly at the google doc feels productive, at least!

Also for Bobby fic i made a version of the outline with just the scene titles and bullet points as a checklist, so I’ll do that again this time too because i love to check things off a list!

[anitabyars]

Kade by Tijan is now live!

I have fought.

I have bled.

I have wreaked havoc for my family.

Anyone who threatened us, tried to break us, I broke them instead.

Then, there was peace.

Marriage.

Children.

Life was good.

Life was 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡.

Until my phone rang one night.

Retired, I was no longer in the NFL.

We'd recently moved back to Fallen Crest.

So I should've known.

I should've remembered.

There is no peace in Fallen Crest.

War wasn't coming.

𝐼𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑦 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒.

Download today on Amazon, Apple Books, Barnes & Noble, and Kobo!

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3UEqd9r

Apple Books: https://apple.co/3YtDRxk

Nook: https://bit.ly/3NSJGiY

Kobo: https://bit.ly/3UDhpAV

Amazon Special Edition Paperback: https://bit.ly/4gtlj7A

B&N Special Edition Paperback: https://bit.ly/3CCkgnl

Amazon Hardcover Edition: https://bit.ly/3Vw479A

B&N Hardcover Edition: https://bit.ly/3BvwApa

Coming Soon in Audio!

Pre-order now!

Audible: https://bit.ly/4fzZVNY

Check out Tijan’s Release Giveaway!

Enter to win here: www.tijansbooks.com

Add to Goodreads: https://bit.ly/4fvsqMz

Meet Tijan

Tijan is a New York Times Bestselling author that writes suspenseful and unpredictable novels. Her characters are strong, intense, and gut-wrenchingly real with a little bit of sass on the side. Tijan began writing after college and once she started, she was hooked. She's written multi-bestsellers including the Fallen Crest series, Ryan's Bed, Enemies and others.

​She is currently writing many new books and series with an English Cocker she adores.

Connect with Tijan

Website: http://www.tijansbooks.com/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4851199.Tijan

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Tijan/e/B00DJG52QE

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Tijansbooks/

Facebook Group: www.facebook.com/groups/tijansreadergroup

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/tijansbooks/

X/Twitter: www.twitter.com/tijansbooks

TikTok: www.tiktok.com/@tijan_author

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/tijan

My Review

5⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Buckle up, my friend! This is an absolute masterpiece that’ll leave you spellbound. Prepare to be swept away by the epic and thrilling conclusion to the Fallen Crest Series.

From the very first page, I was hooked! I couldn’t tear myself away, a rollercoaster of emotions that kept me on the edge of my seat. This story is a must-read for anyone who loves a good adventure.

I had an absolute blast catching up with all my favorite Fallen Crest characters and meeting their kids. But this trip took things to a whole new level. It was a rollercoaster of emotions, filled with intense drama, suspenseful moments, and even some revenge. There were fights, tears, self-discovery, and a whole lot of love and spice. It was an unforgettable experience!

Wow, this book is incredible! The story is so engaging and I can’t wait to read more about Maddy and Max when they start attending Cain University!!! Need their story ASAP!!!

I received an early copy and this is my honest review!

[narastories]

Dear Yuletide Writer 2024

Thank you for writing for me! I hope this letter might inspire you, and above all else I hope you have fun writing something because that is the most important. I'm excited to see what you come up with!

My AO3

General likes: fluff, moral ambiguity, crack (treated seriously or not), banter, getting together. Can tolerate decent spice-levels when it comes to smut so don't hold back on my account.

General DNW: major character death, pregnancy, kidfic, amnesia (unless canon), infidelity/divorce (unless canon), RL politics, omegaverse, hopeless endings

色 戒 | Sè Jiè | Lust Caution (2007)

I watched this film for the first time this year and it grabbed me by the throat. If you want to read about me screaming about this movie, here are some posts: 1 | 2

I would love to read a fix-it fic, and I'm open to multiple interpretations of what that means :D Basically, it would be super interesting to read an alternate ending to the film. What if she comes clean sooner? Is there a circumstance in which he would spare her? Or maybe the assassination attempt is successful. How would she feel then?

Alternatively, I would be very happy to read a character study of either of the main characters. Especially Wong Chia Chi. What was going through her head when getting involved in all this? Especially when she agreed to this "role" for the second time since they barely got away with it on the first attempt. She's such a babygirl to me, and I can't tell half the time what is going on in her head and if she's acting or if she's sincere in a scene.

A character study about Yee would be interesting too, because he knew from the beginning how these things went. He walked into it with experience and with his eyes wide open, and yet got himself emotionally involved. Wong Chia Chi is the third woman who tried to seduce and kill him, but let's face it, the moment she wrestled with that umbrella, he was gone. He's both the big bad of the movie but also such a looser tbf.

For this fandom, all my general DNWs go out the window lol Because the canon is such a trigger-fest, I'm genuinely more flexible about it. But please don't write any ship with non-requested characters as the endgame. Obviously, Yee has a wife, it's okay to mention her, or how he feels about her. Just please don't make Wong Chia Chi run away with one of her comrades, that sort of thing.

Runemarks Series - Joanne Harris

A Yuletide favorite <3

This book series is very near and dear to my heart, and I would love to read any and all shenanigans with Maddy and Loki involved. Canon-compliant missing scenes or modern AU, I don't mind it, as long as they get into mischief together. If Thor tries to beat the living daylight out of Loki because of Maddy, that's something I always love reading too xD

I have also read the Loki books related to this series, so if you wanted to play with a spin on The Testament of Loki, where Maddy is the one who gets Loki as a hitchhiker I think that could be really fun too. I think it would be hilarious to see how Maddy would handle that accidental spirit possession lmao

Personally, I don't mind it if their relationship becomes various levels of romantic, but obviously completely platonic, gen fic is perfectly good for me as well. I just mention it as an opt-in.

DNW: major character death, pregnancy, kidfic, amnesia (unless canon), RL politics, omegaverse, hopeless endings

Lord John Series - Diana Gabaldon

An oldie but a goodie. Anyone in the fandom wanting to participate in Yuletide, this is your get-out-of-jail-free card (as long as the fic is about John, Percy, Tom, and/or Stephan) ^^" (So far I have never even tried nominating Jamie just because I think it would overlap too much with the main Outlander fandom that is very much not eligible for Yuletide.)

I would be happy to read any ship combinations! LJG with any of the nominated gentlemen is awesome, LJG/Tom/Percy is a great one too if you like it. I'm also very fond of any interaction between Percy and Tom shippy or not. I enjoy reading Stephan getting some love too.

DNW: major character death, mpreg, pregnancy in general, kidfic, amnesia (unless canon), infidelity/divorce (unless canon), RL politics, omegaverse, hopeless endings

The First Descendant (Video Game)

This is such an underrated fandom. There isn't a lot to read out there and I'm pretty much open to reading anything. A character study about one of the nominated characters (Ajax, Bunny, Enzo, or Yujin) would be interesting. We learn little bits about them in the game, and I would love to read more about them.

If you can pair any of the nominated characters up and ship it? Go wild!

On a side note, if you want to include any worldbuilding elements or expand on the lore, I would be happy with that too. Idk if it's just me, but I think the enemy designs are so good in this game too. Sometimes I just sneak into an outpost with Sharen and instead of hacking I just stand there and observe the little bastards. It's also fun if you hack one device because some of them will go "Where are you human?? How did you do that??" It's so funny.

DNW: major character death, pregnancy, kidfic, amnesia (unless canon), infidelity/divorce (unless canon), RL politics, omegaverse, hopeless endings

If you are wondering about what Yuletide is, you still have time to sign-up. All the information you need is on the official Yuletide Dreamwidth here.

Promo image by crantz.

[intheorangebedroom]

Maddie, thank you for PTMY and TYBTM. Even as someone less active in fandom these days, it is impossible to not return to these stories again and again. Thank you for that latest chapter of TYBTM, I loved it. <3 This is likely an annoying question so truly sorry in advance but wanted to shoot my shot and ask lol. I know we only have 2 more installments of TYBTM and those will hold us over for a while, do you have any plans for what you will be working on next? Will it be a series?

Hey sweet Nonnie 🧡🧡🧡

How are you? I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to answer you (as always, I’m aware I’m bad and I sincerely apologise).

Thank you, so much, for sending this ask, for your kinds words, and your time 🥰🧡🥰 It’s not an annoying question AT ALL! I’m beyond emotional and so. Fucking. Thankful 🧡🧡🧡

I hope my answer doesn’t let you down. First I was thinking about writing a third date for The Corner Deli, to cleanse the tybtm angst, you know? And then, well I have this idea for a one-shot, with a camp counsellor Frankie… but that’s about it for now?

After finishing ptmy, it took me something like 2-3 months to get a new idea. I was scared shitless I might never be able to write again. I get so invested, I put so much of myself into these stories… And then tybtm literally popped up in my brain on a fine Frankie Friday (it was also supposed to be a one-shot, but Ren convinced me otherwise. So who knows!).

One thing’s for sure, I want to keep exploring this wonderful character. His youth, his faults, his hopes, his heart 🧡

Oh and by the way, I was lucky enough to participate in an anthology of short stories!! It’s called Things Unspoken and so other extremely talented writers (who’s work you might have read here) participated and shared their wonderful stories, ranging from fluff to spice, and it’s coming out soon and I’m so excited for you all to read it!!!!

Again Nonnie, thank you for your ask!! I will let you know whenever inspiration strikes ⚡️🤯🧡

[safarigirlsp]

I love the opening!! I’m always partial to witch trials and witch hunters and the allegory is great!

The sight of Flip with that evil book sends Prescilla’s mind racing, flashing back to moments she had only heard and read about. Stern magistrates, cruel in their cassocks and tall black buckled hats, wielding similar evil books and using them as a sword and a shield to send her sisters into the swallowing maws of flames and waters.

You do such a great job with all the red signs and imagery. I really love that. Especially from your hot redhead OC!

This is such a perfect description! And so in character for one of those women 🤣

Maddy herself has long been one of those women, prepared to sell the heart right out of her chest for the accidental morsels of affection that fall from a man’s table. Somehow, she still had the gall to look down on them. Perhaps it was the only way to live with herself.

I love this!

“The stupid look on his face. Only one thing makes a man as smart as him look that dumb. Despite everything, I’m kind of jealous. That’s the thing we all live for, what we all hope to find. The fireworks.”

I love the paragraph! Your writing is so gorgeous in this story!! Much much better than Hoffman. You’d do better with everything in the PM series, especially not nose diving it!

They sit in the quiet kitchen, like two deposed queens, having incurred the wrath of an irascible king, waiting for their executioner with a grim resolve. Courage Tea, a blend of currants, spices, and thyme, made for protection and healing, makes clear one should never hide who one is. It provides bravery and grit, and reminds the drinker only two things matter, left at the core when all others peel away. Truth and love.

This is such a beautiful description and perfect image! I love getting inside Flips head like this! And I love what we see.

He can feel himself embedded in her, just as he feels her. The knife he turns inside himself.

Flip gives a smoldering smile and can’t stop his eyes from raking up and down her body anymore than he can stop himself breathing. It seems the privilege of taking his breath away resides now only with Prescilla.

I absolutely love their tension and chemistry in the hothouse! That’s another thing that’s hard to capture in writing and you do it perfectly! I can feel it as I’m reading!

“So you’re saying there is a craft? That you’re a witch?” his eyes sparkle and go comically wide at the word he has yet to believe in.

I especially love this exchange! 😈

“Yeah. We dance naked under the moon as bonfires burn, and kiss men under blossoming trees after midnight.”

“I’d have to wait until midnight?” Flip asks in a low, deep voice and feels how little air is left in the tiny garden.

Omg the smoking porn is so hot and on point as always!

Flip runs a hand through his hair, smoothing the inky waves away from his face as he bites a cigarette out of the pack.

This is such a great line!

“I have a lot to do still, and I need to check out in the morning…” he rattles off excuses as if he’s trying to flee her bed after seducing her into it. Only all his clothes are on and no one’s stopping him from leaving.

And omg the goodnight kiss was beautifully written and sensual!

She’s smoldering like a red piece of coal, searing him where she touches, and he digs his hands into her hips. The sting of pain makes her gasp out and part her lips for him. Then he’s breathing in her fire and everything goes red.

I love this story! This is really what I’d hoped to get the first time I picked up a Hoffman book, but where she was a let down, you kill it every time! You write much better than her and are able to create an image and a feeling much better, plus you write men a hundred times better than she does, which is something I always found lacking in her writing. I really love and appreciate manly men, and it’s rare to find a woman who even knows wtf one is! You always nail it with them and it makes it so nice to read! I really just can’t with the wimpy little pencil neck nerds (even when most women describe men as big and tough, this is still what they are 🤦🏻‍♀️), but that’s never a concern with you and the hot cocky bastards you write! 💗

[flip zimmerman x practical magic] 3

CW: all the angst, mentions of prejudice/bullying/misogyny, messed up family dynamics, and a lot of pining

WC: ~6.1k

*

The sight of Flip with that evil book sends Prescilla’s mind racing, flashing back to moments she had only heard and read about. Stern magistrates, cruel in their cassocks and tall black buckled hats, wielding similar evil books and using them as a sword and a shield to send her sisters into the swallowing maws of flames and waters. While she doesn’t believe deep down Flip has any such intentions, she can’t seem to catch her breath for the rest of the day. She goes home early, leaving a disgruntled Carla in her wake, moping at the loss of her company. She understands Prescilla has good reason to go, but she is still miffed and mutters under her  breath that the Colorado detective came across like a real dunce at several points.

Prescilla whirls into the house like a storm, stomping loudly up the stairs as she ignores Maddy’s greeting and subsequent barrage of questions. She topples to her knees on the wooden floor of the attic and whips furiously through the Hallewell women’s secret book. Prescilla leaves through the pages like a tornado, hardly caring if she rips any of the thick grainy paper out.

All she lands on are iterations of love spells and a hundred different ways to call love to you. Mix henna with limes, roses, tea, and eucalyptus and let it simmer overnight. The hue of henna reflects the strength of a woman’s love for a man. The thicker and deeper the shade, the more powerful the love. Prescilla’s steaming cups of tea had shifted from clear reddish brown liquids into thick opaque brews, as black as strong coffee all day. She slams on.

The book offers her instruction on how to fashion amulets with apple seeds, the fruit which signifies the heart in all its delicious redness, meant to bring the wearer love. Her eyes well up in frustration and she rocks nervously above the book splayed open on the floor. A tear falls on the coarse page and stains the paper red. It’s there only for a moment and then it’s absorbed as if it never fell.

The salt of her anguish grants Prescilla temporary reprieve and the book next opens on a page dedicated to those who seek to gain willpower and say no to a lover who would bring only heartbreak. Prescilla knows it’s what she’s been looking for all day. A bath of rosemary and lavender oil. Some of these protective, healing ingredients are found in their black soap. There isn’t time for a bath, but Prescilla marches out of the attic and blows right through Maddy, who’s been banging on her locked door and shrieking to be let in. Maddy careens into the wall and immediately upon finding her feet again follows Prescilla into the bathroom. She enters on her heels without missing a beat and sits on the edge of the bathtub, chewing on what remains of her nails as Prissy undresses behind the curtain and throws her clothes on the bathroom floor.

The bathroom steams up quickly, more, it seems, from Prescilla’s flushed skin than the hot water and the cloying scent of black soap perfumes the air. Maddy takes a deep breath of it and the darkness behind her lids becomes thinner and less daunting. Goddess, that stuff is good.

“If you’re not gonna leave me to shower in peace, at least make yourself useful and grab me a towel,” Prescilla spits and takes aim through the curtain to shove at Maddy’s shoulder. She slips off the edge of the tub and pokes a bony elbow through the screen separating them in retaliation. But then a minute later, she’s back with a large fluffy towel and a cigarette between her lips.

Prescilla wraps the towel around her dripping form and steps out, not even looking up as she yanks the unlit cigarette from between her sister’s glossy bowtie lips and breaks it in two before throwing it down the toilet.

“Prissy,” Maddy grumbles and sticks her thumb into her mouth again, looking for anything she can gnaw off.

“I just, I can’t believe you,” she shakes her head in disappointment, as if she has any leg to stand on. Prescilla is counting to ten, and then to one again, feeling herself lose the battle to irritation. “We only just barely got away with it last time, and you have to go and invite him back!”

Prescilla is surprised when she doesn’t snap. Instead, she just gets sad over Maddy’s ignorance. “Do you really believe that? Even a tiny bit? Maddy, wake up! We did not get away with anything. He didn’t buy a single word you said and maybe you’d have noticed if you weren’t too busy—“ She cuts herself off, but the damage is done.

Maddy knows how she’s perceived. How not? Hasn’t she been told, time and again? By the gym teacher who kissed her and put his hands up her shirt in grade school, exactly what she was and what she was worth? By the girls and women that were dating or married to the men who took her out and bought her the expensive things her pretty eyes landed on and coveted? By employers and sneering neighbors, and even by her sister?

She gives the sister a contemptuous smile. The kind that says she has not forgiven the comment and Prescilla will be reminded of it the next time they argue and Maddy is losing. “So you can read his mind now?” she scoffs and crosses her arms.

“No, but I don’t need to,” Prescilla sighs and walks towards the kitchen with a defeated tread.

“It’s so dangerous!” the admonition sounds hollow coming out of Maddy’s mouth, who barged into the house not six months ago with a black eye, an empty wallet, driving a corpse in a stolen car. “How can you do this to me?” she stomps her foot when Prescilla doesn’t react and calmly sets about brewing some Courage Tea. “To Jet?” she demands next, none of the former childish panic in her tone remaining.

Prescilla’s hackles rise and she slams two cups on the table, glaring at the varnished wood. If she looks up, she knows it’ll come to blows. Jet is as much a part of her as Maddy is, and she has done everything to protect her. Even bury her father in the garden so he’s always in their sights, but they’re forever out of his reach.

“Are you going to become like one of those women?” Maddy fires off the last hurtful question she has in her arsenal. After that, she’ll resort to hair pulling and tears, but she can see the final shot found its mark. What passed between Prissy and that hunky detective that made Maddy’s spine tingle was undeniable. Although she wanted that for Prescilla – hell, she wanted it for herself too if she was perfectly honest – nothing mattered more in this moment than keeping Jet safe. And to do that, she and Prissy had to stay out of jail.

Prescilla’s heart squeezes. She knows exactly who Maddy is talking about. She doesn’t point out that Maddy herself has long been one of those women, prepared to sell the heart right out of her chest for the accidental morsels of affection that fall from a man’s table. Somehow, she still had the gall to look down on them. Perhaps it was the only way to live with herself.

“I saw it, Prissy, okay?” she relents as she takes a cup of tea. “The stupid look on his face. Only one thing makes a man as smart as him look that dumb. Despite everything, I’m kind of jealous. That’s the thing we all live for, what we all hope to find. The fireworks.”

Prescilla takes a sip of scorching tea. Maddy doesn’t know how right she is. If she hadn’t invited Flip back, those same fireworks very well might have burnt their house down.

“But please…” Maddy starts again emphatically. Prescilla stops her.

“I know. I know.”

*

They sit in the quiet kitchen, like two deposed queens, having incurred the wrath of an irascible king, waiting for their executioner with a grim resolve. Courage Tea, a blend of currants, spices, and thyme, made for protection and healing, makes clear one should never hide who one is. It provides bravery and grit, and reminds the drinker only two things matter, left at the core when all others peel away. Truth and love.

The tea gives Prescilla not courage, like she hopes, but madness. The madness of truth. She knows she’ll tell him everything if he only asks.

When they hear his tires crunch up loose gravel in their driveway, Maddy runs off like a frightened hare. Prescilla stands and takes the old iron key that hangs by the back door. She’s aware she’ll need it and she no longer bothers to question why.

*

Prescilla crosses the hothouse and stands in the open doorway, back straight, a pleasant hum in her ears.

Jettie has found Flip first. She flits over to him like a butterfly, in a puffy jacket zipped all the way to her lips. Her boots are red and her black ringlets stick out from under her woolen cap. Jet has inquisitive green eyes that sparkle as they zoom this way and that, and is unself-conscious as she examines the tall man her mother warned her would be coming today.

“Do you have a gun?” she chirps her question happily, excited to see one in person after only seeing them flash on TV.

“Mhm,” Flip’s lips thin out into a line as he places his hands on his hips and looks down at the fairy child whose pompom doesn’t even reach his navel.

“Can I see it?” she is impish, like her mother, well-aware that what she’s asking for is not allowed - but. But that never stops a certain sort of Hallewell.

His eyes are drawn to Prescilla’s form, haloed in fiery red as she leans against the hothouse door. She is tall and stern in a black sweater and a long skirt, arms crossed patiently over her chest.

Her expression is clear and Flip snaps his head back at Jet obediently. “Uh-uh.”

Jet deflates momentarily. It was a long shot, but she deems it worth it. Then her mood lifts again and she hops off in the direction of her aunt. “He’s here, he’s here for you, aunt Prissy!” Jet announces as she skips past her and sheds her cap and jacket, running inside the house.

Flip’s mustache twitches with a small smile and he finds he’s beginning to understand Prescilla’s eschewing of outer layers. Suddenly his sheepskin coat is oppressively hot and he runs a cooling hand over the back of his neck, already dewed with nervous sweat.

“I’d like to talk to you some more. Prescilla,” he adds and it’s a coy prayer to her, to open up to him.

She nods, looking none too happy. He’s a bullet that needs extracting before she can start to heal. He can feel himself embedded in her, just as he feels her. The knife he turns inside himself.

Prescilla bends over to pick up Jet’s discarded clothes and Flip’s throat works hard as he swallows at the sight. He has to shut his eyes, hard, or he’ll forget what he came here for in the first place. As she dusts off the jacket and folds it over her arm, Flip cranes his neck, trying to see inside a section of the hothouse that is separated by an additional pane of glass and a narrow door.

“Is that…henbane?” he asks curiously. He had only just read about it for the first time today, and now he was seeing it – not as a drawing in a book, but a real plant. Like learning a new word and then suddenly hearing it everywhere, he wonders if this was a common weed he had overlooked a thousand times or if there was something to all those stories he had been hearing all day about the Hallewells.

“It is,” Prescilla admits as she walks to the door, taking out the old iron key from her deep pocket. The keyhole in the narrow door is slightly rusted and could do with a replacement, but she’s always preferred the keep this section of the hothouse as it is. The smaller section houses dangerous plants that arrive to the Hallewell home from an old farm in Rockport Maine, she explains to Flip as they negotiate two bodies inside the space meant for one. You never knew when adventurous teenagers might confuse wolfsbane for marijuana. Alongside it grew other things to be handled with care, curative in small doses and disastrous when handled carelessly. “Where did you hear about henbane?”

“I read about it in that book you saw earlier,” Flip confesses sheepishly. He understands from the way she opens the door silently and moves with reverence, that he has been admitted to an inner sanctum of the house and he acts accordingly. There is barely enough room for two people to be standing inside as Prescilla is usually the only one to enter the sequestered area.

“What did your book say?” she doesn’t need to sound derisive, Flip is aware that its contents are nonsense.

“A lot,” he huffs a small laugh and she turns to face him, standing chest to chest in the cramped space. “I read that entry again, though, because it reminded me of Jimmy and that kid… The book said henbane caused giddiness, delirium, and then collapse. Delusions, like being able to fly, and sometimes convulsions.”

“If ingested, I suppose, in high enough quantities,” Prescilla concedes pensively. “But it’s not meant for that. Henbane leaves soothe inflammations and gouty joints. They’ve been used in folk medicine for centuries. A decoction of henbane seeds kills lice. You can make a black hair dye out of it as well.”

“But you can brew it and give it to someone to drink too?” Flip asks with a raised brow. Unlike Maddy, he doesn’t let Prescilla skirt around his questions.

“Sure,” she shrugs and picks up a pot to hold it between them. The henbane flower is in bloom, with its white petals spotted and veined purple, nestled in fleshy green leaves. She takes a whiff and offers it to Flip. He does the same and his face twists into a nasty grimace. “It doesn’t smell any better when cooked down,” she remarks. On the rare occasions she needs to handle it, the kitchen smells like rotting flesh all day, sometimes even longer. Good luck getting someone to drink it willingly, or slipping it to them secretly.

“What about that?” he angles his head down, closer to her and points with his chin behind her. Without turning, she knew he was pointing at the belladonna.

She doesn’t take her eyes off him as she speaks and she doesn’t flinch as the Courage Tea still warms her belly from the inside and cracks her tongue like a whip. “The genus you see behind you is the Atropa Belladonna, named for the Greek goddess Atropos. The oldest of the three Fates, known as the one who cuts the thread of life.”

Flip observes her shrewdly and doesn’t speak. Only a tiny twitch of a muscle under his eye betrays the whirring cogs working hard and fast in his brain.

“It symbolizes silence to old Victorian floriographers. Romans used it in poisons, to keep secrets and silence enemies.”

“All it does is kill?” he challenges, already knowing the answer. He rarely bothered posing a question to a suspect otherwise.

“No, naturally. It powerfully relieves pain and convulsions, it’s an excellent sedative… But they don’t call it Devil’s cherry for nothing. I wouldn’t take more than one,” she confides, her eyes swallowing him up in an unblinking chasm of obsidian.

Flip gives a smoldering smile and can’t stop his eyes from raking up and down her body anymore than he can stop himself breathing. It seems the privilege of taking his breath away resides now only with Prescilla.

Before he ever moves his eyes to the hemlock, she knows where they’re going. She only wonders if in his sweep of Jimmy’s car, he’s managed to find traces of the two poisonous plants that snuffed out his life, or if he truly is so strongly driven by his medial nature that it points him to all the right places. He intuits far too many things with a horrible precision and she gives up entirely on trying to conceal anything anymore.

“Hemlock,” Prescilla preempts him and he narrows his eyes, reminded briefly of the fact he is standing almost nose to nose with a woman who can surely kill him a dozen different ways before he ever gets a single accusation out. “It’s used for breathing problems, like bronchitis, whooping cough, asthma, or for swollen and painful joints, cramps, teething in children…”

For once, Flip flinches at the idea of administering this deadly plant to a child. “And too much of it has been known to kill a philosopher or two.”

“True. But too much of anything can kill you. Too much coffee. Too much water, and you’re nearly 60% water. Even more in your brain, and lungs, and heart,” she whispers in their stifling proximity.

A lazy smile spreads across his long face and he shifts, splaying one large hand on the long table that holds a row of deadly plants. He’s on eye level with her now. “You know I’ve been hearing all sorts of outlandish things about your family.”

“Like what?” she sticks out her chest defiantly, but a smile she’s holding back illuminates her face. They are skirting dangerously around the truth, so close now that their bodies thrum from it.

He leans his head to the side and watches through his dark lashes as she flickers like a flame. He drinks her in as though he has all the time in the world. All the patience to draw her out. His eyes are full of affection. He is kind even when he’s not speaking and Prescilla can feel her heart weeping from it.

“That you sell baby placenta and fly off the roof and worship the Devil.”

Her smile falters at the end. “There’s no Devil in the craft.”

“So you’re saying there is a craft? That you’re a witch?” his eyes sparkle and go comically wide at the word he has yet to believe in.

“Mh.  I guess you found me out, huh?” she looks at him intently and he can’t look anywhere else.

“Guess I did.”

“You should stick around for Walpurgis night. You’d really see something then,” she suggests with a wicked little grin.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. We dance naked under the moon as bonfires burn, and kiss men under blossoming trees after midnight.”

“I’d have to wait until midnight?” Flip asks in a low, deep voice and feels how little air is left in the tiny garden.

“No,” Prescilla says simply and he feels a shudder run up his spine.

He smiles the smallest smile, just a tick at the corner of his full lips and she could almost swear it was never even there. But it lights up his face and it’s enchanting. Prescilla can only smile back, even as she tries to remind herself what danger she’s in.

“Why are people so afraid of this place?” he asks earnestly. His perception is admittedly skewed by the fact he’s been dying to return to Prescilla all day, but he can’t detect anything especially ominous about the place itself.

“My family have been known to meddle with love, and hate. People’s memories are long when it comes to that.”

They talk in confidential tones, like they’re sharing one pillow, and Flip is not sure he won’t lean in any second now and cut her off with a kiss.

“And what do you do?” he shifts and is so close now that her long skirt brushes his jeans. If they take a deep breath at the same time, there won’t be enough room for their chests.

“Do I do?” she repeats absently and leans in, devouring him with her eyes. He’s pleased that she’s as dizzied by him as he is by her.

“Mhm,” he breathes, and he’s not even listening. They’re teetering on the ledge, waiting to see which one slips and falls into the other’s arms first.

Prescilla can’t find it in herself to be cautious. It’s intoxicating, the feeling of telling him everything freely, floating through the air and dancing with him like a dandelion scattering gently on the wind.

“I tend my garden and keep my family safe,” the thought sobers her and suddenly she’s no longer swaying with him. A darkness crosses over her face and he pulls a few inches back.

“Do you have any idea how I feel?” he asks and it sounds like an accusation. “What am I supposed to think when you say something like that?”

“I can’t tell you either of those for sure, but I can take a guess.”

He swallows in anticipation.

“You already know everything you’re going to find out. And it’s not the first time you’ve known. People have explained this ability in various ways, and tried to study it since ancient times. My family call it the medial soul. The strong-sighted and deep-hearted self who lives simultaneously in the world of light, the corporeal daytime domain, and in the world of dark, that hidden realm of potential, with the worms roiling in the deep mucky soil. People try to straddle the two with different disciplines - esotericism, theosophy, shamanism… Kabbalah,” she names the last as if it’s supposed to be the most familiar to him.

“Why did you say it like that?” he frowns.

She points at his chest and her abyss-dark eyes follow her finger. The Star of David that rests on his chest grows suddenly hotter until it feels like a scorching cattle brand. It’s a thin, subtle pendant concealed under several layers of clothing, but she looks right at it.

When he stretches back up to his towering height, Prescilla flips her hair over her shoulder and follows his gaze. “You know the Star of David supposedly combines the symbols of the blade and chalice. The male and female principle, fused as one. Yahweh and Shekinah, in the Holy of Holies. Everything about you is like that, you see through the veil, and you know. And you don your talisman, even if you don’t share it with the world.”

Why would you bring that up, he asks in his head. He is all of a sudden ashamed, as he remembers the ugly things about himself he wishes he could forget. The faces of Jewish kids who got bullied at school – he remembers every feature. And that he didn’t do anything to stop it. Worse than that, he was quietly relieved. He could hold his own in a fight as well as the next boy, but he didn’t want anyone to glean this fact about him. Didn’t want to be called the same ugly names, and didn’t want to agree, in some shameful place, that he deserved to be treated badly because his heritage somehow marked him. The way she looks at him, he has a cold, unnerving feeling she knows this too perfectly well.

“I don’t know,” she surrenders with a sigh, “why would I?”

His hands are clammy, shaking slightly as he fishes deep in his pocket for what remains of his pack of cigarettes. Flip runs a hand through his hair, smoothing the inky waves away from his face as he bites a cigarette out of the pack, buzzing in anticipation of that first, slow, luxurious inhale. The flame of his lighter burns a bright cherry into the end of his cigarette and he shoves the lighter into his coat pocket, standing straighter to fill his lungs to capacity with the thick white smoke.

It’s his end-of-day cigarette and, as he grunts out the smoke, all the bullshit that has accumulated since he got out of bed comes out with it. Prescilla watches as his whole body relaxes with this release of tension. If she looks closely enough, she can see all the evil, the imps and demons roiling in a cloudy puff of smoke as he casts them out.

“You can’t smoke in here. It’s bad for the plants,” she warns only after she’s allowed him the deep pleasure of the first drag.

“I did yesterday,” he challenges and holds her eyes as he brings the cigarette back to his full lips. She watches them curve into a plush O around the yellow filter, puckering and finally releasing as the end stops glowing bright.

“I hated it yesterday as well,” her jaw clenches and she stares more demandingly this time.

The sound of that word makes his heart sink, but it’s thrilling to see her like that. Her eyes flashing, her expression uncompromising. It’s a pleasure to give in.

He makes a show of taking the cigarette out of his mouth, pinching it between two thick fingers and demonstratively dropping it on the floor, crushing it under his toes until it’s a gritty brown stain.

*

The conversation resumes in the kitchen. Flip shows the two sisters the awful photos of Jimmy’s crimes. He makes sure to include the slashed neck of the woman who had just borne him a child, angry and swollen and held together by ugly black stitches. A reminder to Maddy in case he’s wrong and Jimmy is alive against all the odds. If anything will keep her from going back to him, it’s this.

He warns them in advance that what he has to show them is gory, so Jet is relegated to the adjoining room to play. His eyes flit over to the little girl as Maddy gasps and covers her mouth, looking up at Prescilla with tearful eyes, as though she is only now exposed for loving a terrible man and she needs to be reassured Prescilla still loves her. The red-headed sister stymies whatever reaction she might have had in favor of remaining the dark-haired one’s anchor. Jet doesn’t look up from the half-circle of her toys, all gathered for her to hold court.

Prescilla’s eyes fly to Maddy’s elegant swan neck and she can’t stop the image of a red slash opening it. She begs forgiveness in her head for every time she was short-tempered, angry, jealous of the attention her beauty inevitably attracted. As she sat to write her letter to Maddy, she wondered if she really wanted to invite her back into her life. Now she’s thankful beyond words. She never could have forgiven herself if she had not beckoned her desperately back and one day been the one looking at her sister in photos such as these.

"I was really so in love with this one,” Maddy’s large eyes are rimmed in smeared mascara. She visibly shakes as Flip lodges one of his cigarettes between her fingers and lights it. He places an ashtray he spied yesterday in front of her before Prescilla can think to.  “I loved him… exactly as much as I shouldn’t have,” she looks from Prescilla to Flip and both give her solemn nods. “It's so sad, really. It's pathetic. I felt like I had to be crazy or something to act like that. Like I was one of those women," she finally admits to Prescilla and hides her eyes with her free hand as she dissolves into mute tears.

Prescilla places a hand on Maddy’s shoulder and she can see them, a ghostly procession in their kitchen, at twilight. Those women would get down on their knees and beg. Swear up and down like children they'd never want anything again in their lives, if they could just have what they wanted now. They were willing to give everything, and take whatever they had to, for the men they wanted. Prissy and Maddy promised they’d never let anyone turn them inside out like that. They called the women stupid and detestable, sure they would never find themselves on their knees, as if desire were a matter of personal choice.

Flip and Prescilla exchange looks. She’s not mad at what he did, he’s relieved to find. “I’ll give you a minute,” he announces and pushes his chair back.

Prescilla stands too and Maddy looks up at her with a panicked expression. Her thumbs wipe back and forth under Maddy’s eyes as she cups her cheeks, and she lets go.

“Come with me,” she asks Flip and heads for the stairs.

*

Prescilla had taken the attic before Maddy and Jet were invited to stay at the Hallewell house. It had always been the most coveted room in the house, especially among the young Hallewell girls. They would light candles and examine odd paraphernalia strewn around forgotten drawers and locked chests, tell each other spooky stories, or look out at the starry night as they felt the first stirrings of magic crackle under their skin.

It was Prescilla’s message to her sister. She would open the door to Maddy, and of course to her beloved, innocent niece, but claiming the attic for herself was her small assertion that this was her house now. The homestead she had kept safe and standing at great personal cost while everyone else was raising hell and having fun, would not be taken from her and handled carelessly.

Maddy feels more comfortable having Jet in her bed, in her arms, so it works out just fine. Perhaps a renegotiation will take place when her paranoia subsides and Jet grows more into her stubborn Hallewell and Hawkins genes.

But for now, Prescilla takes Phillip Zimmerman into the space that is unquestioningly her own.

He closes the door behind her and leans on it, waiting for her. She hugs her arms around herself and comes slowly together from all different directions. As she turns to look at him again, to try to spot something she had missed before, that could shake the convictions she’s already formed about him, she finds nothing. Hands in his pockets, he rests against the dark wood of the door and takes her in until she feels like she’s disappearing into him.

He inhabits himself fully, as so few people do. Like a glove snug around a hand. She can feel it when he talks, in the way he poses his questions. There are no cracks or fissures in him, no place behind his own back that could admit a lie and not spot it at once, like a jagged pebble in his shoe.

“Tell me more. About what you were saying before.” He can see her thinking the thoughts, so he figures he might as well enjoy the rasp of her voice as she tells him.

“The reason you can’t be lied to,” she starts and he inclines his head, out of some old habit, indicating his innate suspicion. It’s a good strategy for a liar, to flatter him like that, and play into his own vanity of being a good reader of people. To behave like a brazen, even indignant, truth teller. But she is right and he can tell a lie from a truth as plain as the nose on his face, which he’s been informed is as plain as it is prominent. “…is your medial nature. You rely on things even you yourself want to scoff at. Because you’re too intellectual, too rational to listen to something as mindless as your gut. But you’re full of this wet, primal, animal instinct. You soak up the dark, moist earth through the soles of your feet, and you feel it crawling with susurrations, murmurs, screeches, and they speak to you. The liminal space is more comfortable than you admit. Two spirits inhabit every body and in you, both are awake at the same time. All of you fills you up, from the tips of your toes to the ends of your hair. There is no room to let in lies. People try and you know it as soon as it starts. You knew it yesterday with Maddy, and you know it now, that I am telling you the truth.”

“Are you this way too?” Flip doesn’t accept the words straight away. He is far too eager to jump at them, to take comfort from feeling like he’s a peg that’s finally slipped into the right slot, and that’s dangerous.

“I’m something else,” Prescilla closes her eyes, as though she’s exhausted from the admission she’s only started to make. He barely knows himself yet; to get to know her will take a lifetime. “But I have known, from my earliest days, that when a soul is empty, cracked like a dirt road in the summer, it gapes for everything and anything. It will take in lies, and empty promises, and bad faith, anything to find a center outside of itself. A soul that is whole doesn’t do that. It lives as strong, and as wide, and as deep as we promised to do before we ever dwelled on earth.”

“Is that the only reason you can’t lie to me?”

“No,” she sighs.

“Do you want to?”

“About some things.”

He’s quiet then, for a painfully long time. At last, his face changes and he looks, of all things, pleased. He nods and leaves his sentinel position by the door, crossing the low-ceiling room to her with his head slightly bowed.

“Do you need help, Prescilla? Can I help you somehow?” he asks as earnestly as he is able to. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

She bites her lips between her teeth and throws her head back at the ceiling, exhaling a strangled laugh.

“I just really wish you didn’t have to ask me anything. It would be so much easier if we didn’t have to talk.”

“Okay. We don’t have to talk,” his voice is small, but it vibrates through her. He watches her, lids heavy, with a dusky look. No sounds come from anywhere and it feels like the earth is standing still. Her dark eyes catch the low light, like a feline, and they sparkle. She doesn’t look away from him. Flip raises one hand tentatively and touches a fiery wave of her long hair. The tips of his fingers follow its curl from the top of her head, down to her cheekbone, and he tucks it gently behind her ear. Her skin is burning hot when he touches it and he traces the shell of her ear, gliding his fingers over to her cheek. It’s just as hot there and his fingertips hover over her red, red lips. He looks at his watch. “It’s getting late.”

Her lips part in surprise as she sucks in a hissing breath. She is disappointed to see him leave and he can tell. “I have a lot to do still, and I need to check out in the morning…” he rattles off excuses as if he’s trying to flee her bed after seducing her into it. Only all his clothes are on and no one’s stopping him from leaving.

She nods and steps aside to let him pass, but he catches her wrist before she can step out of reach. His touch makes her stiffen and give him a wild look. She doesn’t like to be toyed with and he is too close to crossing the line from teasing to infuriating her.

“You should kiss me goodnight.”

Her expression softens and he tugs at her delicate wrist, satisfied when she takes a small step into him.

“Kiss me goodnight, Prescilla,” he demands and doesn’t breathe as he comes closer.

She smiles and he can see the curve of it in the dark, her luscious mouth full of pearly teeth. She stretches like a cat, slow and warm, creeping up his body. Her lips make his head spin.

She’s smoldering like a red piece of coal, searing him where she touches, and he digs his hands into her hips. The sting of pain makes her gasp out and part her lips for him. Then he’s breathing in her fire and everything goes red.

*

@in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather @safarigirlsp @lumberjack00fantasies @queeniebee @vedavan @house-of-cadwyn