#blameing himself for bucks death

[kaipassedgo]

every day i wake up and am mad at the end of steves storyline and the full and complete lack of people who GET IT

[johanna-swann]

You know, now that I think about it - whatever the members of the firefamily received from one another in terms of support after Bobby's death, Buck kind of got the opposite.

Eddie gets a job offer not only away from the 118, but in a different state and the 118 throw him a party. Buck talks about a career decision and is met with nothing but silence.

Hen makes an unexpected decision concerning her role in the 118 and gets the reassurance that she has to do what's right for her. Buck is told he's making a mistake and that it'd be stupid for him to take a job at a different firehouse.

Athena tries to do her lone wolf thing, retreats a little and puts up a strong façade, but her friends don't buy it and still seek her out to check on her and let her know she doesn't need to do this alone and whatever feelings she has about Bobby's death, they're valid. Buck puts on a strong mask and holds himself together by a thread, his friends notice that something seems off immediately and they start avoiding him like the plague because they can't be bothered to deal with him I guess.

Chimney feels guilty, like he should've done more, should've noticed something was wrong, should've saved Bobby. But he does not only get Buck talking him off a ledge and Maddie urging him to not shut her out and share his pain with her, he even gets forgiveness from Athena in the end because she knows none of this is Chim's fault and she just needed a second to get there. Buck is told to make Bobby's death less about himself, like he should share even less of his own grief and think about the others more, is told that maybe Bobby's death was preventable and he just didn't try hard enough to save him and Eddie doesn't even apologise for saying any of that.

The only people who actually tried to comfort Buck are Maddie who at least asked how he was doing even if Buck gave her only a short and superficial answer and Tia Pepa who was a godsend tbh. Both of them tried to help, but Maddie didn't dig deeper (she had a lot on her plate herself, I don't blame her) and Pepa didn't even know Bobby. It was nice of her to comfort Buck, but they can't grief together the way other members of the firefam did.

Like. All of the family members that were close to Bobby got so, so, so much support from each other, but nobody even talked to Buck and that hasn't changed by the end of the finale and they didn't even give Buck and Tommy another scene to indicate that Buck isn't entirely alone. How am I supposed to see this as normal? It's not! They distanced themselves from Buck and when Buck eventually gave up on reaching out to the others and looked for distance himself they saw it as Buck abandoning the family. God I hope the show does something about this in season 9, ideally they even adress it. It could be Buck's 9a storyline, how everyone is moving on but he feels stuck because he never grieved properly or something.

[salty-autistic-writer]

Buck has something to say. (Or: an alternative take on that kitchen scene)

“I think you should leave.”

The words cut into the cold, tense air in the kitchen like a knife.

They take Buck's breath away for a stunned, heart-stuttering moment. Did that just come out of his mouth?

Eddie finally looks at him, finally sees him. “What?” He asks, baffled.

“I want you to leave,” Buck repeats. And yes. He does. He’s tired of this. Tired in general. Enough.

Eddie blinks, his lips slightly parted. He exhales a disbelieving scoff, throwing his hands in the air. “Really? We are doing this now? Now, when we are both grieving? Seriously, Buck …”

“How dare you?” Buck hisses, curling a hand into a fist. “How dare you suggest I didn’t do what I could. That I didn’t do enough to, to save Bobby?”

“Buck,” Eddie starts.

No.

Buck raises his hand. “Now you listen. You listen to me. I watched him die, Eddie. I watched Bobby die. I saw death on his face, in his eyes. I was there. And I was alone. Bobby knew he was going to die, and he sent me away. He … He said I’m going to be fine. But I’m not. I’m not fine. And that’s okay. Because I just lost one of the most important people in my life. Bobby was the father I never had.”

Eddie sneers. “Bobby was your Captain. Our Captain. We all lost him! You don’t get to claim him! We all have to live without him, move on with our lives. But you don’t see any of us behaving like a child throwing a tantrum!”

Buck crosses his arms over his chest, his blood rushing in his ears. “I’m not a child, Eddie. I’m an adult, and I have enough of you telling me how I’m supposed to feel. These last few days, I’ve been thinking about the 118 all the time. About how to fix everything. Because everything feels so cold without Bobby. Everything feels broken.” 

He stops, swallowing heavily. There are so many emotions bubbling up inside of him. And now he can’t stop. He has to let it out.

“You are my best friend, Eddie. I thought friends are supposed to be there for each other. I thought a friend would be able to offer some kind of comfort. But I guess you’ve been too busy with your own grief. Look. I’m sorry you had to wake up at night and hear about this over the phone. But that’s not my fault. And it’s not my fault that you had to tell Chris either. It’s also not my fault that Bobby died. I didn’t want any of this to happen. And every day, I wish I could go back in time to change things.

I’m not okay. And you should know. But here you are, telling me I might not have done enough. You of all people should know. You should know what Bobby meant to me. But it starts to feel like you don’t know me at all. I’m not that great at communicating my feelings or, or my needs. But I’m working on it. And what I can tell you right now is that I’m tired of this, Eddie. I’m tired of being blamed and being told I’m making everything about me, when actually, my stomach, chest, and head hurt every day when I think about everyone else and how sad they are. That includes you, by the way. But I guess, in some way, I lost you too. Now, leave. I want you to leave.”

Buck stops, breathing heavily. It’s been a long time since he talked so much. Maybe he never did. But he needed this. Needed to get this weight off his heart.

The rage inside him is loud. But the sad and aching part of him hopes that Eddie will say No, I won’t leave. Hopes that he will stay. That he will say, it’s okay, we can solve this problem. We can talk. We can comfort each other. We can work on fixing this.

He looks at Eddie, and inside, he’s yelling. Say something.

But Eddie only stares at him, his brows furrowed and his jaw tense. Finally, he nods curtly and says, “Alright. Alright, Buck.”

He storms out of the kitchen. Buck can hear him pack his bag. His stomach sinks. So. That’s it then. There’s nothing left to fight for, it seems.

His heart pounding, Buck waits in the silence until he hears Eddie walk out and slam the door.

He winces, wrapping his arms around himself, breathing heavily. He feels so cold. And alone. Tears are burning in his eyes.

God. Everything is so broken.

Buck wipes at his eyes with the back of his head, sniffs, and reaches for his phone with a shaky hand. He hesitates. Maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe it’s selfish. But … he needs. He needs a little bit of warmth.

Hey. Can you come over? Only if you have time. I really need to talk to someone.

He sends the text after staring at it for a few long minutes and tries to ignore the voice in his head calling him pathetic.

* Buck opens the door and Tommy smiles at him, “Hey - What’s going on?”

Too much.

Almost instantly, the smile fades and Tommy’s brows furrow as his eyes flicker over Buck’s face, down to where he’s nervously fidgeting with his fingers.

“Evan. Are you okay?”

No.

Buck just shakes his head. He talked so much. Now, he doesn’t have any more words left. He’s empty. 

Ashamed, he lowers his head. Avoids prying eyes. He shouldn’t be like this. He’s an adult. Maybe Eddie is right. Maybe he is nothing but a child throwing a tantrum, making everything about himself …

“Come here,” Tommy says softly.

Buck looks up, seeing Tommy opening his arms. He exhales shakily and falls forward into the embrace. Sinks into it. Into the warmth. He closes his eyes and allows himself to feel safe for a moment.

Everything is broken, but this feels like a shell he can hide in. At least for the moment.

(AO3 Link)

[semperama]

To get serious for a moment, the fight scene is a perfect illustration of both Buck and Eddie's grief, because grief is inherently selfish and isolating. If you haven't experienced a death of a close loved one in your life, count yourself lucky, but if you have, then you already know that it's the most isolating experience in life, because no one, not one single person in the whole world, had the same relationship with that person that you had, and therefore no one is experiencing the same feelings you're feeling. To Buck, Bobby was his dad, his real dad, more than his biological dad, because he was the one who taught him life skills and gave him advice and helped him become the best version of himself, someone he's actually proud to be sometimes. To Eddie, Bobby was the person who saved him and made him feel he was worthy of life and love and happiness and family. And they both have different experiences of his death too, and that's isolating in its own way.

But the only way to mitigate that loneliness is to reach out and let yourself experience this many facets of this person you're grieving, the many people who are grieving along with you, and the many ways this grief can exist. Buck is scared to do that, because he knows it will break him, and he has to be strong. And Eddie is scared to do it, because he wasn't there when Bobby died, so he thinks others (especially Buck) might blame him, largely because he's blaming himself.

Neither of them are right or wrong. They're both trying to muddle through this big, impossible thing: letting someone go, letting other people see you at your lowest point, feeling alone, wanting comfort that may not even help in the moment. Grief isn't pretty. it's messy and painful and brings out the worst in people. Buck was too busy worrying about himself to care what Eddie was feeling. Eddie lashed out and said cruel things to cover the fact that he was hurting. Both of them weren't at their best.

And yet, at the end of the day, they're family. Eddie brings Chris home, and they share a meal, and they take turns looking fondly at each other, and you can tell by the end they don't blame each other for any of it. Because the best way to heal grief is with love. And they'll always fall back on love. They have more than enough of it to wrap them both up in, to weather whatever they're facing.

[kingkaisen]

𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐃 — 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈𝐈𝐈

⎯⎯ ୨ ♡ ୧ ⎯⎯

♡ — 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈𝐈 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄

♡ — 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: After what happened to you & your son, Satoru couldn’t stop drinking . . .

♡ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: dark content, fem reader, canonverse, amnesia, mentions of death, suicide ideation, violence, mentions of food, drinking, gojo not eating. mention of gojo’s son & the reader struggling with their disabilities. reader wears dress/heels/perfume.

♡ — 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 11K

♡ — 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: Hi everyone, thanks for being patient with me! I doubt many of you remember this story and were waiting for a continuation, but I hope everyone who reads this enjoys this series coming to an end, and thank you for the kind comments on the last part.

— MONTHS BEFORE THE REUNION —

“I’m going to throw myself off of a building today,” Satoru Gojo thought as he glared down at his uneaten dinner, sitting alone in the booth of a restaurant called Jeezers, a blue and yellow themed sandwich place that hadn’t seen a spec of cosmetic work since the 90’s.

And it wasn’t a drunken idea; there wasn’t any alcoholic beverage that he could blame the unwanted thought on.

But, could he truly call such a thought unwanted?

His body didn’t flinch when the dark image of his planned suicide entered his mind. He didn’t try to push the negative emotion away, tell himself to snap out of it, or immediately try to think of happy things.

Instead, he thought about how he would do it, where he would go, and when.

But, due to his great power, jumping off a roof wouldn’t kill him — what would?

“Do I have to chop off my own head? Is that the only way?” he thought.

Satoru shoved his unappetizing sub sandwich away. The sandwich itself was rather delicious. The employee wasn’t skimpy when it came to the toppings, and for only five bucks, he also was able to get a refillable soda with it.

But the white-haired man didn’t want food.

He wanted his wife and son to come back to life. Or, he wanted alcohol. And to die.

The glass entrance doors chimed as a person walked through them. The generous sandwich maker — and cashier, as the restaurant was understaffed — greeted the hungry customer who casually strolled toward the counter.

“Welcome in!” The young woman said.

“Thanks,” the customer replied.

And, when Satoru heard that voice — as he didn’t bother to look up and see who entered the restaurant — the former teacher sighed heavily.

The sound of footsteps approaching his lonely booth grew louder and louder. As the person came closer, their steps slowed down greatly as if they were approaching a wild animal, expecting it to lash out.

“Gojo?” The call of his name came from his student — a former student — Yuji Itadori. He hadn’t heard his voice in a long time. It sounded a bit deeper, but he still recognized it.

Satoru looked up. Unsurprisingly, Megumi was with Itadori as well, and Gojo’s eyes flickered over to the boy he practically raised himself.

Satoru didn’t bother with faking a smile, nor an overly enthusiastic greeting — one with a touch of a humorous tone — that would capture the personality of the great Satoru Gojo they once knew.

He wasn’t that person anymore. And, now, he didn’t even have the strength to pretend to be.

“Hey,” Satoru mumbled sadly.

At least he was sober right now. If his students had caught him tripping over his own feet, tears falling from his blue eyes as strong alcohol coated his breath, he would never forgive himself.

Much to the depressed man’s dismay, the two sorcerers slid into the other side of the booth.

“We haven’t seen you in a while,” Itadori said, his voice heavy with worry, but kindness as well. “How . . . have you been?”

Satoru took a moment to truly look at them. They were older. When he had last seen them, they were simply young teenagers, but now, their jawlines had sharpened a bit more. Their voices were slightly deeper. They had grown a couple of inches. Megumi was starting to look more and more like his father, while Yuji — who wore his hair pushed back now — started to resemble Sukuna.

Satoru clenched his fist unintentionally.

Sukuna’s finger destroyed his family.

That’s what the higher-ups told him.

Years ago, Satoru could easily tell the difference between Sukuna and Yuji, markings aside. But, now, it was like he was staring right at the King of Curses.

The only difference was that Yuji’s eyes were filled with kindness and concern, not pure evil.

“It’s not him. It’s Yuji. It’s just Yuji. It’s not him. It’s not him,” Satoru repeated in his chaotic mind.

Looking over at Toji — no, it was Megumi — did him no favors, either.

It felt as if Satoru was staring right at his two greatest enemies.

“It’s been a few years,” Megumi blinked, his face solemn. “We didn’t know if they ever locked you up for that little killing spree of yours.”

The dark-haired sorcerer glared at Satoru with eyes that begged for answers, and Satoru could easily tell that he wanted to ask him about the infamous killing spree since the day someone undoubtedly told him the horrific news.

“I didn’t mean to hurt anyone,” Satoru clarified. He fidgeted with the paper wrapping of his untouched sandwich. “I was targeting curses.”

“Yeah?” A frown appeared across Megumi’s face. “But you were clumsy, and you hurt a lot of regular people too.”

“Leave him alone, Fushiguro,” Yuji glanced down at Satoru’s sandwich.

The uneaten dinner, along with the plain misery written all over his face, made it utterly obvious that the sad man was suffering enough.

Suddenly, the welcome bell chimed again as someone entered the restaurant. A pair of shoes clicked against the tile as they approached the counter before halting abruptly. There was a brief pause before their footsteps picked up once again, quicker this time as they changed their direction and made their way over to Satoru's booth.

“Gojo,” The young woman said with shock, as both a question and a statement.

Satoru looked up to see Nobara. Her ginger-brown hair was longer, falling past her shoulders, but not yet reaching her mid-back. She wore an eyepatch over her left eye.

She slid into the booth, sitting beside Satoru, who hesitantly scooted over.

“I can’t believe it’s you,” she looked at him. “How are you? I could kick your butt for leaving us behind, ya know.”

She smiled sadly as she spoke, her tone soft and humorous despite her words.

“I’m sorry.” Satoru’s leg started to shake.

“It’s okay,” Nobara glanced down at Satoru’s sandwich as well. “I get it. I’m just teasing you.”

“So,” Yuji spoke cautiously, thinking over his words before he said them. “What do you do now? Do you live around here?”

The country music playing softly in the background filled the silence for a moment. His former students simply blinked at him, waiting for a response.

“You guys should go to the counter and order your food.” Satoru stared down at the table. “I think they’re closing soon.”

“Gojo . . .” Nobara frowned, her honey brown eye glistening with worry. “Why don’t you come back to the school with us tomorrow? Everyone would love to see you, and . . . maybe you could talk to the higher-ups about becoming a sorcerer again.”

“The world has gone straight to hell without you,” Megumi added, although truly, he knew it was pointless.

The man couldn’t find the strength to have a proper dinner. He definitely wasn’t in any shape to fight curses once again.

“No, but thanks for the offer.” Satoru managed to glance up at the three of them once again, but it pained him to do so. “It was good seeing all of you, though. I better head home now.”

“Already?” Yuji frowned. “C’mon, Gojo. Just talk to us. Please.”

“What’s there to talk about, Yuji?”

“There’s plenty to talk about!” Yuji raised his voice, speaking louder than he intended, but luckily, the restaurant was isolated for the most part aside from an adorable elderly couple sharing a meatball sub, and the cashier, who started to wipe down the sandwich building station.

“If you don’t wanna become a sorcerer again, fine, but we can still help you.” Megumi stared into Satoru’s eyes. The younger sorcerer was secretly more upset than he let on, but Satoru could see the brokenness reflected in Megumi’s eyes as he started to speak. “You won’t eat your sandwich for some reason, so I’m guessing you’re struggling to eat anything at all. You’re not drunk right now, and yet, you still smell like alcohol. I’m willing to bet that you’re not actually trying to get home right now but to that bar down the street. Am I wrong? Not to mention — you look miserable.”

The silence was deafening.

Nobara thought about kicking Megumi under the table, but she didn’t.

“That was rude, Fushiguro,” Yuji mumbled under his breath, looking down at the table as he did so.

“I know, and I’m sorry, I really am, but kindness isn’t going to help him.” Although he was speaking to Yuji, Megumi’s eyes never glanced away from Satoru.

Satoru stared at Megumi with an expression his old student couldn’t recognize. It sent a shiver up his spine.

“Let me out, Nobara,” Satoru mumbled.

The young woman hesitated, flickering her eye between Yuji and Megumi to see what they wanted her to do. But, she truly couldn’t keep him there. What good would that do?

Nobara scooted out of the booth.

“Gojo, please don’t leave, just talk to us, we care about you,” Yuji's plea fell on deaf ears as Satoru started to make his way out of the door.

“We know you miss your family, but this isn’t how you handle it. Don’t leave . . .”

Satoru tuned out the rest of Megumi’s words.

Both Megumi and Yuji started to get up from their seats and follow their former teacher out of the door, but Nobara stopped them.

The look of sadness on her face spoke for her. It told them that there was nothing they could do. They couldn’t help someone who didn’t want to be helped.

The two sorcerers sat back down, and the three of them watched as Satoru left the restaurant and made his way down the street to the bar.

—

— TWO WEEKS AFTER THE REUNION —

SATURDAY

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday to Ren, happy birthday to you!”

Your boy smiled happily as he leaned over his five-layer chocolate chip cookie cake and blew out his candles. The guests attending his eleventh birthday party all applauded.

“Did you make a wish?” A young girl with dark hair in a ponytail asked.

“Yeah. I made the greatest wish ever.” Ren grinned at his crush from school, a bit embarrassed to tell her what his wish was.

After all, when he blew out the candles, he had hoped that someday, your memories of Satoru would return.

The white-haired man walked up to Ren with a wide grin, wiping away his tears with his thumb. Satoru was wearing a colorful birthday hat, and he looked rather silly, but even so, he was excited to wear it.

“Are you ready to cut the cake?” Satoru grinned. “We can open presents after. How does that sound?”

“Sounds awesome,” Ren smiled back. “This is the coolest birthday I’ve ever had!”

Truth be told, he already had the number one thing he wanted. A dad.

But seeing the enormous pile of gifts in the corner of the venue was insanely cool as well.

The bright smile spreading across your son’s face made you grin too as you watched him interact with his father from a distance.

Satoru had planned Ren’s entire birthday party and didn’t hold back a single dollar when it came to making sure his boy had everything he wanted, from the cake that he started to slice into, to any gift he could ever ask for.

After all, the last birthday Satoru attended was when his boy turned three.

After a day of bowling and arcade games with his friends from school, they all met up with the parents and other adult guests at a local venue.

Blue and black video game themed decorations coated the entire place. His favorite songs blared softly through speakers as everyone ate the food served buffet-style and socialized with one another. During that time, Ren had met several unfamiliar people, such as his dad’s former students.

It might have been Ren’s birthday, but Satoru was just as happy. If the birthday hat wasn’t an obvious sign, then the constant photo-taking was. Every second, he was snapping a picture of his boy. He wanted to take a picture of you too, but he couldn’t build up the courage to ask.

From a short distance away, Satoru stared at you with those pretty blue eyes of his, watching as you chatted with Kento and Yuji.

He wished that he could say that the drinking had stopped once he found you again, that he no longer knew misery once you reentered his life, but that wasn’t true.

He was happy that you and Ren were alive, of course, but you didn’t remember him. And, if you didn’t remember him, then you didn’t love him anymore.

That hurt like hell.

His grief didn’t fade away, it only shifted focus.

But, even so, this was the happiest he had ever been since the great incident, and he managed to go five days without having any sort of alcohol as well.

About five minutes had passed before the conversation between you, Kento, and Yuji had ended. Satoru took that opportunity to approach you with a slice of cookie cake in hand, and with every step, his knees threatened to wobble. Hands almost started to shake.

He was nervous.

In that moment, he felt like his former teenage self who — despite his overly cocky attitude — had to spend months building up the courage to ask you out on a date.

It was the same thing all over again; he was trying to earn your affection.

Because if you couldn’t remember Satoru, then he’d simply have to win your heart all over again.

“Hey,” Satoru greeted, extending his arm as he handed you the paper plate with a slice of cake on it. “I had to fight three kids to get it, but I grabbed you a piece.”

With a soft laugh — one that Satoru missed hearing more than he could ever express — you took the plate from him.

“Thank you.” Grabbing the plastic fork, you took a bite. “And not just for the cake, but for helping out with the entire party. It means a lot.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that.” Smiling shyly, Satoru put his hands in his pockets. “I’ve always spoiled him. I just can’t believe I have the chance to do it again.”

“That reminds me . . .” Suddenly, you turned around and sat the plate of cake down on a nearby table, and faced Satoru once again. “We haven’t had the time to talk about everything, and I’d really like to.”

You and Satoru both sat down at the round table, chairs turned to face one another.

For the past two weeks, conversation between you and him had amounted to nothing more than a few text messages being exchanged, all regarding Ren’s party.

After all, your boy was the only thing you both still had in common. Shared experiences and sweet memories no longer existed, and it wasn’t easy for you to get over your guilt, and for him to get over his heartbreak.

It wasn’t your fault that you couldn’t remember him — obviously. But, even so, the sight of his suffering — even though he tried his best to hide it — made a lump form in your throat whenever you thought about the pain your absence had brought. And your return did little to mend it, thanks to your amnesia. It only brought another form of suffering.

“Noa-I mean, Ren . . . has really adapted to his new life pretty well,” you smiled a bit. “Well, his old life, which is now his new life, or . . . you know what I’m trying to say. I heard him call your friend Uncle Kento earlier.”

“I heard that too. Kento couldn’t stop smiling, and he never smiles.”

A beat of silence passed. Even now, while you were both trying to focus on yourselves — on your own relationship with each other — You noticed that Ren was the main topic of the conversation.

“Ren was worried that you wouldn’t like him. Did you know that?”

“What?” Satoru frowned. “Why?”

“His limp,” you said. “He thought that you would be disappointed. He assumed that any father figure that would possibly appear would be upset to have a disabled son, and discovering that his dad was a sorcerer, and the strongest sorcerer at that, well, it just made him worry.”

“He doesn’t have to worry about that. I think he’s perfect.” Satoru glanced down at the floor, smiling to himself softly as he thought about his boy. But, then, he came to the same realization that you did earlier: Ren was the main focus of the conversation yet again.

“We should talk about ourselves, though.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Clearing your throat rather awkwardly, you pointlessly shifted in your seat. You waited for Satoru to say something — anything to kick the sensitive conversation off. He broke his staring contest with the floor and looked into your visible eye.

But he didn’t say anything.

His eyes darted away from yours, and then a second later, he made eye contact yet again.

And, somehow, you knew exactly what that look meant. You couldn’t pinpoint how you knew, not exactly, but you did.

The way he stared at you, looked away, and then glanced back at you . . . it was familiar.

“What’s wrong? I know that look.” You frowned a bit. “You look like you wanna ask me something.”

Satoru smiled sadly.

“How do you remember Ren, but you don’t remember me? We were a family. I was away a lot, but . . .”

The unreasonable guilt gnawed at your insides. You shifted in your seat again.

“I only remember Ren because he was with me every single day after the incident. After some time, old memories with him started to come back.”

“What about memories of the three of us?”

“Sometimes, I can remember another person being there, and I can remember feeling loved and cared for, but I can’t picture a face or remember a voice. It really sucks, and I’m sorry. I just don’t remember you, Satoru.”

Your last sentence snapped his heart into pieces — what wasn’t already shattered, at least.

As you could see the pain reflected in his eyes, you sat up a bit, and tried to make the situation a little bit less heartbreaking as you said, “but I could, eventually. Being around Ren is what jogged my memory of him, so, maybe, in time, being around you will do the same. And I’m willing to make new memories as well, you know what I mean?”

Satoru made a facial expression that you couldn’t recognize. His face was as blank as a fresh canvas.

“All that matters is that you’re both still alive,” he lied, giving a fake smile. “I’m starting to become okay with getting to know you all over again. It’s better than thinking you were dead.”

It wasn’t okay. Not in the slightest. He wanted his wife to remember him. He didn’t want to start his relationship over, as if you were both strangers, under the pressure to recapture a love that was now lost.

“Why would the higher-ups do something like that?” You suddenly asked. “Why would they lie to both of us?”

“I can think of plenty of reasons. But I’ll deal with them later.” Satoru clenched and unclenched his fist. He planned on handling those god-forsaken higher-ups soon enough, but right now, his family was his top priority.

Once again, Satoru made that familiar face. The face that told you he wanted to ask you something.

“What is it?” You questioned, tilting your head just a bit.

Suddenly, Satoru’s hands were sweaty, just like they were when he was a seventeen-year-old lovesick high schooler.

“Do you wanna go out with me? On a date?”

A bright smile spread across your face. You didn’t know it, but it was the same smile you gave him all those years ago when he asked the first time.

“I’d love to.”

Two hours later, Ren’s birthday party came to an end. He was certain that come Monday, his legendary event would be the hot topic at school.

That night, after tucking your son in and kissing him goodnight — although he playfully insisted that he was too old now to be treated like a baby — you left his bedroom and walked into your own, collapsing on your bed with a sigh.

You gave yourself about ten minutes to rest before getting back up to wash a couple of dishes, take a shower, and brush your teeth. And, as you got ready to go to bed, you only thought about one thing: your date with Satoru.

— WEDNESDAY —

Chicken stir fry and fresh vegetables sizzled in the hot skillet on the stove, the tantalizing aroma traveling throughout your cozy two-bedroom apartment. A short distance away, you could hear Ren playing video games in the living room, chatting with someone through his headset.

“We got second place! Good job — even though I had to protect you the entire time,” Ren paused, laughing softly as whoever was on the other end of the headset spoke.

“What? This is the third duo match where you got eliminated before I did. You can kill curses, but you can’t aim?” Ren laughed once again.

You found yourself curious about who your son was talking to. He certainly wasn’t friends with any sorcerers.

Giving your meal one quick stir, you turned the stove heat down to low.

“I gotta go, I think dinner’s almost ready,” Ren said. “Thanks for playing with me. I know you’re really busy, so . . . thanks. Bye.”

Ren took off his headset and turned off his PlayStation 5 — a sleek, white, and big console that Satoru had bought him for his birthday.

As you stepped into the living room, your son smiled up at you.

“Hey Mom,” he laid his dark blue controller on the couch cushion. “This game system is awesome. It’s digital too, so I don’t have to buy physical copies of games anymore.”

“Yeah, I saw that in the directions. That seems pretty cool, huh?” You grinned softly. “Who were you playing with just now?”

“Yuji,” Ren paused. “He likes video games too. We were playing Fortnite. He said I used to always try to take his phone and play games on it when I was a toddler.”

“Oh, really? That doesn’t surprise me.” Raising your eyebrows in surprise, your smile widened. “It was nice of him to play with you, though.”

For the college-aged sorcerer to take time out of his seemingly busy schedule to play video games with your son was kind of him.

“Dinner’s ready. Put your controller away and go wash your hands,” you said.

“Yes ma’am.”

A few minutes later, you and your son were sitting at the small dining table, eating dinner together as he rambled on adorably about his day at school.

“I have about a week or two to finish my science project, but Mrs. Willows paired me up with Mae.” Ren took a bite of his egg roll as he spoke.

“Is something wrong with that? Mae’s lovely. She’s your crush, isn’t she? This could be a great chance to get to know her.” You thought about the way your son blushed as he chatted with the young girl at his birthday party.

You took a sip of your water and noticed that Ren didn’t respond. In fact, he frowned and placed his bitten egg roll back on his plate.

You knew what was wrong without asking.

Aside from the fact that he didn’t want to discuss the topic of crushes and romance with his mother, he was also incredibly insecure. Mae was always kind to him — that much was true. But, at his age, girls often went for the boys who excelled in P.E. class, not the ones who had a limp and couldn’t keep up with the physically demanding sports.

If only he could be more like his father, and his father’s old students — that is what he must have been thinking.

Not only were they strong and powerful, but they went to a school created specifically for sorcerers.

He should have been preparing to attend Jujutsu High in a few years.

He should have been getting trained by his dad to fight curses and save lives.

That’s what he thought.

“I wish I could become a sorcerer,” he mumbled.

“Interesting thought,” your fork gently scraped against your plate as you stirred your food around. “Why do you want to be a sorcerer?”

“So I can fight curses and stuff like Dad used to do.” Ren paused. “You used to be one too.”

“And the fact that I can’t remember that is exactly why you shouldn’t want to be a sorcerer, honey. It’s too dangerous. Your dad quit for a reason.”

“Okay, okay . . . you don’t gotta talk me out of it. I couldn’t become one anyway.” Ren stared down at his plate. “I was just saying it would be kinda awesome to be special like everyone else. Even you’re special.”

You frowned sadly. Seeing your boy’s eyes glisten with sadness as the corners of his lips fell into a frown was simply too much. The sight of it broke your heart.

“Ren, you are special.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re my mom.”

“No, I’m not.” You stared at the eleven-year-old, trying your hardest to hide how much it hurt to listen to your child’s opinion of himself — both what he expressed through words, and what you knew he was thinking. “You don’t need to be a sorcerer to be special. You don’t need to be great at sports, either. You’re incredibly smart — and I know that because I see your report card — and more importantly, you’re kind too. Not many human beings are as good of a person as you are. Do you know how special you have to be to live in a cruel world like this, and only want to help others? And you’re loved too. Everyone who showed up to your birthday party was there because they adore you, and they don’t care if you have a limp or if you’re not playing sports or killing curses.”

You leaned over, ruffling your son’s head of white hair. “I wouldn’t change a thing about you, do you hear me? I wish you could see yourself the way everyone else sees you. The way I see you.”

Ren smiled softly.

He couldn’t deny that he was loved. The amount of presents he had received for his birthday — which you both struggled to carry into the apartment — was a telltale sign of that. The amount of hugs from teary-eyed strangers who were relieved that he was alive also confirmed that fact.

His friends had also treated him like family.

As he thought about all of it, picking up his fork and gathering a bite of food, he figured that, perhaps, he was worth loving.

“Oh, by the way,” you suddenly spoke up. “I’m closing the coffee shop at three tomorrow, so you don’t go there after school. You can go to your dad’s house if he isn’t busy, or maybe Avery’s. Unless you wanna take the school bus and come home. Up to you.”

“Why?” Ren blinked curiously, but he couldn’t hide his excited grin over potentially getting to see his dad again. Sorry, Avery.

“I have a couple of errands to run. Shopping. Hair appointment. Stuff like that.”

“What for?”

This time, you were the one who couldn’t hide your smile. You took another sip of your water, and calmly — despite the way your heart raced — you said, “I have a date with your dad this weekend, so I need to get ready.”

Both Ren’s smile and eyes widened with unspeakable joy.

While he was overflowing with excitement over his parents going out together, you were filled with nervousness over your upcoming date.

— SATURDAY —

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Satoru Gojo could barely move.

His limbs were unspeakably heavy as if his bones were made out of pure stone.

The bedroom light was too bright. His eyes squinted, but it did nothing to stop his pounding headache.

Kento’s footsteps back and forth from his closet to his dresser — attempting to put together a nice outfit — were too loud.

But Satoru’s negative thoughts were even louder.

“I can’t do this, Nanami.”

Kento stopped walking. He turned his head to face Satoru, frowning.

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Trying to get her to fall in love with me. It’s like we’re seventeen years old again, going on our first date. I can’t do it.” The poor man wanted to cry, a lump forming his throat that made it difficult to speak.

“Would you prefer the alternative? Getting drunk in a bar, thinking she’s dead?” Kento grimaced over his own harsh words, thinking that he might have been too harsh. With a sigh, he stepped closer to Satoru’s bed. “Listen, I know it sucks, but at least you’re getting a second chance. Your family came back, Satoru. They came back. And she might not remember you, but at least she’s willing to make new memories. I don’t understand why you’re so nervous.”

“She’s not the same person that she was before the accident, and I’m not the same person either.”

Walking over to the center of the room, the blonde-haired man laid Satoru’s shirt across the ironing board as he listened to the sad guy speak.

“Well, I don’t think you should be worried about that,” Kento said in response as he ran the hot iron over the shirt, smoothing out every wrinkle. “She knows that everything you’ve done, and who you’ve become, was just a result of thinking you lost your family. The Y/N I know would never judge anyone for being depressed over something like that — and she hasn’t changed that much.”

“But I was more than just depressed.” Satoru looked up at Kento as he spoke. “I hurt innocent people. I spent the last seven years of my life in a bar, and all I want right now is a drink. And you’re right, she wouldn’t judge me. But that doesn’t mean she’d want to be with me, either. I just want a drink, just one goddamn drink.”

The sound of gentle steam being released from the iron and the swooshing noise it made as it went across Satoru’s fancy shirt was what filled the silence.

And, during that silence, Kento stared at Satoru with an unreadable facial expression, one that sent a chill up Satoru’s spine.

His best friend was always so intimidating.

“So that’s it, huh?” Kento suddenly spoke. “You got your family back, but you’re still going to drink yourself to death because it didn’t turn out exactly how you wanted it to?”

“You don’t know how it feels to be forgotten by your soulmate.”

“You’re right. I don’t. But I know it’s better than your soulmate being dead. I said it once, and I’ll say it again: you’re getting a second chance. Most people would kill to have their family come back, even if the love of their life had amnesia and their child couldn’t remember them either. And you’re going to throw it all away because-”

“Nanami, she doesn’t know me.” Satoru’s voice quivered. He stared into Kento’s eyes with a glassy, tearful gaze. Unbeknownst to him, he started to dig his nails into his palm hard to hurt himself. Hard enough to draw blood. “She doesn’t remember anything about me. She looks at me like I’m a stranger. Not only that, but all the pain I went through for all of those years was for . . . for nothing because she was alive this entire time and I had no idea. How can you say I got my family back when they don’t remember us ever being a family?”

Kento turned off the iron.

He approached Satoru, kneeled in front of him, and placed his scarred hand over Satoru’s — a hand that was only so scarred from having to pick up more outrageous missions due to Satoru’s absence from the sorcerer world.

“So, let’s say she did remember you, Satoru. What then?”

“What do you mean?”

“What would you have done if she did remember you? Because if I recall, your relationship wasn’t perfect. You were away a lot, and it broke her heart. If she could remember that, then you’d still be in a similar position to the one you’re in now, because either way, your relationship needs some serious work. Do you really want her to remember how long she had to wait each day for you to return home from your work trips? The special events and holidays you missed? Right now, you have a chance to start over. And, who knows? Starting your relationship over might turn out to be easier than trying to repair it ever would have.”

When Kento finished speaking, Satoru looked sad.

Heartbreakingly upset.

The sight of his frowning face and teary eyes made Kento’s heart ache. He was brutally honest, but even so, he spoke to his friend softly. With love and care.

But maybe he was still being a bit too cruel.

“Hey . . .” Kento softened his voice even more and tried to make Satoru look him in the eye, but Satoru avoided his gaze. “I know what you’re thinking, and you weren’t a bad husband, just a busy one. You had a lot of responsibilities and I didn’t mean to make you feel guilty about that. I’m sorry, Satoru. This is supposed to be a good day.”

Satoru nodded as a way of saying, “It’s okay.”

Kento sighed.

Standing up, he made his way towards Satoru’s bathroom, grabbing a washcloth and dampening it.

Then, he returned to his previous kneeled position in front of him. Gently, he dabbed the fresh scars decorating Satoru’s palm.

“What if she doesn’t like me?” His sudden question broke the silence, but that silence returned rather quickly, as Kento didn’t respond.

Not immediately, at least.

He spent a solid thirty seconds trying to figure out what to way.

“It’s like I said earlier. She knows who you are now and what you’ve done, and that hasn’t deterred her away yet, has it? And for all we know, she could be worried about the same thing too. You’ve both changed, and that’s okay.”

Kento finished cleaning the little blood stains off of Satoru’s pale skin. He removed the towel, and kindly, he said, “Come on. Time to get ready.”

—

Your knee-length dress was red. It was tighter than the clothes you wore regularly, but not too revealing — the perfect balance of classy and sexy.

Your heels clicked against your floor as you stepped into the bathroom, checking out your hair and makeup one last time.

After spraying a bit of perfume on your wrists and collarbone, it was time to grab your coat and purse, leave your apartment, and meet Satoru at the nice Italian restaurant in town.

Living in a safe, walkable town had its perks, certainly. But with every step you took, you couldn’t help but wonder if Satoru was just as nervous as you.

The sheer panic you felt — it made you want to cancel.

After all, he was handsome. He was the world’s strongest sorcerer, even if he was out of practice. He was the father to your boy. He had memories of you that he was looking to recapture or recreate — the pressure of it all didn’t help ease your misplaced guilt.

The incident wasn’t your fault, but even so, that familiar lump formed in your throat and couldn’t be swallowed down.

Your nerves didn’t begin to settle until you walked into the romantic, warmly, yet lowly lit restaurant and spotted Satoru.

When he smiled at you, it felt . . . familiar.

A wave of calmness washed over you, and you exhaled a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

As you made your way to your table — Satoru getting up to pull out your chair for you, like the gentleman he was — you were feeling relaxed.

You couldn’t recall any specific memory, but somehow, you remembered that you had done this a hundred times with him.

Dinner began with a complimentary bread basket and nervous compliments being exchanged.

Five minutes in, you smiled softly at your lost lover.

“So, what was our very first date like when we were younger?”

Your question made Satoru smile too. He took a sip of his water, glancing at the white tablecloth as his mind wondered back to the sweet, cherished memory.

“It was similar to this, kinda. We had dinner together. It was an Italian restaurant as well, but it wasn’t nearly as nice. You, uh, you wore red then too. I remember you saying that you wanted Alfredo, but you ordered spaghetti in case you spilled it on your clothes.”

The look of love in his eyes as he spoke about the past made your heart skip a beat.

“Oh, I get it,” you nodded slowly. “Red sauce would blend in with the red clothes. Seems like something I’d say. I can’t believe you can remember something like that.”

“What’s funny is that I was the one who ended up spilling something,” Satoru paused. “I knocked over the bread basket when I was reaching for my drink.”

“Really?“ leaning forward a bit, your voice was barely above a whisper as you spoke. “For a guy with the four-eyes thing, you’re pretty clumsy.”

“Six Eyes, and I’m not that clumsy. I was just nervous. Even now, years later, you still make me nervous.”

You leaned back in your seat. Your eye glistened with a peculiar kind of sadness — an expression that Satoru didn’t recognize.

“No need to be nervous,” slowly, your beautiful smile faded away. “I’m down one finger and an eye, and this facial scar isn’t doing me any favors. I’m not worth all the effort and worry.”

Satoru stared at you.

A look of insecurity. That was your unfamiliar expression.

He furrowed his brows, the corners of his mouth drawn downward as he put his laminated menu on the table.

“You decided to quit being a sorcerer the minute you found out that you were pregnant with Ren, but before that, you and I went on a mission together to exercise some curses inside of a mall. It wasn’t an easy mission either. I was exhausted, and you were injured. A curse was about to attack you — you had your back turned, trying to treat a civilian’s wound — and I jumped in the way to save your life.” Satoru started to fiddle with the cloth napkin lying next to his menu. “I was fine. I killed the curse. But you were angry with me for getting in harm’s way. You said to me then what you just said now — that you aren’t worth the effort and worry. And that’s not true at all. You’re worth everything to me.”

“You saved my life once?” The sad gaze in your eye softened into a look of pure admiration. “That’s so . . . I mean . . . until recently, my entire life has revolved around my son and my coffee shop. And then you appeared, along with these old friends I can’t remember having, and now I’m always hearing wild stories about me fighting curses and being madly in love with you. It’s crazy.”

You couldn’t believe it. You couldn’t believe another human being loved you this much, in such a romantic way.

The waitress appeared — a kind woman with red hair who jotted down your orders in a tiny notepad. You ordered pasta, and Satoru couldn’t help but smile.

Certain aspects of you have changed forever, but some things still stayed the same.

Once the waitress walked away with your noted order of fettuccine alfredo and his order of ravioli, you shifted in your seat, sighing softly.

“I have another question, and I’ve been wanting to ask you this for a while.” Cluelessly, you blinked at Satoru. “What was our marriage like?”

Satoru’s blue eyes shifted away from yours. Truth be told, he considered lying for a moment.

“It was perfect. We were perfect,” he would have said. “I was always there, and we were always happy.”

He could see the satisfied grin on your face now.

But he couldn’t lie to you. If he won your heart back with a string of lies, he would never forgive himself.

The honest truth wasn’t the perfect fairytale love story that you both would have hoped for, but it was good enough, as what really mattered — what was undoubtedly the most important thing — was that you both loved each other deeply.

“We were pretty young when we got married,” Satoru started, staring at you. “We were young when we did everything, actually. Not just getting married, but moving in together and starting a family too. All we knew was that we wanted to be together. We had movie and dinner nights every other Saturday, but it was hard being a husband, father, and sorcerer. I was away often, and you were always worried about whether or not I’d make it home. You wanted me to quit, but I didn’t want to. I didn’t think anything bad would ever happen to me, and I needed to protect non-sorcerers and mentor my students. It got to a point where I started to miss important events, and you weren’t happy with me. I wasn’t happy with myself either. My very last mission was a few weeks before Christmas. You begged me not to go because you said you had a terrible feeling about it. I just thought that you wanted me to stay home for our holiday traditions. We got into a big argument that night, and I left anyway, telling you that I’d be home before Christmas Day. I felt horrible about it, so I finished up my mission quickly and came home about two weeks early to surprise you. That was when the incident happened.”

Your initial silence made Satoru worry. He looked at you, trying to read the look on your face — attempting to stare into your visible eye and take a peek inside of your brain and see what thoughts were circulating in there.

The quietness was deafening. It was almost worse than you saying that you were no longer interested in rekindling your love, because the silence provided no answers. No closure.

Satoru started to involuntarily shake his leg underneath the table. He so desperately wanted a drink.

“Oh. . .” You finally spoke up, but your empty words, ridden with disappointment, offered little relief.

“I’m sorry,” Satoru said softly, briefly staring down at his half-empty water, the dots of condensation among the glass dripping onto the white tablecloth. “I know it’s not . . . I’m probably not what you were hoping for, but I loved you more than anything. Please believe that.”

Suddenly, that soft smile that Satoru once fell in love with reappeared on your face. Reaching across the table, you grabbed ahold of his hand — the one that was fidgeting with the napkin. You ran your thumb across his fingers.

“Satoru, if there’s one thing that my condition has taught me, it’s that the past doesn’t matter as much as we think it does. I just wanted to know because of plain curiosity, okay? I’m interested in our future and the man you are now.”

This time, following a small sigh of relief, Satoru was the one who smiled. It was the grin that you once fell in love with, even if you couldn’t remember ever doing so.

The date was filled with soft laughter, delicious pasta, and heartwarming stories.

You and Satoru sat at the dining table long after your meals were eaten and paid for. As the hours flew by, other couples and families coming and going, you both didn’t leave until the employees started stacking chairs and mopping the floors.

Together, you both walked down the street of your cozy little town, grinning down at your shoes stepping on the fallen orange and brown leaves covering the sidewalk.

“So, where’s Ren? Is he at home or . . . ?” Satoru questioned.

“He’s sleeping over at his friend’s house.” You put your hands in the pockets of your jacket. “That reminds me. He came up with an idea the other night, and I wanted to run it by you.”

“What is it?”

“A family dinner,” you glanced up at Satoru. “Just us three, sitting around a table, all having a meal together. The whole domestic vibe. What do you think?”

“I’d love that.” With a smile, Satoru started to blush a little.

“Okay, great. I’m thinking seafood, maybe? Hm . . . I don’t know. Kinda don’t feel like dealing with an apartment that smells like shrimp and crab. You know what? I’ll just open a window and spray some Febreze, it’ll be fine. Seafood it is. You’re not allergic, are you?”

Listening to you ramble made Satoru’s heart pound rapidly. It made him want to kiss you and mourn your lost years. But he couldn’t let on the effect that you had on his mind, body, and soul, even if you knew how he felt.

He had to keep all of that inside and remind himself that to you, he wasn’t the love of your life, but a mere friend.

“I’m not allergic. I love seafood, or all kinds of food, really.” Satoru glanced up at the stars for a moment, thinking about how over the last few years, eating was a chore. He went from being a food lover to a man who had to be forced to eat. But now that you reappeared back into his life, so had his love of all things sweet, spicy, and savory.

You brought back the parts of him that were human.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” Satoru suddenly spoke up.

“Of course.”

“Have you . . . had any other partners? Since the incident?”

Your shoulder gently bumped against his arm as you both walked. Based on the tone of his voice, he hadn’t asked you that question out of jealousy per se, but curiosity.

“A few, but nothing that lasted very long. Mostly fantasy-obsessed weirdos who just wanted to brag about dating someone who wears an eyepatch, like I’m a fictional character or a damn pirate or something. But, uh, what about you?”

Satoru laughed a bit, but not humorously.

“Nope. I could barely function like a normal human being, let alone be in a relationship.”

He didn’t mean to make that burden of guilt reappear.

Catching a glimpse of you staring at the ground, he opened his mouth to apologize, but you started to speak before he could do so.

“I hate knowing that I caused you so much pain. I should have done something. I should have never let the higher-ups force me to start a new life, or at least, I should have tried to figure out who Ren’s father was. I’m sorry.”

Satoru grabbed your hand. He didn’t think it through — didn’t pause to wonder if such a display of affection was okay, but you didn’t seem to mind. Your warm fingers curled around his.

He couldn’t wait to tell Kento about it.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, okay?” Satoru stared at you, paying no mind to anything that might have been in front of his walking path. “I picked working for people who would destroy my life at any given chance over my own family. None of this would have happened if I had been home like I should’ve been. I’m the one who’s sorry.”

At this hour, all of the small, local businesses were closed, cute little brown buildings showcasing nothing but darkness when you glanced through their windows as you strolled by.

However, one place was still open.

It was the bar.

Walking past it, you held Satoru’s hand a little tighter.

The white-haired man couldn’t see it, but as he made his way by the entrance doors, the bartender could see his former customer walking by with a small, sober grin.

The bartender smiled to himself as he washed a glass.

He was incredibly happy for that man, and he hoped to never get another dollar from him again.

“So what happens now?” Your sudden question made Satoru hum in response and tilt his head a bit. Continuing, you asked, “Are you going to go back to being a sorcerer?”

“No,” Satoru shook his head. “I passed the torch on to my students a while ago, and I think they’ll be just fine.”

As you both unhappily arrived closer and closer to your apartment, a sad frown appeared on Satoru’s face. He didn’t want the date to end. He wanted to keep walking with you forever.

Letting you go with the promise of seeing you again soon never came easy after the incident.

Your footsteps clicked against the hard ground as you made your way to your front door. With a shy smile, you turned and faced the white-haired man.

“Thanks for walking me home. I’d invite you inside, but it’s getting late, and I have to head to my coffee shop in the morning. I was able to get a few bookshelves put in. Can you believe it?” Digging through your purse for your house keys, you smiled at Satoru. “I just gotta spend my Sunday actually putting books on the shelves now before we open on Monday. Boxes are sitting everywhere right now.”

“I’m happy for you,” Satoru said. He couldn’t help but wonder if this newfound passion for books, coffee, and entrepreneurship came after the incident, or if you were always interested in such things, and he never noticed.

He would have bought you a two-story bookstore and coffee shop years ago if that was the case. Was that always your dream and you kept it hidden from him? Why? Did it have anything to do with having to raise Ren and run the house while Satoru was off fighting curses and training his students?

He wanted to ask — and he almost did, his lips parting a bit — but he knew you wouldn’t remember. You wouldn’t have an answer.

“You should stop by sometime!” Your smile brightened. “Do you like coffee? You seem like the kinda guy who’d like something on the sweeter side . . . a mocha, maybe?”

Satoru couldn’t help but lovingly mimic your bright smile, his eyes flickering from your eye to your lips, and his heart skipped a beat.

Most people would assume that a guy like Satoru hated sweets. Back when he was a sorcerer, others figured that he avoided sweets and sugary things to keep himself as healthy as possible. Truthfully, though, he was the kind of person who would have dessert for every meal if he could. Both because it helped energize his overactive mind, and because he simply had a sweet tooth.

But you knew.

Was it something you remembered, or was it nothing more than a lucky guess?

Satoru couldn’t say. You couldn’t say.

However, no one could deny that your old personality was starting to return while in his presence. You had never known yourself to be the kind of person to ramble on and on, but here you were, spending your night talking so much that your jaw had started to ache.

After one proper evening together, the gorgeous man was bringing out a side of you that you had never known — or, perhaps, had forgotten.

“You could serve me a cup of toilet water and I’d drink it,” Satoru said with a gentle, brief chuckle. “But yeah, I have a sweet tooth.”

“So I was right.” You paused. “Well, I guess I’ll see you later.”

The smile on his face faltered as uncertainty flooded his mind, as he didn’t know how to properly say goodbye. You held hands earlier, and you had hugged once before, but should he initiate one now? Should he shake your hand? No . . . too professional. The last thing he wanted was for your reblossoming relationship to amount to that of a business transaction.

He decided to play it safe. He mumbled a quick goodnight, gave you a soft smile, and started to walk away.

“Wait,” you called out.

With a little hum of confusion, his brows raising slightly, he turned and faced you.

Reaching up, your hands gripped his shoulder, pulling the taller man down a bit before planting a soft kiss on his cheek, which instantly reddened the second your lips came in contact with his soft skin.

“Goodnight,” you mumbled.

When your face was still a whisper away from his own, Satoru kissed your cheek back.

It was a subconscious act — as natural breathing. You’d kiss his cheek, and he’d kiss yours back.

“You used to kiss my cheek all the time.” He pulled away from you, blushing.

“Really?” You wrapped your fingers around your house key, turning towards your door briefly to place it in the lock. Looking back at him as you twisted it, you said, “That’s probably why I wanted to do it now. It just felt right, I guess. I don’t normally kiss my dates on the cheek.”

“Right, well,” Satoru, once again, started to walk away. “Goodnight.”

That night — after soaking in the bathtub and texting Satoru to make sure he got home safely, although you felt silly doing so, being that he was the most powerful man in the world — you rested your head against your pillow and started to drift off to sleep.

In that state, in which it felt as if your mind, body, and soul were stuck somewhere between falling asleep and staying awake, Satoru’s face appeared in your mind.

Only — he was younger.

He wore dark sunglasses, and a dorky smile, cheeks pink as he blushed . . .

“Y/N!” He called out, waving for you to come over and join him where he stood in a shady spot underneath a big tree.

As you approached him, the cocky teenager put his hands in the pockets of his school uniform, trying his hardest to seem cool and calm. But despite his best efforts, he was still a blushing mess.

“Hey,” you greeted politely, smiling up at your tall classmate. “Everything alright? I’m gonna be late for training.”

“Y-Yeah,” he awkwardly cleared his throat following his stutter — which made him wish that the ground would somehow open up and swallow him whole to ease his embarrassment. “I just . . . wanted to say hi. I’m sorry I didn’t call you after our date. Well, I did, but I hung up before you answered because I got nervous. Not-not that I normally get nervous or anything, I’m pretty chill, but it was late and I didn’t know if you wanted to talk, or if you’d think I was weird for calling you after we had just hung out. I’m not weird, I promise. I’m not as cocky as everyone says I am, either. I’m just a normal person. You’re not, though. I-I mean, you’re normal, but you’re really strong and pretty, you know what I mean? So, uh . . . yeah.”

An amused grin appeared on your face. Meanwhile, Satoru’s own face reddened even more with every shaky word he spoke. The gifted sorcerer couldn’t look you in the eye.

“You’re adorable,” you chuckled softly, watching as he fidgeted around, unable to stand still in your presence. “And it’s okay. You make me kinda nervous too.”

Your eye darted away from him. Satoru glanced down at your hand and saw that you were fiddling with the end of your sleeve.

“Do you wanna go out with me again?” Satoru’s words were rushed, rolling off of his tongue and falling from between his lips much quicker than he wanted.

“I’d love to.” Your sweet smile made Satoru’s heart skip a beat. Glancing down at your watch, you said, “I gotta go, but maybe we can have lunch together tomorrow. Diner down the street?”

“Okay, that’s cool,” Satoru couldn’t fight the urge to grin, his cheeks starting to burn. “I’ll see you later.”

You started to walk away, but suddenly, your footsteps came to a halt. Turning back around to face a puzzled Satoru, you approached him once again, motioned for him to lean down, and you planted a kiss on his cheek.

“Bye,” you grinned.

Satoru couldn’t speak. Your lips touching his red, blushy cheek had seized his ability to communicate like a normal human being. His body froze, his throat dried to a crisp, and his overactive mind was incapable of forming a coherent thought.

As he watched you start to walk away, eventually snapping out of his trance, he shouted, “Wait!”

The happy teenager leaned down and quickly kissed your cheek. Then, he ran off to locate his best friend, Suguru Geto, eager to tell the dark-haired boy about the heartwarming interaction he just had with the woman he was certain he’d marry someday.

—

— THURSDAY —

Less than a week has passed since your wonderful evening with Satoru. During that time, your coffee shop was now a fully operational bookstore as well. You and Satoru stayed in your shop well past closing hours, sipping on beverages and chatting. On Tuesday night, you, him, and Ren enjoyed seafood and board games.

It was wonderful.

Spending time with him often led to dreams when your eye fluttered shut and the moon was shining through your curtains.

However, the dreamlike images of that beautiful man didn’t feel like dreams at all.

And your therapist agreed.

She suggested that, perhaps, they were memories.

But there was only one way to truly differentiate between what was real and what wasn’t.

And that was by asking Satoru. Only he could tell you if the beautiful scenarios that appeared were missing pieces of a life you had forgotten.

That Thursday, the setting sun began to darken the baby blue sky, and faint stars appeared above the school in which a science fair was taking place.

In the big school gym, several students had their artistic projects on display for judges and parents to walk around and admire. Ren and Mae had created a presentation about power and electricity.

He looked so proud as he stood there, pointing at several different wires surrounded by Mae’s detailed drawings of lightning bolts, explaining the scientific process to curious guests.

However, what he was proud of more than anything was his mother and father, who stood behind the group of judges and parents and snapped pictures of him. The young boy would occasionally dart his eyes away from the crowd of strangers admiring his presentation and smile at his parents.

He had two of them.

A mother and a father.

Later on, as the judges gathered to discuss the winners of the science fair, Ren walked off to chat with his group of friends. While everyone had to create a project for a class grade, submitting it to the science fair was completely optional. Only true science-loving geniuses took it that far. Even so, Ren’s friends — the ones who attended his birthday party — all showed up to support him. They didn’t know a thing about science beyond what they could scribble on a ripped sheet of paper and hide under their sleeves during tests, but they knew one thing: they wanted to be there for your boy.

Approaching Satoru with a white paper cup of water, you smiled at him softly.

“Hey, do you have a minute? Can we talk outside?”

“Of course,” Satoru matched your smile with a grin of his own. Even if he was busy, he’d make time for you now. Always.

Walking through the see-through doors and stepping outside into the darkening surroundings was a nostalgic experience. It was an entirely different school, but hearing crickets chirp and seeing families walking home after their own events ended as the falling sun finished off another beautiful day reminded Satoru of your after-class walks from way back when.

He faced you with a look of curiosity.

“What’s up?”

“I was just wondering . . . do you remember what our second date might have been like?”

Satoru’s eyes darted up at the stars for a moment — he remembered, of course.

“Uh, yeah. I’m pretty sure I remember every date. Why?”

“Just curious,” you lied. The last thing you wanted to do was give him hope that your memory was returning, only for it to turn out to be nothing more than a pointless dream.

“We planned it right when we saw each other in person again after our first date. I was nervous and apologetic about not calling you the night before — either I was nervous or I forgot, I’m not sure — but we went to a nearby diner, one close to the school.”

You shifted your stance a bit, much too excited to stand completely still. Could it have been a coincidence?

“I think I might have remembered that.” As you spoke, Satoru’s eyes widened. “I had a dream — or I thought it was a dream, but it felt too real. We were standing outside of a school, wearing uniforms. We were both still so nervous around each other, but you were rambling a bunch, and . . . I’ve just been having a lot of similar dreams like that lately. To know that they actually might have been memories . . . I can’t believe it.”

“Wh-What else do you remember? What were the other dreams about?”

You went on to describe what you had seen.

Satoru’s eyes started to water as you recalled some of your shared memories. The stars appearing in the sky above seemed brighter.

Although you couldn’t remember everything, for now, it was enough.

“I know it’s not a lot, but those little memories are something I’ll hold onto forever. Some of them came back, and I don’t plan on letting them go anytime soon,” you said. “I might not remember our first kiss or every anniversary, but I’m starting to remember how it felt to love you.”

Satoru’s world stopped. It was a feeling similar to the day he first found you and Ren at that one grocery store.

It was a combination of shock and love running through his veins.

Satoru’s large hands cupped your cheeks. Slowly, he leaned in, pressing his lips against yours.

Satoru lost you once. Then, you reappeared. However, kissing you softly, yet passionately in this moment is what led Satoru’s soul to believe that he had finally found you.

Your sweet lips moved against his with a familiar pattern one would only have while kissing their soulmate. Even if your mind had forgotten much, your soul knew. It just knew.

The entrance doors belonging to the school opened and closed. Parents were heading back inside after ending phone calls or smashing their cigarette butts because the awards ceremony was about to start according to their watches.

Sadly, you and Satoru had to pull away, breathlessly, though, and after reuniting for two or three more little kisses.

“I’m starting to get jealous of the old me who used to kiss you like that every day,” your beaming smile was too cute.

“No reason to be jealous, you can still do it every day if you want to,” Satoru’s face was only inches away from yours as he spoke.

“Well, come on, let’s go see if our boy won first place. We can talk about our new every day later,”you said, grabbing ahold of Satoru’s hand.

You led him back into the school, where Ren would later accept his first-place trophy.

As the three of you celebrated his victory — together, as it should be — being a family started to become your new every day.

—

— TWO YEARS LATER —

White dresses and fancy cakes were on your mind, the old, sweet memory of walking down the aisle, glancing up at your teary-eyed husband, had recently come back to you in great detail.

You could taste the classic vanilla cake flavor on your tongue. Smell the special cologne Satoru wore that day. Feel the swaying rhythm of the song played during your first dance.

Today, as you drove your thirteen-year-old to school with him in the passenger seat — the middle school was too far of a walk compared to the elementary school — you touched the knob of your radio and turned up the music a few notches.

“What song is this?” Ren questioned, listening to the unfamiliar ballad.

“I think it’s a song from my wedding. I’ll have to ask Satoru later.”

Ren smiled. Another potential memory was unlocked.

“I’m also hoping he can take you to get a haircut tomorrow because I gotta-”

“Whaaat? No, Mom, no haircut, okay?”

“Since when do you not like haircuts?” You made a swift right turn as you spoke.

Ren scratched the side of his white hair, feeling his growing strands.

“I’m trying to grow it out until it looks like Dad’s, so not too long, but a little longer than it is now. Plus, Mae said that she likes longer hair. Oh, and can you take us to the movies Friday? I forgot to ask earlier.”

“Sure,” you agreed with a soft smile.

Your son and Mae had officially been dating for about a year, and it was beyond adorable.

Turning into the drop-off lane in front of the school, you pulled Ren’s packed lunch out of the backseat, along with his backpack. He was a growing boy — a realization that brought both you and Satoru to tears — and, naturally, his stomach was a bottomless pit right now.

“Bye Mom,” Ren started to open his car door but paused. “By the way, I hope you and Dad get remarried soon.”

And with that final thought, he closed the door and limped away.

—

Three days later, Satoru proposed.

Just like he once did years ago, Kento helped him out with planning the details of a perfect proposal.

It was in a beautiful, forestry area lit up with fairy lights — a gorgeous local walking trail you both strolled down together often.

He got down on one knee. Pulled out a mesmerizing ring. Cheeks red from being nervous, an emotion only you could bring out of the extroverted man.

There was no greater joy than when you wrapped your arms around him after saying yes.

God, he loved you. He loved you, and he loved you.

And, once again, you had promised to spend the rest of your life with him, because, god, you loved him. You loved him, and you loved him.

Satoru kissed you deeply after you accepted his proposal, tears streaming down his face.

“This ring isn’t just an engagement ring.” Satoru’s lips hovered over yours as he whispered, “It’s also a promise ring, too. Because I promise you that I’ll be the husband you deserve this time around. You were always so scared back then of falling in love with someone you could lose, and I’m letting you know now that I’m here, and you’ll never lose me to anything, especially a career path. You couldn’t get rid of me even if you tried.”

“Don’t worry, the past doesn’t define us as much as we think it does, trust me. You, me, and Ren are going to be just fine, okay?” You ran your thumb across his blushing cheek. He was so beautiful. “Let’s just focus on our future. On our every day.”

Satoru kissed you softly, mumbling a subtle, “Okay.”

He had his worries, but whenever your lips touched his cheek, and his lips touched your cheek, he had a gut feeling that, perhaps, everything would be alright.

—

— DECADES LATER —

“This color looks pretty, Grandma.”

Your eldest granddaughter gently rubbed one of her favorite lipsticks across your lips. “Brings out your eyes.”

“I only have one, honey, but thank you.”

Softly, she laughed. Growing up, she loved hearing the made-up stories about how you got your eyepatch. You being a pirate on an adventure to save captured mermaids was her favorite tale as a child.

She was Ren’s and Mae’s firstborn, the oldest amongst their three children, and the only girl. Your granddaughter was sweet and kind enough to help you get ready for a family brunch.

Ren, who was in his forties now, stepped through the front door of his lovely home with his wife and two sons.

He walked into the living room and greeted you briefly as he kissed your forehead before heading into the kitchen and sitting down a big brown bag filled with groceries.

Then, several more kisses followed from your fellow cherished family members.

You smiled with pride. Ren was a successful surgeon who married his childhood sweetheart and had created a beautiful family.

Suddenly, you frowned.

“What’s wrong?” Your youngest grandson asked, tilting his head a bit.

“Where’s Satoru?”

You glanced around for your husband. You missed him. Where did he go?

Your granddaughter held your hand.

“He’s in the bathroom, remember? He left a few minutes ago. He’ll be right back.”

You gave an unsatisfied nod.

Memory loss has always been a struggle for your entire life. Be it object permanence as a baby, amnesia as an adult, or plain ‘ole forgetfulness as an elder.

But at least you remembered love.

That much was obvious when Satoru returned to the living room, eyes crinkly as he smiled, and your mood suddenly changed into complete and utter happiness.

“You look pretty,” Satoru ran his hand across your cheek. “That’s lipstick, hm?”

“Brings out my eye,” you joked.

As Satoru took a seat next to you on the couch, Mae shouted from the kitchen, “Hey, come help us.”

Your three grandchildren left the living room to assist their parents, leaving you and Satoru alone to enjoy each other’s company by chatting and watching TV until brunch was ready.

He had his arm wrapped around you, his body heat warming your entire soul. There was no greater joy than being with him.

That night, you and Satoru were snuggled up underneath your thick comforter, facing each other in bed.

“After all these years, you still make me nervous,” Satoru said, staring into your eye, his cheeks becoming the faintest shade of pink.

With a warm smile, you slowly kissed Satoru’s cheek. He kissed yours.

You touched a strand of his gray hair. Then, your lovely, wrinkly fingers graced his cheek, the warm lighting from his bedside table lamp highlighting his aged, beautiful face.

“Thank you . . . for another great day, and for all the memories. I love you, Satoru.”

A little yawn escaped you. As you drifted off to sleep, Satoru mumbled, “I love you too, Y/N.”

In time, you will once again start to lose all of your memories. Slowly, it will all fade as you grow older and get closer to your impending demise. Satoru had grown to accept that expected outcome. However, this time around, if you passed on before the retired sorcerer, he wouldn’t be a sad man stuck in a bar, mourning. He would be at your bedside, holding your hand and kissing your cheek.

Then, he’d wait for the day in which he too would pass on and join you in the place of eternal happiness and rest, where, finally, both of your souls would be at peace after what happened.

♡ — 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠!

🏷: @sad-darksoul @sircatchungus @gojossocks @a-contemplation-upon-flowers @star-toruu @yobabymama @s7armin @minmin-minnie @jexx233 @roninishere @dreamsarenicer @starzcoffeelvr @delghoul @buttercupmuffins @dijaicar @tuliptoot @sweet-yzabelle @creative1writings @lympha @malikazz243 @bforbiblio @galagarts @enesitamor @luffysfav @chilichopsticks @misscellaneousisme @1plwushie @blackjou @gfmima @dazedflvr @safiest58ravenclaw @dyna-mights @honestlywtfisgoingon @pnkoo @levin4nami @frogtee @myhomeworksnotdone @ushygushybaby @wooasecret

[syoddeye]

ghost x reader in the same vein as seconds, but not quite the same storyline. cw: reincarnation (and not always human) and fucked-up soulmates, animal death (chickens, dog), suicide, weird vibes

Across all of time, the chase endures.

One fleeing, one giving chase.

Every people, every mythos, every woven inch of the world’s story holds versions of it—echoes of this. The hunter, the hunted. The desperate and dogged. The terrified and compelled.

Sometimes, rarely, there’s laughter in the chase. Mischief. A light-footed thrill.

But that’s never the case with you.

Not once, in any of your lives, has Simon glimpsed even a flicker of joy when your eyes land on him for the first time. No glimmer of recognition, no fondness, no pull.

At best, your gaze is headstrong. Defiant when you’re feeling brave. A wobbly, half-formed smile when you think you can bluff your way through it. Beneath it all, always, that tremor of unease. Regret you won’t admit to. The slow, succulent realization you’ve bitten off more than you can chew.

And at your worst? It’s unmistakable. The full whites of your eyes and pupils blown wide. Your lip curls like you’ve smelled something rotten, scented him in the wind. You recoil, shuddering with naked loathing and revulsion.

But no matter the life, no matter the shape you wear or the name you answer to, one thing never changes.

You always fear him. Every time, every version.

You fear him.

He does not always hate it.

You’re a stray this time. A mutt. A mangy, mistrustful thing. All ribs and reek and bite. You’ve lived your whole life on the street—no collar, no name, no warmth of a hand or home. He came looking for you, and he’s found you too late.

And because of his poor timing, and because this time he’s the man and not the dog, he’s you backed into a shed. A dead end from which you will not escape.

You thrash on the end of his catchpole, growling and snapping your teeth. 

(That, at least, is not so different from some of his favorite past lives.)

Chicken’s blood coats your canines and feathers stick to your gums. The homeowner wails in the background, shrieking at him to kill the monster—kill it, kill it! And Simon has to chuckle as he reels you in. How many times have you screamed something similar, when he’s found you?

You fight like a devil when he scruffs you, and you don’t stop even when he slots you into the kennel in the back of his truck. You whine pathetically the whole way to the facility, only to start again once he drags you inside. He ensures no one else touches you. Not the other handlers. He barely allows the vet.

It’s unfortunate, when it ends like this: inhuman and incompatible. The differences so irreconcilable it warrants a clean slate.

He tries, like he always does. Feeds you by hand. Talks to you soft and low. Lets you smell his skin, gives you one of his shirts. You don’t soften. You don’t eat. You curl in the corner of your kennel like you’d rather die than be tamed by his hand.

He blames himself. He knows if he’d found you sooner—if he’d raised you from a pup, spoiled you, trained you—you could’ve been magnificent. Loyal. Sharp. A good little gundog. He recalls a handful of lives where you were a vicious little thing, but you’re all animal now. You never stood a chance without him.

Seven days pass. The shelter’s full. The chicken’s owner wants his pound of flesh.

So Simon does what he has to do.

He holds you as they fit the muzzle. You buck and struggle until the sedative slows you. Even then, he holds on. Dismisses the tech. Cradles you close as your breathing slows and as your muscles go slack. Your growls turn to whimpers, and your whimpers to quiet breathing.

Simon strokes between your ears, soothing, whispering the only promise that ever matters: Maybe not this lifetime, but the next. You’ll come back right, human, and he’ll be there to find you. He’ll wander the earth if he must.

He walks off his shift after taking care of you himself. Drives in silence until the bridge, high and skeletal in the afternoon sun. He pulls his truck over to the shoulder, leaves the keys in the ignition, and his boots on the passenger seat. Hands his wallet—ID and all—to a homeless man.

The wind is sharp. The drop, long enough for a good think. He steps off the edge like he’s disembarking a bus.

He pictures you already—what shape you’ll take next, what kind of life you’ll lead, and how he’ll crash it. What he’ll be when he finds you again. A man. A beast. Both or something else entirely.

He smiles at the thought of your heartbeat under his fingers. Fast. Frantic. Beautifully afraid.

He shuts his eyes just as he slams into the next.

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

“You look fine in that suit.” Tommy pauses briefly, then he adds, a little more subdued, “I’m sorry. That’s inappropriate today.”

“You’re not even looking at me,” Buck says, confused. That much is true: Tommy, standing on the station’s rooftop terrace with his arms crossed, doesn’t turn around. He looks like a man enjoying the sun and the view, but Buck knows that’s not true. Without saying a word, he takes a few steps to stand next to Tommy. The view is spectacular, but they’re standing a little too close to the edge for his taste. Perhaps that's ambiguous.

“Noticed you earlier.” 

“We’re all wearing the same uniform,” Buck remarks, and Tommy just shrugs. 

Buck realizes that it was a small, very gentle and spontaneous confession, and he wishes he could tell Tommy that he understands, because he felt the same way. He wishes he could tell him he noticed Tommy, who, even though he will be one of the pallbearers, quietly slipped in through the door and kept himself in the background. He hasn't exchanged words with the others, not even with Chimney, and he hasn't looked at Buck, just like he’s not looking at him now. But Buck has seen him, and he wishes he could tell Tommy about that little sting in his heart, back then. Yet his throat is tight—not because he thinks it would be inappropriate to say anything, but because the reason they are here is only minutes away. The atmosphere downstairs is so devastating that Buck desperately needs a break.

“How did you know I was here?” Tommy asks.

“Well, if you're running away, where else would you go but up?”

Maybe that came out a little too harsh, because now Tommy turns his head, surprise and a little hurt in his gaze. 

“I-I mean...” Buck struggles to find the right words. Happens a lot lately, ever since Bobby’s death. “I get it. Nobody wants to be here today.”

“A lot of people want to pay their last respects to the captain, Evan.”

“Yeah, but that makes it so final. Tommy… I'll never see him again. None of us want to be here today. Chimney is tearing himself apart because he blames himself. And to be honest, Athena was pretty mean to him. I know it's just grief, but she was also close to not even showing up for the funeral because she said she had to solve a case. Can you imagine that? At Bobby's funeral?”

He pauses briefly, sniffs, and then continues in a staccato, as if all these words have to come out right now. 

“I would have preferred to stay at home either, honestly, but Eddie and his constant nagging about the changes I made in his house drove me out. Well, him and Ravi, who’s way too serious. He shouldn’t be so serious. Everyone is so sad, Tommy. Hen is crying all the time, and I wish I could too.”

Tommy's smile is gentle and sad. “Hold on a little longer,” he says softly. “Just… try. For Bobby, okay? I don’t think I can stand to see you cry again…” He trailed off, looking in the distance.

“W-what do you mean?” Buck asks with a frown.

“The military had the lab’s surveillance cameras on monitor. You didn’t know?”

“No. Wait. You saw Bobby die? That’s horrible, Tommy.”

Tommy looked ready to shrug it off, but this time, Buck wouldn’t have it. He's reaching out, because it's the right thing to do; he's pulling Tommy into a hug. They stand like this for a while, heartbeat to heartbeat; without a word, not moving. Grief unites, someone had once said to Buck, and now he understands what that means. Finally, Tommy gently withdraws.

“Thanks,“ his voice is merely a breath.

“We should talk. Later,” Buck urgently returns. Tommy raises a brow, “Do you really think so?”

“Of course I do,” Buck insists. “It's long overdue. We're really bad at it, but that’s no excuse.”

Tommy smiles indulgently, like he always does around Buck. “True. I just don't think this is the right place or time.”

“Oh,” says Buck. “You're probably right. Well. W-what are you doing on Saturday?”

[aringofsalt]

we're going down, but not today

BUCKTOMMY | G | 824 WORDS | AO3 spec fic for the upcoming two-parter! entirely based on the bts photos. i got to thinking about potential bathena parallels and this happened 💛

The helicopter is so still in the air it looks like it's floating, like the entire world is just as frozen as Buck feels.

"Evan," Tommy's voice crackles softly over the radio. "Evan, I need you to know—"

"No way," Buck interrupts. "You're not doing this to me, Tommy."

He has a brief flash back to September, to the way they'd all told the story of Athena's landing over and over. Of how Bobby had been so, so sure of Athena.

"You tell me in person, okay?" He echoes Bobby's words. "You land that thing, you get the hell out of there, you come back to me, you hear me? You come back and you—you tell me in person." His voice wavers, cracks a little in front of Athena and God and everybody who's listening in on this channel—he doesn't even want to think about how many people are listening in on this goddamn channel—but his eyes never leave the chopper. "You're going to tell me, and I'm going to tell you. Okay?"

There's silence for a moment. Then,

"Copy that, Firefighter Buckley. See you on the other side." Click.

"Buck, I need the radio," Athena says softly. She takes the radio from him with one hand, wraps the other around his bicep and squeezes briefly. Distantly, he can hear her talking, coordinating with Tommy in the air. He doesn't understand a word of it; it all sounds like it's coming through water, all distorted and muffled. His heart is in his throat as the helicopter gets closer, as they're ushered backwards for the bomb squad to get through.

It's a tense few minutes, made worse by the fact that he can see Tommy now, through the windshield. He knows flying isn't easy, but Tommy always made it look easy; now the cracks are showing. But they all do their jobs, and finally, finally, the chopper is on the ground. The minutes it takes for the engine to stop and the blades to stop turning are the longest he's ever felt. Tommy very carefully doesn't look at him the whole time, entirely focused on his job.

It's so fucking hot, now that the danger is past.

By the time Tommy steps out of the cockpit, Buck feels like he's going to vibrate out of his skin. He's forcing himself to stay in place, ignoring Athena's amused smirk, but the second Tommy looks his way, he's done for.

He's halfway across the roof before he's even processed that his feet are moving, and Tommy's just as eager, stepping right around the guy he's been debriefing with. They crash together, wrapping around each other without a care in the world for all the people around them. Buck feels like he could crawl right into Tommy's rib cage and he still wouldn't be close enough. All he can do is cling tighter, bury his nose into Tommy's neck and dig his fingers into the coarse fabric of his flight suit and finally let the tears fall.

He doesn't know how long they stand there, just that by the time they break apart—eyes red and shoulders suspiciously damp—their corner of the roof is pretty much empty. There's some distant murmurs, people milling around the helicopter, but nobody is nearby to watch them press their foreheads together and breathe each other in.

"You said tell me in person," Tommy murmurs into the space between them.

"Well, here we are," Buck murmurs back. "Whatcha got for me, Kinard?"

"Dork," Tommy says fondly, then his face grows serious. "You don't know what you do to me, Evan. I'm not exactly a stranger to the idea of death—you know what that's like, this job. But this time...all I could think about was all the things I never got to tell you. All the time I wasted."

"We wasted," Buck breaks in, because he's not about to let Tommy take all the blame for the time they spent apart. "But that doesn't matter."

"No, it doesn't," Tommy agrees. "I'm...I'm done running from you, Evan. I love you—it scares me, honestly, how much. But the idea of being without you..." He takes a deep breath. "That scares me more. I'm so sorry."

"I am too," Buck laughs wetly, fighting down a sob. "God. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. I'm never letting you out of my sight again, I hope you realize."

"Deal."

Buck looks up, and Tommy takes his breath away, as always. He's glowing golden in the setting sun, eyes wide, looking at Buck with that same look of fond amazement he always does, like he can't quite believe this is real.

He's missed this. Missed him. And he's waited weeks; he's not waiting another minute. He slides a hand around Tommy's neck, the other around his waist, and tugs him in, and it feels like home.

[qwordavoider]

I present to you 650 words of the beginning of my take on Buck transferring to the 122 under Sal. It'll eventually lead to a tevan reunion, but I want to do it from Ravi and Buck's pov to switch it up. I will also be adding it to the make me write that I have going right now. So feel free to request more of the 122 transfer fic 🚒 and enjoy Ravi's pov to start off.

-

“Hey Buck,” Ravi greets as he walks into the locker room at the start of shift. He expects to get the typical, “Morning Rav,” from him. Instead he finds Buck staring blankly at the locker in front of him. Ravi can’t help but notice that it’s a little emptier than the last shift. 

“Buck?” he prompts again when there is no sign that Buck heard him. “You good?” Ravi asks.

Buck jumps and it’s clear that he was in his own world, but he nods in response to Ravi’s question and starts slowly getting ready for their shift. He had been like that a bit more lately. Ravi knew Buck was probably taking Bobby’s death hard, even if he didn’t necessarily see it most days. Buck was the one checking in with him the most and he really appreciated it, but he always brushed off Ravi’s offer to talk. The others didn’t seem worried, so he was assuming Buck was just grieving in his own way. 

The first time he became really worried was when Buck said he was transferring. He never thought the man who chased him with a chainsaw to make sure Ravi was worthy of taking over his spot, would ever willingly leave the 118. Ravi studied Buck out of the corner of his eye and now that he paid more attention, he could see the tension and exhaustion in his face and the way he held himself. He hadn’t taken the time to look beyond what Buck was telling him to see that he wasn’t doing well. 

He’s about to ask how he’s really doing when Buck whispers, “I’m still transferring.”

Ravi stills to think through the best way to respond. He had really thought that Chim’s speech had been enough to convince him to stay. It had been for Eddie and he had bought a house in Texas, so Ravi just assumed that Buck had pulled the transfer papers. Guess he was wrong. 

“You’re not gonna bring out the chainsaw on me again are you?” Ravi eventually asks, deciding to try and lighten the mood. 

Buck stares at him for a second before he catches on, cracking a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “Nah. You earned your spot here a long time ago Rav. No chainsaw required.”

“Are you sure this is what you want to do?” Ravi asks. 

“Yeah, I am.”

Ravi nods, that’s good enough for him. “Well I’m gonna miss you. Despite our rocky start I’ve learned a lot from you. But like you said to Hen, you gotta do what’s best for you. I admire you for that.”

Buck looks surprised that Ravi’s not fighting him on it. He can’t blame the guy. Seems like every time Buck decides to do something he’s either asking for advice from the team or they try and talk him out of it. He’s glad to see Buck doing something for himself. 

Since Buck doesn’t seem like he’s able to say anything right now, Ravi continues, “Is that why you’re slowly cleaning out your locker?”

Buck nods, “Today is my last shift.”

Wow, that’s quick. He doesn’t know why Buck hadn’t told anyone, so he asks, “Does Chim know?”

Chimney had taken over the role of captain for the last few shifts while the chief decided on whether or not it could be permanent. It seems like something the interim captain should know about. 

“I-”, Buck sighs, “I’m going to tell him right now. Just psyching myself up.”

Ravi nods, “Do you know where you’re going?” 

“A-shift at the 122, under Captain Deluca,” Buck replies.

Ravi thinks that name sounds familiar, but he’s not sure why because Tommy immediately comes to mind when he hears it. Weird. 

“Well, don’t be a stranger. If you need anything- well, not anything, I won’t steal a helicopter for you. But if you need a friend… I’m here,” Ravi offers, hoping that Buck sees it as the outstretched hand it is.

-

Part 2

[palmanatomy]

Addressing the debate about if tim takes up a new identity, what should it be. So far, we know in canon that tim has been Robin, Red Robin, Robin again, Drake (blame bart), and Robin again. He's never actually taken a name for himself, Red Robin was just what the newspapers seemed to call him and it was also Jasons identity. Even Drake was Barts idea after they went to alternate timeline and fought evil versions of themselves (again) and bart thought it was a great name.

So, my argue is that even though names like cardinal, rook, jackdaw, red hawk are all interesting, I think that Tim wouldn't really make up an identity for himself and would just kinda roll with whatever the news calls him. HOWEVER. Tim also values his loved ones with a high regard and he incorporates a piece of them when hes lost them with himself. For example, Kons death made him change the iconic Robin colours to red and black to honour him. I know that the red robin suit was already existing but he wore it after Bruces death and I like to believe that the cowl was a nod to Bruce. When he was in the unternet and we see how he perceives himself as (probably my favourite tim costume), his costume kinda looks like nightwings with the red depiction and this is when tim and dicks relationship is strained (a bit of a reach, i know, but like. Look at it.).

And what does Tim love more than anything in the world? His car, redbird. DC has not included redbird in ANY comics since he had to sell it to alfred for like a million bucks when his dads company went bankrupt and I have been scouring, searching through the wilderness that is modern dc for this fucking car. I do not know where it is and its killing me. Tim loved that car. He is a car guy to his core and the lack of rebird in modern dc has lead me to believe that redbird has died.

Therefore! Tim should be Redbird, honouring the loss of his beloved car and incorporating it into his own identity. it still incorporates the red part of his identity but it leaves robin entirely. Also, on a more serious note, in his chats with Lonnie Machin he uses the alias Redbird and other villains have called him redbird before so like. its not impossible. And i miss redbird like actually him being a car guy was so important to me and like tims relationship with cars is literally so important. like secretly shipping a batmobile to san francisco, being the only one that the supercycle would let drive it, being so proud of his car and remote controlling it and i just love redbird and i miss it.

thanks for coming to my tedtalk.

[fordiaz]

Smoke Signals (Eddie Diaz) 🧃⋆˙ᝰ.ᐟ

“Because you hurt her. I saw it. I picked up the pieces while you played house with someone else.” ✩°𓏲⋆🌿. ⋆⸜

Synopsis: You’ve always been Buck’s person — his best friend, his confidante — and he’s always kept a quiet, unspoken affection for you. But you’ve drawn a clear line: no dating within the workplace. That is, until Eddie Diaz walks into Station 118 and suddenly your rules seem negotiable. Buck watches as you transform in front of him, and it nearly breaks him. But things aren’t as simple as they seem, especially when Eddie’s past — and his wife — come to light. What follows is a long road of heartbreak, silence, healing… and ultimately, love.

Genre: Drama, Romance, Angst, Slow Burn

AU: None

Pairing: Eddie Diaz x Afab!Reader (with heavy Buck x Reader friendship angst)

Warnings: Eddie is a major asshole but I only did it to get his messy love life out the way (😭), Evan Buckley with second male lead syndrome, mention of a cardiac arrest and OD, character death (Shannon).

Note: Guys this is my first 911 fic after rebranding this account so BE NICE please. ;; Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this read, I tried to at least be lore accurate somehow because my memory of S1-S4 is still a bit fuzzy since I just started rewatching the show, so no mentions of Marisol or anything just yet. Don’t forget to like + reblog as a way of supporting me and other writers as well, happy reading!

The sweltering Los Angeles summer heat had nothing on the firehouse kitchen when the crew of Station 118 rolled in after a long call.

The air was thick with post-adrenaline energy, gear clunking to the ground, laughter echoing off the walls, and the scent of someone burning microwave popcorn — again.

You stood near the coffee machine, peeling off your gloves, when Buck nudged your side.

“Bet you five bucks Hen blames me for that popcorn smell in five minutes,” he said, grinning.

You didn’t even look up. “It was you.”

Buck feigned offense. “Allegedly.”

“You literally said you’d try that TikTok trick where you pour milk in the bag to make it creamier.”

“Okay, that sounds made up—”

“You said it. In front of everyone.”

Hen walked in right on cue. “Jesus, Buck! Did you try the milk thing again? I told you it’s just online nonsense—”

You tossed a knowing look his way, biting back a smirk.

“Unbelievable,” Buck muttered under his breath, defeated.

This was the rhythm of you and Buck — light banter, teasing, but underneath it all: something quieter, deeper. You’d known each other before 118. The kind of bond forged in chaos and grief, a friendship built like a fireproof wall.

There were people in the world who made you feel seen. Buck made you feel known. And that should’ve been enough.

It was enough.

Until he walked in.

You remember the day Eddie Diaz arrived with perfect clarity — how calm he looked stepping out of Bobby’s car, uniform immaculate, boots polished, expression unreadable.

His eyes scanned the station like he was evaluating threats, but not in a hostile way. Just… trained. Controlled. Measured.

“Everyone, this is Eddie Diaz,” Bobby had announced.

“He’s transferring in from Texas. Served in the Army, graduated top of his class this week, and has a bunch of medical experience that could aid us during calls. He’ll be riding with us starting today.”

Your eyes locked with his across the room.

He nodded once. “Hey.”

You said “hey” back, but it came out breathier than you meant it to — like your lungs hadn’t caught up with the rest of your body.

There was nothing flirtatious in his greeting. It was a single word. A glance.

So why did it linger?

In the weeks that followed, Eddie proved himself quickly. He was sharp on calls, steady under pressure, the kind of firefighter who didn’t flinch even when everything went to hell. And yet, despite his precision and quiet nature, he never came off as cold.

He listened. He noticed things.

Like the way your hands trembled slightly after high-stakes rescues — and how he’d subtly pass you a water bottle before you even realized you needed one. Or how he always volunteered to cover your spot on late shifts when you looked run-down, without asking questions.

You told yourself it was professionalism. Just one teammate helping another.

But when you’d hear him laugh — that low, soft laugh he reserved for moments where his walls dropped — you started to forget why you’d drawn the line in the first place.

The infamous “no dating in the firehouse” rule had always been more about protection than principle. You saw what happened when lines blurred. You saw the mess it left behind when it fell apart.

And Buck… Buck was always the exception you refused to let yourself entertain.

He was too close. Too familiar. Too safe.

You knew how he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. You knew the way his hand lingered half a second longer when he passed you your helmet, or the way he always positioned himself between you and danger — instinctively, like muscle memory.

But you also knew how fragile your friendship was. If you opened that door, there was no going back. And you didn’t want to lose him.

Eddie, on the other hand… Eddie was new. Untangled. Unknown.

Tempting.

“Okay,” Hen said one night, sitting across from you in the loft after a call, “I gotta ask.”

You glanced at her over the rim of your mug. “Ask what?”

“The Diaz situation.”

“There is no ‘Diaz situation,’” you said calmly, biting back a smile.

“Girl, please. You turned down dinner with us to ‘go over reports with Eddie.’ At his place.”

“We were organizing notes from last week’s apartment fire.”

Hen raised a brow. “And you couldn’t have done that here?”

You opened your mouth, closed it, then sighed. “You’re reading into things.”

“Oh, honey,” she said, “everyone’s reading into things. Chimney started a betting pool. Bobby is pretending not to notice. And Buck—” she paused.

“Buck’s trying real hard not to care, but he does.”

Your chest tightened.

You’d noticed the shift in Buck. He was still Buck — still your partner on calls, still quick to joke, still watching your six like always. But the light in his eyes had dulled a little.

The jokes didn’t come as easy. Sometimes you’d catch him watching you and Eddie talking in the corner of the station, and he’d look away before your eyes could meet.

You weren’t stupid. You knew what it looked like from the outside.

Hell, even from the inside, it scared you.

Because Eddie made you feel like someone had finally met you at your level — calm, careful, steady. And you couldn’t pretend you didn’t crave that stability.

But with every step you took closer to Eddie, something inside you whispered that you were walking further and further away from something else.

From someone else.

Later that night, as the station settled and the lights dimmed, you found Buck in the garage, fiddling with his turnout gear. Everyone else had gone to sleep, but he was wide awake, pretending to be busy.

“You good?” you asked gently.

He didn’t look at you at first. “Yeah. Just… cleaning up.”

You stood beside him in silence for a beat before saying, “I’m not trying to hurt anyone.”

Buck nodded, lips pressed into a thin line. “I know.”

The words hung heavy between you, unsaid but understood.

You weren’t breaking a rule. But something was breaking — maybe slowly, maybe just in Buck’s heart. You didn’t know how to fix it without undoing the thing that had finally made you feel seen in a new way.

And as Buck finally looked at you, eyes soft but distant, you wondered if maybe some lines weren’t meant to be crossed — only redrawn.

The call came in midafternoon.

Cardiac arrest. Male, mid-60s. Possible overdose on blood thinners.

You and Eddie loaded into the rig without missing a beat — a rhythm that had started forming between you, quiet and natural.

Hen had swapped rotations with Chim earlier, and Buck was partnered with Ravi that day, left behind at the station when you rolled out with Diaz.

That’s what made it worse.

Buck couldn’t do anything but watch from the bay doors as the rig pulled away, your laughter echoing faintly just before the doors slammed shut.

He’d never heard you laugh like that for anyone on shift before.

Meanwhile, the scene was chaos. The man’s daughter was sobbing on the front porch, screaming at the 9-1-1 dispatcher still on speakerphone.

Eddie cleared a path through the entryway while you knelt beside the patient, fingers flying over his pulse points.

“Unresponsive, no pulse,” you called. “Starting compressions.”

Eddie dropped beside you, AED already powered on. You didn’t have to speak much — he mirrored your movements like he already knew how you liked to work. And that was new.

You had a rhythm with Buck, sure, but with Eddie it felt instinctive. A kind of quiet understanding you hadn’t even noticed forming until it was already there.

“One milligram epi, IV push,” you said quickly. “Charging at 200.”

Eddie handed you the syringe, voice calm. “Done.”

The daughter sobbed louder behind you. “Please save him,” she begged.

You didn’t blink. “We’re doing everything we can.”

Eddie moved in to relieve your compressions, sweat glistening along his brow, but his hands never faltered. He was strong, steady — and when you met his eyes across the man’s chest, you felt a strange heat crawl beneath your ribs.

Focus.

But you saw it then. That flicker of something in his gaze. Not admiration. Not just trust. It was quieter than that. A kind of silent awe.

After two shocks and almost eight minutes of CPR, the man’s pulse came back.

The daughter fell to her knees. “Oh my God.”

Eddie exhaled deeply, sitting back on his heels, eyes finding yours again.

You grinned, exhausted but satisfied. “Nice work, Diaz.”

“You too,” he said. But he was still looking at you.

And that heat returned — low and persistent, curling at the base of your spine.

Back at the rig, you leaned against the open doors while Eddie finished writing his report. You were quiet for a beat, letting the adrenaline wear off. The day was warm, sun angling across the metal, casting a golden glow on his skin.

You watched him — the way he furrowed his brow when he focused, the faint scar on his jaw you hadn’t noticed before, the way he chewed lightly on the inside of his cheek.

“What?” he asked without looking up.

“Hm?”

“You’re staring.”

You smirked. “Maybe I just like the view.”

Eddie’s pen stilled. He looked at you — really looked — and for a moment the air felt charged.

“That was the most unprofessional thing I’ve heard you say in uniform,” he said. You lifted a brow.

“Don’t act like you didn’t like it.”

His mouth twitched. “I didn’t say that.”

You were about to push it further — tease him the way you had a few nights ago during a late-night coffee run — but your phone buzzed. Buck.

BUCKLEY: Call went okay?

You stared at the message for a moment. Then typed back.

YOU: Yeah. Patient survived. All good.

You didn’t mention the moment. You didn’t tell him how Eddie’s hand had brushed yours when you passed the IV kit, or how your heart skipped a beat when he smiled at you afterward like you were the only person in the world.

You didn’t mention how easy it felt.

Because that wasn’t the kind of thing you could explain over text.

Later that evening, when you and Eddie walked back into the station, laughing about something Christopher had said the other day — Buck noticed.

He’d been waiting. Watching the clock. Pretending to sort equipment in the gear room when really, he was just trying not to let the jealousy eat him alive.

But then he saw you.

Not just the way you walked beside Eddie — close enough to brush shoulders — but the way you looked up at him, lit from within.

Buck had known you for years. Through heartbreaks, broken bones, birthdays, and breakdowns. He’d been there when your dad had passed. When your first real relationship after him had crumbled. When you’d failed your lieutenant’s exam and then aced it six months later.

He had seen you cry. He had seen you fight.

But he’d never seen you smile like that.

Not for him.

“You ever think about switching partners?” Buck asked casually, later that night, lounging in the kitchen.

You were pulling a water bottle from the fridge. “What, like musical chairs but with defibs?”

He shrugged. “I just meant, you and me used to ride out together more. Kinda miss it.”

You turned, leaning against the counter.

“It’s not like I asked to switch. Just how the schedule landed.”

“But you like it better with Eddie?”

There it was.

You hesitated. “Eddie’s easy to work with.”

Buck nodded, but his jaw tightened. “Right.”

You studied him. “Is this… weird for you?”

Buck looked up, and for the first time, there was no teasing in his eyes. Just honesty.

“A little.”

The air stretched between you. You didn’t answer.

Didn’t know how to.

Hen pulled you aside the next day as soon as you came in for your shift. “He’s not handling it well,” she said gently.

You sighed. “I didn’t mean to hurt him.”

“I know. But Buck’s always had a blind spot when it comes to you. Maybe he never thought you’d actually fall for someone else.”

You rubbed a hand over your face. “I haven’t fallen for anyone.”

Hen gave you a look. “Girl, please. I saw the way you looked at Eddie after that call. Like he invented CPR.”

You groaned. “That obvious?”

“Only to everyone with eyes.”

You didn’t know what this thing with Eddie was yet — just that it was starting to take up more space in your chest than you wanted to admit.

It was in the way he walked beside you to the rig every morning.

The way he remembered how you took your coffee — sweet, no cream — and brought you one on tough days without being asked.

The way he saw you — not as a rule or a boundary or a decision you made once to protect yourself, but as someone worth knowing anyway.

You hadn’t crossed any lines yet. Not officially.

But the pull was undeniable now.

And the line was starting to blur.

It had been months since that first call with Eddie. Months since that quiet moment by the rig, where the air between you shifted and never quite returned to neutral.

And now?

Now it was breakfast at the same diner after shift, every Tuesday without fail — him always getting black coffee, you ordering the same banana pancakes you swore you’d try to switch up one day.

Now it was shared glances across the truck when Captain gave new assignments. Subtle, silent nods that said I’ve got you louder than words ever could.

Now it was you and Eddie waiting in line for coffee with Chim, bickering over who gets to use the punch card next.

It was laughing until you wheezed because Hen made a crack about how Eddie’s flirting sounded more like reading Miranda rights.

Now it was Christopher.

Meeting him hadn’t been planned — not really. Eddie had invited you along to the adaptive soccer game he helped coach, casual, no-pressure. You said yes because you wanted to support him.

But then you saw the way his son looked at him. Like he hung the moon.

And then you saw the way Eddie looked at you when you knelt beside Christopher after the game to tie his shoelace, laughing at something he said about wanting to be taller than his dad one day.

You weren’t a stranger to kids — you had nieces and nephews, the occasional firehouse tour where little ones clung to your leg. But with Christopher, it was different. You weren’t trying.

You just fit.

And Eddie saw that.

That scared you more than anything.

Back at the station, Buck noticed.

It wasn’t just the way you and Eddie gravitated toward each other — it was the little things. The way Eddie always saved you a seat. The way you reached for his arm when you laughed. The way you spoke in half-sentences he somehow always understood.

He noticed the way Carla had started asking you if you’d be around next weekend when she planned something for Christopher.

The way you already knew where Eddie kept his protein bars in his locker — because he liked the peanut butter ones, not the chocolate.

It wasn’t subtle.

It wasn’t nothing.

And Buck? Buck was unraveling by the day.

Because he wasn’t just watching the man he considered a brother fall for someone. He was watching you — the person he’d quietly loved, the one he always protected, always hoped would someday look back and see him — fall for someone else.

And worse?

You didn’t seem like you were falling at all.

You looked like you already had.

The revelation came without warning.

You and Eddie had just come back from a routine call — a standard ride-along with a heart patient, nothing intense. You were sitting on the back bumper of the rig, sipping a bottle of water, talking about some beach you wanted to visit in the summer. Eddie was unusually quiet.

“You okay?” you asked.

He nodded. Then hesitated. “I need to tell you something.”

The knot in your stomach formed instantly.

“It’s about my wife,” he said. Your heart stumbled.

“Your… wife?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Shannon.”

You said nothing. The world spun.

“We’re… married, technically. Separated. Long story,” he added quickly, seeing your face drop. “We’ve been off and on for years. We tried again after I left the army, for Christopher. But it didn’t… stick.”

You blinked. “So she’s not… in the picture?”

“She was. Until a few months ago. She’s been back in L.A. Trying to figure things out. With Chris. With me.”

Your stomach turned. “And you didn’t think to mention this sooner?”

Eddie looked pained. “I didn’t know how. It’s not like we were—”

“Not like we were what?” you asked, voice sharp. “Not like we were seeing each other? Sharing breakfast every Tuesday? Like I haven’t met your son?”

His jaw clenched. “I didn’t mean to lie to you.”

“You just left out your marriage?”

The silence stretched.

You stood up, every bone in your body aching like you’d just taken a fall from three stories up.

“Was this a game to you?” you asked, quieter now.

“No. Never,” he said instantly. “It’s complicated.”

You scoffed. “You think I don’t know complicated?”

But the words felt hollow.

You didn’t wait for a response. You walked away.

And for weeks after that, you barely spoke.

Buck found you in the garage one evening, elbow-deep in engine checks.

“You alright?” he asked.

You didn’t look up. “Fine.”

“I heard about… you and Eddie.”

You paused. “There is no me and Eddie.”

Buck watched you for a moment, saw how your hands moved slower than usual. How your eyes stayed trained on the wrench like it held all the answers.

“I just want you to know,” he said, softer now, “you didn’t deserve that.”

You finally looked at him. “Thanks.”

There was a beat.

Then he added, “He should’ve told you from the start.”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

But even as you said it, something twisted in your chest — because part of you knew he hadn’t meant to hurt you. Part of you remembered the way he looked at you during those quiet in-between moments.

The part of you that hadn’t stopped feeling warm whenever Christopher mentioned you in passing, like you already lived in their orbit.

It wasn’t that you stopped caring.

It was that you stopped trusting.

Eddie didn’t push. Not at first.

He let you have your silence, your distance. He knew he’d earned it. He didn’t make excuses.

But he waited.

He sent you coffee on the days he wasn’t at your side. Asked Hen to check in. Made sure you were still partnered on the rotation board. Never once overstepped.

Just… waited. Quietly. Steadily.

It wasn’t until Shannon’s accident that everything changed.

You weren’t there for it. You only heard about it through quiet whispers and late-night conversations at the firehouse during your shift.

A car crash. Christopher had been in the vehicle too. A drunk driver ran a red light.

Shannon died.

Instantly, it seemed — at least that’s what they told Eddie.

He’d later tell you about the last real conversation they ever had. Not at the accident. Before it.

It was in a hospital waiting room, after another tense day of figuring out how to co-parent. She told him she was thinking of leaving again — for good this time.

That being a mom full-time, being part of Eddie and Christopher’s world again… it just wasn’t what she wanted anymore.

She didn’t say it to be cruel. She said it like someone already halfway out the door.

And then she was gone.

No chance to work it out. No goodbye to Christopher. No final decision made. Just… gone.

Eddie never got to confess the truth to her — that he wasn’t angry anymore, just tired. That he had found peace somewhere outside of what they once had. That he’d started to look at someone else — you — and feel like the future didn’t have to hurt.

So he sat with that guilt.

Not because he still loved her.

But because she was Christopher’s mother. Because they never got closure. Because part of him still blamed himself for not trying harder to keep her safe, even though he knew it wasn’t his fault.

And when he told you all of this — standing outside the station one evening, his voice low and quiet like it was breaking all over again — you didn’t say anything right away.

You just looked at him. At the pain he wore so openly. At the strength it took to admit that grief wasn’t always linear.

Then you took a step closer. And another.

Until your hand was in his, and neither of you said a word. Because some wounds don’t need fixing.

They just need someone willing to stay.

The distance between you soon narrowed. Slowly, but surely. You started saying good morning again. Let yourself smile at his jokes. Started asking about Christopher.

And then one night — after a long shift, when the sun was rising over the station — Eddie sat beside you on the roof and told you:

“I never wanted to hurt you. But the truth is… you’re the first thing that’s made me feel real in a long time.”

You didn’t say anything.

You just leaned your head on his shoulder.

And for the first time in weeks, it didn’t feel like falling.

It felt like staying.

The quiet between you and Eddie hadn’t been as sharp lately, but it was still there — soft around the edges, cautious. Like stepping on floorboards you weren’t sure were stable anymore.

You were civil. Friendly, even. But the spark, the comfort, the trust — that was still something you kept just out of reach. He knew it too.

Which is why he pulled you aside after shift, asking if you had a moment — his voice low, unsure. You could see the worry in his eyes, the tension in the way he stood, like he was waiting for the ground to split beneath him.

You nodded.

He led you outside, away from the bustle of the station, to where the sun was just beginning to set behind the trees. His hands were shoved in his pockets, jaw tight, like every word was a landmine.

“I owe you another truth,” he said finally.

You stayed quiet. Waiting.

“I saw someone else,” he confessed. “Back when you and I weren’t speaking.”

You froze, your breath catching. “Who?”

He swallowed. “Christopher’s teacher. Ana Flores.”

You tried not to let it show — the way your stomach twisted. You tried to remind yourself you weren’t together. That he had every right. But logic didn’t numb betrayal.

“Right,” you said, quietly. “That’s… understandable.”

“No, it’s not,” he replied quickly. “Not really. Not when I was still carrying you around like a shadow.”

You blinked, caught off guard.

“It wasn’t serious,” he added. “But I think… I think I was trying to prove something to myself. That I could move on clean. That I could pick someone safe, someone easy. Someone who didn’t know all the messy parts of me.”

Your throat felt tight. “Did Christopher like her?”

Eddie looked down at the ground and let out a half-laugh. “He tolerated her. Until he didn’t.”

You furrowed your brows. “What do you mean?”

He looked back at you then, more vulnerable than you’d seen him in weeks.

“One day he just… called me out for dating his teacher. Said I was being weird. Said I smiled more around you than I ever did around Ana. And then he asked me if I was gonna stop pretending you didn’t make our lives better.”

You didn’t realize you’d been holding your breath.

“He told me,” Eddie went on, “that if I liked Ana, that was fine. But if I loved you, then I needed to stop wasting everyone’s time and admit it. Because in his words, ‘It’s not fun having dinner with someone who isn’t her.’”

You blinked. “Christopher said that?”

Eddie nodded. “He’s smarter than me. Always has been.”

There was a beat.

Then he said, softer now, “He was right. About everything. I kept thinking I needed something easy. But you—” He stopped, took a breath.

“You’re not just someone I like having around. You’re the person who saw all of me and stayed. Until I made you think you shouldn’t.”

Your voice wavered. “You broke my heart.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know,” he repeated, his voice raw now.

You swallowed hard. “Did Carla say anything?”

Eddie actually winced.

“Yeah. She wasn’t subtle.” That made you raise an eyebrow.

“She told me I was a damn fool,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Said you were one of the kindest people she’d seen around Christopher — and me — and that if I was going to waste that on old guilt and bad timing, then I didn’t deserve either of you.”

You smiled at that, just faintly. “She’s good with words.”

“She’s terrifying when she’s mad.”

That pulled a laugh out of you, soft and surprised.

But then Eddie stepped closer, tentative. Not assuming. Just… hoping.

“I’m not asking you to jump back into something that hurt,” he said gently.

“I just want you to know I’m not running from the hard parts anymore. I don’t want easy. I want real. And real has always been you.”

Your eyes met his.

You didn’t answer right away. But for the first time in a long time, the part of you that had been holding back started to ease.

Because people can change when they’re brave enough to face themselves.

And Eddie Diaz had finally stopped running.

The air in the firehouse was thick with unspoken tension — not from smoke or sirens, but from you and Eddie.

There wasn’t a dramatic announcement, no hand-holding or grand gestures. But the shift was unmistakable.

You laughed with him again, ribbed him during lunch, casually adjusted the collar of his uniform before a call like it was the most natural thing in the world. Eddie had that soft-eyed look around you, the one that said everything even when he said nothing.

Everyone noticed.

Especially Buck.

He didn’t say anything the first few days. Just watched.

Watched you pass each other notes across the table. Watched you wait for Eddie to catch up before grabbing coffee on runs. Watched Eddie find excuses to stay by your side, even when the rotation didn’t require it.

And eventually, it all came to a head.

The call was a simple one — a heat exhaustion case during a community clean-up event. Nothing too intense. You and Eddie worked the scene like a well-oiled machine.

No friction, no hesitation. Just you and him, falling back into rhythm like the months of silence and pain hadn’t existed.

When you returned to the station, Buck pulled Eddie aside without warning. Right there in the apparatus bay.

“Hey. We need to talk.” Eddie blinked, pausing mid-step.

“Yeah? What’s up?”

Buck crossed his arms. “You and Y/N. What’s going on?”

Eddie’s jaw tensed. “That’s between me and her.”

Buck stepped forward. “She’s my friend too, Ed.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?” Buck’s voice rose slightly, not angry — not yet — but close. “Because you hurt her. I saw it. I picked up the pieces while you played house with someone else.”

Eddie’s eyes darkened. “It wasn’t like that.”

“No?” Buck challenged. “Because from where I stood, you disappeared when she needed you most. Then suddenly you’re back like nothing happened?”

Eddie was quiet for a moment.

Then: “I’m not pretending nothing happened. I’ve done nothing but deal with what happened.”

Buck scoffed. “Does she know about Ana?”

“She knows everything.”

“And she still forgave you?” Buck said, incredulous. “After all that?”

Eddie nodded slowly. “She did. Because she’s… her.”

That stopped Buck for a beat. He looked away, jaw tight.

“I never wanted to be in the middle of this,” Buck said, quieter now. “But I’ve known her longer than you. I know what she looks like when she gets her heart broken. And you broke her, man.”

“I know,” Eddie said again, firm now. “And I hate myself for it.”

Buck looked at him, really looked at him. “Then why now? Why come back into her life like this if you’re not absolutely sure?”

“I am sure,” Eddie said, no hesitation this time.

“Christopher’s sure. Carla’s sure. And most days, I think she is too. I’m still earning that. But I don’t want temporary. I want… all of it. Her.”

Buck blinked, caught off guard by the honesty.

“I didn’t plan it,” Eddie continued.

“But she fits into our lives like she was always meant to be there. And I almost lost that because I was scared. Because I didn’t think I deserved to move on.”

The silence stretched. Just the hum of the garage.

Then Buck sighed, rubbed the back of his neck. “Christopher likes her?”

“He loves her,” Eddie said. “Told me he was tired of me being stupid about it.”

A quiet laugh broke through Buck’s frustration, against his will.

He looked down for a second. Then back at Eddie.

“You gonna mess it up again?”

“No.”

“Because if you do,” Buck warned, softer now, “you’re not just breaking her heart this time. You’re breaking his too.”

“I know.”

“And mine,” Buck added, after a beat. “Because I trust you. And I love her, so much. So if she’s yours… protect her.”

Eddie’s voice was steady. “I will.”

The tension didn’t disappear, not completely. But something shifted. A silent understanding.

Because Buck didn’t need to win.

He just needed to know you’d be okay.

And now, maybe — just maybe — you finally would be.

The Diaz house was quiet except for the hum of the ceiling fan and the soft bubbling of something simmering on the stove.

You were barefoot in the kitchen, stirring a pan with one hand, swaying lightly to the music playing from Eddie’s speaker.

Eddie was leaned against the counter, watching you with that lazy grin he didn’t use around anyone else — not even at the station.

His gaze lingered on the way your nose scrunched when you tasted the sauce, the way you swatted him playfully when he tried to sneak a bite.

It was domestic. Soft. Easy.

And Buck saw it all from the doorway.

He had come over to drop off a charger Christopher had left in his duffel at the station. He hadn’t expected… this.

The house smelling like garlic and warmth, Christopher at the table drawing something you’d clearly helped him outline. The laughter. The kind of peace Buck hadn’t seen in Eddie’s home since before the storm of the past year.

He didn’t knock.

Eddie spotted him first. “Buck?”

You turned around, eyes widening with surprise, then softening with warmth.

“Hey. Everything okay?”

Buck lifted the charger, a sheepish smile playing at his lips. “Thought Chris might need this back.”

“Uncle Buck!” Christopher perked up from his drawing, grinning. “Come in! We’re having spaghetti. And she made garlic bread but didn’t let Dad near it.”

You laughed. “He almost burned the first batch.”

Buck stepped further in, the scent of dinner wrapping around him like a memory. “You guys always have it this nice?”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Define nice.”

“I mean—” Buck paused. “—quiet. Normal. Feels like… I don’t know, a real home.”

You and Eddie exchanged a glance. That unspoken tether between you sparking to life again. But instead of brushing it off, Eddie invited Buck to stay.

“Grab a plate,” he said. “We always make too much.”

Buck hesitated, but Christopher’s enthusiasm — and the way you smiled like you wanted him there — made it easier to cross the floor and take a seat.

Dinner was filled with soft chatter and bursts of laughter. Christopher went on about his latest school project, something involving dragons and ancient civilizations.

You asked questions like you meant them, nodding along and gently correcting his pronunciation when he stumbled on a word. Eddie chimed in occasionally, but mostly watched — a silent kind of contentment in his eyes.

Buck ate in silence for the first few minutes. Not because he felt left out. But because he was watching it all unfold like a scene in a movie he used to wish he’d starred in.

You made Christopher feel seen. Valued. Eddie seemed lighter. Happier. The old shadows still lingered — Buck wasn’t blind — but they weren’t as loud as they used to be.

And that twist in Buck’s gut?

It wasn’t bitterness.

It was grief — for what he’d imagined once, maybe. For the possibility that you might’ve chosen him, if things had unfolded differently. But mostly, it was just change.

The ache that comes with watching people you love move forward without you in the center anymore.

After dinner, you and Eddie cleared the table while Christopher pulled Buck over to the couch to show off his drawing. It was a three-headed dragon with fire in its teeth — and all three heads were labeled: You, Dad, and Y/N.

“She helps me name stuff better,” Chris said proudly.

Buck smiled, swallowing the knot in his throat. “You’re lucky to have her.”

Christopher didn’t look up. “Dad is, too.”

Buck sat back as Eddie joined them, handing you a glass of water as he took his spot beside his son. You tucked yourself beside them like you belonged — and maybe, finally, you did.

And that’s when Buck realized something else.

This wasn’t the end of anything.

It was just a different beginning.

And maybe, for the first time, he didn’t have to be the one fixing everything. Maybe he just had to let people be happy.

Even if it wasn’t his happy.

As the night stretched on, Buck caught Eddie’s eye once. No words were exchanged — just a nod. One that said: I see it. I get it. Just take care of them.

And Eddie, steady as ever, nodded back.

I will.

© fordiaz 25’ -. no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any manner without the permission from the publisher.

[beanarie]

of course

in which the helicopter crashed with both our guys inside. inspired by this awesome post by @mooshkat

(tw: vomiting, heart issues, near death angst, biphobia mention)

~

Once the wave of agony subsides, and Tommy is reasonably sure he's done vomiting into the dirt, he blinks over at Evan appraisingly. "Is your arm broken or did your shoulder go out again?"

Evan grimaces and finishes tying off Tommy's splint. "Shoulder. And my hip's not feeling great. Cracked rib, maybe two. But of course you had to outdo me."

"Didn't do it on purpose." Tommy glares at the spot where his tibia poked through the skin, like he can intimidate the pain away. "Anyway you've got me on quantity."

"There's nothing else?"

"My head hurts," Tommy admits, "but there's not much we can do for that right now."

Evan leans in to compare his pupils. Tommy is very proud of himself for not flinching. "Dispatch had our location?" Evan asks, and instead of reminding him that he was there when they confirmed it, Tommy nods.

He knows he can't go to sleep, even if the leg would allow him. He finds a stick and starts tic tac toe. Evan chuckles and joins in.

He wins the next two games. Tommy blames his probable concussion.

Evan holds his bad arm tight around his midsection, but his eyes seem stormy for a different reason. "These people who hurt you in the past, what- what are their names?"

"Huh?" Tommy gives up on the game, scratching it out of the dirt. "You want a full list of legal names or just what I called them?"

"Was it Evan, for any of them?"

God, he's so transparent. Tommy laughs.

"Do you- do you judge everyone by who came before? Is that just what you do in a-all situations? One barista spilled coffee on you in 2011 and you pay for Starbucks with one of those grabby reacher things ever since?"

"Fuck's sake." Tommy doesn't even like Starbucks, but he doesn't say that.

Evan sort of shrugs before he remembers his shoulder with a wince. "It's not generally considered a sign of maturity. Ironic, I guess."

"Yeah, call me old. See where it gets you."

Evan brightens. "You're talking to me. I like my results so far."

There's something indefatigable about this man. Tommy can't help but surrender in the face of it, just a little. "How did you know I'd have to pinch hit for this fly along?"

"I didn't. I just hoped." His grin is just the slightest bit abashed. "Worst case scenario, get out of the engine for a day and I pump one of your coworkers for info."

"They have very little to pump," Tommy says. Evan and the codependent 118 are the aberration, and they're well aware of that. Tommy has great coworkers. They do their jobs and leave, with the exception of drinks once or twice a month. None of them gave him shit after the breakup. Few of them noticed. This is how most teams operate. Evan, however, looks surprised and a little sad. "What were you hoping to hear?"

"I don't know." Evan looks away, suddenly self conscious. "That you messed yourself up at least half as much as you did me."

Tommy rubs at his face. "I didn't mean to mess you up, Buck. Truly. We- It just ran its course. It doesn't reflect badly on you, or me. This just happens."

He looks upset at first, then calculating. "What if I hooked up with those Not-Evans?"

Tommy looks behind him, searching for something that makes sense. "What if you moved to the moon? I have no idea what you're getting at right now."

"Would I be experienced enough for you if I let them have a go? They were terrible for you, so it stands to reason they'll be terrible for me, too." He lifts a finger, his eyes lighting up in a way that turns Tommy's stomach. "Oh, I guess one or two of those might be women. They don't count. Some might be bi and married to women. Do they count as half? If I bag a threesome, is that like seventy-five percent? Do you give points for polyamory?"

Tommy feels about eighty years old, and not a fit eighty. "When did I say even one of those things?"

"The implications were pretty clear, Tommy. 'You're just young and excited. You don't know what you're feeling or how to interpret anything going on in front of you.'"

Tommy doesn't know what to say to that. It's not remotely what he meant, but he's never been good at communicating through panic.

"Did you love me?" Evan asks quietly. Tommy can't look him in the face. "It felt like you- like you did, but when you let me go like that, like chopping off the top bit of a carrot, it made me re- reevaluate everything I thought I knew about us."

The note of devastation in his voice almost tips him over, but ultimately what does it is the implication that Tommy made Evan lose faith in himself. He can't abide being responsible for that. "Of course I love you, Evan. How could I not?"

The tightness in his chest, that felt so much like raw emotion, intensifies, growing sharper. It's hard to breathe now, like sucking a milkshake through a coffee stirrer, and he realizes, something is very wrong. About as wrong as it could possibly be.

"Oh," he says. An attempt to inflate his lungs all the way makes his vision go sparkly at the edges.

"Tommy?"

Tommy drags his eyes up to meet Evan's. "S- Sorry, I-" I wouldn't have said any of those things if I knew. "Sorry. Evan." You deserve better than a fucking deathbed love confession.

A rough hand grasps his neck, slowing his descent to the ground. "No, hey. Hey hey hey. Tommy, we'll figure this out." Evan sniffles and tries to smile. His tears are falling everywhere. "You're okay. You're fine. Just keep- keep breathing."

The coffee stirrer is about a millimeter wide. Tommy can feel the muscles in his neck straining like he's deadlifting his own weight. Evan rips Tommy's shirt open and he swears floridly, miserably. They both know what this is; they've seen it in a hundred MVAs. Cardiac tamponade. When his heart gives out from the strain of all the blood surrounding it, chest compressions can be worse than useless. They could punch his ticket that much faster.

"Tommy," Evan says, pulling Tommy into his lap. The complaints from his splinted leg are distant, belonging to someone else entirely. Evan's voice is a ragged mess trying to piece itself together. His shoulder and ribs are probably killing him. "Don't run out again. You need to stay. Breathe."

Half a millimeter.

One quarter.

Tommy can't remember what comes after millimeter.

"That's it. I know it's hard, but keep trying. That's all I ask. Just try, okay? Look at me."

Micrometer? Is that it?

Evan's face is shadowed by the sun cresting over his shoulder. Tommy closes his eyes against the glare and is rewarded with a shake.

"Keep your eyes open. Stay with me. Just a little- little bit longer, please."

Fingers are running through his hair, lips are pressing against his forehead, and he thinks he can hear... sirens.

[alaskan-wallflower]

random assortment of headcanons

Ponyboy takes photographs of the sunset almost every night to compare them all. He used to watch sunsets with his mom and it’s all he really has left of her. He puts his favorite ones on his corkboard by his bed

Sodapop has knee troubles quite frequently. He can sense storms too cause his knee starts acting up. Sometimes it gets so bad Darry has to carry him up the stairs just to put his foot up because it gets so horrible.

Darry has a lot of scars because of work, and the roofing digging into his arms, the burning of the hot metal in the Oklahoma sun scortching his skin…he doesn’t mind them. Soda and Pony feel terrible because they think those scars are their fault, but it’s not.

Johnny is really good with animals. He’s more withdrawn and quiet and finds it difficult to trust people, but he knows animals don’t hurt you on purpose. They’re animals, they’re not sentient. He feeds the strays at the lot when he can.

Dally has albinism. He wears brown contacts because he was getting tired of people asking him questions about his eyes. He tried dyeing his hair once but it didn’t go well. His vision is so poor that he can read Braille. Buck taught him how. Buck also has everything in the house labeled so Dally can see where everything is.

Two-Bit’s mom used to run a flower shop where she sold Pacific flowers and stuff. Shes proud of her Polynesian heritage, and taught Teo-Bit to be proud of it too. She had to close her flower shop when Two-Bit was young and his sister had just been born. Two blames himself for his mom needing to close it, and he wants to cut his addiction to try and help her reopen it, but he just can’t.

Steve’s adopted. He didn’t know until he was searching through his dad’s stuff in an attempt to find his birth certificate (maybe because he intended on enlisting in Vietnam (which he later reconsidered) or something idk), but instead he found his adoption certificate and an unopened letter from his bio parents. He was really, really angry about it. He found out the week Ponyboy ran away. He didn’t open the letter until n weeks later with Soda by his side. Soda held him while he cried—it was really hard on him. All he knows is his mother’s name is Lian and she wants to run a coffee shop while his dad’s a trucker named Leo. They had him when they were young and they couldn’t take care of him and thought they were doing what was best for him. He wants to meet them one day.

Sylvia and Evie started dating after Steve realized he liked Soda and Evie realized she didn’t like boys at all. Her and Steve set each other up a lot. They’re best friends—not as close as Steve and Soda but Steve and Evie are SO close.

Evie works at the local movie theater and sneaks Ponyboy in near constantly. She really doesn’t care about the people she works with and has no problem helping Pony get into the latest Paul Newman movies.

Cherry has a ginger cat named Squish. Her dad got him for her as “compensation” for him not being home a lot. They’re best friends and Cherry loves him to death.

Ponyboy is the world’s pickiest eater, but the foods he eats are like…salads and chicken. It’s easy to eat out with him. He just doesn’t like too many flavors on his food because it’s too much for his mouth. He likes his food plain—no seasoning, no dressing, no nothing.

Sodapop likes the fact that he can be so comforting. There’s something so fulfilling and gentle about holding someone while they cry, being able to be the one people feel safe enough to let their guard down around. He’s the most calming presence in the world, even though he himself isn’t calm a lot of the time.

Darry stress bakes. He makes really good cinnamon buns, actually. Him making chocolate cake almost nightly is both his way of showing he cares and his way of destressing. He likes making big meals for the gang to enjoy because he likes knowing his brothers and their friends stomachs are full. It’s a good feeling.

Johnny has vitiligo. He used to hate it a lot because he’d get bullied relentlessly for it, but him and Dally started getting close because Dally can kinda relate to the “I look different and people don’t like me for it” thing. He told Johnny to quit caring, because if nobody liked him for how he looked then he shouldn’t care about them either. If they can’t see past your looks then they don’t deserve to see you at all. He has a lot of the paler spots on his hands and face, but he used to cover it with makeup. Evie let him use hers since their skin tones were similar and they were pretty decent friends.

Dally’s from Russia—Siberia to be specific. He moved to Maine when he was eleven and went on the run at twelve. He ended up in Oklahoma when he was fourteen, and Buck took him in. Dally’s first language is Russian and Buck tried his hardest to help Dally with his English Dally tried to copy accents he’s heard, and he copies the New York one the best because he lived there the longest. He’s not amazing at English and tends to use simpler vocabulary so he doesn’t have to ask for help with finding the right words in English. When he’s mad, his Russian accent bleeds through. Or really whenever he’s feeling really emotional.

Two-Bit has a McLovin style fake ID. He says he’s from some nowhere state like Montana or like…Idaho or something, and his ID says he’s like 25. He always just buys whatever he needs and leaves before anyone can question him. It’s so obviously fake but he somehow hasn’t gotten caught yet. It’s a damn miracle too.

Steve was on the swim team in high school. He started when he was in eighth grade but he continued through his senior year. He thought he wouldn’t be able to do it evacsue of work and stuff but Soda covered some of his shifts so he could go to the meets and stuff. Whenever he could, Sodapop would go to cheer Steve on and afterwards he’d always bring him out somewhere nice to eat cause he knows Steve gets real hungry after those meets

Darry managed to save up to bring the gang to one of those all you can eat restaurants. They got banned, but by god it was the best meal they’d ever had.

Will maybe reblog later with more lmao

[writersdiscouragment-blog]

Oliver had a problem.

A big one.

And it involved big hands.

Lou Ferrigno Jr's big hands, specifically.

Oliver knew the man was just big. Broad shouldered and tall, just like Oliver.

But the man had massive hands that just covered and encompassed anything he held.

When they filmed the hook up scene, all Oliver could focus on was how Lou's hands would just cover every part of his face, how they felt on his hips, and how he was so gentle despite just being big. Even his touches were gentle.

Oliver felt giddy during the scene, he couldn’t help it. It felt addictive, doing those scene with Lou. The man was so careful with him, Oliver wasn't sure if that fueled his like for Lou more.

Even when they had wrapped up the season and attended the wrap party, Oliver could only be thankful that he could blame the alcohol for how red he got when he couldn't keep his eyes off of Lou's hands. The man talked with his hands a lot and, worst part, he was affectionate to; always hugging or throwing his arms around his shoulders when taking pictures with the rest of the cast and crew.

'His hands are so warm.'

Oliver still got a little giddy from when he remembered Lou cupping his face during the make out scene. Aisha didn't want either of them cupping the others face since it blocked their facial expression during the scene. But Oliver loved those moments and the scene.

So he might have some form of a kink and thing for large hands....specifically Lou's large hands.

He had hoped the feeling waned during break, but unfortunately they hadn't.

And filming the reconciliation scene about just killed him.

They had joked about it, the fact that they could both lift each other up since they could bench press and dead lift 200 lbs and over.

But Aisha had taken the joke and flew with it for her third debut as director (the second was the first episode for s9, she did a phenomenal job as always). Between Aisha and the writers, the reconciliation scene was romantic and sexy.

It involved Buck picking up Tommy after they both survived the helicopter crash. The scene started out as solemn, but realizing that they still cared and loved each other, with Tommy saying the L word first and Buck reciprocating in relief. The kiss started off like their first kiss, but with Buck taking Tommy's chin between his fingers and pulling him in. This kiss though became heated, with Buck picking up Tommy and Tommy cupping Buck's face to make sure they won't separate as Buck walked them into the bedroom.

"You okay?" Lou asked the moment Aisha called cut.

It was common of Lou to check in, he had been worried about Oliver carrying for so long.

And of course, Lou attributed Oliver being fiercely red all over to having to carry Lou and not because Oliver was full on blushing all over due to Lou's hands.

Lou squeezed his shoulder in comfort, leading only to Oliver blushing further. "Want me to get you some water? You look a little flushed?"

Oliver felt like he was swallowing his tongue because Lou's hand was still on his shoulder. He forced himself to keep his mind focus on the work.

"I'm good." Oliver managed to say roughly. "Don't worry, you're pretty light work." He added, just so Lou wouldn't get worried or offended.

"Oh, so I'm pretty?" Lou asked, dramatically fluttering his eyes lashes.

Oliver sputtered out a laugh, "Walked in on that one, didn't I?"

Lou hummed in agreement, he smiled brightly and moved his hand to the back of Oliver's neck.

(Lou was gonna be the death of him)

"C'mon, let's get some fresh air. You still look little peaky."

"S-sure." Oliver winced as realized he had stuttered there, he wasn't Buck, he didn't need the character bleed.

But he couldn't blame Buck for this.

He was developing a crush on his co-star.

'Fuck me.'

[lemotmo]

911 8x18 episode thoughts and ruminations:

Okay, where to begin with this episode?

First of all:

I still think it was a good episode, but it wasn’t a good season finale episode. If this had been a midseason finale, it would have been fine, but as a grand finale? Nah.

It was still far better than the season 7 finale though. That one truly made me feel miserable.

Second:

What happened in 8b? It started out so great and then suddenly 8x14 hit us and it got progressively worse from then on, with one highlight in 8x17 and an okay 8x18 which wasn’t an episode fit for a finale.

And where is Tim Minear? He always gives a grand post episode interview and now he’s nowhere to be found? It does make you wonder what is going on at ABC and whether they still trust Tim after all of this mess.

Third: The Bobby storyline.

I really really really believed that the man was still alive. Every single thing in that narrative pointed into that direction. Not to mention the insane things that happened behind the scenes. Did Tim actually give out fake scripts to his actors to consciously mislead the audience? What a terrible thing to do. Why were the actors all laughing at that funeral BTS footage if they were all so sad that Bobby was dead? None of it adds up.

What happened with the Bobby tributes that were posted on the official social media? And why didn’t Peter get a bigger send-off?

I just don’t understand any of this.

So…

Either Bobby is still alive and we’ll find out next season OR he’s really dead and it was really poorly handled.

Fourth: The Buddie factor.

DISCLAIMER: I still very much believe that Buddie is going canon. If you don’t like that, turn away now.

(A cut to save your dash)

I have seen more than enough evidence in season 8 that it is happening. You don’t have to believe me if you don’t want to. It’s important to follow your gut on this and I’m following mine.

But please, don’t blame me or other Buddie positive people for ‘making’ you believe they would happen in season 8. That is craziness. I turned off anon for now. I’ll probably keep it turned off for a while during this hiatus. If you want to be mad at me because of a TV-show? You can do it publicly.

I have been here since day one and I have seen much more dire season endings than this one when it comes to Buddie. I’m not throwing the towel into the ring now. At least we got a lot of scenes of them together in 8, which is more than in some other seasons. And this time we got actual Buddie build up, so I’m not going anywhere.

That being said, I know full well that there was a big Buddie problem in the back end of 8b.

The problem once again comes back to Bobby’s death. Oliver himself said in a recent interview that a lot of the personal storylines were sidelined because of the Bobby thing. It’s obvious from the beginning of 8B that they were planning on doing Buddie. Everything in the narrative was clearly leading us towards an 8B ending with one or two realisations. Instead the Bobby thing happened and derailed EVERYTHING.

It didn’t just derail Buddie, it also completely derailed Hen’s storyline and even Athena’s story.

I’m still confident in Buddie canon happening, because of the crazy upfronts interviews. Ali reminded me earlier that the upfronts are basically there to promote the next season of TV-shows.

So yeah, I’m still going to follow the narrative here and trust that Bobby’s death pushed Buddie into season 9, where they will tell us their full story. At least we didn’t end up with a half-assed love confession and then off screen development to come into full-fledged ‘together’ Buddie in season 9. That would have been my worst nightmare.

I loved the Buddie moments we got in 8x17 and the very few ones we got in the finale. I’ve seen people talk about how those moments in the finale were the same thing that we got seasons ago. I have to respectfully disagree here. That rescue scene? Buddie gold that was filmed with clear intent.

I was puzzled with Buck looking for a place of his own though. He only just moved in and he’s leaving again? I was hoping for a Buddie roommates era, but alas… it might not happen. I’m interested in seeing what will happen there.

Fifth: Eddie my love.

Eddie Diaz has been treated terribly this season. The man is my favourite character and I really thought we were going to get more focus on him in 8, but his story never truly went anywhere. To be fair, he was probably doomed since season 7 when Tim came up with the stupid Vertigo storyline. I don’t think Tim knew how to deal with the consequences of that storyline, so then he half-assed it by making Eddie first choose joy to only then move to Texas, a place where he never knew joy.

Then he was sidelined in 2 episodes and was only brought back in 8x16, to say two lines or something like that. 8x17 was a great Eddie episode, but it wasn’t enough.

I loved Eddie in the finale. The hero music they played when he came in to save the day? Epic. But then he went straight back to looking for flights to go back to Texas. I am disappointed about that to be honest. His whole journey was about finding joy and choosing joy. Instead Chimney decided for him and everyone else that the 118 wasn’t going to split up.

Now, I do think that Eddie was already 90% with his heart in LA and that he wouldn’t need a big push to stay. Chimney just helped him along. It just would have been nice to see him make the conscious decision to stay in LA, with his family and Buck, because he is happier there.

And suddenly he is already moving in? What about his Texas house? Did he sell it? It didn’t make any sense.

Side-note: Eddie looked absolutely gorgeous in this episode. I legit crashed out when he showed up to help out the 118. It took me a few minutes to get my brain back online.

Sixth: a few miscellaneous topics that threw me off.

Athena selling the house didn’t make a lick of sense to me. This was hers and Bobby’s dream house. She told her kids she wasn’t moving out and then she suddenly changes her mind? What were her motivations? It wasn’t clear at all.

The second Madney baby was suddenly just there? This is a clear example of yet another storyline botched up by Bobby’s death. There was no emotional pay-off in that last scene. And sure they called the baby after Bobby, but I felt nothing.

The only thing that made me cry in the episode was that wonderful Chimney speech. Kenny did a great job there.

In conclusion:

Either ABC sits down with Tim and lays down some rules he has to abide to for season 9 OR they ship him off to Nashville, so someone else with a more clear vision, sense of pacing and natural flair for good storytelling steps in to take over.

If Tim does go to Nashville, I hope he takes Kristen with him.

I’m 100% tuning in for season 9, since I still love these characters so much and I need to see what happens to them. I am not giving up my Buddie-truther ways after 7 seasons. I have faith in them. I’ve been here before with other ships. This isn’t anything new. 😋

But I’m definitely going to go into that season with a bit more caution if Tim will still be there as a showrunner.

[books-and-noserings]

It's months later and I'm still thinking about the kitchen fight scene in 8 x 17:

This is one of the rawest, painful, but honest scenes they’ve ever had. Both Buck and Eddie are grieving Bobby, and instead of leaning on each other, they crash into each other. It’s messy, defensive, and rooted in their individual guilt and trauma.

“I said I was gonna get the groceries.”

Eddie: Already tense. He’s trying to keep control of his routine — because that’s how he copes. Small logistics matter to him because they’re predictable.

Buck: Tries to brush it off with “It’s fine.” But his clipped delivery says it’s not fine.

“It doesn’t feel like it’s fine.”

Eddie: Already on alert, picks up on Buck’s suppressed anger. Eddie’s avoidant, but not oblivious — he knows Buck’s upset.

“I heard you finally got the call from El Paso Fire… Congratulations.”

Buck: This is where the real pain starts spilling out. He’s trying to be gracious, but it’s laced with hurt.

He found out from gossip.

Everyone knew before he did.

He’s masking the betrayal with forced politeness.

“Who told you?” (Come on, Eddie 🙄 )

Eddie: Defensive. He knows he’s caught. This isn’t just about Buck finding out — it’s about Eddie being afraid to tell him. Because telling Buck means acknowledging he might be leaving, and how deeply that’ll hurt Buck.

“Yeah, but you didn’t, did you?… apparently I’m too fragile…”

Buck: His abandonment wound is gaping open here.

He’s already lost Bobby, his other father figure.

Now he’s learning Eddie was planning to leave too — and didn’t trust him enough to tell him.

So he spins it into self-deprecation: “apparently I’m too fragile to accept the truth.” That’s Buck’s deep fear — that his feelings are too big, too much, that he can’t be trusted with reality.

“Can you blame us? Look how you’re acting now.” (Rude, Eddie.)

Eddie: Brutal (untrue) honesty, but also deflection.

It’s easier to say “you’re proving us right by spiraling” than to admit he was scared to tell Buck.

He sees Buck’s grief as chaotic, and he’s trying to contain it, because Eddie himself fears emotional chaos.

“You’d make it all about you… 97 acts…”

Eddie: This is the line that hurts the most. It cuts to Buck’s deepest insecurity: that he’s too self-absorbed, that he centers his own pain so much it eclipses everyone else’s.

In truth, Eddie is projecting. He’s drowning in guilt and fear, so he lashes out at the person safest to take it — Buck.

“Sorry, I’m sad that Bobby’s dead.”

Buck: Sarcastic, defensive, deeply wounded.

Bobby was his surrogate dad. Of course he’s not okay.

But now he feels ashamed for grieving too loudly.

“You never asked what it was like… telling my kid another person he loved was dead.”

Eddie: This is where his own heartbreak ruptures. (the tears in his eyes)

He’s been holding onto the trauma of having to tell Chris — again — that someone they love is dead.

He’s felt alone in it.

It’s not fair to blame Buck (who’s also grieving), but grief isn’t fair. Eddie needed Buck to see his pain too.

“I know he was important to you, too.” 🥹

Buck: Softens instantly. Because he does care about Eddie’s pain. Even in his grief, he reaches out, apologizing.

“He saved my life. And I wasn’t there to save his.”

Eddie: Reveals the rawest guilt. He thinks if he’d been there, maybe Bobby would still be alive.

It echoes his PTSD from Afghanistan, from Shannon’s death — the belief that he’s responsible for saving people, and failing is unforgivable.

“You don’t think I did everything I could to save him?”😭

Buck: His own guilt rushes in. He was there, he was the one fighting for Bobby’s life — and he feels like he failed. Now he’s terrified Eddie might think so too.

“I don’t know Buck. I wasn’t there.”

Eddie: Not actually blaming Buck — but so consumed by guilt, he can’t give Buck the reassurance he desperately needs.

So he says the worst possible ambiguous thing.

It lands on Buck like a death sentence to his guilt.

This is what hurts the most:

Both are spiraling in grief and guilt.

Buck fears he failed Bobby.

Eddie fears he failed Bobby by not being there.

They’re trying to process the same trauma, but instead of holding each other up, they’re stabbing each other in the softest spots.

It highlights why they need each other, but also why it’s so hard.

Buck wants comfort and reassurance.

Eddie wants his own pain acknowledged without having to spell it out.

Neither knows how to ask for what they need, so it explodes.

Why this is important for the story:

It sets up why Eddie comes back.

Instead of running from this rupture (like he did with Shannon, like Buck did with Abby), they eventually work through it.

Eddie bringing Chris back to Buck is the emotional resolution. It’s Eddie saying: I’m still here. You’re still family. We’re getting through this together.

It also makes me want to kick people who say Eddie is abusive.