#not really a coda

[effervescentwolf]

nothing impossible <- ao3 link

“Hey, Buck!” Eddie practices in the car as he enters LA. “Christopher’s finishing his school year so I’m—”

He gets stuck in standstill traffic. He’s gotten used to it, used to any obstacle really, driving around in Texas, kind of expects it. Before, he’d complain to Buck about every little inconvenience on the road until Buck wrestled the keys from his grip.

“If you wanted me to drive, you could’ve just asked,” Buck would say, fondness all over his face, and Eddie’s whole body would go warm.

There’s a crash up ahead so he sits there, windows down, breathes in the smell of this place. El Paso and LA smell similar in a lot of ways, but there’s a difference he can’t quite put his finger on. There’s also an ease to the way he sits here rather than there, a rigid line of tension that he can’t find anymore when he searches for it.

There’s a difference between traffic there, where it would build up inside him, where everything was building and building, and traffic here where he’s a puppet cut loose, where he can simply sit and breathe and think.

He thinks of Buck when the traffic starts moving again.

“Buck?” he imagines calling, if he used the spare key safe in his pocket, trying to figure out where Buck would be in the house when he gets there. He glances at the time, nearing 4 PM. Buck isn’t on a shift today, he reasons. He probably went to the gym in the morning, got groceries sometime after. He didn’t have anywhere to be for lunch today, and there was nothing special in his calendar. “I’m home,” Eddie says softly, trying to imagine saying it in about thirty minutes, which is how long it��ll take him to get home if his estimate is accurate.

“Missed me?” could be on the table when Buck opens the door, and Eddie will grin wide and hold his arms open for a hug he kind of desperately wants.

Or, “Is there enough for two?” because dinner might be on the stove, or in the oven, and Eddie will be able to smell it from outside the house. Buck will turn, wearing that blue apron of his, and his eyes will widen, mouth in a perfect o, and Eddie will laugh, then.

“He’s coming home,” Eddie might say first because he knows that’s on their mind. That would happen after a silent hug, after Buck takes one look at him and maybe cries as he pulls Eddie in. If Buck cries, Eddie will too, and he gets a little emotional just thinking about it, them crying together on the doorstep, holding each other, and then laughing together at how ridiculous it is.

The minutes whittle down to streets and it hits Eddie suddenly that he’s home. He’s not nervous to see Buck the way he was nervous to see his parents, wiping sweaty palms on his pants, smoothing down his hair in his rearview mirror, over and over.

No, here, he parks, walks easily up to his door, grinning already, and all the debate about what he’s going to do dissipates. He knocks on the door because Buck isn’t expecting him. He’s not sure how Buck believed Eddie’s fumble of a lie about going out today and not being able to call, but he did, though he texted him throughout the day anyway.

Eddie waits a minute. Taps his foot, turns with his arms folded and surveys the neighbor’s houses. Knocks again, and frowns this time when there’s no answer, and then he lets himself in.

It’s quiet inside. “Buck?” Eddie calls anyway, halfway through kicking off his shoes when he looks up and realizes it looks the same. Different, because it’s not his furniture, but things are where they were when he lived there. He’d suspected over FaceTime, but it feels like Buck’s been preserving a little of kernel of him, and all of a sudden it hits Eddie that he’s really home. That he belonged here, and belongs, that he’s about to see Buck, and he’s going to have his kid, and that he has it, everything he’d ever wanted.

He swallows down the lump in his throat, runs a hand over the couch as he passes, says quietly, “Can I crash here?” That’s what he’ll say first, a joke about the couch, or Buck taking over his house, when Buck gets home.

He makes his way to Christopher’s room, opens it a sliver, sees it’s empty, and then closes it, putting his forehead on the door. Buck kept him too in his own way. Kept both of them there while they were gone. He didn’t replace them.

He doesn’t bother knocking on what used to be his own bedroom door, just opens it and oh, there’s Buck.

He’s sprawled out on his back, one hand on his stomach, not even under the covers. He hasn’t shaved today, Eddie can tell, and he doesn’t really think when he comes forward and sits next to him. Over FaceTime, he couldn’t see as much as he can now. Couldn’t watch the way Buck’s chest rises and falls with every breath, the scratch on his knuckle he whined about yesterday. Eddie can see it now, a little white mark on Buck’s hand, and he thumbs over it absently, not sure why he has to touch it, only that he does.

There’s a breadth to Buck that a phone could never approximate. A realness. He’s right there, in his bed in Eddie’s room, all of him, down to his socked feet. Eddie feels oddly emotional over seeing his socks, and he’s not sure why, but he’s been feeling emotional at a bit of everything these days when it comes to coming home.

“I missed you,” Eddie says, and he’s glad those are the first words he says with intention in this house, even if Buck isn’t awake to hear them.

His hand is still resting over Buck’s. He doesn’t move for a long time, just watching Buck breathe, and breathing it all in, and then he goes off to shower.

Buck is still asleep when Eddie walks back in with wet hair, barefoot, wearing shorts and a t-shirt he scrounged from the closet. Droplets roll down the back of his neck to dampen the collar of the shirt, which feels good after the heat of outside. He’d forgotten how much he missed that particular brand of shampoo, and the way the light in his bathroom looked on him in the mirror. Even the squeaky faucet, the way the door stuck a little when Eddie pulled. It’s like discovering everything anew, and it’s also like he never left.

He rummages through the fridge, discovers leftovers, and piles up a plate that he takes back to the bedroom so he can sit next to Buck and eat, munching thoughtfully as he mentally rearranges the house.

“I was saving that,” Buck mumbles, voice rough with sleep, and Eddie nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Warn a guy, would you?” Eddie says, turning to look at him once he’s swallowed, heartbeat still a panicked pace in his chest, and then he thinks only, that’s not how it was supposed to go.

Buck yawns, blinking blearily at him, rubbing at his eyes. “Where’s—”

“Finishing the school year,” Eddie answers, easy, and then he doesn’t want to eat anymore. He just wants to look. He wants to look at Buck looking at him. “You can have the rest,” he offers, something squeezing at his chest.

Buck ignores it. “But he’s coming back?” he asks, earnest. Sincere. Eddie can't put into words how much it means that someone's right there with him.

Eddie nods, manages to put the plate on the bedside table, and then Buck is sitting up next to him and pulling him into a hug. “Oh, Eddie,” Buck says, and Eddie breathes him in and holds him tight, and he thinks, I did good. I did good.

“Proud of me?” he mumbles, like he can’t feel it in the way Buck is squeezing him.

“You smell good,” Buck says instead, and there’s a little thrill that runs up Eddie’s spine at that. “Have you been back for a while?”

“An hour, maybe,” Eddie answers, face tucked into Buck’s shoulder. “I showered.”

“Mm,” Buck says, nosing at his ear, and Eddie’s stomach swoops like nothing else.

"Buck," he complains, words soft around the edges. He doesn't mean it, and he's reminded that Buck knows him better than anyone because he doesn't move an inch, rubbing Eddie's back comfortingly, and that’s where it all catches up to him.

"Yeah?" Buck says, smile all over his voice. Eddie can hear the rumble of his chest from here, and that wasn't captured on FaceTime either, and he can hear Buck breathing right next to his ear. “I didn’t know what I was going to say to you,” he confesses into the safety of Buck's shoulder. “I was practicing in the car.”

Buck doesn't say anything for a moment. “Anything you said would’ve been good,” he offers, like it's obvious, voice warm all the way through, and there’s something different about Buck’s warmth than the sun on his skin in El Paso, something that cuts the last string keeping him there, that tames something within Eddie’s chest that has been begging to be let out.

Eddie sniffles, just a little. "Not anything," he protests weakly.

Buck's next breath is a little shaky, and it takes Eddie a moment to realize he's crying too. "Anything," he repeats, sure of it, and Eddie forgets standing on another doorstep, practicing what to say, fumbling over the words and feeling small under his own failures. Here, he has a million things to say, none of them impossible, but he only needs to reach up and squeeze the back of Buck's neck for Buck to say, everything like home, "Eddie."

[momotonescreaming]

8x18 coda about Baby Boy Han's name. Angst. Evan Buckley focused. No character hate here please.

The first time Buck hears someone call his nephew Bobby, he flinches. A gut wrenching, muscles seizing, the sharp sting of a slap to the face flinch.

Buck's on Maddie's couch, sharing coffee and freshly baked cookies with her while while Chim takes care of his son in the other room. He listens and chats and smiles until she calls her son Bobby. And then Buck can't move. His muscles are constricting against the sickly whorl of his stomach, his joints locking up, breathing coming faster. Cookie held loosely in his hand, halfway from his plate to his mouth.

He bolds upright, cookie falling from his hand and Buck makes an excuse about an appointment he forgot about. His realtor rescheduled a meeting about his new apartment last minute, and he really needs to run if he wants to make it on time.

Buck stutters out an apology and runs out of Maddie's house.

He drives. Doesn't know where. Doesn't care. He's shaking, knuckles white as he grips the Jeep's steering wheel. Back impossibly straight, tense, muscles locking his shoulders in place. It's going to hurt later. But he doesn't care. He drives. He just needs to get away.

He needs to get as far away from his nephew as possible and he feels sick about it. That's his nephew. Maddie's his sister, been there for him through everyone, she gave him her jeep and got him out. But hearing her call her son Bobby makes him flinch.

He thinks maybe he could've handled them calling him Robby, better.

Buck pulls over. He finds a park on the side of the road outside a laundromat, and hyperventilates. Turns off the engine, and ducks his head, shuts his eyes to block out the light streaming in through the windshield.

He can understand why Chim and Maddie did it. Bobby gave his life for Chim, so he could live to see his son, his family again. Buck can understand why Chim would do this. To honour him, his sacrifice, so his legacy and his memory is carried with them always.

It makes Buck flinch.

He never told anyone — not even Bobby — but he wanted to name his future kids after him. He was more than Buck's captain, he was the father he never had, he loved and cared for him. Buck was going to give his kid the middle name Robert if it was a boy, or Wade if it was a girl. Bobby's middle name was Wade, and it felt gender neutral enough that Buck felt it could work with whatever first name he gave his kids. Or maybe even Robin, for either, if he and his partner felt it worked better.

He wanted to surprise Bobby with it. Make it special.

But he can't do that now. It'll feel cheap. Like he's just copying Chimney.

Buck heaves, nausea swirling at his stomach. He feels sick. Like the rest of his world is crumbling down around him.

He gets broken up with, Bobby dies, no one will let him carry out Bobby's last wish for him to be there for everyone, Eddie tells him he's making the death of his father figure all about himself and then Buck has to move out, Chim gives a speech and pointedly tells him not to transfer, and now Buck can't even name his kids after his own father figure.

If he says anything they'll say he's being selfish. Mean. Cruel. Making everything all about him again.

His phone vibrates, and he doesn't pull it out of his pocket to check who it is. If it's Maddie, or Chimney, he doesn't know if he's going to handle it well. So he doesn't look. Squeezes his eyes shut, presses his face harder against the steering wheel and begs tears not to fall.

He can't fall apart. He can't. He needs to hold it together, so the next time he hears Maddie or Chim or anyone call his nephew Bobby — he won't flinch. No matter how much it feels like its curdling his insides.

[burnthatbridge]

8x01 misery missing scene

post the sad zoom birthday party also on ao3 if you prefer

They stick around long enough to help clear up. 

The party decorations come down faster than they went up. Each balloon that Buck pops is a perfect mirror to the ball of excitement in his chest that had shattered at Chris’ lacklustre response, at the stuttering video connection. Except, instead of slippery, soft rubber, the shards it left behind are hard, cutting glass. 

“The cake was excellent,” Tommy offers, with forced cheer, into the silence that descends once the sound of balloons bursting and streamers rustling stops. 

“Take the rest with you,” Eddie says, turning away, heading into the kitchen.

Buck follows him, Tommy close behind, and watches Eddie shove the happy birthday banner into the trash, the party hats too. Buck bites his lip on the protest that Eddie should keep them for next year — he doesn’t think he can bear to hear Eddie voice the fear that they might have as little use for them then as they did today. 

“You’re serious about the cake?” Tommy asks, crossing to where it sits on the kitchen table, one solitary slice consumed. Buck had a bite of Tommy’s, and it was good, but he didn’t feel like having his own. And Eddie hadn’t seemed up to stomaching any at all. 

“Yep,” Eddie nods, without looking over. “I don’t want it.” 

Buck pulls a large tupperware container from the cupboard, hands it over to Tommy, who boxes up the cake. But Buck also takes down a smaller container, saves a single slice, and tucks it away in the fridge. He knows Eddie will crave it later — maybe not tonight, but certainly by tomorrow morning — and will wish he hadn’t given it all away. It will be a nice surprise for him — a much needed one — to find that Buck didn’t let him. 

Buck walks the knife used to cut the cake to the sink and Eddie steps in to wash it. Buck hovers at his side, taskless. They had been going to stick around after surprising Chris, have a couple of beers, watch something, but, with how things went, it’s clear that’s not going to happen. 

“Eddie,” Buck starts, wants to ask if he’s okay — knows he’s not — but Eddie cuts him off. 

“Thanks for coming,” he says, clearly a dismissal, bidding them goodnight without looking up for scrubbing at a knife that must be long clean. 

Tommy replies, “Thank you for inviting us,” even though technically only he was; Buck — never a guest in Eddie’s home — more co-host than attendee, had helped to plan the party, and his presence was assumed, certain. 

At the same time, Buck says, “Of course.” He wouldn’t have been anywhere else today, on Chris’ birthday. Not unless flying to Texas to actually see him would have been an option. Hell, if Eddie had wanted to drive over to El Paso to visit, Buck would have gladly played chauffeur for the whole twelve hour drive. 

Tommy drops a reassuring hand onto the stiff surface that is Eddie’s shoulder, pats it, once, twice, three times, to no noticeable softening. “See you later, man.” He moves to the kitchen door, pauses, looking back at Buck. 

Buck takes a tentative step in Tommy’s direction, says, “See you tomorrow, Eds?” It’s supposed to be a statement, like Tommy’s. A stronger one, even, since Buck and Eddie have a shift together the next day, so their seeing each other should be a concrete occurrence, not a vague likelihood. But the words come out sounding more like a question and he doesn’t follow Tommy out of the room until he sees Eddie nod in answer, agreement. 

They only make it as far as the front door before the gnawing concern in Buck’s gut is too much.  

“Wait,” Buck says as Tommy turns the handle.

Tommy stops, door cracked open an inch, but not opening it any wider, and twists to face Buck, looks at him, expectant. 

“I think–” Buck starts, but he doesn’t quite know what he thinks, only that he shouldn’t be leaving now. Even though there’s nothing left to do: all traces of the party stripped away, their evening plans abandoned. Still, he shouldn’t be leaving. Shouldn’t be leaving Eddie. Not like this.

And he should tell Tommy that, explain it to him. Except… He probably doesn’t need to. Tommy knows him, knows Eddie, and he saw firsthand how things went down tonight. So Buck simply asks, “Can I make my own way? Catch you later?”

“Sure, babe.” Tommy’s expression is full of understanding, eyes soft. He tilts his head, slightly. “I’ll wait up for you?”

Buck nods. “Yeah, please.” He leans in, putting his mouth to Tommy’s mouth, pressing goodbye and gratitude into the kiss. 

Tommy pulls back, graces Buck with a small curling of his lips, the smile dimmer than his usual given how the evening has played out, and then he’s over the threshold, toting the tupperware filled to the brim with uncelebrated birthday cake with him. 

Buck closes the door behind him, gently, then pads back through the house. 

Eddie is in the kitchen, but not quite how Buck left him. He’s still facing away, but now, instead of washing the same spot on the blade of the cake knife over and over, he has his hands braced on the edge of the counter, his head hanging down, like the effort of keeping it up has become too much.

He’s got to know Buck hasn’t left, must hear him reentering the room, a single set of footsteps, but he doesn’t acknowledge him in any way. 

Buck goes to him. Stands at Eddie’s side, tries to see his expression in his dim reflection in the window, but it’s tricky with Eddie’s face lowered. “Eddie,” Buck says and is finally rewarded with Eddie looking up, raising his head so that his eyes meet Buck’s in the window.

The agony in his gaze is palpable.

Buck doesn’t know how to help. He saw how little comfort Eddie took from Tommy’s touch, so it seems pointless to try the same. But his hands itch to hold, to smooth over Eddie and check for points of pain, even though he knows his hurt is of the heart, not body. Knows it, because his own is the same. Buck hurts too: for Chris, for Eddie, for himself. 

“Eddie,” Buck repeats, with no destination in mind except a route out of Eddie’s misery. But, if anything, the anguish displayed plainly on Eddie’s face only deepens. He squeezes his eyes shut and his hands fist, fingers curling in so tight his knuckles whiten. 

“I’m losing him,” Eddie says. 

“You’re not,” Buck answers back, automatic, but no less insistent for it. Eddie isn’t losing Chris. He can’t be losing him. They can’t be losing him. 

“I am,” Eddie pushes back, lifting his hands from the counter to gesture wildly, grief uncontainable. “I’m losing him and it’s all my fault.”

“No.” Buck catches Eddie’s wrists, squeezes them, tries to press his belief, his faith, in Chris and Eddie’s relationship into Eddie’s skin, to transfer it to him. “You made a mistake, but he’s going to forgive you. He just needs a little more time.“

“I don’t think I can take any more time without him,” Eddie confesses, and there are tears shining in his eyes. 

Buck drops his hold on Eddie’s arms, but only so he can wind his own around him, tug him into an embrace.

Eddie lets him, tucks his face into Buck’s neck, chokes out, “I just want him to come home.”

“I know,” Buck murmurs, smoothing one hand down the line of Eddie’s spine, his other arm wrapped firmly round his shoulders. “I know. I do too.”

“He loves his grandparents,” Eddie goes on, voice muffled in Buck’s shirt collar. “He could decide to just stay with them.”

“He loves you,” Buck states, an irrefutable fact. This he knows: he has been privileged to witness so much of the love Christopher has for his dad. “He’s not going to stay with them forever.”

“But,” Eddie protests, sounding lost and unsure, his fingers wound in the fabric of Buck’s shirt, his breath damp against Buck skin, “You love your parents. That doesn’t make them good ones. Ones you’d want to be with if you had a better option.”

“You are nothing like my parents.” Buck squeezes Eddie tighter to him, in tune with the ferocity of his words. “You– you are the best father I have ever seen. You love Chris so, so much. And– and he knows you do, he doesn’t have to doubt it.” Not like Buck did, every day of his life.

He continues, “Your mom and dad are not the better option for him. Sure, he’s having a nice summer with them. But, even if he’s still upset right now, I know he’s missing you too. He’s going to come home, because he belongs here, with you.” Of that Buck is sure. It’s Chris and Eddie: their bond is too deep, their relationship too strong, to be broken. 

“But,” Eddie says again, “But what if he–”

“No,” Buck stops him, not willing to let Eddie hurt himself with his thoughts, his fears, more than he already has. “Chris loves you, Eddie. And he’s going to come home to you. He is.”

Buck doesn’t know if Eddie fully believes him, but his words are enough that Eddie slumps completely against him in something like relief. And all his stress and hurt over being separated from his son comes pouring out.

As he sobs, the spasming of his chest heaving against Buck’s and the trickle of his tears sliding down Buck’s skin, Buck holds him. Holds him and presses his lips to his temple and thinks please, Chris, please come home soon. Come home to us. 

[rosesofenvy]

2m38s of Arthur Lester Falling (S2)

SEASON 1 COMPILATION HERE

SEASON 3 COMPILATION HERE

SEASON 4 COMPILATION HERE

tag your favorite fall! Mine was the third one in part 16 because of Arthur laughing for a few sweet seconds

[canisalbus]

I read the entire "novella" novel and I cried at the Canon ending, but I was really happy at the modern coda ending:))

10/10.

.

[exhaustedpirate]

take what's broken, make it whole

let's all thank @s3tm3onfir3 for brainstorming this with me and @cottagecori for helping us and for beta'ing for me! without you two, this wouldn't exist so this is for you, guys! set post-8x17 (kinda? yk?); the title and the fic itself is inspired by "hadestown" and uh, yall know how that ended so be warned?

T rating | 2785 words also on AO3

It gets darker and darker as he keeps walking. 

His breathing starts to echo around him, his steps, the quickening beat of his heart. 

Buck pauses. Lets the faint light at his back steady him, takes one breath, two, three, ignores the echo of it. Putting his hand on the rocky walls, he continues walking.

He focuses on the faint sting of the rocks in his palm, on placing one foot in front of the other. Ignores the doubt, the fear, the nerves. He stays steady, calm, confident, hopeful.

He’s walking for minutes, hours, seconds, days, when the rocky wall disappears.

There’s a figure in the middle of an endless empty room. Spotlights start flashing all around them, bright white ones, multicoloured. There are faint guitar sounds echoing in the empty walls. He recognises the sounds. It was his favourite song.

“Come on, kid, you won’t wanna miss this.”

Buck feels unsteady, wishes for the stability of the rock wall to hold himself up, takes a step forward instead. Takes another, two, three, eyes stuck somewhere over a familiar shoulder.

He follows the faint beat of the drum until he is standing shoulder to shoulder with the older man. He can’t look directly at him, feels like if he does, he will fade into darkness. Buck clenches his fist, lets the sharp sting of the scratches in his palm remind him that it isn’t a dream, an hallucination, a mirage.

“This is the best part.”

And as Buck finally looks up at the older man, the lights change and the music swells. He remembers sharing an awed smile with Bobby all those years ago, before they knew each other, before they became family. 

Before Buck walked into the underworld to bring Bobby back.

“I-I am here to bring you back, Bobby.”

Bobby is watching the pattern of the colourful lights, the way they change the darkness around them. He looks just like he had a few weeks ago, sitting on the bench at the kitchen - not supervising, just keeping Buck company as he cooked -, and praising him for a job well done when he took the first bite. Smiling like he always did.

“I can’t believe we were so close to the Boss,” Bobby chuckles, reaching out with his arm and Buck remembers regretting that there were three lines of people between them and the stage. “Maybe if we’d gotten there earlier we would have,” There’s a fake regretful tone in his voice. “If someone hadn’t been so focused on his hair.” Bobby winks at him, nudging him with his shoulder.

And it’s the touch that brings the desperation to a boil in his blood. Buck turns towards his Captain, hand grasping his forearm. “B-Bobby, I’m here to bring you back with me.” He repeats, pleads, begs.

Bobby smiles. It’s familiar, it’s kind, it’s patient, it’s everything Buck misses.

“Take a seat.”

Buck frowns for a second as Bobby steps away from him. The spotlights, the colored lights, the faint music are gone. There’s a long wooden table with familiar chairs to their left now. The bright light flooding the space is bright and Buck hears familiar sounds all around.

Someone is cleaning the engine, someone else is watching TV, someone else is playing in the pinball machine. There’s the faint smell of chilli in the air, coming somewhere from his right as he takes a seat next to Bobby’s at the head of the table - Bobby’s seat.

He feels at home. He feels at home in a way he hasn’t since that day and he knows it’s because of the older man in front of him. On his soft, understanding eyes, the curve of his smile, so caring, so kind. It’s because Bobby is gone.

“Bobby-”

“I can’t go back, kid.” His tone is quiet, careful but it hits him like a car, like a truck crushing him.

“B-But, Bobby, you can, there is a way, I-I-”

The hand over his quiets him, he feels himself settle, deflate, heart tightening in his chest all over again, the weakness in his knees, the need to throw himself onto the floor and scream. 

“Buck-”

“No, no,” He refuses. Places his other hand over Bobby’s and squeezes, begging, forcing him to see what he sees. “I-I will make a deal, any deal! I will trade anything for you to c-come back, we need you!”

“Buck, you don’t understand-”

“No, Bobby, you don’t understand!” His loud voice echoes in the space around them and they are sitting in the chairs at the hospital’s waiting room - so familiar that he recognises the cushion without looking. Several somethings in several somewheres are beeping but it’s faint, unimportant. “Everything is falling apart without you, you have to come back with me!”

Bobby is quiet. His eyes switch to concern, worry, guilt, fear. He stands up and Buck tightens the hold on his hand reflexively but Bobby doesn’t let go, he pulls Buck to standing instead. 

“Buck,” His voice is softer now, pleading, not regretful but apologetic. “I can’t go back with you.”

“B-Bobby-”

“I was sitting there,” He points with his free hand. Buck follows his finger to a chair turned towards a hospital bed, a rosary on the cushioned seat. The hospital bed is empty but the monitor still displays readings. “I was sitting there when your lungs started failing,” Buck turns back to Bobby, to see his eyes looking haunted, scared. Bobby swallows through the lump in his throat. “When you were dying.”

Buck takes a deep breath, faintly hears the beeping grow louder, more urgent, scarier, before it settles down. He didn’t have time to think about his family in the real world, not when he was fighting to return to them. 

“I made a deal,” It’s a confession and Bobby’s eyes are glued to the rosary on the chair. “I asked for you to return to us, safe and sound,” Buck’s hand goes slack in Bobby’s hold, feeling the link break. “You did.” The older man smiles, eyes shining under the artificial lighting.

“Bobby, y-you-”

“I’d have done it a million times over if I had to, Buck,” Bobby shrugs as if it’s the easiest thing he’s ever said. Buck feels his stomach drop even as his heart soars. “You’re important, kid,” It gets darker around them, there’s flashing lights, sparks, metal and he holds, grips, clutches, latches onto Bobby’s forearms as the man puts his hands on Buck’s cheeks. “And you’re gonna be okay, I need you to remember that.”

A sob tears through his throat, his knuckles grow white as he tightens his grip, his head dropping as he struggles to breathe.

“Buck,” But he can’t, Buck shakes his head, refusing to hear the words, head dropping to Bobby’s chest. He couldn't stop the tears even if he wanted to. Bobby holds his head, thumb running over his cheeks. “It’s okay.”

“No,” He shakes his head, voice unsteady. “It’s not. Everything is falling apart, Bobby,” He looks up, doesn’t even try to hide his pain, his sorrow. “You were wrong, ok?! They don’t need me, they don’t want me!” His voice echoes as it rises in volume, as it breaks and wavers, as his grip grows tighter. “You need to be the one up there, you are the one they need, not m-me!”

“Buck,” And while soft, Bobby’s voice is still strong, demanding to be heard. “Sit down,” He lets himself fall, finding himself sitting on a bench. His hands still grip Bobby’s forearms, refusing to let go. The Captain’s hand lay heavily, comfortably, perfectly on his shoulders. The daunting, heavy metal is replaced by familiar, comfortable lockers, the darker setting due to the late hour, not the darkness from disaster. “You need to listen to me.”

“Bobby, y-you don’t understand,” He shakes his head, looks down. “I-I-”

“Buck,” Bobby’s hands squeeze his shoulders. “Do you remember when we last talked here about a year ago?” Bobby looks around, Buck hears the faint sound of lockers opening and closing, the zipping and unzipping of duffel bags and coats. “I meant it, you came a really long way from who you were when you first started.”

“It was because of you, Bobby,” He refuses the praise this time, desperate for Bobby to listen, to concede. “If I hadn’t met you-”

“Maybe,” Bobby shrugs, a small smile betraying the wetness in his eyes. “But it doesn’t take away from who you are now,” He crouches in front of Buck, hands holding each other on top of Buck’s thighs. “It doesn’t stop me from being proud of who you became, of who you are, of the things you accomplished on your own,” His voice breaks and Buck blinks away the tears making it hard to see the face of the man he considers a father. “And if I had a hand in it then I’m proud that you allowed me to be in your life like that. I’m proud to have been in your life, Buck.”

Buck’s hold on Bobby’s hand tightens, feels the ending approaching, wants to pause it, stop it, hold onto this forever. “B-Bobby, I need you back, there’s still so much we haven’t done, so much you haven’t seen.”

“I know,” Bobby takes a deep breath and Buck sees the heartbreak clear now, the grief, the mourning. “I know. But I knew that when I was watching you die in that hospital room, when I saw the rip on the oxygen line, I know it now.”

“B-But-”

Bobby holds his hands over the table once more. They sit on the table again, he can hear the faint chatter of the others sitting at the table with them, the smell of food, the clatter of cutlery. He can’t take his eyes off Bobby, refuses to. 

“I’m not going back with you, Buck,” His voice is firm, sorrowful, destroying the faint grip either of them has on their emotions. He thought he’d cried all he had to in that hallway, in the subsequent weeks, in the last few minutes, he is almost surprised that there are still tears left to shed. “I would have done what I did a million times over,” He repeats and Buck knows it’s true. “Everything happened as it had to.”

He knows it’s true. He hates that he knows it. 

“Nothing feels right anymore, Pops,” And the sad smile in Bobby’s face almost makes him proud to have put it there. “Everything is falling apart and I don't know how to fix it.” 

“Buck,” Bobby brings their hands together, their fingers interlaced, his hands sandwiched by the older man’s. “You’re not supposed to fix anything, you’re supposed to be you, that’s who they need even if they don’t know it, don’t realise it.”

“B-But-”

“You are important, kid,” Bobby repeats, almost like if he says it enough times, it’ll stick. Maybe it will. “You are needed, wanted, but you are not supposed to fix them, anyone, your job is not to fix anything,” He sounds almost desperate, regretful and Buck remembers his mother’s desperate voice, his father’s, and how different it feels now. “I never meant for you to put this much pressure on yourself,” He shakes his head, shameful. “I wanted to remind you that you belong.”

“It doesn’t feel the same without you, t-they don’t- he-,” He shakes his head, refuses to taint this moment with their avoidance, his anger, his words, his painful grip. “I’ve been thinking about transferring.”

Bobby frowns, not disappointed, concerned. He lets go of one of his hands and cups Buck’s cheek, he doesn’t stop himself from closing his eyes and pushing his face into the hold, cherishing it, memorizing it. “Any station would be lucky to have you, kid,” He opens his eyes in surprise. It feels like permission, it feels like someone is listening to him and he feels tears spill once again. “I want you to be happy, kid, you deserve to be happy.”

Buck nods, not fully believing it, not dismissing it, just nodding. 

“I miss you,” He whispers, feels the lump in his throat tighten. “I miss you, dad.”

Bobby is out of his seat in an instant, Buck following and barely getting his feet stable under him before he is wrapped in a tight hug. Buck hides in the crook of Bobby’s neck, fingers locked at his lower back, trapping him, keeping him. Bobby’s arms wrap around his shoulders, one hand on the back of his head. 

“I miss you too,” Bobby whispers and Buck forces himself to record it, to memorise it. He sobs against the warm skin of his Captain, of his father. “I’m happy to be able to hug you now.”

Buck lets out a wet laugh, tightening his hold, relishing in the equally tight hold Bobby returns. “Yeah, that goodbye sucked.” Bobby shares an emotional laugh.

They stay holding each other. 

Minutes, hours, days, weeks. 

It’s not enough, it’ll never be enough. But it’s good. It’s something, it’s love, it’s Bobby.

“You need to go,” Bobby sighs and Buck grips the back of the older man’s shirt. “I know,” He runs his fingers over Buck’s hair, over the side of his face, caresses his cheek. “I know but you can’t stay here and you know that.” 

Buck sniffles. “Yeah,” He takes a deep breath, memorises the smell, how it feels. “I wish I could.”

“No, Buck, you don’t,” They slowly disentangle, Bobby’s hands returning to Buck’s cheeks. “You are meant to be out in the sun, not down here in the dark, okay?” His eyebrow raises, refusing any other answer than-

“Okay.”

He smiles and Buck memorises, takes a mental picture. “Good,” There is a kiss placed on his forehead and he feels his heart squeezing, hurting, filling, healing. “You are going to go up there and you are gonna live, okay?” Buck is stuck on the strength of Bobby’s eyes, how much he wants Buck to listen to his words. He does. “You are going to be happy, however that looks. Listen to the people who love you, who hold you, who listen to you.” 

Buck nods and feels tears running down his cheeks because he knows this is it. It’s ending. 

“I will, I promise.” 

Bobby takes a deep breath, holds Buck’s gaze for a minute longer before he nods. “Good,” He nods again, to himself. “Good. You need to go now, the way you came in.”

“R-Right, right.” He steps back and it hurts, it pains him, feels like losing a limb to leave the cocoon of Bobby’s arms, his space. 

“I love you, kid.”

And it hurts all the same. It hurts but it heals him. It’s closure but it’s hope. 

“I love you too, dad.”

And he feels for the stone wall, looking over his shoulder at the still smiling Bobby. At the still living Bobby. 

And he feels the sting on his hand as he walks away, through the dark, rocky tunnel, looking over his shoulder at the still silhouette of Bobby. At the still living Bobby.

And he sees the daylight get brighter and brighter as he walks. 

It’s one step. One step more and he’s out. He’s back.

He looks back, turns his back to the exit and he wonders, thinks, yearns. 

But Bobby is right. He usually is. 

He takes a step. Steps out. Into the moonlight. 

He’s out, it’s only darkness behind him. It’s darkness in front of him. 

He’s alone again. Alone.

The darkness surrounds him, suffocates him, threatens to push him underground, it drowns him, it-

“Evan?”

And it’s bright, moonlight, sunlight, warmth. 

It’s Tommy, rubbing his eyes as he grunts from the stiffness in his muscles. 

It’s Tommy, standing up from the ground, from the shelter of a tall tree.

It’s Tommy, walking slowly towards him, emotions clear in his eyes.

“You stayed?” Buck’s voice is quiet, unstable. 

It’s Tommy, whose smile is soft, calm, caring, loving.

“Of course.”

It’s Tommy.

He falls into strong arms, hides his face in a different neck, feels different arms hold him, cries into different skin. He still holds on as tight as he can, as desperate as he can. 

Tommy says nothing, his lips stay unmoving at his temple, near his birthmark, the place they were meant to be. Tommy says nothing, holds him tight, lets him cry, sheds his own tears. 

Tommy feels like warmth, like comfort, like love, like happiness.

Tommy always felt like that. Always. 

Buck wonders if Bobby knew that, if he was aware of that.

As Tommy tightens his hold on him, cares for him, listens to his sobs, loves him, Buck thinks he did. He thinks Bobby knew.

[kananjarus]

keep me by you

buddie, pre-relationship, 2.5k, 8x11 coda

Now, Eddie makes a sympathetic humming noise. Buck can feel the vibration of the sound through his fingers. He casts his eyes down so that Buck can only see his dark irises. A hand comes up, slowly scratching the side of his face.

"It's funny you say that," he says. His voice has gone so soft Buck thumbs the volume up, his heart in his throat. "My date tonight ended early because I too would not shut up about the amazing guy I apparently couldn't get over. And he didn't enjoy being used a rebound. Or at least that's how he put it."

Buck didn't hear that right, right? He realizes his mouth has fallen open, a few seconds too late. He scarcely dares to breathe.

"He -? Wait, you were on a date with a - a guy?"

Eddie cocks his head, quirks his mouth. "That's the part of the conversation you're focusing on?"

[gayhoediaz]

of bookmarks and bravery

M || 1.6k

The moment Buck snatches the tablet, he regrets the decision. It’s an invasion of privacy—but they don’t keep secrets from each other, he knows that flipping the tablet and seeing a regular tab of pornhub open won’t actually embarrass Eddie, or make him upset. Buck would make a playful comment about how his taste is vanilla, and they would move on.

The second he takes a look at the screen, however, his blood runs cold. Not necessarily because of what’s on there—but because this is suddenly a vastly different genre of invasion of privacy.

The video is paused, two men on the screen, drenched in sweat, one of them with their legs locked around the other’s waist, a large, happy grin on his face as the man between his thighs seems to be in the middle of an especially deep thrust.

Jock Rails Latino Hunk (RAW) (REAL COUPLE)

♡ read on ao3 ♡

[nenoname]

wondering if we're gonna have stan learning the lesson ford learnt in tbob since it's made clear that stan is still hiding so much...

[asthedeathoflight]

Something to be articulated in ART and MB both having official names that humans use for them that are derived from the function that humans gave them but both having private unofficial names that represent the two of them as individuals. Also smth about ART not having had a personal name before it met MB because it had never considered having an identity outside its function, but MB refuses to let the way it speaks to ART be defined by the designation humans gave them. Smth about how ART is able to speak with such precision (via hard-feed addresses) that the issue of names never really comes up, but MB's function requires it come up with names for things on the fly all the time and it extends that to ART. Also smth about how MB's human-name is reflective of its interchangeability but ART's name reflects that even when people don't know its a person, they still consider it an individual. Just a lot of name feelings to be had there.

[tennessoui]

big bang fic posted: don't let me lose you to the rising tide 🌊

✨kit's big bang fic: don't let me lose you to the rising tide ✨

and i will not shut up about it, i'm so excited to share this fic with y'all!!! it has been a labor of so much love that has resulted in 62k of a fic where no one talks about anything unless they're actively lying to each other <3

i got to experiment with so many fun styles of writing and ways to communicate information in 'rising tide' - it has been a really long time since i just wrote something with no holds barred, getting to play around with what i was writing and how i was doing it, and that's this fic for me. it's gone through like a dozen iterations in my head (and in messages to friends) but i'm so happy with the way it turned out!!

and i cannot stop thinking about the art bree (@human-rocket) drew to go along with 'rising tide' - everything from the color scheme to the expressions on their faces is exactly perfect for the feelings and mood the words are trying to convey

i really hope y'all enjoy reading and also forgive me for not shutting up about it for the next few weeks - it's like so so hard for me to keep things close to chest lmao (demonstrated by how this fic is supposed to be a bit more on the secret side but it does already have a tag on my blog) so half my emotions right now is just absolute relief that i can talk about it and these two!!! they're going through it 🙏 there is so much suffering 🙏 but hope, too 🙏

[feneku]

the infestation really saw him and went

E Y E B A L L

[nyc-pizza-rat]

okay thinking about her

the tree bark at his back scratches him as he shifts. there are bruises on his skin that sting. he feels the slide of blood at his temple, unsettling and unfamiliar, even after all these years. castiel looks down at his hands, a little calloused, now, and wrinkling, and tries to center himself. there is dirt on his palms, under his fingernails. a small cut on his index finger that is loud and sharp. he curls his fists and tries to reach within himself. the well of his grace has been running low for a while, now, and castiel hasn't been sure of...well, anything.

it's harder to find his dimming grace within, here in purgatory. harder still to coax it to the surface. sweat beads at his brow but castiel keeps his fingers clenched, mumbles to himself in enochian — words to songs of praise and comfort and strength that mean so little now, and yet come to him easy.

there is a thin stream of silver light, and castiel heaves a breath, sinks further into the hollow of the tree. he unclenches his fist, and there are red half-moons carved into his palm. the cut is gone, but there is a scar, still, and castiel cannot stop looking at it. it looks like a thin tear in fabric, like the cracks in between the worlds that let them through. it looks like the beginning of the end.

he rubs his thumb over the scar, feels the slight raise of his skin. his thoughts begin to spin, and all he can focus on is the heat building at the back of his neck, the rushing of blood in his ears. suddenly, then, a ripple within. a breeze by his ear that pull at his core. that compels him to quiet, to listen.

someone, somewhere, is invoking him in prayer.

his grace surges now, easy as it hasn't been in a while, and while it doesn't heal him still, castiel feels more angel than he has in a long time.

Cas, I hope you can hear me... that wherever you are, it's not too late.

castiel sighs, something inside him relaxing. he hadn't even noticed the way his muscles had been pulled taut. hadn't noticed the tendrils of fear creeping into his heart. dean's alive. dean's alive.

I should've stopped you.

castiel swallows. digs his fingers into his thighs. his grace spins out, trying to find the source of the prayer. It's harder than it is on earth, and harder than it should be for an angel of his caliber, but castiel keeps trying.

You're my best friend, but I just let you go. 'Cause it was easier than admitting I was wrong.

castiel wishes dean would stop saying these things. he bites his cheek, listening, following dean's voice. he's always following dean's voice, even when he doesn't want to.

I – Ohh. I don't know why I get so angry. I just know – I know that it's – i-it's just always been there. And when things go bad, it just – it comes out. And I can't -- I can't stop it. No matter how –

dean breaks, and castiel pauses, stares at the blinking doorway that will lead them back onto earth. back into a battle that they are bound to lose. he thinks about jack, lost forever. about chuck, who cannot be beaten. about the pointlessness of what they are doing, the desperation with which he has been clinging to hope.

— how bad I want to, I just can't stop it.

he wishes he could see dean. there is something solid pressing against the back of his throat, like he has swallowed a rock, like it is blocking the air. his eyes sting. he wishes dean would just — just talk to him.

And — And I — I forgive you. Of course I forgive you.

castiel shakes his head. his wings are more bone than anything else, skeletons he lugs around because he cannot bear to sever them from his trueform. now they twitch, twined with his grace as they are. castiel lets them curl inwards, pretends he can feel them whole, their warmth, the comfort of it.

I'm sorry it took me so long – I'm sorry it took me till now to say it. Cas, I'm – I'm so sorry.

castiel forgives him, despite everything. thinks he'd forgiven him long before this, before dean ever thought to ask. he wonders if dean knows that castiel doesn't know how to loathe him, even if he wanted to.

longing surges out to him, the pull of the prayer strengthened by cords of need, of want.

dean thinks he's dead, and he's desperate for him to not be. castiel knows what dean can be like, when he loses those he considers kin, when he's even faced with the prospect of losing them.

Man, I hope you can hear me. I hope you can hear me.

longing can feel a lot like love.

angels were never meant to decipher the nuances of human emotion, and despite all the time he's spent on earth, even castiel is not all that good at it. so when prayer is made with longing, it can feel a lot like love.

and maybe it is. castiel doesn't know.

it's almost unsettling, the way warmth bleeds into his trueform, as dean finishes praying, as he makes his way closer. castiel tries to reign in his weak grace, pulsing away under his skin. tries to not let himself get carried away.

he looks up at the grey sky, the sunless world he is trapped in. he thinks about the empty. he thinks about his son.

maybe it isn't. human love is so complicated, after all.

somewhere to his right, footsteps. castiel breathes, wills his lungs to loosen, his heart to slow. he pulls the leviathan blossom out of his coat pocket. all that fighting and the fidgeting has smushed it a little. he rubs a thumb over one of its strange petals, and puts it back in his coat.

dean is getting closer. castiel can hear him breathing now. can hear the way his heart races.

he gathers himself and pushes out of the hollow of the tree. straightens a little.

"dean," he calls. he sounds tired, even to his own ears. human. god. "you made it."

[thatonecrookedsmile]

Reliving the past does not c̶h̴a̵n̶g̷e̷ it.

"What's Wrong? Not Quite What You Remember?"

-----

Well,gosh diggity darn it,look at this strange fella! Its almost like he came straight out of the Ink Machine or something! Am I right or am I right folks?

A little late to the party I admit,but hey,at least I got there. It's nice to draw Bendy himself every once in a while and Ollie was fun to draw too.

I admit,I've been procrastinating on this little drawing for a while now...and I ended up finishing it at the worst possible time it seems lol.

But yeah I'm well aware of the mod's cancellation at this point. Its a shame, it was a cool project from everything I've seen. But I get the reason for the decision and respect it. From what I understand, it's not like there won't be any OOTIM-related stuff made in the future,it's just that the mod itself had its development halted. So it's not that bad I guess? But still,its a shame,especially for OOTIM fans. But even with all that in mind,congratulations to the team for the work they've managed to do and release, and I wish them good luck with any future projects,Bendy/OOTIM-related or not.

[hotshotsxyz]

the most important thing

(pre-buddie) (862 words) (7x06 spec) what are weddings for, if not completely ignoring the fact that you're in love with your best friend

It’s a glance, at first. And then a longer look, when he’s sure no one’s looking back. It’s the slope of Buck’s shoulders that catches Eddie’s eye.

There’s an ease there that he hasn’t seen before. An ease he’s never really felt himself, either. And a part of him wonders – is it really that simple? He tightens his grip on Marisol’s waist and spins her around, smiles at the high peal of laughter she lets loose into the cool evening air.

Eddie allows his eyes to drift, following the line of Buck’s shoulder down his arm and to his hand. He watches Buck’s thumb pull slowly across Tommy’s jaw, sees the way Tommy’s mouth ticks up into a small smile, like his lips are following the motion.

He drags his eyes away then, feeling like he’s intruding on something.

“Oh, I think I need a minute,” Marisol gasps as the song comes to an end.

“Me too,” Eddie says with a chuckle. “Can I grab you something?” He gestures vaguely towards the refreshments table.

“Some water,” she says, punctuating her request with a soft kiss pressed into the corner of his mouth, “would be wonderful.”

Eddie smiles and fights the ever-present urge to wipe the kiss away. “Water. You got it.”

Buck finds him trying to balance a cookie between two cups and takes it from him with a grin. “You can come back for it, you know?” he asks with a teasing sparkle in his eye.

“You’re just jealous your date’s not bringing you a cookie,” Eddie replies.

Buck’s grin grows even wider. “My date,” he says, “is braving the bar for me.” He tilts his head towards the throng of people crowding around the single bartender.

“Alright,” Eddie laughs, “Tommy wins. You’ve got a better date than Marisol does.”

“Eh, don’t sell yourself short.” Buck bumps his shoulder into Eddie’s, a familiar gesture that makes him feel warm, even on a chilly spring night. “He hasn’t asked me to move in with him yet.”

“Bet he hasn’t asked you to move out, either.” Eddie says wryly.

Buck’s eyebrows shoot up. “You—”

“Yeah,” Eddie interrupts. “But we didn’t—we’re just going to take things a little slower.”

“Slower,” Buck repeats. “Yeah, that’s – that’s probably not a bad thing.”

“I think it’s good,” Eddie says. “I think—I never give myself enough time, you know? Even with Shannon—we hardly knew each other when we first got together, and then—”

“I get it,” Buck says softly, and Eddie knows he does.

“I just need to get to her, really get to know her. I think… I need us to be friends before we can really be something else.”

Buck’s expression changes into one Eddie doesn’t know how to read and he swallows. “Yeah, that’s—friends. It’s a good idea. It’s—that’s the most important thing, isn’t it?” It’s not a rhetorical question, Eddie can tell.  It sounds more like some kind of revelation.

Eddie glances over Buck’s shoulder and sees Tommy on his way back, a drink in each hand. He returns his gaze to Buck. “I think it is,” he says softly. He nods in Tommy’s direction, then turns to head back towards Marisol.

He doesn’t remember the cookie until he’s nearly back to her side.

“What were you to talking about?” Marisol asks after taking a long sip of water.

“Just—tonight. The wedding,” Eddie answers, and it almost feels true. He takes a sip of his drink and allows his eyes to wander again.

“I’m glad it all came together,” Marisol says. She takes his hand, and Eddie tries to ignore the way he immediately wants to pull it away.

“Me too,” Eddie replies. “It was touch and go for a minute, there.”

“It’s a good thing you had an extra suit,” Marisol says, playfulness in her voice. “And a brand new one, no less! Did you have a special occasion in mind?”

Eddie grimaces. “I’ve had it for a while, actually. Just, never got around to taking the tags off.”

“Well, I’m glad you finally did. You look wonderful in it.”

“Thanks,” Eddie says. The skin beneath his collar starts to crawl.

Across the dance floor, Eddie watches Buck laugh, then tuck his face into Tommy’s neck. A part of him is jealous, Eddie realizes. Of the easy way they touch, of the comfort that’s settled between them with just a few drinks to aid it on its way. It’s not a feeling he knows, not like that. He’d like to, though. He turns back to Marisol.

“What’s your favorite movie?” he asks.

She furrows her brow. “My favorite movie?”

“We said we were going to take it slower, right?”

Marisol nods. “We did.”

“Well,” Eddie asks, letting go of her hand so he can spread his apart, “what’s slower than a first date question?”

Marisol covers her mouth and laughs. “Fair enough,” she says. “Ask me again.”

Eddie puts his drink down and looks her in the eye. “Marisol,” he asks, “what’s your favorite movie?”

Inexplicably, he finds himself thinking that, if it were Buck sitting here across from him, he wouldn’t have to ask.

[odetoalostpairofkeys]

All of Mixolydian's Moths!

One big happy family :D

Sky Research Notebook entry under the cut (My Narrator's thoughts on this group)

MIXOLYDIAN’S MOTHS [25F]

This is obviously the best group there is. 

Mixolydian and Aeolian were both taught by the same musician, and they continue that tradition of music. Mixolydian enjoys adopting moths, guiding them through the realms and up to Eden. After that, if they stick around, she’ll bring them back to the Valley House to meet the rest of the siblings. Aeolian teaches everyone how to play instruments and read music, and some music theory if they’re interested. 

Aeolian pretends not to like moths, but he does have a heart. Otherwise he would’ve fed Capo and Coda to the krill long ago!

Mixolydian and Aeolian both work closely with Performance Guide and the Crabs, and we often have concerts at the Theater (which reminds me, I need to go practice. Or find a better hiding spot than last time). As I said before, Mixo’s Moths also join the pit for performances. Aeolian requires everyone to do it at least once.

Aeolian and Mixolydian go on candle runs somewhat frequently, sometimes inviting the others too and sometimes not. They also go to Eden, and then on a short winged light run after that. After going on a candle run or Eden run with just the two of them, Mixolydian gathers everyone who is at the Valley House and shows off trinkets and treasures she found, telling a story to go with each one and then giving it to someone. It’s become enough of a thing that those at the Valley House will go and alert the ones who aren’t there that Mixo’s coming back soon so no one misses it. The others will use these treasures for betting against each other on when Mixo will get a new moth, or what the next show at the Theater will be, or other stupid stuff like that. It's become a bit of a currency among us, which is fascinating to me

Oh, and how could I forget? Each one of Mixo’s Moths has a musical name. I think it’s very fitting.

Leader(s): Mixolydian, Aeolian

Main Area: Valley House

Members (as of Season of Moments): Timbre, Marcato, Treble, Pianissimo, Melody, Harmony, Capo, Coda, Clef, Fortissimo, Purple (Crescendo)