#oh and for the people who actually read all of these tags (me)

[thatlittlefangirl]

First, get the tags right "#anti snape" if you're going to be insulting him.

Second, did we read the same books???? Severus was never a sweet loving boy, he was a kid with issue who was going through life during an active WAR, getting bullied being a toll on his mental health (surely) and being in the same dorms with kids of Death Eaters. He didn't go "dark and hateful" he went spiteful, petty and all you can expect from a guy with unreasolved traumas.

James on the other hand was not just a "douchebag", he was a bully, torturer and sexual assaulter (from ONE SCENE ONLY omg this guy must've been so much worst), he went from that to lying to his girlfriend about stopping bullying and even further to going around playing with his friends when a psychopath wanted their asses. He went from a disgusting person to a reckless adult.

I said it before and I'll say it again: Death Eaters are not racists. Comparing them would ignore how black people were forcefully taken from their countries, forced to do labour, then got persecuted more after slavery ended, which is not comparable to fictional classism.

Also you cannot separate a James and Severus as "people vs characters" because they're fictional characters, this claim is actually so dumb I'm sick of hearing it.

Can you call someone great when they traumatized people back when they were younger and didn't regret it for shit?

I'm sorry but if I hear that "oh yeah that person you looooove? They actually stripped their bully victims in front of their whole school" I would stop loving that person and will resent them because nothing and I mean nothing can get me to forgive a sexual assaulter.

Lily: I'm so happy you changed.  James: If you mean that I'll still bully people behind your back and no one will care because I'm a pretty boy jock Pureblood in Gryffindor by change, than hell yeah I changed Lily: wat???

Opps. My hand slipped.

sorry for the poor hand writing and the setchyness

Basically, my response to all the Snape bashing in favor for James. 

[cjlouwho]

Twelve Christmases

chapter tags: discussions of a burn victim (nothing graphic), discussions of suicide and mental health, very brief mentions of things that happened in past chapters (Tommy's mom, military, red handkerchief, implied noncon), anxiety, depression, background character death, Tommy calls the crisis hotline

read below or on ao3

Day 10: 2022

“I'm calling Roberts in early, you can go home.”

“Captain Marks-”

“No, Kinard! What you did out there was careless. You could've gotten yourself killed.”

“And if I'd done nothing, that man would be dead.”

“He's gonna wish he were dead if he ever wakes up! He's got third degree burns on over seventy percent of his body! I don't mean to be harsh, Tommy, but you risked your life for a dead man walking!”

“So?” 

Marks took a deep breath, sitting back in his chair. “I'm gonna pretend I didn't just hear you say that. I know emotions are high right now, but you know as well as I do I can't have a pilot that isn't concerned about whether they live or die.”

“That's not-”

“Stop talking, Kinard,” Marks warned. “You're on the ground for five shifts, I'll reevaluate things myself after that. If I have any hesitation, for even a moment, about your intentions here, you're getting a psych eval. That'll put you on the ground forever. You understand me?”

Tommy pursed his lips, nodding his head. “I understand.”

“Good. Now, go home, enjoy the rest of your Christmas, come back next shift with a clear head.”

*****

By the time Tommy got home, it was nearing ten o'clock at night. His brain was a jumbled mess. It didn't seem to matter how many times he hit the punching bag in his garage, it was never enough.

After a quick shower, he thought about laying down.

But even the idea of that made him want to crawl out of his skin.

So, he began to pace.

He paced, and paced, and paced, with his hands on his hips. From the living room, to the kitchen, down the hall, and back again.

It all felt like too much. He wasn't just thinking about today. He was thinking about his mom. He was thinking about the military. He was thinking about the red handkerchief. He was thinking about waking up in a stranger's apartment with no clue what happened the night before.

He was thinking, thinking, thinking, pacing, pacing, pacing, and he needed it all to stop.

Just stop!

So he did something he never thought he'd do.

He wasn't even sure what made him do it.

All he remembered was pulling his phone out of his pocket and dialing the number.

988.

“988 crisis lifeline, this is Penny. How can I help you today?”

He froze.

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

He swallowed. Closed his eyes.

“I'm here.”

“Oh, good. May I ask who I'm speaking with?”

“Tommy,” no attempt to try for a fake name.

“Hi, Tommy! I'm Penny. I know I said it before, but I like to make sure the people I speak to heard me. Tommy, ca-”

“I'm not... I don't wanna kill myself,” Tommy interrupted, needing to make it clear. “I just needed someone to talk to.”

“Okay.” Her voice was soothing, familiar almost. A voice that Tommy hadn't heard in years. “That's what I'm here for, Tommy. What's on your mind?”

He tried to think of what to say. Tried to figure out the perfect way to start the conversation.

He was usually so put together.

But everything felt off.

“I hate Christmas.”

He wasn't sure why that was the first thing that popped into his brain at this moment, but it was out there now.

“A lot of people have complex feelings about holidays. It can be tough sometimes, no doubt about it.”

The tiny admission seemed to open a floodgate for Tommy. “My mom was thirty-eight when she died, and I'm thirty-eight now,” he explained. He was sure the words coming out of his mouth were just as jumbled as the thoughts in his head. “And she- she didn't die around Christmas. She actually died in June, so I don't know why I keep thinking about her today of all days, but I do. Not just her; I'm thinking about a lot of things. But it all sort of leads back to her at the end, I guess.”

“Was Christmas important to her?” Penny asked.

“She loved it when I was really little. Always liked looking at the lights and taking me to the mall to pick out things I wanted. I think my dad ruined Christmas for her though.”

“He wasn't big on the holiday?”

“He wasn't big on family. Looking back, I can see how being with him changed her. I didn't recognize it back then.”

“You were young. She probably didn't want you to recognize it.”

Tommy sighed, giving himself a moment to gather his thoughts. “She didn't get thirty-nine Christmases, you know? And that doesn't really seem fair. Because I'm here for my thirty-ninth Christmas and I don't even like the damn day. She deserved more. She deserved better.”

“It's never easy to understand why the people we love get taken from us too soon. It can be especially difficult when we lose them as a child.”

Tommy let out a humorless laugh. “She didn't get taken from me,” he bit out, “she left me.”

There was a pause on the line, then, “I'm sorry?”

“Yeah, she uh, she made that choice to leave herself. Stuck me with my dad, who never really gave a crap about me in the first place, and she... she was just gone.”

“I'm sorry about that, Tommy. That's a lot to have to deal with as a kid.”

“I don't ever talk about it, about her. I don't really have anyone to talk about it with. My dad never cared for emotions, so I just plaster a smile on my face and put my shoulders back and keep going.” Tommy shook his head, clearing his throat and wiping away the tears that were pooling in his eyes. “That's not why I called though. Not because of her.”

“Okay,” Penny replied. “Tell me why you called, Tommy.”

Tommy rolled his shoulders, trying to rid himself of some of the tension running through his body. “I did something stupid at work today, and I knew better. I just didn't care.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“I work for the fire department. I'm a firefighter pilot, but today I was on the ground. We were called to a fire at this house- well, more like a mansion- and we thought we had the place cleared. Then the daughter started yelling for her dad. I headed back inside and found him, um,” Tommy paused, taking in a shaky breath.

“It's okay, Tommy. Take your time.”

“He- He was at the source of the fire. A fairly large space heater exploded and the fire had spread quickly. The house was about to collapse, and I was being told to get out, but I stayed. Long story short, I was able to get the man out right before the structure collapsed. He was severely burned though. If he makes it, and it's a big if, he's going to wish he hadn't. My captain won't let me fly for a while now. Sent me home early.” He let out a humorless laugh. “I wasn't even supposed to work today. I took the shift because I hate this damn holiday.”

“You've mentioned that three times now,” Penny noted.

“What?”

“How much you dislike Christmas. Tommy, do you think that maybe the risk you took today had something to do with the fact it's Christmas? Emotions were already high, making you take risks you wouldn't usually take?”

“Hm,” Tommy hummed. “Maybe? I don't really know though, because I feel like I'm ready to take those same risks any day, anytime. I said it before, and I meant it, I'm not trying to die. I just... I don't think I care if I do. It didn't matter to me if I didn't make it out. We're all gonna die someday, you know? That's what I always figure. What's it matter if it's now?”

“I think it would matter to the people who love you. The people who care about you.”

“I don't think I know anyone well enough for them to be affected by my death.”

“Well, it would matter to me,” Penny replied matter-of-factly, and Tommy couldn't help but let out a laugh.

“I dunno, I can be kind of a bitch sometimes.”

“Thank God for that, I'd hate it if you were too perfect.”

“Well, I never said I wasn't perfect. Perfect and bitch can go together, right?”

“I think it's a great pairing.”

A smile lingered on Tommy's face. He couldn't remember the last time he spoke to someone so openly. “Penny?”

“I'm here.”

“Would you stay on the phone with me until Christmas is over?”

“Honey,” she answered, Tommy softening at the name, “I can honestly say there's nowhere else I'd rather be.”

Penny stayed on the phone with him until 12:01. She was willing to stay on the line longer, but by the time Tommy had watched the clock strike midnight, he was ready to go to bed.

He felt better. A little lighter than he had in a while.

He'd been in bed for about fifteen minutes, and was just dozing off when his phone buzzed.

It was Captain Marks.

The man from the house fire died on the operating table.

I know you wanted to save him, Tommy.

Unfortunately we can't save them all.

Tommy stared at the texts for a good ten minutes before switching over to the phone app and dialing 988 again.

[ninjatrashpanda]

Jingle All The Way (To The Damn ER)

Written for @bucktommywinterfest

Prompt: Holiday themed calls; Mistletoe Kiss

Rated: G

Tags: established relationship, fluff, holiday shenanigans

Read on AO3 here.

“Well, that’s…” Eddie said the moment the team had arrived and climbed out of the engine.

“Unfortunate,” Hen finished, her eyes fixed on the roof of the house they’d just pulled up to. Buck couldn’t exactly blame her. Up there, surrounded by absurd amounts of fake snow (and some of the most garish Christmas decorations Buck had ever seen), was a rather burly man in a Santa costume, his lower half stuck in a chimney, screaming and shouting out curse after curse. (Some seemingly not even in English, Buck noted. They sounded vaguely German to him, and for a moment he wondered if that made him racist.)

“That’s gotta be a new one,” Chim muttered, squinting up at the struggling Santa. “I mean, we’ve seen plenty of Santas in sticky situations, but this? This takes the fruitcake.”

How did things like these even happen? How did someone look at a chimney and say ‘Oh, yes, I’ll slide down there, no biggie!’ It was absolutely asinine, so completely unhinged and idiotic that Buck’s brain hardly was able to comprehend the thought process it must’ve taken this guy to end up where he did.

Then again, Buck probably really shouldn’t judge people for making harebrained decisions.

“Do you think he realizes that he probably would’ve busted his ankles if he’d actually slid down there?” Eddie asked, trying (and failing) to keep a straight face. The team’s radios crackled with a faint background hum, the absurdity of the scene almost enough to make them forget they were here on an actual call.

Buck tilted his head, stepping forward, his eyes narrowed. The more he looked at the scene, the more unreal it seemed. He decided to reconsider his earlier thought. He was allowed to judge, cause even he wasn’t lacking foresight this hard. “Is it just me, or does that chimney look way too small for him to have even considered crawling through it in the first place?”

“It’s not just you,” Bobby, who now rounded the engine to join the team, said, reaching for his radio. “Dispatch, Engine 118 is on scene. We have one victim, male, age seems to be mid to late forties. Victim appears to be stuck. And dressed as Santa.”

There was a pause before Dispatch answered, the crackle of static barely covering what Buck could’ve sworn was a snort of laughter. “Copy that, 118,” came Josh’s slightly strained response. Buck noticed Bobby side-eyeing his radio, but he couldn’t bring himself to blame Josh. He’d be laughing too if he wasn’t on this call professionally. “Please confirm: is the scene secure, and do you need additional resources?”

“I don’t know, maybe a team of reindeer to pull him out?” Chim called up toward the house, earning him a glare from Hen, who was probably already assessing what kind of injuries this guy could’ve suffered from…well, this.

“Scene’s secure,” Bobby said, ignoring Chim’s antics, and exchanging another couple of words with Josh. Then, he turned to the crew. “Buck, Eddie, grab the ladder and all the lube we have. Hen, Chim, get ready to check this guy out as soon as they get him down here.”

Buck shook his head as he jogged over to the rig to get the lube, their victim’s voice calling out every swear under the sun. “You know, for a guy playing Santa, he’s not exactly spreading holiday cheer up there.”

From the roof, Santa’s voice rang out, muffled but clearly annoyed. “I can hear you, you know!”

“Good!” Chim called back, a slightly catty edge to his voice. “Then you’ll be delighted to know we’re here to rescue your jolly behind!”

Eddie followed Buck to grab the ladder while Hen remained firmly planted, hands on her hips, staring up at Santa like he was her children’s math homework she was trying to help them with. “How did you not realize this is a terrible idea before you got halfway in?”

“I bet you he lost a dare,” Chim said, a wide grin spreading across his face. “There’s no way this guy just looked at that chimney and thought, ‘Yeah, I can make it.���”

Raising an eyebrow, Hen turned toward Chim and let out a small huff, “I’m sorry, but should you of all people make fun of that? Should I remind you of why we call you ‘Chimney?’”

Chim’s grin faltered for just a second, and Hen’s smirk grew triumphant. “Low blow, Hen,” he retorted, though his tone was light. “But, for the record, I didn’t willingly wedge myself in anything. I was an innocent victim of faulty construction.”

“Sure, Chim,” Hen said, her tone making it clear she didn’t believe him. She turned her attention back to the roof, where Santa continued to struggle, his efforts achieving nothing but a faint creaking noise from the chimney that made everyone on the ground cringe.

“Why am I not surprised?” Buck muttered, setting up the ladder and turning to Eddie. “Come on. Let’s get Santa out of there before he Tim Allens himself.”

Eddie planted his hands on the ladder to keep it steady as Buck began to climb. “Think he’ll go on the naughty list for this?”

“Not if we save him before Hen smacks some sense into him,” Buck called down, his voice lighthearted as he worked his way up toward the roof.

From below, Hen sighed and shook her head, her exasperation at Santa finally getting to her. “One of these days, I’m going to get through a shift without an incident that makes me question humanity.”

“Today is not that day,” Eddie replied, barely stifling his grin.

“Yeah, well,” Hen said, watching Buck hoist himself onto the roof, “let’s just hope Santa’s dignity is the only thing that got bruised tonight.”

As Buck reached the chimney, he peered down at the man’s awkwardly wedged body. This was worse than he had expected. Like he’d thought, the man’s stomach was plugging up the chimney entirely, but he hadn’t predicted the small cracks that were forming all around the top of the shaft, some of which already ran up to halfway down the sides. “Okay, big guy, hang tight. We’re gonna get you out of here, but try not to move too much.”

“Believe me,” Santa grumbled, a deadpan expression on his face. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Well, that much is obvious,” Buck said under his breath, before reaching for his radio. “Uh, Cap? Send Eddie up here with the tools. This is a two-man job at least and the lube’s not gonna cut it.”

Chim’s voice chimed in immediately. “Santa’s had one too many cookies, huh?”

“Not helping, Chim,” Buck shot back, shaking his head as he turned his attention back to the task at hand.

This was going to be a long shift.

🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄

“So this is not what we usually get called in for.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow at the, frankly, ridiculous scene in front of him. Somehow, a guy on skis had managed to not only crash into the giant Christmas tree that had been set up right by the main lodge, the guy had somehow managed to get himself completely tangled up in the lights, which still blinked in all colors of the rainbow.

In all his life as a soldier, a firefighter and now a rescue pilot, Tommy had never seen something this idiotic before.

“How did this even happen?” he asked the manager of the resort, a woman who appeared to be in her late thirties, who wore a sharp, dark grey pantsuit. To her credit, she seemed just as exasperated as he felt.

“I wish I knew,” the manager replied, pressing two fingers to her temple as if she were fighting off a migraine. “All I got was a frantic call from one of the lodge staff saying there was ’a skier emergency’ and that I should ‘bring someone who knows how to untangle knots.’” She gestured toward the blinking, flailing mess of a man. “I didn’t expect this.”

Tommy let out a long sigh and turned back to the scene. The skier, who was now groaning softly, looked like a particularly unfortunate ornament hung by an overzealous child. The man’s goggles were askew, his skis were pointing in entirely different directions, and his jacket, a garish neon green, made him look like an elf who’d lost a fight with Santa’s workshop.

“Is he…conscious?” Tommy asked, squinting.

“Yep, sure is,” García, one of the paramedics of the 217 he’d flown up here said. She straightened up and pulled her gloves on tighter. “Hey, Kinard, can you get me a backboard? I feel like we’re gonna need to tie this guy down even if he somehow managed not to break his spine.”

“On it,” Tommy replied with a sigh, and headed back to his chopper. He still wasn’t sure just how this could’ve possibly happened. He had a sinking suspicion that alcohol had played a part, but he kept that to himself, instead silently grabbing the backboard from the back of the helicopter.

He trudged back through the snow, (If the way the artificial stuff felt under his boots was anything to go on, he would absolutely despise real snow.) a soft hum under his breath. The resort’s cheery Christmas music (now an unfortunate backdrop to this circus) had invaded his brain and wouldn’t leave it for probably the rest of his shift (or a week later. Or a month. Or a goddamn year).

As Tommy handed the backboard over to García, he crouched down to get a better look at the skier. “Alright, buddy, you with us?” he asked, his voice sharp but not unkind.

The man groaned again and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “The tree came out of nowhere.”

Tommy blinked. “The tree came out of nowhere?” He exchanged a look with García, who rolled her eyes and smirked, biting her lip.

“I swear it did,” the skier slurred, his head lolling slightly to the side. “One minute, skiing. Next minute, tree.”

Tommy sighed, a sound that felt like it came straight from his soul. “Yeah, I’m sure the tree leapt right out to grab you. Happens all the time.” He shot a glance at the manager, who snorted softly but quickly disguised it as a cough. She was clearly trying to keep her professional veneer intact, but her expression betrayed her amusement.

García got to work, carefully cutting away a few strands of the blinking lights that had wound tightly around the man’s torso. “This guy’s tangled worse than my Abuela’s Christmas lights,” she muttered.

“Don’t disrespect your Abuela,” Tommy quipped. “At least she didn’t knock over the tree.”

The skier let out a low groan. “I’m never drinking eggnog again…”

Ah, there it was. Tommy resisted the urge to say, called it, and focused on the task at hand. “Look, pal, we’re gonna get you out of here, but I need you to stay still. Can you do that?”

The skier didn’t respond directly, but he gave a lazy thumbs-up that didn’t inspire much confidence.

“Great,” García muttered. “Kinard, help me stabilize him before we move him.”

Tommy stepped in to assist, holding the backboard steady as García and the other paramedic carefully maneuvered the man’s limbs. The lights resisted, clinging stubbornly to the skier as if they were part of some cosmic punishment for his sins against Christmas decor. It took some creative maneuvering and a few choice curses from García before the last of the lights finally snapped free.

Once the skier was secured to the backboard, Tommy stood up and dusted the snow off his pants. “Alright, let’s load him up. We’ll fly him down to the hospital for a once-over.”

The manager stepped closer, looking at the still-blinking lights strewn across the snow like abandoned tinsel. “What about…all this?” She gestured vaguely at the scene of destruction.

Tommy shrugged. “I’d say leave it. It’ll make for a great story. ‘The Tree Incident of 2024.’ You could make it an annual thing, build some buzz.”

The manager shot him a flat look. “I think we’ll pass.”

“Suit yourself.” He turned back toward the helicopter, falling in line behind the paramedics carrying the backboard. “Let’s get Bode Miller here some help before he decides to start singing carols.”

As they walked, the skier managed to lift his head just enough to croak out one final, utterly sincere question: “But…did I win?”

Tommy couldn’t stop himself. He grinned. “Oh, buddy. You definitely won.”

🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄

“Dispatch, this is engine 118,” Bobby spoke into his radio, snapping the rest of the crew into Business Mode. “We’re pulling up on scene.”

The truck came to a halt outside a large community center, which seemed almost normal and boring. Except for the plumes of smoke coming out of one of the windows. Buck groaned and rolled his eyes. He hoped this wasn’t an actual fire, or at least that the window had already been opened by the time it started, because he didn’t know how he’d react if he found out someone in there had opened a window on a fire.

“Copy that, 118,” the dispatcher’s voice (Maddie this time) came through their radios as they all rushed to grab their gear. “Community Christmas Baking Event, one of the ovens caught fire. The 217 is on scene, Captain Chen is IC, he’ll give you more details.”

Buck’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of the 217, but he quickly shrugged it off. Sure, running into his boyfriend on the job would be nice, but there were more pressing matters at hand. Besides, Tommy was on helicopter duty today anyway. He was way up in the sky, riding his bird through the clouds and saving lives by bringing victims to the hospital far faster than an ambo ever could.

It brought a sigh to Buck’s lips as he jogged after Eddie and into the building at Captain Chen’s command, the same love struck one he always seemed to sigh when he thought about Tommy and his effortless coolness, and big heart, and dashing good looks. (And especially the cleft. God, did he love that cleft!) Less than a year ago, he hadn’t even known he was into men, and now here he was, happily, knowingly in love with the very same one who had blasted his closet door open with all the force of the hurricane they’d flown into when they had met.

The smell of burnt sugar and smoke hit Buck like a fist to the face as soon as he and Eddie entered the community center, every thought of Tommy instantly pushed to the back of his mind as he went into rescue mode. Eddie was already barking orders to one of the event organizers, a frazzled woman in a holiday sweater that had seen better days, while Buck took in the scene.

The lobby was a chaos of flour-dusted people, from crying children to panicked adults to people from the 217 trying to evacuate everyone, and a steady stream of smoke curling out of the kitchen at the far end of the hall. Buck followed Eddie through the hall, their boots clomping against the polished floor as they approached the kitchen door, quickly checking every frazzled bystander for injuries before urging them to leave the building already.

“Cap, this is Diaz, we’ve got thick smoke but no visible flames yet,” Eddie reported over his shoulder. “Kitchen is at the end of the main hallway. Looks like the sprinkler system hasn’t gone off.”

“At least the fire’s contained, then,” Bobby’s voice crackled through the radio. “Chen said two of his men are already in the kitchen, Hayes and Kinard. Assist them however they need.”

Buck’s brain came to a screeching halt. Kinard? Did Bobby just say Kinard?! His heart thudded in his chest, and he nearly tripped over his own feet, catching himself just before Eddie noticed his sudden shift in demeanor. Kinard. Bobby had said Kinard. Tommy’s here. The realization brought a wide grin to Buck’s face at the thought of seeing his boyfriend in action, all big, and tough, and competent. He didn’t have time to process it, though, as he and Eddie reached the kitchen door, where the thick haze of smoke was quickly becoming stifling.

Eddie pushed it open, and they were greeted by chaos. Two firefighters from the 217 were already inside, one, Hayes according to his turnout jacket, directing a fire extinguisher toward an oven that was the apparent source of the problem, while the other worked to move large trays of baked goods away from the immediate area. The oven in question was blackened, with flames licking at its edges, a few stray flames dotted around the floor.

“Buckley! Diaz!” Hayes called out, practically bombarding the oven with foam. “We could use another set of hands on this.”

“On it,” Eddie shouted briskly, moving toward him. Buck’s eyes, however, had already met the other firefighters, and for a moment, it was as if everything around them didn’t even exist.

There he was, helmet on, jacket slightly singed, cleft chin invisible under the oxygen mask, but just knowing it was there and waiting for him to come kiss it made Buck weak in the knees. Tommy’s eyes widened in surprise, but he recovered quickly. “Evan,” he called, and Buck couldn’t put his finger on why, but his voice sounded…hot. Hotter. Or something. He wasn’t sure what it was, just that he really wanted to tear the turnouts off of Tommy, fire and smoke be damned. “What are the odds?”

Buck managed a lopsided grin (that he knew Tommy would’ve loved if he only could have seen it!), his heart pounding a mile a minute. Tommy, all professional, and sooty and goddammit, Buck could almost smell the musk radiating off of him from over here. “Right?” he somehow brought out with a wiggle of his eyebrows. “It seems so unlikely!”

Tommy gave a quick shake of his head, exasperation evident in the way his eyes crinkled even under the helmet, but there was an unmistakable fondness too. “Focus up, Buckley,” he said, and if Buck wasn’t mistaken, there was a hint of a smirk tugging at the edges of his voice. “There’s still an oven fire to handle, and I’m pretty sure Captain Nash won’t appreciate me distracting his star firefighter.”

“Oh, I’m the star now?” Buck shot back, already moving to sort out the flames on the ground while Eddie and Hayes double-timed the burning oven. He could feel the warmth of Tommy’s presence nearby, but there was a job to do here, so he couldn’t even bask in it.

“Always have been,” Tommy replied, the words so casual Buck nearly choked on the laugh that bubbled out of him, all while Tommy had already turned his attention back to the task at hand with all the casualness the situation allowed. It was like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on Buck’s overactive heart, and that only made him more feral inside.

“Hey!” Eddie barked, snapping Buck back into focus. “Quit flirting and help us!”

Right. Fire. Job. Professionalism.

Finished with the smaller fires, Buck moved to assist Hayes and Eddie with the oven, which turned out to be a much bigger problem than they had anticipated. Together, they aimed for the stubborn flames that were trying to escape the oven, working in tandem to snuff them out. The smoke was thick and cloying, stinging Buck’s eyes even through his mask, but the blaze was already starting to die down. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Tommy check the rest of the appliances for damage and ensure no other hotspots could reignite, causing another swell of pure affection and, frankly, borderline horniness to rush through Buck’s body.

The team worked efficiently, their movements seamless and practiced. Within minutes, the immediate danger was contained, the oven reduced to a smoldering mess. Eddie called it in to Bobby while Hayes and Tommy began assessing the kitchen’s ventilation system to clear the remaining smoke.

Buck busied himself by checking out (and mourning) the remaining trays of half-burnt cookies and pies, but his mind kept wandering to Tommy. It was surreal seeing him here, grounded instead of flying high above the chaos. Buck had always admired the cool confidence Tommy exuded in the air, but now he was seeing it up close, in action on the ground.

Once the kitchen was declared safe, the teams began packing up their gear. The smoke was thinning, though the acrid smell of burnt sugar lingered in the air. Buck caught Tommy leaning against the wall, his helmet tucked under one arm, looking as composed as ever despite the soot smudged across his cheek.

“So,” Buck said, sidling up to him, “what’s it like working with your feet on the ground for a change?”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, that smirk reappearing. “Not bad. Less turbulence, more smoke. And I get to run into you.”

Buck chuckled, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks despite himself. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

“Yeah, I had to fill in for Callahan. Broke his arm on a call this morning,” Tommy said casually. “Guess I was meant to be here.” He tilted his head, his gaze softening. “You okay? You look a little... out of it.”

“I’m fine,” Buck said quickly, though his heart still hadn’t entirely settled. “It’s just that you don’t meet an absolutely irresistible beast while out on a call.”

Tommy’s smirk grew. “Ah, so I made you look like a lovesick puppy. Figures. I have that effect on people.”

Eddie’s voice cut through their moment. “Buck! We’re wrapping up. Let’s go.”

Buck flinched at the sudden intrusion of his and Tommy’s bubble, and he quickly shot his partner a venomous look, (not that Eddie seemed to care much, judging by the exasperated expression) before turning back to Tommy.

“Duty calls,” he said with a shrug, but he hesitated before stepping away. “I’ll see you later?”

Tommy gave him a small, private smile, the kind that made Buck’s heart flutter in a way that still felt new and thrilling. And then, without a warning, he placed his fingers under Buck’s jaw, his thumb brushing over his chin, before pulling him in.

Their lips met in a soft, tender kiss, one that sent a shockwave of warmth through Buck’s body. Almost instinctively, Buck grabbed Tommy’s hips to pull him closer, any space being between them making him feel like he was suffocating. He craved the heat of Tommy’s body, the firmness of his chest, even the smell of smoke and burned gingerbread in his hair.

Despite Buck’s excruciating hunger, he didn’t try to deepen the kiss beyond the chaste, soft peck it was. He wanted to, of course, the craving to rip Tommy’s turnouts off never having gone away, but he knew none of that was something they could do right now. Even just this was highly unprofessional and probably shouldn’t ever have happened, though Buck couldn’t possibly care less about it. His hot boyfriend was hot, and he had initiated smooch time, and Buck was only a man.

Tommy pulled back after a moment, his smirk softening into something tender, and Buck’s breath caught in his throat as his eyes found Tommy’s watching him with that familiar sparkle of pure, unadulterated love.

“Uh, what was that?” Buck chuckled. He tried to fight it, but he couldn’t help the smile that started to creep onto his face. “That wasn’t very…I don’t think Captain Chen and Captain Nash would approve of…”

“I think they would,” Tommy cut him off with a shrug. “You know, just this once. We were legally obligated to, after all.”

At Buck’s quizzical look, he simply pointed upward. Buck followed the gesture, tilting his head back to look up. And his heart nearly stopped. Hanging above them, just barely visible amidst the smoke and the still-swirling chaos of the kitchen, was a small sprig of mistletoe. It was a little toasty, but most of it, including the shiny, bright red bow tied around it, had miraculously survived.

He blinked at it, then back at Tommy, who was now grinning fully, his teeth flashing white despite the soot smudged on his face. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Buck muttered, feeling his cheeks heat up even more. “Mistletoe? In the middle of a kitchen?”

Tommy shrugged, his expression infuriatingly nonchalant. “Rules are rules, babe.”

Buck let out a half-laugh, half-scoff, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it.” Tommy repliplied, wiggling his eyebrow. And really, Buck couldn’t argue with that logic, but before he could respond, Eddie’s voice echoed sharply through the kitchen doorway.

“Buck! Seriously, let’s go!”

Buck groaned, giving Tommy one last lingering look. “Duty calls. Again. I’ll see you later?”

“Of course,” Tommy said, his voice warm, his smirk softening into something gentler. “Go save the world, babe.”

Buck pulled Tommy into one more short hug and planted a quick peck to his lips before turning around and jogging over to the door, always aware of the fond expression Tommy watched him with. As he followed Eddie back out the building and to the truck, he couldn’t keep the grin off his face, even as Eddie shot him a knowing look.

“Don’t,” Buck said preemptively, waving his hand around. “Not. A. Word.”

Eddie smirked. “Didn’t say anything.”

But he didn’t need to. Buck knew what his own face looked like right now, the power Tommy had over him no secret to him. It wasn’t like he cared much, either. He’d been the happiest he had ever been this past year, and if this continued, well.

He wasn’t going to complain.

[thaltro]

Hey there, I saw your recent post and just have to say that once upon a time when I was bored I decided to check out the tumblr tag for ut au's even though I'm not as interested in it anymore as I was before just to see what's been happening in the fandom then found out about your account and fell in love with your art!

I haven't been into UT AU's in a while but I still stalk your account just because I love love love your character designs and the concept of nightwatch (I'm checking your profile every now and then just to check if there's any announcements on it like a madman) and the way you draw and color. If it wasn't for the fact that I need to be stingy with my money these days I'd genuinely commission you 😭‼️

Idk how I'm supposed to end this note but I just rly wanted to show the appreciation I have for ur art you genuinely inspire me to create <33

(PS Atrophy's design is so cool where'd you get the inspo for it I have to know)

This is genuinely really sweet

I’ve been working on commissions, just checked my inbox and I have a lot of sweet messages like this one- I’ll answer as many as I can soon it is 2- almost 3 am (time zone reveal) so I’ll sleep soon.

I’m really surprised people genuinely like my au, even though I’m not getting as many interactions (for some reason TikTok is pretty consistent- just not here?) I’m most confused at people actually caring 😭

Besides my beta readers and the few people I’ve spilled all my nightwatch lore too for no good reason, there’s a good handful of sweet people who like my posts without even knowing the full story. That means alot to me, like alot alot.

It’s nice hearing from people who used to be in the fandom and somehow came across my stuff. I kinda want to attract that crowd, I really don’t understand the newer fandom as i was introduced to the utmv when I was like 11 and the old fandom holds a special place in my heart.

Oh and to answer your question- Atrophy’s design is based off of men’s clothing from the 40-80s, his main outfit is 70s talk show hosty but he has a lot of different outfits. I’m a history nerd so I just go through old fashion books haha. His design is supposed to embody wealth and “manliness”. His tie is supposed to be an arrow which is a reference to his past, his red gloves are worn because he’s proud of being “red handed” and isn’t ashamed of the blood he’s spilt. He wears a moon mask that covers up any of his expressive facial features because he thinks it’s funny when his victims can’t read his expression. Atrophy purposely dresses like a villain, that’s what he sees his role as after all- might as well have a good costume.

Thank you for the ask, it cheered me up

[agrlsname]

Thank you @therealsaintscully for the tag! I'm soon about to post what might be my very last fic, so it's quite fitting to look back on my journey now.

How many works do you have on ao3?

38 – all Johnlock, except for one GO fic. On New Year's Eve I will post number 39!

What’s your total word count?

371,360 (will soon top it off with another 221 words ;))

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

What Friends Do (by FAR), Who I Really Am (personal fave), The General Idea, Coldness/Heat, Tomorrow's Song

Do you respond to comments? Why/why not?

At first I responded to every single one! And I still try to respond to every single person. But now, I sometimes only respond to the last one if it's a reader who's commented on every chapter and I get all the comments at once. I like staying connected to the readers, that's one of the most fun parts about fandom!

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

It has to be This Is Your Song. I mean, there's another one within a series that end in an angsty cliffhanger, but MCD surely has to take the prize?

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

Oh my, nearly all of them have happy endings – so what would count as happier than happy..? Maybe it's actually the one that isn't posted yet – stay tuned for the resolution of the New Year's Kiss series!

Do you write crossovers?

Nope. I've written a fusion though (Johnlock and Moulin Rouge!).

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yup. Some people get really angry at John in What Friends Do and they take it out on me. It's interesting because many MANY others adore the story with all their hearts! I even wrote a sequel from John's POV just to try to get people to understand, but the haters didn't understand anyway.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Even though at the beginning I said I'd never, half of my works are now rated E or M. What kind? Um, is "emotional, gay sex" a genre?

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I hope not!

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Many of them, into five different languages! Coolest thing ever.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, I think I'm too pedantic for that. I've loved working with my beta on some poem translations, though, that The Sky is Full of Fiddles is based on.

What's your all-time favourite ship?

38 fics – you all know it's Johnlock, right? There are others that I love, but nothing can ever compare.

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

I don't have WIPs! I'm too much of a control freak and perfectionist when it comes to writing – I want to be able to change the beginning when I'm writing the ending. I don't even have unpublished WIPs – I hate the idea of leaving works unfinished. If I was still in those first years of writing frenzy, when I was single and didn't have a child, I'd have expanded on This Time – but as it is, I knew that I wouldn't have the time to do it justice. So I purposely ended on a cliffhanger that would still allow it to stand on its own the way it is.

What are your writing strengths?

Emotions, according to my beta! If you ask me, I'd say describing things – often emotions, I suppose – in new, poetic ways that play on different senses and therefore make them immediate. It's something I love reading myself, anyway, so it's something I've been practicing for... well, decades now. I'd like to think I've gotten at least somewhat good at it.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I'm weirdly bad at coming up with the small details that aren't important, but needed. A recent example is I needed a character to text another with an invented problem to try to get him to come over. It wasn't at all important what the problem was, but it also couldn't be just anything; it had to be in line with his character. I could not for the life of me come up with this problem myself – eventually my husband did it for me. So those kinds of details in my stories are rarely from my own brain!

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Hmm, well, I've tried not to do that. As a reader I find it annoying to have to look things up, or scroll down to the notes. I have three fics in which characters aren't English; in This Is Your Song I added a couple of "Bonjour"s for flavour, which is about as far as my own French knowledge reaches... In the Fiddles series they're Swedes and speak my mother tongue, but I've written everything in English except for the words that English doesn't have (like for example "polska", a kind of dance), and at the very end, some song lyrics that are then translated into English in the end notes that come immediately after. I did want to add that song for flavour, but I didn't want it to be annoying.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Johnlock! I started in the aftermath of season 4 back in January 2017 and then couldn't stop.

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

I'm wondering whether I will come back to fic writing at a later point, but for another fandom. I've long wanted to write more for GO, although I already have written one fic. It would probably be a lot of fun to write for OFMD too. Doctor Who maybe? I don't know, it intimidates me to write for a new fandom where I don't yet know the characters as well as I know Sherlock and John.

What's your favourite fic you've written?

This question is too cruel! There are so many of them that I love. Maybe I have to say The Sky is Full of Fiddles, after all – it holds such a special place in my heart for many reasons that go beyond the story itself (although that's true for several fics). Other faves are Your Daughter, The Zebra Sheets and of course Who I Really Am, which I'm liking enough to turn it into a novel I'm now trying to get published. See, I couldn't pick one!!

I'm on Tumblr way too sporadically to have any idea of who's already done this and who hasn't, so I don't dare tag anyone... Feel free to take it and tag me if you feel like it!

[mamawasatesttube]

the whole "jason rules crime alley and none of the other bats are allowed there!!1!" thing is so funny like. tim LITERALLY lives in the theater where bruce's parents died,

[bayetea]

seeing non-black people critique rick's portrayal of black characters is interesting sometimes. only like 30% of the critiques I see make any sense to me to be honest

[smoshingatut]

I'm kinda tired of dungeon meshi fans blatantly misinterpreting Kabru's goals, motivations, and character so they can ship him with Laios...like obviously it's awesome if you enjoy Laikabu but can you nooot twist Kabru's intentions for involving himself with the guy who constantly triggers his monster trauma and pisses him off so bad he gets brain damage so that he turns into "the guy who wants to suck Laios's dick" as his entire character? I've even seen people cut off Kabru's words to make it seem like he is admiring Laios because it would disrupt that narrative

[ettadunham]

sometimes i remember the hunger games and how nobody actually paid attention to what was in those books

[liquidstar]

a friend who'd wait :)

[commence-screaming]

I know you all are awaiting my response, and I’m grateful for your patience. There are some things I have to address here. Never wanted to put everything out there—I don’t like drama on my blog. I have a document that’s over a thousand words long, but I realized that when people have blocked me and are saying stuff in the main tag, they don’t want to listen. They just want to hurt me.

So I guess now there are things I have to clarify… it’s heavy, but I tried to keep it short. I didn’t have the energy to read everything they were saying about me so I may get things wrong. I didn’t really want to post this.

Content warnings for mental illness, suicidal ideation, mentions of abuse.

Let’s get right into it.

1. I’ve always lived with the paranoid delusion that everyone was conspiring against me, that people secretly hated me and would smear me behind my back. I passed these off as negative thoughts, anything that might’ve “confirmed” this would set it off. I’d have an episode I would have to deal with on my own. I thought that nobody would stick with me in a crisis, and I would always be thinking along the lines of, “is it all over?”

I feel liberated, now. There’s no need to fight when they’re true. I am more at peace with myself.

2. I never want to hurt anyone. Not a real level, the angst stuff is fictional pain. I am autistic—the things you’re hearing me say are the first times I’ve talked to people (other than my family) for my entire life. I always want people to go to me when I do something wrong so I can handle it and learn from my mistakes, that’s why I have my bio set to what it is.

That, and my memory is so fuzzy that I can’t remember too much from even last week. I tend to dissociate and my brain turns into mush.

3. The “minor incident” that Ghouse and the others were talking about was one of his mods saying she’d “tear people apart” and then immediately citing me as the main cause because I was “being rude.” I told her why I was taking a break, as I couldn’t handle it, this had happened before and I asked them to correct me if I was wrong—even confirming multiple times that we were just joking around because I was paranoid.

I suggested they go straight to me for future reference. I was having a mental health episode. She called me crazy and that I was overreacting, implying I was stupid. Another mod told me I was overreacting and that I was acting pathetic and childish. This made point 1 so much worse.

4. The “suicide baiting” was something I told the Panic Room server in confidence. I told them I was talking a break. Ghouse said “it wasn’t that bad but okay,” as if he were gaslighting me. He said things like this as I was sobbing alone in my room, which he was well aware of.

I have to clarify that it wasn’t baiting. Suicidal ideation has been something I’ve been dealing with since I was 9 years old. I have been abused/gaslit for more of my life than I have been safe. I never wanted to say this, but they were brushing me off at a point where I was trying to find a reason to live. I had stupidly thought that they would understand what they were doing to me if I said.

5. That was the first time I had an episode like that. To say that it was baiting is to say I was lying. Let’s play devil’s advocate here.

If I were lying for attention, why would I destroy all my relationships in a single night? Why wouldn’t I make art or something along those lines? They’re big on art.

If I wasn’t, then that would mean that I was having a few bad days and they did nothing to help me… beyond condescendingly saying that I need help. I don’t blame the minors in the server, I’m talking about Ghouse, who is older than I am by around 2 years. I told them I called 988 and it didn’t really work. He continued to tell me off.

After I was kicked I was made aware that they immediately started insulting me. Whether you believe me or not, purposely attacking someone who’s mentally ill is… too far. I hadn’t done anything to them before this incident.

6. The reasons I freaked out was because I was sad that I had unintentionally hurt people, I had started a new, dangerous job, and… well, to be honest, I was terrified.

They were making me forget that I’d been hurt. I was starting to trust them. I had been starting to look forward to tomorrow. And, I was so scared that it would all be over. I didn’t know when, just that it would be.

Now, it is.

7. I may very well have been joking around with everything while on the server, but serious topics were serious. I was never “demeaning” when Ghouse was venting about something that happened to him beyond a couple of lighthearted comments. I thought they’d have the same respect for me. Again, I had confirmed multiple times that I was joking.

8. I might not have done much wrong in the Panic Room situation, but the other things that people are saying about me? I had no idea.

That was the first time I’d ever heard of them.

In the past, my autism had gone completely unchecked. some of those things were from when I was a week into being on my first server… ever. I was 17, had no idea how to check for age or even pronouns. Never used anything but tumblr, never interacted with anyone. Never went to school or even had a job at that point. I more tried to figure out everything based off of my own experiences… which was, not good. To say the least. The things I did, in my head, I thought they were “normal.” This doesn’t make it less terrible, but I hadn’t even remembered some of the incidents until someone pointed it out. It was so mundane to me—I was a messed up child. I’m sorry for this.

8. I wasn’t the best person, I really wasn’t. I didn’t know how to “mask” my traits at that time, I was excited to be able to talk to people. I was protective over my friends (my first friends! ever!) and very clingy. I didn’t know that people held characters close to their hearts, either? (When I have a favorite, I only want to hurt them, you see)

So while the doc was deliberately taking things out of context, some of the other accusations are true, unfortunately. I will be posting my DMs between me and the people on the server in my doc.

9. I have explanations for what I’ve seen of the accusations, but I don’t really recall anything from that incident over 3 years ago… if someone had told me, or even confronted me, I’d have known what was wrong. But they didn’t, and they kept talking to me like everything was normal. I was completely unaware. This is most of the reason I thought people were plotting against me—people would be cold to me and I wouldn’t know why. The worst part is that I can’t apologize. I can’t even try to rectify anything. Some of the people in that server still played PAYDAY 2 with me, some would even reply to my DMs. I had… no idea.

I have hurt people. Unknowingly, but still. I apologize to anyone I’ve affected. Most of it was not knowing how basic social media functions worked. I hope you understand that my behavior was out of line, and that I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. Don’t defend me on that, I was entirely wrong. But… smearing me in the fandom tag instead of going to me directly means that they want to attack me. They don’t want an explanation.

All of my actions were genuine. I never intended to hurt anyone, but that’s what ended up happening. I’ll put more detail into the doc.

10. I was already going to take a break. I was already doing poorly, and the server knew this. At that point, they want me to go through with it. What else would they be saying when they do all of this? Unless I’m reading that wrong. Whatever the reason is, they don’t want to help me, they’re deliberately being malicious and they know I wasn’t baiting.

Although, I guess I have to thank them. Now, I can say that I wasn’t delusional. I can say that I was too smart for my own good. How crazy does it sound to think that everyone was just waiting to betray me? But… they were. I can begin to trust myself again, even if it’s accepting some of my “negative thoughts” as reality. I won’t be reaching out to anyone I don’t already know, and there is safety in never putting myself out there again.

Thank you to everybody who stuck around. My delusions… weren’t entirely correct. Just like how most of my former friends blocked me on sight, there were a few people who didn’t mind when I wasn’t responding. There are some people who believed in me to a point where even if all those accusations were true, they believed that I could change. That’s… something I never thought I’d hear, ever, in my life. That is a form of trust I don’t deserve, really.

So, I was wrong again. Not everyone wanted me gone. It took all of this for me to realize that there were people who loved me in the truest form of it.

As for everyone who cut me off… well, I hope you understand that because of my mental issues, I can never trust you beyond a professional level. It is for my own wellbeing, because I’m still not doing good. I will still be taking that break. The PAYDAY 2 fandom was a source of reprieve for me, and now it’s not. It wasn’t an accident that it turned out that way. All my safe spaces have been taken from me. I don’t know why the Panic Room server hated me, so I can’t provide any extra insight on that.

The truth is, I haven’t been around because I’ve been dealing with depression for a long time. I’ve been passively… yknow. Not actively. I haven’t had the energy to respond to anything on most days, I’m sorry for that :(

All of this was just the breaking point, really.

Thank you for reading. I know most people won’t, but I appreciate those who do. I won’t blame the rest of you if you all decide to leave as well, I understand that. I never made the blog for other people, I made it for myself. This whole thing will serve as a reminder that there are more important things than online spaces. Can’t get therapy because I’m broke, but I can enjoy the few things I still can… even if I’m reminded of what I’ve lost. I don’t think I’ll really be here anymore, but I will be okay.

[lemongogo]

j need to get back into life drawing post haste

[averlym]

HI I DIDNT KNOW YOU WERE INTO ADAMANDI HOLY SHIT. Can’t believe so few people know about this masterpiece of a musical

:OOOOO hai i agree it is criminally (haha yknow bc there are crimes..) underrated!! and really brilliant!!! discovered it literally midway through the week and akdfjgsjhdsjhjgdf

have a doodle of the saints :3

[svtskneecaps]

literally it's 3am where i live and i'm on mobile but FUCK IT i haven't posted any actual writing in like a YEAR on this blog whose description include the words "I WRITE" and i can't tell if i'm even going anywhere with this so fuck it under the cut is the prospective absolute mess of the first chapter of the flipo family time loop fic. (for clarity, flipo family as in slime, mariana, and juanaflippa) this covers loop 0, aka the relevant parts of canon. words: 1630

parts of it i popped off with and other parts i hate; up to you to identify them. also the italics and other formatting got erased when i copy pasted and i'm re-adding all of it by hand so if i missed a spot, no i didn't. if i missed an accent on a letter in spanish that was a typo, if i missed a ¡ or ¿ that may have been on purpose.

oh and for obvious reasons, content warning for mentions and mild descriptions of child death and child murder. no blood, and most of it is a three word mention; i'd say the brief paragraph beginning "Tilín didn't scream" is most of the reason this warning exists.

Charlie Slimecicle stepped off the train.

He’d been hoping for a bright, sunny day to start their vacation, but was sorely disappointed. The portal had apparently taken them pretty far, since they’d gone from noon to night time. Talk about jetlag. They hadn’t even been on a plane.

“What happened to the other guys?” he wondered aloud as he stepped onto the platform.

“Yeah no clue,” Phil said, scanning the empty station. “Thought they’d meet us here.”

“Guys!” one of the Spanish speakers--Vegetta, he’d said, when they’d all met up at the first station--called, from a lectern at the wall. “There is a book!”

They crowded around as he read the instructions aloud--something about pressure plates, Slime wasn’t paying that close of attention. He was a little more preoccupied with making sure it only felt like his brain was dripping out of his ears. That would be kind of embarrassing.

Which was not to say that he wasn’t enjoying the constant onslaught of people talking over each other using words he may or may not understand. In fact, it was the opposite; he was frankly thriving in the absolute chaos that kicked back up around him as a timer appeared in the wrist communicators they’d been provided along with their tickets.

“Como se dice ‘we are going to die now’?” He giggled, chasing Phil and Fit to one end of the station.

“¡Vamos a morir!” shouted Spiderman, echoed seconds later by the black bear in the collared shirt.

Giddy over the high of attempting to use his high school foreign language for the first time maybe ever, Slime absolutely didn’t contribute much to solving the puzzle, and before long the sound of the timer ticking down was accompanied by a loud buzzing alarm.

“It’s been an honor!” he shrieked at the top of his lungs. “It’s been an honor!”

The bear ran past them again, shouting, “I’m going to die!” in English this time.

“Adiós amigos!” Slime yelled.

The countdown ended.

And then his communicator buzzed, and there was a video playing on the screen, showing a cartoonish yellow duck in front of a blurry beach stock photo. He skimmed it absently--some generic welcoming message and another side quest for them--distracted by Maximus audibly losing his shit laughing across the station.

“Come on, I’m trying to take a vacation, I gotta work now?” Fit complained. “This is ridiculous.”

Slime wanted to jump on that bit, but the message cut off with coordinates marred by static and the noise of the emergency weather alert system and he lost his train of thought completely.

“I got the English book!” Spreen called, holding it with two fingers like it had personally offended him.

“English leader,” Vegetta said, seeming to find that amusing.

“English leader.” Spreen laughed and flicked the book away. Slime stepped back but somehow it still nailed him in the chest.

“Guess I’m reading then,” he said cheerfully.

“In Spanish?” Maximus said.

“Um.”

Vegetta called something, backing across the plaza with the book open in his hands. Phil backed up to the wall.

“Here,” Phil instructed, “we’ll read it here.”

“Okay okay.” He flicked it open. “So we have to get water wheel planks--”

Their peace lasted a grand total of thirty seconds as voices suddenly began shouting, overlapping in chaotic chorus.

“What is that?” Fit demanded.

“Is that coming from the other side?” Phil stared up at the top of the wall.

“This is the thinnest thick wall I’ve ever seen,” Slime said, giddy laughter bubbling out of him again. “Is this thing made out of pencil shavings? If I sneeze on it, is there gonna be a hole?”

“Nevermind, we’ll read it over here.” Phil dragged them away again, but the Spanish speakers were dispersing into the trees.

“Forget the book,” Fit said, “follow them!”

(In the end it was explosives that took the wall down, which in hindsight was a precursor to how a not insignificant portion of time on the island was spent. The first day, however, it was just funny, much like everything else.)

(That was to say, the first first day.)

The communicator had indicated that today there was something special planned, so he made an extra effort to wake up.

“Morning Jaiden!” he called to his upstairs neighbor.

“Hi Charlie!” He could hear her farming through the wall. “Glad you woke up on time!”

“Well you know, you know, El Backflipo couldn’t miss it,” he joked, sifting through his backpack. “Got any spare food? I’ll trade you uno backflipo.”

“I have so much toast, come here and get some, free of charge.”

With a quick backflip and some toast to start the day, he popped open the map.

“There’s a lot of people down the wall,” he noted, their green dots so clustered they formed one. “Wanna check it out?”

“Yeah sure.” Jaiden tossed some seeds into a chest. “Do you know what this event’s gonna be?”

“I have no idea,” he admitted cheerfully.

She laughed. “Yeah, me neither. I guess there’s an egg involved, but that’s all I know.”

He dug around in his backpack for a paraglider, nodding along. “Yeah, yeah, un huevo, I get you.” Shuffling the landmine from Vegetta to one side, he yanked out his glider and threw himself out her window. “Let’s go!”

(nothing like getting struck by lightning to wake a guy up in the morning)

Slime fiddled with the communicator as he waited for the line of people to get through the ticket machine; he already had his own, a nice B for Backflipo. The new live translations still boggled his mind. He had to fight the urge to chant weird shit under his breath, just to see what the bubbles would say.

He paid a little extra attention when Mariana walked up to the machine. That guy seemed cool. They’d done that pequeño dormir together on day one, and he had a good sense of humor. Egg parenting would probably be funny.

He was thrilled to see the B for Backflipo on the ticket Mariana stepped away with, even if Mariana was decidedly less so. This was gonna be good.

(it was, and it wasn’t)

So, Mariana wasn’t exactly the coparent of dreams. Then again, Slime was pretty sure Mariana could say the same about him. In fact he was pretty sure Mariana had said the same, but in Spanish, when he wasn’t checking the translation.

It was great. They thought they’d killed a child immediately and then decided to fake their own child’s death to get away with it, and then confessed their sins to a bilingual angel and built a farm and then he buried himself beneath an improvised cross and went into a coma until his sins were forgiven, or something, except his sins weren’t forgiven in time to save his own child’s life.

And then Juanaflippa was dead. Dead at Mariana’s hand.

His bitch wife killed their daughter.

(Everything went faster, after that.)

Slime wanted to kill him.

Slime wanted to kill him for killing their fucking daughter, but of course, Mariana couldn’t even be bothered to be around to take care of her alive, never mind to pay for his crimes when she died by his hand!

(in a better world, his rage started and ended there. in a better world, the anger fizzled out with the lack of a target.

this was not that world)

There couldn’t be an Egg Event with no eggs.

If he killed them all, it would bring her back.

(in a worse world, he succeeded. in a worse world, the Egg Event ended there.

this was not that world)

They held a trial.

If he won, it would bring her back.

(in another world, he didn’t convince them. in another world, they left his daughter in Hell.

this was not that world)

Tilín was still before she hit the ground.

Tilín didn’t scream. Maybe they didn’t have time. It happened so fast. He was sure it happened fast. Almost too fast. But everything went so fast, now, even though Flippa was back. Yet, time slowed down for this, like a rubberneck driving past a highway accident, watching him desperately trying to shock their heart back into motion.

“YOU KILL MY BEST FRIENDS,” Flippa wrote. He begged her to understand. She wrote, “i can’t believe it.”

She wrote, “I HATE YOU.”

(in a better world, the error would have been caught in April instead of July.

this was not that world)

His daughter fell to his bitch wife’s sword. The same way. The next day.

They’d only just gotten her back. And Mariana killed her again.

He only left eggxile for the funeral. She wouldn’t stay dead, but he had to be there.

Time went even faster after that. He was Gegg, or maybe Gegg was him, or maybe Gegg was Gegg, or maybe. . . ?

He went back to eggxile.

He wasn’t leaving without them. Tilín. Juanaflippa. He would do whatever was necessary. He would pray to any higher power. Lil J still owed him a goddamn favor, but the guy wouldn’t pick up his calls. Maybe if he put more shit in the shrine; angels liked shiny shit, didn’t they? He went back to the mine, where the gasses swirled in his head. He built the shrine. He mined. He built the shrine.

He went back to the mine.

He went back to the mine.

He went back to the mine.

“This is where I sit, this is where my bitch wife sits, and this is where my daughter sits, if I had one!”

He’d said that before. No he hadn’t. Yes he had.

No, he just needed to clear his head.

Charlie Slimecicle went back to the mine.

Charlie Slimecicle stepped off the train.

[horsemage]

I think we should bring back basic etiquette lessons such as shutting the fuck up when you’re watching a movie in a group that is not exclusively your friend group 🙂

[aromanticannibal]

ppl really b acting as if there's only one specific ship that has weird shippers that will complain about ppl not shipping their otp. it's literally always the case you either get fucked over for liking a gay ship or for liking a straight ship or for liking a toxic ship or people just start going "oh there's nothing wrong with the ship but the shippers💀" and you don't fucking know what they're talking about. like can we all just chill. the weird shippers r everywhere it's called some ppl are assholes sometimes. it's not fandom specific