#aw chris gets his own tag

[wikiangela]

.

[rallamajoop]

On Mia Winters, misogyny, and abuse

As should be pretty obvious by now, I love Mia Winters. I honestly think she’s one of the most compelling characters in this whole damn franchise.

But let me make clear: you don’t have to love her. Mia’s canonically done a lot of shady shit in her time, and her relationship with Ethan has real problems. There are perfectly viable interpretations where the only thing really holding it together is his own denial. Only I never seem to get to read any of those takes, because the most common characterisations Mia gets in fic are an irredeemable monster, or a cardboard cutout who exists only to be written out as quickly as possible. And to write Mia out to that degree doesn’t just do her character a disservice, it does Ethan a disservice, and a big one.

The amount of Mia-bashing I see out there in this fandom turns my stomach. It’s not just the slash fans who’d rather ship Ethan with another dude. I have seen Mia loudly bashed in tags on het or gen fic in which she does not even appear. I have seen male fans reviewing these games on youtube who treat her the exact same way. But it’s never more frustrating than when that hate comes from the same fans who’ll turn around and talk about characters like Chris or even Lady Dimitrescu (she who canonically abuses her and murders her servants, and, y’know, eats people without a shred of remorse) like they’re perfectly forgivable and have done no real wrong. And don’t get me wrong: I love Lady D, but I love her because she’s magnificently evil. Mia? Mia’s a whole lot more complicated.

But to really explain why this hate makes me so uncomfortable, I’m going to have to start with the start of Resident Evil 7, and Mia’s very first scenes in this whole franchise.

Let me quickly summarise the opening of that game. A man whose wife disappeared without explanation suddenly gets a message about her whereabouts. He travels to an isolated location, breaks in, and finds her. She denies ever sending him that message, and seems incredibly distressed that he’s there at all. They fight. It ends with him sinking an axe into her neck and shooting her several times with a handgun. But see, he didn’t do anything wrong! It was all self-defence! She started it! She was acting crazy!

If you didn’t spot it, the whole opening of RE7 reads uncomfortably like a story about a woman escaping an abusive relationship, then being tracked down and murdered by her ex.

Obviously, I am not here to tell you Ethan’s abusive. He’s not, we’ve got no reason to imagine he is. He was legitimately acting in self-defence.

But the fact the first thing Ethan has to do in this game is find the balls to kill his own wife ‒ that a whole new era of Resi games has opened with a sequence so easily read as a sympathetic justification for how a man might perfectly innocently track down his missing spouse and "have" to kill her – that made those opening minutes into by far the most uncomfortable part of this whole franchise for me. Shit like this really happens. I mean it, I will track down the fucking statistics on women who are murdered after trying to leave an abusive partner if I have to.

What happens to ‘Mia’ in the opening to RE8 isn’t much better: it's as textbook a fridging as any I’ve ever seen. Yes, it’s a fridging that gets retconned away later when she turns up alive, but the fact that’s even possible speaks to just how awful and confusing her death is. The game opens with Mia’s violent murder at the hands of this series’ longest running ‘hero’, and the event is framed entirely in terms of how awful it is for her husband. That's as frigid as a fridging gets.

The eventual reveal that the real Mia was just trapped alone in a cell being experimented on by a madwoman for god knows how long doesn’t actually make it better. The horror Mia goes through in both these games is a footnote, barely explored.

I bring these events up not to condemn the RE franchise, not to say that including these sequences was unconscionable, or that violence against women can never be shown in a horror title. A quick glance at my tumblr should demonstrate how much I adore these games. Tropes like fridging become problems only because they’re so ubiquitous they can come to define almost the only roles women get to play, not because any individual example is necessarily grounds for outrage. If anything, there’s just as much to analyse in all the hate thrown at characters like Ethan Winters (or his predecessor, Jonathan Harker) as a archtypical examples of sexism against men – backlash against the very idea of a male character in the disempowered role of horror victim, usually reserved for women.

But with this context in mind, my god is it uncomfortable to see people talk about Mia as irredeemable monster who deserves to suffer more. People who will valorise the likes of Chris Redfield, who didn’t even bother to stop to tell Ethan that’s not Mia, yet talk about Mia like being shot to death in her own living room was only what she deserved. That is just a whole load of yikes.

And given that both games open with Mia being violently killed by a male protagonist (twice in RE7, with the player in control), it sure is convenient how so many people have managed to ‘find’ the evidence that proves she’s the real villain. You don’t have to think too hard about Chris Redfield as a violent maniac or Ethan Winters being forced to kill his own wife if it’s okay to inflict violence on this woman. “Yes, but she shouldn’t have done [X]…” or even “But what if she’s the real abuser” is a narrative that gets thrown at real women in abusive relationships all the time – especially when the man is a friend of whoever’s casting judgement, or even a celebrity. Real world examples of this shit in the wild run the gamut from wild fan-takes on The Shining ‘proving’ that actually the abused wife was the ‘real’ abuser all along, right up to the ongoing hate campaign against Amber Heard. People don’t want to have to think badly of someone they admire, and will take any excuse to shift the blame. The stakes are infinitely lower when we’re talking about fictional characters, but the same pattern plays out.

And look, I do get it. It’s easy to go into these games and come out with a negative opinion of Mia. She’s the one who lures you into danger in RE7, acts all innocent, and then comes at Ethan with a chainsaw – and when you finally find out her big secret at the end, it turns out she was working for the people who created Eveline from the start! You’re really not given a lot of reasons to invest in Ethan and Mia’s relationship before she’s suddenly coming at him with a knife, and the fact she never does get to come clean to him in canon leaves a bad taste in the mouth.

It’s really easy to go into RE8, note all the glaring signs that Ethan’s relationship with Mia isn’t healthy, and draw your own conclusions about a woman we don’t hardly even see again for most of the runtime of the game. Half this goddamn fandom still seems to think Heisenberg is actually a lycan, ffs – most of what people think they know about Mia is more meme than fact, and the rest is pretty surface level. Basic media literacy is not exactly high out there in the tumblrweeds (let alone the rest of the internet).

But as for the idea that Mia’s responsible for all the horrors Ethan went through, people seem to forget that Mia herself went through so much worse. Ethan spent a day in the Bakers’ property, and a day in the village. Mia spent years trapped in the Bakers’ property, and days at least imprisoned in Miranda’s lab, knowing exactly how much danger her family were in, helpless to save them. She’s no innocent herself, but ye gods has she already suffered for her crimes.

So with all that out of the way, well, what’s the actual ‘evidence’ that Mia herself was abusive? No-one's coming into this one without some bias, but let’s at least give it a fair shake.

Right upfront, I want to recognise that in both fiction and reality, women can be abusers, and men can be victims. Abuse in heterosexual relationships is far more likely to occur with the man as the abuser, but the reverse does happen, and the fact culture at large can be so eager to cast the woman as the villain doesn’t make it any easier for the real male victims of abuse to get recognition and help. Society as a whole is still just really shitty about enabling or excusing real abuse.

But the idea that Mia was abusive has very little to back it up. Whatever you make of “her” interactions with Ethan at the start of the game, the fact remains: that’s not Mia, and the fact she’s acting so strangely is meant to be our clue that something much bigger than a little marital strife is going on here. Knowing all this doesn’t really make the scene where she’s violently executed less disturbing, but you can’t miss the hints we don’t yet know the full story.

So the question becomes, is there any evidence that the real Mia was abusive? I’ve dug into this one a bit before in my post about trying to figure out the timeline of exactly when Mia was replaced, but there are no definitive answers as to how long Miranda's been living in their house. To summarise a long post (and a surprisingly lively timeline of events from the days before the game begins): the most likely intent seems to be that Miranda’s been posing as Mia for less than a week, though a lot of the vibes of the scene give me the impression it’s been several weeks at least. Ultimately, that’s going to come down to your own interpretation.

The Mia mentioned in Ethan’s diary who blew up at him at the hospital could be the real Mia, but more likely isn’t: you can’t really use her to argue anything definitive, one way or another. The Mia from the flashback where Ethan gets the call from Rose’s doctor is the real Mia, but if you think getting upset when your husband brushes off your obvious distress over your daughter’s health makes you abusive, then nothing I say here is going to convince you otherwise.

The only ‘real’ evidence that Mia might be a problem is one line you might hear from Ethan while taking Rose to bed, and it is admittedly a red flag: your mother’s scary when she’s angry.

And to anyone whose whole hatred of Mia has been built backwards from this one line – especially anyone who’s grown up in a dysfunctional household themselves – hell, I get it. It is one really yikes thing for Ethan to say about his wife.

But in Mia’s defence, I can only point out that, well, yes, canonically, she is scary when she’s angry.

Oh, did I say angry? I meant fucking possessed.

And if Ethan’s bringing up the spectre of that time, even subconsciously, maybe that should be an even bigger clue that the Mia in this house right now isn’t Mia.

But what really shows this line for what it is is that we’ve seen the real Mia angry. We’ve seen her cold fury at Eveline, daring to go right back to asking ‘can we be a family now?’ within hours forcing Mia to assault her own husband with a chainsaw. We’ve seen her frustration at Ethan’s own denial, and we’ve seen her stalk out of the room when he blows off an important conversation for a call from work. We’ve seen her advance on Chris after he shut her down, demanding, Where is my husband? Where is my daughter?!

We have never seen her angry without real justification. Her anger is neither violent nor disproportionate. It’s consistently purposeful, focused, and contained. There is nothing scary about the real Mia’s anger, unless you’re threatened by the very idea she might have something valid to be angry about.

There is evidence of tension in the Winters’ marriage from before Miranda’s arrival, but it takes a very different form – most evident in the flashback scene where Ethan receives the call from Rose’s doctor. Far from Miranda’s brusque, dismissive copy of her, the real Mia is anxious and depressed, scared of what Rose’s results might reveal. Here, Ethan’s the one brushing her concerns aside (“We talked about this […] Rose is fine!”) He recognises there seems to be something Mia’s not telling him, says they should talk about it, but then immediately brushes the conversation off when he gets a call from work, while Mia storms out of the room.

You can certainly read Mia as a hypocrite here, getting angry at Ethan for not knowing things she’s deliberately kept from him. But it’s Ethan who decides a call from work is more important than a conversation with his wife – someone who is obviously distressed, canonically still on a regime of drugs after the traumatic events of RE7, very likely suffering PTSD along with Ethan, and maybe even some form of postpartum depression. We don’t know anything about Ethan’s work, so there’s no point in speculating about how much he ‘needs’ to take that call. Mia’s no clear villain here – quite the opposite.

Personally, I tend towards taking this scene as evidence that Mia has tried to talk to Ethan about what really happened to him, but hasn’t managed to get him to face the truth. For all that Ethan supposedly wants to talk about the past, it’s a defining plot point that he’s badly in denial himself.

Or they could both be at some fault here: Ethan unwilling to face the truth, while Mia is reluctant to force him to face something she knows will hurt him and bring him distress. Even when Mia says outright that she ‘tried to keep this a secret, but…’ to Chris at the end of the game, the implication is as much that she’s tried to keep it a secret from people like Chris, who might decide Ethan is dangerous. She’s lied to protect him before, and if she’s still lying to him about her past with the Connections, then the fact that knowing the truth will hurt Ethan is obviously among her reasons. Protecting Ethan has always been among Mia’s top priorities ‒ even at her own expense.

The only other real hints we get about Mia’s inner life come from the glimpses of her we get in Donna’s domain. But I’m hesitant to read too much into these, given how unclear it is how much is just a manifestation of Ethan’s own anxieties. If anything, the ‘Mia’ in these scenes almost seems to have some far worse secret than simply having not told Ethan something he really ought to have put together on his own, and I’d kind of love to see that explored too – at least as long as that goes somewhere more interesting than round umpteen of ‘and that’s why Mia sucks’.

But my point here isn’t that you have to read any of these scenes the same way I do. I do think it’s important to recognise that nothing written for a game like RE is truly character-driven; scenes exist to serve the plot far more than to reflect consistent character motivations or hold up to fridge logic (which, let’s face it, is the real reason for most of Chris’ horrific behaviour in this game, let alone anyone else’s). The result is rarely super consistent, and leaves ample space for multiple interpretations of anyone’s motivations. Regardless, the idea there’s any hard evidence that Ethan and Mia’s relationship is dysfunctional, or that whatever’s wrong is Mia’s fault alone, is going to be incredibly hard to justify.

Any assertion that Ethan and Mia are somehow on the verge of divorce also needs to be weighed against the masses of evidence of how much they love each other – the number of times Mia has said she loves Ethan, up to and including (yes, I’m bringing this up again) how ready she is to die for him in RE7. Her speech to Chris at the end of RE8 states explicitly that being together with Ethan and Rose is the only thing that matters to her. “Mia, I’m sorry, I love you,” are some of the last words Ethan ever speaks – and I can’t help but read into how the moment he finally pushes Rose into Chris’ arms so they can get away with him weighing them down is right after he learns that Mia is alive, and thus implicitly that Rose won’t be alone if Ethan doesn’t make it. And good god does that scene break my heart every time.

It’s worth recognising that the fact Ethan and Mia love each other doesn’t inherently mean their relationship is healthy, or that you have to love them together as much as I do. Like I said up top, you don’t have to like Mia, and you don’t have to justify not liking her if you don’t. I would genuinely like to see fics where Mia and Ethan’s supposedly-necessary break up feels in character. Where Ethan loves her but just can’t deal with the resentment and the fallout over all the lies she told him, where he's been clinging to his 'happy ending' with Mia after surviving the Bakers so hard he can't face the fact things just aren't working, or where he’s having to face that their relationship only ever really worked because she was away so much. It will break my heart, but fiction is allowed to do that.

But god, it would be nice if people could just take the bashing below an eleven around this place. The number of times I’ve had to sigh and back-button out of reading something, because yet another author has decided to project their own hatred for Mia onto the husband who’s still reeling from watching her being violently murdered in front of him… it gets fucking old, y’know?

I would really like to think that in the year of our lord 2024, fandom would be a bit past this thing where they bash the canonical female love interest in the name of shipping the hero with another dude. People will bend over backwards to try and cast Heisenberg and Chris as guys who really care about consent and worry about Ethan getting hurt, because heaven forbid anyone be caught shipping something slightly problematic. And yet misogyny still somehow gets a pass.

You do not have to love Mia. You don’t even have to like her. But ye gods, the hate she gets is baseless and absurd.

Hasn't this poor woman suffered enough?

(And on that note, I promise I am finally done soapboxing in defence of Mia Winters, thank you for bearing with me for this long.)

[kaciidubs]

hi hi hi!!! today i offer to you: inexperienced!puppy!chan who's so so so eager to learn everthing you teach him. like imagine teaching him how to fuck you properly and he excels at it but in true chan fashion he has NO idea how crazy he's driving you. like imagine him burying his fingers deep into you, finding your sweet spot without even trying and moving his fingers in such a way that has your toes curling and back arching. and then he asks in the most sweet and innocent voice, "is this how i should do it? am i doing it right?" also puppy!chan (or any kind of chan for that matter) THRIVES on your praise so call him your good boy once and he's doinh everything you tell him to. like just imagine training puppy!chan how to pleasure you and he takes in that information in SO quickly and applies it so quickly too. i'm just–yeah🥴

Hi hi, my darling! Puppy! Chan gets my gears going, but inexperienced puppy! Chan?? Yeah, this is a need. ❣ Word Count: 1.8k ❣ Warnings: Puppy Switch! Chris, Switch! Reader, fluff, smut, Dom/Sub dynamics, guided sex, praise, open ended ❣ Additional Tags: Chan is referred to as Chris, Channie, Baby, Puppy, Reader is referred to as Baby, Love

Chris was a pleaser in every sense of the word, and you were no exception - if he could do something to make you happy, he'd do it in the blink of an eye.

So, when it came to the concept of being intimate with you, he was more than willing to start from ground zero; learning what touches made you shiver, where you liked being kissed, and how he could get you to melt into him without even getting your shirt off.

Through this experience you happened to learn that he was very eager to be bossed around - brown eyes watching you intensely as he listened to every syllable that left your lips, directing his body to do as you said like the good boy he was.

Of course, he had needs of his own - ways he wanted to see you fall apart that haunted his waking thoughts like a beautiful nightmare.

"I... I'd really like to finger you, love."

You had to stop yourself from lovingly laughing at his timidness, clocking the blush on the tips of his ears from a mile away - ever the earnest lover.

"Okay, baby - want me to show you how?"

With his eager nod more than sufficient for confirmation, you tossed your phone to the side and began setting the stage - your bed - for his personal lesson.

"I'm sure you don't need a formal introduction to my pussy, do you?" You giggled as you laid on the bed, a pillow propped under your head for support as you watched him wiggle his way between your spread legs.

If there was a way to describe his face during moments like this, it would have to be awe inducing - no matter how many times he'd seen you naked, intimately or in passing, he looked as if his world had stopped and you were the only person that mattered.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head as slightly faded orange curls brushed his forehead, "No, I don't." Parting your folds with his index and middle, a shiver ran down his spine at the faint shine of your arousal, "Hi, beautiful."

Within your time together, he was considerably acquainted with your cunt - keeping his head between your legs for so long you could still feel the phantom touch of his tongue days later - but he was insistent on taking things slow so he could treat you the way you deserved when he had the proper chance to, and you weren't complaining at all.

Where he wanted to learn how to pleasure you in ways that didn't directly involve his dick, you wanted to see just how well he would put his lessons to use down the - unknowingly short - line.

It didn't take long for the slow, languid curls of his tongue, and the subtle pressure of the tip of his nose bumping against your clit, to have you melting like an ice cream cone on a hot summer day.

"Y-You can start using your fingers if you want, baby," You breathed, threading your fingers through his hair, your nails lightly grazing his scalp earning you a low groan in return.

Chris pulled away a second later, looking up at you with lust blown eyes, "Are you sure?"

"If you don't use yours, I'm gonna use mine, Christopher."

Taking your threat to heart - and pocketing it for a future session - he dragged his index finger through your spit-slicked folds before gently prodding at your slit.

"Tell me-"

"-if it hurts, I know - it's just the first finger, it'll be fine."

And you were right, his finger parting your walls with ease due to how wet you were already - the both of you letting out matching sighs of relief and awe.

"You're so warm." He seemed to talk more to himself than to you as he slowly pumped his finger in and out, eyes trained on the way his skin shined with your arousal.

If this were the past you would've been embarrassed from the intense stare and almost curious prodding, but with Chris things were different - you welcomed the curiosity sprinkled into his tone, and the awe that sparkled underneath the warm adoration he exuded.

"You know," you hummed, easily catching his attention, "instead of using your index finger, you can use your middle and ring fingers, puppy - it's more comfortable that way."

Nodding dutifully, his finger left you slowly, only to be brought up to his mouth and slip past his plush lips.

Sure, you've seen him lick your arousal from his lips plenty of times before, but watching the pure euphoric flutter of his eyes as he sucked his finger clean had you clenching around air - he was going to be the death of you, and you could only imagine how it would be when you two finally took it to the next level.

He released his finger with a satisfied moan, "Have I ever told you how fucking delicious you taste?"

A teasing smile curled your lips, "Hm, once or twice."

"Well let's make it three times," bringing his hand back to your pussy, he traced his fingers around your entrance once more, "you taste delicious, baby - I don't think I can survive without it at this point."

You wished you could attribute the roll of your eyes to his dramatics, but as his thick, knobby fingers stretched your walls, your head fell back against the pillow as a moan floated past your lips.

Even with just two fingers he was able to reach spots you could just barely get to on your own, and this fact alone had you twitching in anticipation.

"Should I..." Chris licked his lips, mesmerized by the snug fit on his fingers within you, "Can I keep going?"

"Yeah, yeah- god, it feels amazing already."

Soon his fingers were gliding in and out of you at a decent speed as he got used to the motion, going faster as your breathing picked up before slowing down just as your moans became frequent - continuing this dance of push and pull that kept you in a delicious limbo.

A particular curve of his fingers on an outward drag had your hips jolting, a shocked gasp breaking through a breathless moan.

"Oh- Fuck!"

"Are you okay?"

Your eyes snapped open, looking down to shoot him a confused look until you were met with innocent worry - he hadn't done it on purpose.

"I'm- I'm okay, you just- Ah!"

Despite his apparent worry, the movement of his hand didn't stop, and you were yet again subjected to the graze of his fingers against your g-spot.

"I found it, hm?"

You could only reply with frantic nods, melting against the sheets as he kept his pace steady with the occasional curl of his fingers to keep you on your curled toes.

"B-Baby, faster."

"Faster?"

Feeling the bed shift slightly, his lips left a fleeting kiss on the inside of your thigh before you felt his body partially hover over yours; lips now seeking home on the crook of your neck.

This reprieve was short lived as his rhythm sped up without warning, your back arching as moans vibrated your vocal chords. Your hands scrambled for purchase on the t-shirt he shockingly kept on, gripping the cotton in your fists.

"O-Oh my god, Chris!"

His panted breaths rolled along your neck while muted grunts caught against your skin; the sounds of your breathless moans and slick squelches of your arousal filling his ears.

"You can- Fuck- U-Use your thumb to rub my clit, puppy."

"Yeah? But I won't be able to go as hard..."

"It's okay - please, I just need more, baby."

Pulling his head from your neck, he took in your fucked out expression as he stilled his hand to press his thumb against the small bundle of nerves, rotating in small circles just like he usually did with his tongue.

When you flinched he pulled away, the beginnings of an apology forming on his lips until you stopped him in his tracks.

"No, no - you're doing great, Channie, just - not too hard, and move your thumb a little to the left."

He nodded, adjusting his thumb with a tilt of his head, "Right here?"

A small giggle escaped you, "My left, puppy."

Noting the blush darkening his ears, he made the change yet again and the result was more than he could've ever expected; your pussy clenching around his fingers as your eyelids fluttered, a familiar haze fogging your eyes.

"Like this?" He mused, curling his fingers in a 'come hither' motion for additional stimulation, "Am I doing it right?"

You keened, tears of pleasure stinging your eyes as you nodded, "M-Mhm, you're doing s-such a good job, puppy- Oh, fuck- you're amazing, baby."

His heart swelled at the praise - much like his dick currently confined underneath his boxer briefs - and he focused his efforts on adding minute thrusts of his hand while keeping up the flicks of his thumb.

Unfinished sentences fell from your lips like breaths of air, a jumble of praises and half-baked thoughts breaking up whimpers and moans that you had no intentions of holding back.

"You're so pretty like this," he breathed softly, drinking in the furrow of your brow, the faint glisten of drool at the corner of your lips, "fucking beautiful, baby. You're squeezing my fingers so tight - you're close, yeah? Gonna come for me?"

You made a noise, something you hoped was a sound of agreement underneath the endless whimpers of his name.

Chris leaned down to brush his lips against yours, a soft, tender motion that had your heart soaring and your orgasm rocketing you into outer space without so much as a warning.

Your back arched as you pulled at his shirt - at this point, you'd be surprised if it hadn't torn from the force - as your cum soaked his fingers and the curve of your ass.

His hips bucked against your thigh, moaning against your mouth as he fingered you through your high with gentle strokes.

It didn't take long for you to come back to your senses, a breathless laugh shaking your shoulders while you released your death grip on his poor wrinkled shirt.

"You... You are way too good at that," blinking up at him, you narrowed your eyes playfully, "are you sure you haven't fingered anyone before?"

That wonderfully high pitched, squeaky laugh escaped him, "I swear I haven't!" Slowly pulling his fingers from your fluttering walls, he made a show of licking the pads, "I guess I'm just a fast learner, you know?"

Grabbing his wrist, you slipped those same fingers into your mouth, moaning at your taste around his digits and licking them clean before releasing them with a soft pop.

"In that case..." You lifted your leg slightly, brushing your thigh against his hard on with a sly grin, "Can you teach me how to use my hands?"

[unedited]

[try-set-me-on-fire]

Got tagged for several sentence Sunday by @bigfootsmom @eowon @rewritetheending @eddiebabygirldiaz @devirnis @thewolvesof1998 @lover-of-mine and @daffi-990, as well as a lot of people for a lot of tag games all week. I was out of town and didn’t get the chance to respond, but I did scribble out this little fic in hotel rooms across the state. Tagging @shitouttabuck @malewifediaz @homerforsure @jeeyuns @rogerzsteven @wildlife4life if you have seven, or several, or, uh, however many sentences this is you’d like to share!

This isn’t the first and only time Eddie has found himself watching Buck’s hands. It's the variety, maybe, in how many ways he’s good with them that’s so captivating. Work, obviously, was the first time he’d noticed. Buck — and Eddie smiles whenever he thinks about it, now — had made himself so loud and blustery when they’d met. Eddie hadn’t doubted Bobby’s assessment that the man was a good firefighter, but he figured he was a heavy rescue kind of a guy, here for his brawn, someone to point at danger to terminator his way through it. Then, he’d held a box out for a bomb so steadily it saved all their lives; then, his grip was strong and sure in a collapsing hotel; then, on every call, no matter what, he moved with absolute confidence whether he was tying a perfect hitch knot or offering a hand to help a frightened vic to their feet. He’s good, he’s good at his job, he’s good with his hands, and still even years later Eddie has to remind himself to pay attention to his own task when Buck is at his side with a kind smile and reassuring chatter as his hands work carefully away.

The second place he’d noticed was with Chris. Buck understands lego diagrams that look like rocket science to Eddie, Buck wasn’t overseas or parenting a young child and so has played video games newer than Grand Theft Auto on a hand me down 360 sometime before 2010. He’s right there with the kid, always ready to advise on a tricky part of the diagram or give pointers for a difficult level, always ready to catch and support and comfort and protect, but the thing Eddie realized pretty quickly is how often he doesn’t do these things. Buck, from the beginning, had complete confidence in Christopher being able to figure out anything he puts his mind to. He doesn’t coddle, he never gets impatient and does something for him to get it done quicker. He’s just there to hand him the next requested lego piece with the same sort of awed smile Eddie knows is reflected on his own face when he watches his son.

Then, probably the kitchen. Eddie’s a better cook than he used to be, but he’d still rather watch Buck prepare food, diligently studying his hand on a knife or how he flips a pancake. When Eddie was a child and his abuela still lived in Texas he would watch her cook, how she would pour all her love and care for all of them into the meal, and Buck is just the same. Seeing him try the same dish over and over to get it just right makes Eddie wonder how anyone could ever think of this man as reckless, thoughtless. Being handed a plate by Buck is to be cherished in a way Eddie thinks not many people get to know.

Eddie has watched Buck’s hand on the small of Ali’s back, Taylor’s, Natalia’s. He’s watched them hold their hands, lead them in dances, seen how big his palm looked where it gently rested against their faces, wondered very quietly in some deep and hidden corner of himself what that kind of touch from that specific hand might feel like. He’s good with his hands and he’s got good hands, long fingers, little scars and freckles all over, a little bigger than Eddie’s own. He’d wondered — how could he not — quietly, and then louder and louder, and then-

And then Buck’s touches started to last longer, started happening with more frequency. A hand on his back as he passes him in Eddie’s kitchen, a room so familiar to them that the gesture is entirely unnecessary. A hand on his knee in the engine as Buck laughs at his jokes, Buck’s fingers curled gracefully around his elbow as they talk in a quiet corner of the station, gentle probing touches on every tiny scrape and bump Eddie accumulates on the job. Lingering, is the word for it, Buck’s fingers more and more reluctant to pull away, Eddie always leaning into the touch.

And now - a holiday party, full of folks from dispatch, the entire 118, Eddie’s pretty sure he even saw Ransone around the dessert table earlier. Buck’s got himself trapped behind the bar after he mixed a cosmopolitan for Karen and her delighted sound upon tasting it drew a crowd and endless requests started pouring in. So here Eddie is, too, the pair of them never far apart. He’s been perched on a stool for the last hour at least, watching Buck’s deft hands pour and mix and even do some fancy tricks with the bottles, tossing them in the air or behind his back. It makes Eddie laugh every time, and Buck’s responding grin makes him feel warmer than the alcohol could.

“You’re good at this,” Eddie says, which feels too obvious, or at the very least a vast understatement, and definitely something someone with a terrible crush would say, but something about the party and the way Buck keeps leaning towards him and, probably, the very good blackberry brambles that appear in front of him at regular intervals are all making him over inclined to share.

Buck’s grin is a little crooked, like his tongue is pressed against his teeth, and he winks, the bastard. Eddie’s probably turned a dozen shades of pink. “Bars I worked in had shit wages. Had to rake in the tips.” He nods towards Eddie’s glass, even this movement seeming extraordinarily smooth. “How’s the drink?”

Eddie snorts and takes a sip, like he needs to think about it. “You know it’s good. How come we just drink beers all the time when you can make shit like this?”

Buck laughs, head tilted back as he shakes a mixer full of Chimney’s piña colada. “Seems kinda overkill for a Tuesday night.”

Eddie grins into his drink, because Buck is at his house on Tuesday nights, and Wednesdays, and most of the rest of the week too if they can swing it. “Oh, I’m not a special enough occasion?”

“You’re plenty special, Eds.” Buck’s response is immediate, and his eyes have got all terribly soft and hard to look directly at, but the party and the leaning and the drinking have made Eddie brave, so he doesn’t duck his head. “I’ll make you a nice drink anytime.”

“Or you could-“ Eddie’s words catch, he coughs, he takes another sip of the bramble. Chimney leans against his side for a moment to grab the glass Buck’s poured his drink into, and Eddie remembers they’re not alone, they’re in a crowded room full of people who know them, he should probably go find water or breathe some fresh air, but then Chimney flits away again and Buck is looking at him expectantly.

“I could?” He prompts, with a smile that Eddie wants to fall asleep and wake up to, wants to taste.

Brave. He can be brave. Eddie rests two fingers on the back of Buck’s hand where he’s set it on the counter, looks up at him like his sister’s cosmopolitan magazines said to do. “You could show me what else you can do with your hands.”

Buck searches his face, taking big marathon runner breaths. “Eddie-” whatever he’s looking for he seems to find, because he nods, glances at Eddie’s drink, downs whatever’s left of it, and tilts his head towards the back door. It’s California, it’s not cold, but it’s winter and uncomfortable enough the backyard will be empty of party guests. Neither of them should get in a car yet, but this- this’ll work. This’ll do, in a pinch. Buck turns his hand palm up. “You wanna get out of here?”

Eddie takes Buck’s hand in his own, and they fit together just as perfectly as he hoped they might. “Yeah,” he grins, wide and goofy, unable to try and look cool about this at all. “Yes, please.” Buck is grinning just as wide, so there. “Your patrons might be upset though. Pretty early for a bar to close.”

“Fuck ‘em,” Buck says, tugging Eddie’s hand to start moving across the room. “You gave me the best tip of the night. I-“ he trips a little over somebody's toe, apologizes while Eddie giggles into his shoulder blades. “I’m retiring. They can make their own drinks.”

“Retiring?” Eddie’s impressed Buck gets the door open on only the second try. “What are you thinking of doing next?”

Buck turns around, bright against the dark backdrop of the empty yard and cloudy night sky, big dumb smile on his face. “I thought I’d become a firefighter.”

Eddie cackles, and chases Buck through the door. He stumbles a little but Buck’s hands come up to rest steady on his waist, catching him, easy.

[red-might-be-dead]

hello hi here to force strange thoughts into your brain once again, this time about jrwi (wow who could’ve guessed)

been thinking about this for a little but it’s basically what i think some campaigns would be if not podcasts, i haven’t listened to some of the older ones so i’m sorry they’re not on here :(( if you have any ideas feel free to add them btw :DD

RIPTIDE!!!!! - really long animated series

not an anime though, no matter how much grizzly wants it, it would be an animation style where the characters could have very clearly different nose, face and body shapes, really pushing my riptide nose agenda here sorry, each episode would be like 20-40 minutes long and instead of coming out in seasons there would be massive gaps in between episodes, from 2-6 months long, to leave time for writers and animators to get stuff done (massive team of animators btw, i feel like it would be pretty successful)

PRIME DEFENDERS!! - comics

literally nothing else they could be, just really well made, well performing comics (i’ve already talked about this before you can stalk my talk tag if you really want to find it lmao), the comic company making them would be keeping well away from movies n shit btw

APOTHEOSIS!!! - i wasn’t really sure about this one to be honest

i had to ask my friend and she said anime which i don’t agree with but i can see it, i think maybe a short book series where each book is 150 - 300 pages and is about a different god they have to kill/a different episode, i think that works but if anyone has any better ideas please tell me :D!!

BLOOD IN THE BAYOU!!! - i hate to say it, i really do…

bitb would be a really long really good 80s horror book with strong homoerotic undertones, a satisfied fanbase and lots of active members in the community making fan comics, films, writing, theories and art ect… until well after the book came out……….. and then it would be made into the most egregious and awful live action movie you have ever seen, the most awful casting (like chris pratt as officer dudes….. throws up) and even worse sfx, oh yeah and the characters would be ruined and the story would become so butchered it wouldn’t make sense, they would do some shit like cut out becky so kian just kisses some random lady (removing both a really good and well written character and a layer of kian’s character that i think is super important) and make rolan really be an evil bug spy the whole time so rand has to kill him to save the town also add in a whole new sub plot that never existed like the rand family is secretly a long line of bug alien hunters or something fucking stupid like that and the entire fanbase would murder whoever thought re-writing the story was a good idea (ahaha can you tell ive been through something like this before ahahaha, character morals and motives being removed and whatnot ahahahhahahaha.)

anyways………

THE SUCKENING!!! - live action series

it would be well made though, unlike the bitb movie it would be its own original thing, have great makeup and effects also be well casted and well shot, well written, ect ect, it would bloody and gory and not suitable for people who can’t handle showing bones and organs all over everywhere, lots of shitty rip off merch would be made though and the fandom would be 99% gay little freaks (normal suckening enjoyers) and 1% homophobic straight white men who get mad whenever they see soda and emizel having gay sex on screen or whatever fag shit that biting thing was

again feel free to add your thoughts and ideas and shit in the reblogs it would be nice to read them :DD!!

[elvensorceress]

wip wednesday

tagged by @hoodie-buck @exhuastedpigeon @eddiebabygirldiaz @wikiangela @disasterbuckdiaz @diazsdimples @tizniz @heartshapedvows @theotherbuckley be sure to read their lovely snippets! 💕 tagging @spotsandsocks @shortsighted-owl @hippolotamus @messyhairdiaz @rogerzsteven @monsterrae1 @loveyouanyway @bekkachaos @daffi-990 @wh0re-behavi0r @eddiediazisascorpio @evanbegins @confetti-cupcake if you want to share anything 💕 More Unless because I WILL finish this monster. I WILL.

Eddie leans down, but only a little because his son is already ridiculously tall, and kisses Chris’ forehead. “You know you’re my favorite, right?” 

Chris rolls his eyes but grins. “Buck can be your favorite, too. I know he is.”

“It’s different. You both are. But you are always first. He thinks so, too. You’re our son. We love you more than anything.”

The smile fades a little and then disappears as quickly as it appeared. “He’s going to stay with us, right? He’s not going to leave?” 

Why is it always Chris who can so effectively drive a knife through Eddie’s chest with the way he’s suffered and lost and been in pain? Chris never should have had to experience so much pain. “Yes, Chris. He’s going to stay with us.” 

Chris gives him that pointed, very Shannon look that twists the knife so well. He sounds fragile and so much closer to being the heartbroken six year old who missed his mom than he is to being the teenage survivor that he is. “Promise?” 

He can’t promise that. Eddie can’t even say he believes it himself all the way. Why wouldn’t he fuck up and lose the best thing that’s ever happened to them? Why wouldn’t Buck get tired or fed up and leave Eddie? 

Eddie’s not enough for him. 

“I promise Buck is never going to leave you, okay?” Eddie tells him and it has to be enough. “You’ll always have him. He’s not going to stop being your dad for any reason.” 

Chris just looks at him with unending sorrow and eyes full of tears. “What about you? You need Buck, too. I know you do. He’s also your favorite and your ‘more than anything’ and he’s both of ours and I don’t want him to leave you either. I know how sad you were, Dad. I know you were. You’re not the same without him. You need him. We both need him. I don’t want you to be sad like that ever. I don’t want to— I don’t want to lose Buck like we lost Mom. He’s my dad and you love him and I don’t want to do that again. We can’t do that again.”

Jesus Christ. Can he have a chance to not be stabbed through the heart, thanks? 

“Chris—” What the fuck does Eddie even say? “Buck will always be my friend. Even if we don’t— even if—” 

He can’t breathe. He can’t. There’s no air. 

He has to swallow and get it together. It’s fine. He’s fine. The mere thought of having to break up is not going to make him panic. The thought of Chris losing another parent cannot make him panic either. 

It’s just— it’s not great. The whole idea of losing Buck is awful and he hates it and doesn’t want to even think such a thing let alone talk about it. 

But he has to say something. He has to reassure Chris. He blinks back his own tears and he can do this. They’ll figure it out. It’ll be okay. It has to. “If dating him doesn’t work out, Buck and I will still be friends.” 

They will be. Their relationship is so much more than dating and kissing and being in love. It’s strong enough to survive anything. It would be awful and Eddie honestly doesn’t know if he’d ever stop being in love with him even if they had to face the horrible reality of a divorce. How could his heart ever stop wanting Buck? But they would find a way to be friends. 

They might not be able to have a marriage, but they have to be in each other’s lives. That is nonnegotiable. They’d figure it out. 

“And he’d still be your dad,” Eddie adds. “None of that would change.”

Chris sniffs and still frowns. But he tries to at least look like he buys it. “He wouldn’t live here with us though.”

“No, probably not. But in a few years, you won’t want to live here either. You’ll want to go to college or get some fancy job or maybe you’ll travel, but you’ll have your own life to live wherever you want and do whatever you want. You won’t be here either.” 

It was supposed to be comforting, but it only makes Chris’ tears overflow. He goes back to hugging Eddie as tightly as possible and trying to stifle the way he cries.

Eddie simply hugs him in return and wishes he could banish away all his pain and anguish. But he doesn’t know how they would make it through losing Buck either. They would. They would have to. They have each other. 

But Buck is missing pieces and filled in needs and worlds of love and support for both of them. Eddie doesn’t know how they’d keep going if all of that is ripped away. They would, but. How? 

One step forward, one more breath. That’s all you can ever do. That’s what Bobby and Athena told him before. That’s all anyone can do. 

Eddie closes his eyes tightly and has to shut it off and he just needs to comfort his son. He can do that. He just needs to protect and love his son. 

After a tiny second of quiet, there’s movement at the doorway to the kitchen. And then Buck is wrapping around them both. Until they’re holding Chris between them while also gripping each other. 

They’ve all been through so much loss, so much trauma, why wouldn’t the scariest, most horrible nightmare imaginable be the thought of losing each other and their little family? 

Buck kisses them both, Chris on the side of his head and Eddie on his cheek, and he whispers promises of infallible, irrevocable love. Because he’s nothing if not his unfailing heart. 

[mellaithwen]

All these memories run my mind in slow motion buddie coda to 6x18 “Pay It Forward” inspired by @rosietherivendell 's agonising but amazing post :') After the bridge collapse, Eddie's reminded of the moments right after the shooting... [also on ao3]

tagged in seven sentence sunday by my darlings @homerforsure @littlespoonevan @fcntasmas @nymika-arts @rewritetheending @capseycartwright and @indigo2831 and I'll tag @princessfbi @buckactuallys @renecdote @hopeintheashes @thekristen999 @henswilsons @like-the-rest-of-la @lovebuck @ghosthunterbuck @shortsighted-owl @tripleaxeldiaz and @buttercupbuck <33

Buck says, I’ve got you, when he pulls him out from the camper van, and Eddie can’t shake the sense of déjà vu that haunts him alongside the burning ache of his broken ribs.

At the hospital, in the waiting room, and later still once they’ve all been kicked out and sent home by Athena, Eddie can’t stop thinking about it. Can’t ignore the feeling that he’s missing something; that he’s forgotten something.

Now that they’re home, Buck’s pottering away in the kitchen, and Eddie’s been ordered to stay on the couch for the foreseeable.

“Take it easy, I got this,” Buck had insisted when Eddie had made a noise of complaint at being coddled.

I’ve got you.

Christopher’s video game is set to a lower volume than usual, and ever since they’d picked him up from school, he’s been careful to sit with space between them to limit the chances of accidentally elbowing his father in pursuit of a high-score. 

The cold pack Eddie’s holding against his abdomen is getting warm, and he can hear the tell-tale beeps of the timer being set on the oven. A pasta bake, if Eddie remembers correctly. Or. Was it something with broccoli?

Maybe both? 

He yawns. The day’s harrowing events bear down on him, and showering away the dust and grime off of his body had taken more effort than he’d expected. He shifts, and a wave of exhaustion has him blinking slowly in its wake. He wonders what time it is, but his eyes remain closed.

“Food won’t be long,” Buck’s voice drifts from above—closer now, and Christopher responds with a hangry remark. One that, judging by the ensuing complaint of “Buuuck!” resulted in having his hair tousled for the cheek. 

“Just for that you can come help me with the salad,” Buck tells Chris, and Eddie feels his son shift to his feet beside him. 

“Dad’s sleeping,” he says in an exaggerated whisper but Eddie doesn’t catch a response if there is one.  He feels the touch of careful fingers brushing against his own as the not-so-cold pack is gently pried from Eddie’s grasp, and without it to hold on to, the dream comes quick.

He’s on the ground—pinned by the detritus of the camper van—pinned by the threat of a sniper—pinned by the determined look of his best friend crawling across the asphalt to get to him. “Hang on, just hang on!”

Buck grabs a hold of his right arm—in one instance he apologizes in advance, in another, he screams from beneath the fire-truck as he scrambles forward, and in both Eddie yells at the pain as he’s dragged to safety. Pulled to his feet, and held by a steady grasp. Cradled and carried and lifted to safety. I’ve got you, I’ve got you, I’ve—I’ve—I’ve—

The images overlap, memories intertwined, and Eddie struggles to make sense of any of it until he sees the dried blood across the side of Buck’s face. Streaming from his nose, with small grazes by his eye. Red smears on the side of his neck, more still on his white shirt—no, his black turnout—Eddie’s mind switching between the two like some garish flip-book. Night and day, but one constant remains.

Buck.

The last thing Eddie sees clearly in the dream is the image of Buck’s face hovering above him—fear and desperation painfully visible through the violent red splatter on his cheeks. Like an awful piece of performance art, Eddie’s existence has been boiled down to an imitation of a Jackson Pollock painting on his best friend’s shirt.

Is that mine? He wonders with a new kind of horror as his eyes flutter open.

“Are you hurt?” He whispers, still caught in the dream as he slowly wakes to find Buck staring down at him, in the same way he had in the dream. Eddie reaches up to gently touch the small scratches and cuts dotted across Buck’s frowning face, only to elicit a small wince from the other man. 

“You were dreaming,” Buck whispers, but he doesn’t pull away—if anything he leans into the touch, sighs at the feeling. “Dinner’s ready,” he adds softly, making no move to stand from where he’s crouched in front of the sofa. In front of Eddie. 

Eddie doesn’t know how to tell him that the dreams were really memories—nightmarish ones, hidden, buried deep, and knocked loose by the image of Buck’s face—bloodied and shouting—as he pulled Eddie to safety again and again. He doesn’t know how to respond at all, so he lets his thumb drift across the beginnings of a bruise running into Buck’s hairline instead. Close, and intimate; quiet and soft. 

“Were you dreaming about today?” Buck asks gently, his words laced with a painful kind of understanding. Eddie’s voice catches in his throat. Yes, and no, he thinks to say. Why didn’t you tell me? He wonders too.

Before he can say either, Christopher calls out to them from the dining table, washed up and ready to eat, and the moment has passed.

Eddie gives Buck a small smile instead, slipping into the familial domestic routine of dinner with his son and his best friend—his family. 

“Help me up?” He asks with a slight groan as his ribs remind him of the endless ache that stretches closer to Eddie’s heart that he’d ever care to admit. 

“Sure,” Buck says, standing tall, and reaching down, his hand outstretched to Eddie; a steady anchor, a port in the storm. Always.

“I’ve got you.”

[ also on ao3 ]

[silvercap]

'sup

Summary:

Leon gets sick. -~- He wakes to the sensation of a hand on his forehead, a groan escaping him when he realizes how awful and achy he feels. He’s shaking all over, a phlegmy cough wracking his chest when he tries to sit upright. “Shh,” Chris’s voice soothes, “just rest, for now. You’re running a temperature, babe.”

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Fever, Exhaustion, temperature checking my beloved, Fluff and Angst, sorta

CHREONNN

Words: 2012 damn

[littlespoonevan]

Seven Sentence Sunday

thank you @homerforsure for the tag!!! 🥰 here is some more of buck being hopeless lmao 💞

Of course, when Eddie gets home he takes one look at the living room and turns to Buck and says, “You cleaned,” with an awed smile that has Buck promptly forgetting what he’d planned to say. “You had enough to do today without vacuuming too,” Buck says by way of an explanation, shrugging his shoulders self-consciously. “Thanks, Buck,” Eddie replies, still awed but somehow even softer than before. He starts making his way to the kitchen then and Buck almost trips over his own feet in his haste to follow him, grabbing the notebook off the coffee table at the last minute. “Was Chris okay?” Eddie asks when Buck makes it through the door. He’s turned away, filling a glass of water at the sink. “Of course he was,” Buck says automatically, coming to a stop by the kitchen table and squeezing the notebook between his hands. “Um, Eddie, when I was cleaning I found...” Eddie turns around when he doesn’t finish his sentence, pausing mid-sip when he realises what’s in Buck’s hands. “Oh. I had no idea where I put that.”

tagging @mellaithwen @sibylsleaves @doeeyeseddie @capseycartwright @hattalove 🌻🌻

[whosluce]

ᰔ G⃨e⃨o⃨r⃨g⃨e⃨ c⃨l⃨a⃨r⃨k⃨e⃨y⃨ h⃨e⃨a⃨d⃨c⃨a⃨n⃨n⃨o⃨n⃨s⃨ ᰔ

ᰔ D⃨a⃨t⃨i⃨n⃨g⃨ ᰔ

Him always repeat what you say in videos in accents but will apologise straight after but you will do the same thing back and all he’s friends laugh but George just stares at you in awe.

Inviting you to the useless hotline pod cast, think you and him would talk but max and you tell funny stories about George the whole time.

You stealing his jokes in videos leaving him flabbergasted after everyone said your way of saying it is funnier.

Calling you babe because every other name to him is cringe

“Babe can you open my TikToks please”

Him tagging you in every tiktok on his for you page just for giggles

George and Arthur hill will make you do platform roulette, and Arthurtv will take Funny photos of you two drunk

You always giving each other side eye in awkward situations

Once you finally have the courage to start your own YouTube channel you get a lot of your fame from George who shoutouts you in every video of his.

“Um guys you should go subscribe to my girlfriend y/n YouTube channel she’s pretty cool, annoying but cool”

Alex invites you to be in his videos and when on call you and George giggle and bully each other the entire time.

After a night out he will come home VERY drunk but VERY touchy

You and both the Arthur’s bullying George in any video you are in together like platform roulette.

For his birthday you buy him a full cart of peroni’s because of how much he drinks them in every video.

Plus these things

And him for your birthday getting you a Paul breach pillow and he posted a TikTok of you opening it and it got 1.5 million likes because of your reaction.

When George is invited to a Chrismd video, he always ask if you can come and Chris always says yes because the two of you together creates amazing content.

Every time George bullies one of his friends you tell them something funny about him and he just sits there one call while the boys laugh at him.

“Y/N THATS SUPPOSED TO BE A SECRET”

For your 1 year anniversary, you guys decided to do a challenge which you each get 500 pounds to spend on each other.

He got you a CAT even though he doesn’t like most animals but the look on your face was priceless.

You got him a trip around Europe for 3 weeks with all his friends plus you

(Arthur 1,Arthur 2, Max, Chip, Danny,Chris)

At the end of every video, he calls you just to check in and during the video talks about you ALL THE TIME.

[fandomfluffandfuck]

Have you seen the movie gifted? It never fails to make me cry, Chris does so well in it and so does Makena god that girl knows how to act.

Honestly one of my favourite movies to date, father daughter duos are my fave. Chris acting as a parental figure is so sweet!! And who doesn't love a rough exterior guy who's good with kids.

It always loops me around to thinking about Steve having a kid dropped on him and having to navigate being a father, maybe a one night stand turned baby mama 9 months later who wants nothing to do with a baby.

Steve would be such a good dad too, I know he'd want the best for his kid. He'd have a big freak out initially and struggle but once he gets used to it a bit more he just loves it. He loves his kid and he knew that as soon as he laid eyes on the kid but now he actually has time to sit and just FEEL it. His little baby has his eyes and it makes him want to sit and cry.

One winter soldier saga later, Bucky is back and finds out Steve has a kid, maybe 2 or 3 at this point. Bucky is nervous staying with Steve while he's healing to begin with but with a kid in the house? No way. Steve manages to wrangle him to stay and Bucky and the baby actually form a little bit of a cute connection.

When Steve and Bucky find their romantic side again and Bucky is free from the hydra shit in his head, they really form their own little family. And god the domesticity of it all makes me want to cry and sob and cry. They'd both be such good dads and sooo protective, the best protected kid around I'm sure you can imagine.

I can totally see Steve and Bucky being the type of parents to be anxious messes when their baby starts school and their kid is as confident as ever, not even looking back as they run off to find friends.

Ragggh it just makes me wanna cry.

Parent Stucky for life 💔💔‼️‼️

I haven't seen Gifted (note my tag "watch? party?" lol). But, from the clips/gifs on Tumblr, it seems really sweet and like, yeah, they both do wonderfully in it!

Even though I haven't seen it, it's still wild to me whenever I realize just how old McKenna is now, haha. Like, she's still acting, but most often, because I'm not an avid consumer of movies/TV/series, I come across her in the music scene and like... when did this little girl turn into a teenage punk rock icon? 💀💀

I love it.

"And who doesn't love a rough exterior guy who's good with kids."

I have no idea! I don't even want kids personally, or really like kids all that much (I didn't grow up around younger kids and so they're a total mystery to me, lol) and it still gets me, lmao. Especially when it's Chris and/or stucky.

Steve would be such a good dad, yeah!! He'd take after his mama and be great at it <3 Definitely an adjustment, too, but he can handle it.

"He loves his kid and he knew that as soon as he laid eyes on the kid but now he actually has time to sit and just FEEL it. His little baby has his eyes and it makes him want to sit and cry."

AW

I am so amused by the idea that Steve either continues to have accidental children with one night stands because, one, that's just funny to me, two, how carried away can you get, wouldn't you learn your lesson after one misstep, no matter how much you love your baby, wrap that super dick up, Steven, and, three, not so funny, but I can actually see that happening because if this is canon Steve, why would people stop at trying to steal his blood? They'd probably also want his super serum babies, too. Then, maybe it's not that he's forgetting to wrap it before he taps it, but those pretty gals are poking holes in his condoms, acting as more heads of HYDRA 👀

So, my addition to this is me saying more kids. Not just one. By the time Bucky shows up, I want him to have two or three, haha. Like, Bucky is so fucking confused. He's like, there is one child... okay, there are two?... wait. THREE?! STEVEN, I TOLD YOU TO NOT DO ANYTHING STUPID UNTIL I GOT BACK. WHY DO YOU HAVE THREE OFFSPRING. AND--w-without me? 👉🏻👈🏻

Oh my god, though, yeah, Bucky is reeling from that. He doesn't know what to make of it. He is very much refusing at first, but I think it would end up being really good for him.

Besides, it's cute. Steve feels very, very domestic with a kid (or two) and Bucky in his house.

Exactly! The domesticity! Just their little family. Adorable <3

Oh, for sure, they're anxiety ridden parents. They both got to therapy ('cause god they need it), and they go to therapy together, and their therapist is constantly, gently reminding them that they shouldn't be so overprotective or helicoptering their kid(s). Like, sure, it's logical for the kid(s) of Captian America and The Winter Soldier, but it's only logical to a certain extent. Their baby needs to be able to have alone time and develop their own independence, too. They're teaching their kid(s) and learning themselves, too.

If you're still in the mood for kid fics, might I suggest:

"Setting: In A Honeymoon" by me

and

"you will always be my favorite form of loving" by thiccbuckybarnes

and that's it because I don't normally read kid fics myself, haha

[thetrashbinseries]

— Fahrenheit ( bangchan x reader )

rated - mature | minors dni

parts - one, two (explicit)

warnings - idol universe, name changed idols, mature themes, drug use, alcohol use, sexual themes, mentions of mental illness, slight angst

x x x

“It’s not rocket science, Chris."

My annoyance hits the roof. What the hell is his problem? Why's he turning this into a damn soap opera?

"You're back in LA. New York—yes or no?"

Chris tiptoes the line ever since last year's scandal close shave. I get playing it safe, but I'm alone in a six-bedroom Jersey fortress. In the U.S. media game, I'm golden. No cancel threats, not yet in my rising career.

But the spotlight got hotter after the last single went viral. Chris, in the crosshairs of relentless management, dances a careful routine.

He's the big shot, leader of the world's hottest K-pop group. His company would shoot themselves in the foot by axing him. Yet, Mr. Libra doesn't dig rocking the boat.

"-I want to, babe, but it's too risky right now."

I sigh. Twisting my computer chair, neon lights bathe me in purples and reds. I'm in the studio, bullshitting on songs for the third album.

I've had it. "Catch you later, Chris." The call drops, facedown on the desk, anger swirling.

"Seriously, fuck you." I spit out, taking it personally.

Being a foreigner feels like the snag. His industry would call me a disgrace tagging along.

I don't need that energy.

Am I settling as his 'little secret'? I'm 29, he's 27 – grown folks. Pings remind me of him, but I silence the noise. Facetime interrupts, Jake, the friend with benefits. Games or busy, no time for emotional plays.

Warner signed my band, deep in commitments, mind racing. A shrink's gift? Adderall for my ADHD.

Now, even less time for the BS.

"Hey, daddy." I purr, thickening my accent.

Jake’s smile fades as he eyes me. "What?" I giggle,

"Stop playing with me like that, y/n."

"How am I playing with you?"

"You're gonna end up with your legs cocked back like last time, girl, cool it."

Laughter ensues. I glimpse his background – a parking garage stairwell. We catch up every couple of weeks via Facetime.

"Where are you at?" I squint.

"Recognize it?" Jake turns his phone, revealing the New York City skyline.

"You're out here? Aw, shit." I lean back in my chair, a half-cocked grin, tongue behind my lower lip.

"Aw, shit is right! What's up? What are you up to tonight?"

I chuckle, rolling my eyes. "Nah, uh, Jake. We gotta play nice. I got a good thing going on right now."

He sighs, exasperation audible. "You two still a thing? Thought you were photographed over there, outside the JYPE building?"

"I was."

"They ain't letting that fly, you serious, y/n?"

"I mean, they're being hard on him, but we're still trying to make it work." I express more hope than Chris does. Jake’s viewpoint is valid – he's been through the K-pop circuit, burned out, went solo, and found massive international success.

Which is why he bitches about it.

It's unfair.

"I do wanna see you, though," I admit, the need for an adventure kicking in.

"That's my girl. Hey, I'm about to hop in the car. Should be able to make it over in twenty. You at your spot in Jersey?"

"Yes, I am, Jake, but don't come in on no bullshit."

"I'm always on bullshit. See you in twenty."

Jake hangs up before I can fight back.

Why is my grin so wide? I roll my eyes at my own excitement, surprised at how genuinely thrilled I am to be around someone who wants to be with me. Scanning Chris's messages puts me in a better mood.

babydaddy: there’s no way you just hung up like that -_-

babydaddy: this is my life…my career…

babydaddy: why can't you be more patient?? this is hard for me too…

babydaddy: we need to talk tomorrow…

babydaddy: about us, and where this is going.

The last message triggers something in me. My stomach twists like it always does before bad news. It doesn't change, whether in poverty in my hometown or a small Jersey mansion. The same sunken gut reaction. We've been going back and forth, but this sounds... final. At some point, he'll grow sick of it. I know I have.

Yet, there's so much I love about Chris. Selfishly, I don't want him with anyone else. He's the man of my dreams, flawed as he is, he’s human. My human. I panic, feeling like my boat has sprung a leak, desperate to plug it somehow.

Knowing myself, I turn my phone upside down, placing it on my desk and stand up, distancing myself from the setting. Something else would trap me; all I want is not to reply to him with charged emotion. It wouldn't help anything.

Jake’s on his way over.

I take a deep breath, letting my anxiety settle. I'll talk to him; he always has good insight and wisdom beyond his years. I look at myself in the mirror. I'm in comfy mode, barefoot, walking across hardwood floors.

Entering the dimly lit kitchen, I brew hot chocolate, curling my toes against the balls of my feet, cracking knuckles as I chew my lower lip, mind drifting to Chris. Resistance is weaker now; the reasons to text back sound more convincing. I shake my head, trying to clear my mind, grab my cup, and sip as I walk past my bearded dragon's tank. It's late; he's asleep, tucked into his pink bed. I stare at each plant, trying to keep my thoughts in check.

My outdoor motion detection buzzes the smartwatch on my wrist, signaling someone's arrival. I glimpse headlights through my foyer. My grin widens; I bite my lip, urging myself to behave.

"Alexa, shuffle my evening playlist on Spotify, downstairs."

The nearest speaker obeys, filling the space with music. My dog scurries around my feet as the doorbell rings, and my bigger dog's deep barks echo throughout the house.

“Hey, cool it!" I shout at them, stepping over the little one weaving through my legs, nipping my ankles for some ungodly reason. I open the door, visibly exasperated, while my larger dog bellows from the top of the stairs.

Jake points to her behind me, furrowing his brows dramatically. "I thought we were friends!"

My dog hurls another final, loud bark before slowly making her way down the stairs. I let Jake in, lock the door, and he takes off his shoes, grabbing a disposable guest pair from the basket by the front door. I turn, starting down the hall, and Jake’s full body weight slams into me from behind, arms wrapping around my body, causing me to stumble. Seemingly unpredictably, he stops us from falling while laughing. I catch my footing, give him a firm shove, swipe stray hair behind my ear, and correct the other side, giving him a side-eye.

"Now, you know damn well I'm too clumsy for some stupid shit like that," I scoff, turning into the living room. I walk over to the glass coffee table near the sofa, grab the nearby gold electric candle lighter, tip it into the wide, three-wick candle, and light each of their blackened tips. The scents of apple-cinnamon, cedar, sandalwood, and vanilla fill the room, complemented by the warm orange glow of well-placed LED lights. I sit on the edge of the sofa, and Jake takes his favorite spot on the oversized black beanbag chair nearby. He pulls his hood off, followed by his knitted beanie, ruffling his dark brown hair.

I've got to say, Jake is a handsome guy, no doubt about it.

But I've got problems, and I've caught heavy feelings for one of my biggest headaches lately—Christopher Bang.

We're in this so deep, at least on my end.

I start to think a little harder, trying to see beyond the rose colored glasses for a moment. His text plays through my head as I scroll on my phone, my excuse being searching for another song to skip to on Spotify. But, of course, I get back to the messages Chris sent earlier.

"About us, and where this is going…"

We'd never had an official conversation about being exclusive. We met by chance, fell for each other, and started sneaking around together. I consider Chris my boyfriend, and I’m saved in his phone under ‘baby.' That's got to mean something, right?

The horror begins to set in—has this been a situationship this whole time? Is that why he never went public?

Anxiety creeps in.

"Yo," Jake snaps his fingers, waving his fingers. Damn, I must've been really distracted, crinkled brows as I stare into my phone, thumb tapping against the glass but not doing anything. I look up at him, raising my brows as if I had just briefly missed something he recently said.

"Hm?" I ask.

He's sitting up more, his left hand stroking one of my cats. "Talk to me, girl," he gestures to the marble ashtray with half of a joint, "And pass it."

I lean forward, grabbing the pink joint and placing it between my lips. I use the lighter nearby, sparking it, blowing a few times, the smoke thick and pungent, rising into the air. I tap it into the ashtray and lean over, passing it his way. Jake takes it graciously, placing it between the center of his pink lips and taking a big inhale. He holds it in, nodding, looking down at it as he blows the smoke out the side of his mouth.

"Chris and I got into it again. He told me they were coming to LA for a show over at KCON, and he was like 'maybe I can fly over to see you,' trying to fit it in, delaying his trip to Korea by like three days, which didn’t seem like a big deal. But then after everything ended, he was just hyper-aware of the attention on them and changed his mind," I begin to explain. Jake has taken a few hits during my story; he's leaning forward, passing me the joint again. I take it, hitting it.

"Did he say why?" he asks. Jake’s voice is low, even-toned. He’s invested in my story and the way I’m feeling, I can tell by the way his laser focus is on me as I speak. His eye contact is intense, fiery, the Aries in him.

"No, he didn’t, and that’s what frustrated me, so we got on a call tonight. He like—called me and was dancing around it, and I was like 'look, it’s not hard, are you coming to New York or not.' I was just... over it," I reply, pausing to take another hit before passing it to Jake once more. "He was all 'I want to, baby, but it's too risky.'” I mock his Aussie accent, and Jake can’t help the cough of smoke that comes out from trying to repress a laugh. He turns his head, full-on coughing a couple of times before he catches his breath again.

"Do you need water?" I ask, successfully holding back my own laugh. I don’t wait for his reply, instead, standing up and taking a few steps over to the mini-fridge and grabbing a bottle of spring water, handing it to him.

Plopping back down on the couch, I sigh. "So I didn’t even let him get the rest of it out. I was like 'ok, I’ll talk to you later' and like, hung up."

Jake places the burnt-out joint tip into the tray, effectively ending our puff-puff-pass session, making us both more relaxed and a little spacey. "Oof, y/n, this is... such a unique situation that very few people go through, and even fewer non-K-idols. I mean, I don’t agree with any of it, right? But it’s not me, and Chan, he’s in like–the peak of their career as a boy group, dude." Jake shakes his head, sitting back, my cat jumping from his lap, considering him having moved too much for his comfort.

"I don’t—care," I blurt.

Jake’s head drops back with a sigh before he picks it up again. "That’s probably part of the problem. Chan’s risking his career; Korea is no joke when it comes to this shit. I promise you, unless you’re physically in the industry as an idol over there, you have no idea. It’s so obsessive, and these companies, the management, they will not let you breathe, and the bigger you are—the tighter they hold onto you because there’s so much more to lose at that point."

He only leaves a half second of pause before he says, "I don’t think you’re compatible with—nor do you deserve, that kind of relationship with anyone."

Ouch.

It hurts that much more because—he’s right

"Now that doesn’t make Chan a bad person, or you a weak person. He’s got a right to this life he’s worked super hard to get to, and you’ve got a right to someone to love you the way you want to be loved, especially while you’re in the beginning stage of becoming great yourself. It’s a huge distraction—maybe not a relationship, but like, that kind of relationship."

I can do nothing but sigh, throwing my hands up and sitting back onto the couch, feeling, well, defeated. Can you blame me? It fucking sucks, the reality of it all that I was trying to avoid.

"Fuck," I finally say aloud.

Jake’s looking at me; I know he feels bad for breaking it down so plain, but he does it because he cares about me and wants the best for me, and I know that. “You still do what you want; it’s your life. Whatever you two decide is what you two decide, but that’s just—my limited experience.”

I scoff with a roll of my eyes, “Limited experience. Yeah ok.”

He laughs.

We both understand the subtext of the brief exchange.

“He says we need to talk tomorrow, about us and ‘where this is going’,” I say with air quotes.

“I mean, hey, it’s an opportunity to get your concerns out there, listen to his, and decide what’s best for you. He’ll decide what’s best for him. If that’s being together, great, if not, great. Either way, you’ll be ok. That’s how I like to see these kinds of things.” Jake says, his words profound and his perspective valuable to me. He leans forward, “We’ve known each other like what? Almost a year now?” I nod to confirm, and he continues, “In that short period of time, I can just—tell that you’re a strong person; you wouldn’t have gotten this far if you weren’t. If you ever need someone to talk to, my line is always open.”

I let another long breath go before laying across the sofa on my stomach, bringing myself closer to Jake as I lazily hug a pillow, resting my chin atop it. His advice is logged in my thoughts. I really don’t want to talk about it anymore—the way he phrased it did something to lower my anxiety so I was going to let sleeping dogs lie. “What about you, huh? What’s got you on the East Coast? You’re never over here, rarely in America anymore for real.”

“Yeah, I’ve been—busy, but it’s a blessing, you know? I’m so grateful that so many people support me, as a solo artist, doing my own thing, my way.” Jake never fails to acknowledge those around him that have supported him, and keeps himself grounded and humble somehow through being an international celebrity. “But I was at the Versace show over in Soho. I’ve got a couple of other shows to see for New York Fashion Week, but I touched down and had to come see you.”

I lift a brow. “I’m not gonna fuck you, Jake.”

Without hesitation, he fires back, “I’m not asking you to, y/n.”

It’s enough to drag a snort from me.

He laughs, “The hotels get lonely, and most places I go, I don’t know anyone. I like it here; you’ve done a lot since the last time I was here.” Jake looks around at the decor. He points to a painting of a cat skeleton on a black canvas. “That’s new, I like it.” He says.

“Yeah? I do too; it’s simple but it matches the vibe of the space, I found it by accident one day.”

When Jake says the hotels are lonely, I believe him. He often confides in me about how lonely his lifestyle can be and how it can drive him so crazy that he’ll call everyone through his phone until someone answers, and when that person hangs up, he’ll keep going. More often than not, he doesn’t have anyone to call, despite my insisting that I was an option. Some nights, when it gets really bad, he’ll have a tendency towards drinking, which is something I don’t like, and we’ve talked about ad nauseam. Of course, he’s always welcome in my safe spaces.

“So what’s new with the band? When you texted me the other day, you had like, tons of shit going on that you were freaking out about.” Jake cracks open the bottle of water, taking a gulp.

“I’m flying out to LA next week for a couple of events, but we’re like focused on album three right now; I’ve been locked in the studio just writing.”

“Ok, ok, you got anything for me to hear yet?” He seems to perk up to ask this question.

“Eh, nothing I’m ready to show or anything, just fragments of songs right now. The label is really pushing the work we did with album two to build the hype up for album three, and that’s the one they funded.” I kick my feet slowly in the air behind me as I talk.

“We should do a song together.” Jake says, quite suddenly. He can tell I’m taken aback. I mean, creatively, Jake and I get along great, but we had never discussed merging on a record before. “An official song, I think it could sound incredible.”

I immediately want to agree, of course, but I have a couple of hurdles I know I need to jump now that I’ve gotten to this point in my career. I hated that. I used to be able to agree to a collaboration immediately. But Jake had even more hoops to jump through; he couldn’t commit to something official now either.

So why was he proposing it?

“I gotta ask the label—”

“Fuck the label, dude.” Jake waves his hand, “They don’t have to know anything, not yet. We’ll just work together and see what happens. Whaddya say?”

It takes no thought for me to reply,

“Let’s do it.”

—

Jake wore me down enough to bring him down into the studio, insisting he didn't have anything important to do until tomorrow evening. I don't want to encourage his drinking, but when he spots the whiskey decanter, he gestures to it as I sit down in the main chair in front of the soundboard.

"What’s in there? Hennessy?" He answers his own question as I spin around in the chair to see what he’s talking about. He’s already over at the mini bar, opening it up and whiffing.

"Yeah, but I rarely drink it. I got it for guests." I turn towards my soundboard again, powering it up and waiting for the two large screens to load. I add another thought to the end of my sentence, albeit, to myself. Not like I have guests anyway.

Jake comes over with a glass, the brown liquor sloshing around as he tilts it in my direction. I roll my eyes, taking it, and he’s already got his glass, which he holds out for a toast.

"To the music," Jake says.

"The music." I oblige, clinking his glass and taking my gulp down a lot less gracefully than he does his, before he pours up another for himself. "Don’t overdo it; you’re gonna have a nasty hangover, and I won’t be the one to blame for it." I press a few buttons, and the house lights lower, back to the blue and purple hue I was sitting in earlier.

"I am a grown man that knows my limits." Jake states, matter-of-factly. He sits in the rolling chair at the table alongside me, pulling himself up to the soundboard and sitting back in his chair, sipping his drink as his eyes dance across the screens while I click around, pulling up my digital audio workstation of choice.

I point to the keyboard nearest to him, "Press a key for me?" He does, confirming it's connected and functional, the note ringing out through the monitors.

"Aw yeah." Jake sits up, setting his glass down on the designated cupholder space on the edge of the mixing table as he places both hands on the keys, beginning to fiddle with the limited random keys and chords he had learned how to play while being forced to learn as a trainee. "Damn, it’s been so long." He says, a half smile on his face. I can tell he’s reminiscing, I just can’t tell if it’s good or bad. "You’re so lucky to have control over your music, you know that?" He says, looking over at me before focusing back on the instrument again, slender fingers of his right hand climbing up the keys.

"I don’t really have total control, not anymore. Not sure I ever did." I say with a sigh. "It’s always been like—an Eli and me thing, not just a ‘me’ thing. I just get a little more attention because I’m the one out front, singing." I continue to explain. Jake’s stopped playing, instead choosing to lean in his chair and eye me over the top of his glass as he sips, listening to me with an empathetic nod. "Now with a major label involved, there are so many other factors now."

"You get the final say though, right?"

"Well, yeah, I guess I do." I say with uncertainty, not because it isn’t true, but because it still feels like the decisions I make have to be based on what everyone else thinks is best for us. If I vehemently object, I’m persuaded down to the decisions of others. Sometimes, it feels like I’m being gaslit. But I don’t have much time to ruminate on that, since everything is moving forward at top speed.

"Guess it’s complicated?" Jake concedes.

I nod.

"Girl, you got it," Jake croons in his gruff voice, eyes closed, fingers snapping to start a rhythm. "And I know it, baby, why don’t you?”

I nod, sliding him away from the keys as I hit some chords to match his singing. Unsure if it's a freestyle or something pre-written, I catch the composition unfolding. Music flows through me effortlessly—my natural talent that's brought me this far. It didn't happen overnight, but creating is the part of music that feels like pure joy, a distraction from all the BS.

Soon, we're vibing out a hook, laughing for hours, blending funk with '90s groove, a nostalgic fusion. My phone rings, freezing me in place. The weight of unresolved problems crashes over me. Jake senses it; I bolt before he protests. His eyes speak understanding; he knows when to let me deal with my demons. I answer the phone, attempting to steady my voice.

“Hello?”

“You answered.”

It’s Chris.

His voice is tired, ironic, as if he couldn’t believe it himself but didn’t care.

It irritates me. Why call back so soon if compromise isn't on the table?

“I just called to say, that I’ll be there in about four hours.”

A lump forms in my throat; I glance around for a clock. Holed up in the studio with Jake, time escaped me.

“But you said—“

‘First class, you are now welcome to pre-board flight 917 to Newark, First class, you are now welcome to pre-board flight 917 to Newark.’

“I gotta go, but I’ll see you in a few, yeah?”

“Y-yeah.”

The phone beeps, leaving me in stunned silence. The studio's muted song hums in the background. I'm not ready to face it yet, still figuring out what this sudden visit means.

“Said I wouldn’t do this.” I mutter, pressing my fists against my forehead, heaving a frustrated sigh. I vowed not to let another man stir my emotions, yet here I am—almost having a meltdown. But my feelings are valid. No explanation after a heated argument, and suddenly he's on his way here?

Maybe he got another perspective from the members or his friends. Maybe he thought about it. Either way, he'll be here in four hours. We can hash it out then.

I muster the calm to return to the studio. Jake sits back, his chair turning towards me. “Well?”

I plop onto the nearby sofa. “He’s boarding a flight here now, said he’ll be here in four hours.”

Jake’s brows lift in surprise. “See? I told you…this was going to push you two in some direction it needed to go. Four hours? My man, okay BangChan!” Jake laughs, toasting with his glass. “So I added some drums, check it out.” He plays the track; the groove multiplies.

“You added that part too?” I notice another musical flair, and he nods proudly. After a few seconds, he turns it off, a slow fade of the volume knob.

“I think that’s enough for me to work with for now, what do you think?”

"The skeleton is definitely there, but what about more instruments?" I question. Jake pushes his chair back, picks up his hoodie, slipping it on as he stands up.

“It’s enough to write to; we can come back to it; if Chan’s on his way here, the last thing he needs is to see another guy here late night.” He slips on his shades, his phone reflected in them as he orders an Uber Black. I didn't think he cared like this, feeling closer to him; he did what he felt was best. I was freaking out about how to get him out in time, and Jake took the initiative.

A relieved sigh escapes me. “I owe you.”

“Absolutely nothing. You don’t owe me anything, sweetheart. I had a good time here tonight.” He tucks his phone in his jacket pocket. “Twelve minutes.”

I nod. “Follow me upstairs, I made some cookies yesterday; you can take some with you.”

“Ooh what kind?”

“Chocolate chip.”

“A classic.”

[tearfallpixie]

Trust and Love - Chapter 1: Meeting the band

Tags: @nerdraging4point0 @thesazzb @synthetic-wasp-570 @circle-with-me @beaker1636 @itsjustemily @witchyweeb34 @agravemisstake @cookiesupplier @cncohshit @faceless-mirror @nonamessblog @yournecessaryevil @black-damask1999

@lyschko666 @vinyardmauro @skulliecadaver-blog @some-daniela @latenightmusiclover @rye14-blog1

“Baby girl, they are going to love you.” Ricky assured me. I frowned and stared towards the daunting bus. Ricky and I had been together for 6 months but in that time I hadn’t met his band mates once. Needless to say I was terrified.

“Promise?” I whispered. He pulled me into a kiss and nodded before taking my hand and guiding me to the bus. He opened the door and let me get on first where I was greeted by what I could only describe as chaos. There were people everywhere trying to stock stuff in the kitchen, set consoles up in the living room, make sure that everyone’s bags were by the right bunk. The one I recognized as Chris was the first to look in our direction and thankfully he didn’t rush over.

“You must be Olivia. It will be wonderful having you tour with us for a while.” He gave me a smile and stuck out his hand. I shook it and adjusted my camera bag on my shoulder.

“Hi, you’re Chris. Its nice to finally meet you.” I mumbled.

“Ricky, you two will be bunked in the back lounge. I know it’s a little weird but at least you two get to stay together.” Rick weaved around me and gave Chris a hug.

“Thanks man. I appreciate it. Olive was pretty nervous about being split up while on tour.” Ricky turned around and held out his hand to me. “I’ll show you back.” I took his hand and allowed him to weave me through the people. “The dork with the green hair is Justin. He’s our bassist. That one is Ryan. And this is my personal favorite village idiot, Vinny.” Everyone waved at me but Vinny was the one my eyes focused on. There was just something about his aura that made him so approachable. He had shoulder length wild hair with the front strands dyed a gorgeous red.

“Do you use Manic Panic in your hair?” I asked. Vinny lit up and nodded.

“I love their blood red color.” He told me, pulling at said strands of hair.

“It looks good on you.” He grinned and thanked me.

“You must be Ricks girl. Liv right?” I usually hated the nickname Liv but for some reason it didn’t bother me when he said it.

“Yeah, but no one else is allowed to use that nickname. I hate it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry I can-“

“Nah, you get the pass for it. But only you.”

“Awe, we just met and I’m already special!” He threw an arm around my shoulder and hugged me. It took everything in me not to jerk away and start crying. Luckily Ricky stepped in.

“Whoa! Vin, let go.” He pulled Vinny’s arm off me and pulled me into his side. “She’s a touch on her term’s kind of person. I’m sorry I didn’t mention that.” I buried my head into Rickys shoulder and bit back my sobs.

“Liv, I’m so sorry. I’m just naturally touchy. It won’t happen again. I swear.” Vin stuttered.

“I-its ok. It just freaked me out a little. Ricky, can we go to our room please?” I asked.

“Yeah baby, follow me.” He murmured softly. “Vinny’s a good guy but he is very touchy. I’m sorry about that love.” I shook my head and placed a hand on his chest.

“It’s ok. I get that some people are that way. I just wish I wasn’t so … broken.” I mumbled.

“You are not broken. What happened to you was horrendous, but you are not broken because of it. Your ex was a piece of trash. I will never let something like that happen to you again.” I nuzzled under his chin and hummed.

“I know you won’t.” I leaned up and kissed him sweetly before setting my bag on the bed and sitting down. “If its ok, I think I’ll just stay back here for a little while.”

“That’s perfectly fine.” He kissed the top of my head. He was the only person in the world that had permission to touch me freely. Not even my own family could. After what happened they were grateful that I had someone like Ricky to trust and rely on.

“Can you tell Vinny I’m not mad at him?”

“I will. Get some rest baby girl.” I laid down on the bed and tried to close my eyes but the bumps of the bus and the voices up front kept me awake. There was a knock at the door, so I sat up and looked at it.

“Come in.” I called. The door opened and Vinny walked in.

“Hey, can we start over?” He asked. I patted the bed next to me and he smiled, gratefully sitting down. “Hi, I’m Vinny. Local pot head, drummer and very touchy feely.” He smirked, holding out his hand.

“Hi Vinny, I’m Olivia but you and only you can call me Liv. I’ve had a traumatic ex so please don’t touch me without me initiating it.” I giggled, shaking his hand.

“Do I have to murder someone for touching such a beautiful girl?” He asked.

“No, Ricky already made sure of that.” I mumbled. “My ex-“

“You don’t have to tell me.” Vinny waved his hands.

“I want to. In a weird way I trust you already.” I shrugged. “My ex, he use to hit me, abuse me, r-r” I shuddered and shook my head. “Well one day he got bold in public and Ricky saw it. He beat the guy to a pulp and luckily there were witnesses that defended him. Got the guy locked up for 10 years for me. We never stopped talking after that.”

“Ricky is a wonderful friend and an even better partner.” Vinny mused.

“You say that like you’ve had experience with him.” I teased. Vinny frowned.

“Would that bother you?” I shook my head. “When you get comfortable with people and you are trapped on a bus for a good portion of the year together, feelings run, hormones get high.”

“Who tops?” Vinny blushed.

“We have only done oral or hand jobs but I don’t think Ricky would let me top him for his life.”

“Have you two ever shared a partner?”

“Whoa, already having fantasies of us sharing you?” He smirked. “Just kidding. But yes, on numerous occasions. But its only ever been one night stands. Not someone we’ve ever seriously been with.” I let out a big yawn and flopped back down. “I can go if you want.”

“No, its ok. I like chatting with you.”

“Yes, sharing stories of your boyfriends sex life.” He grinned, laying down next to me.

“Ricky’s hot. I can’t have expected him to be a prude all his life. It’s kind of interesting though. I didn’t know he liked guys.” I mused, rolling on my side to look at him.

“I don’t know if he does or if it was just stress relief to him.” I scooted closer and nuzzled under Vinny’s chin feeling very comfortable with him in that moment. He froze and I could tell he was panicking.

“You can put your arm over me.” I assured him. “Once I initiate contact its ok to touch me back.” He hesitantly laid his arm down over my ribcage and buried his head into my hair.

“Your hair smells nice.” He whispered.

“I use this pharmacopeia lemon shampoo. Its amazing.”

“I’m going to have to try that then.” I finally felt myself relaxing to his soft breathing and wasn’t even bothered when he adjusted me to slide his other arm under me. I finally drifted off to sleep and that was how Ricky found us a couple hours later. He gave a soft smile and pulled out his camera to take a photo before silently closing the door and going back up front.

[kaciidubs]

A Pun-y Thanksgiving

❣ Summary: A random thought about Chan and terrible Thanksgiving puns. ❣  ❣ Word Count: 739 ❣ Warnings: Fluff, corny puns [2], slice of life, discussions of family, implied Black! Reader [but neutral overall], Chan gets emotional over being loved ❣  ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣  ❣ Additional Tags: Chan is referred to as Chris, Christopher, Channie, and Baby, lightly edited, that plate of food was not mine but it's close enough ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist

"I'll give you more than thanks tonight."

"Baby, please."

"A turkey isn't the only thing I'd like to stuff."

"Christopher, walk away from me."

"What?! You can't tell me that wasn't funny!"

"I can," you hummed, looking over your shoulder to see him leaning against the kitchen island with a cheesy grin, "and I will - that was not funny!"

"So why are you smiling?" He goaded, dimple pressing into his cheek as his grin grew.

An astonished laugh fell from your lips, though you couldn't reign in the smile that stuck to your face, "Because you're corny!"

"Or, because you did find it funny!"

"Oh my god." Turning back to the pot of boiling elbow noodles, you stirred away some of the foam, "You're gonna drive me insane before my own family does."

A pair of arms snaked their way around your waist, Chris tugging you slightly against his chest as he pressed the side of his face against yours. "You know you love me."

"I do, but if you say anything related to 'gravy', I'm leaving you here and telling my grandmother you couldn't make it to dinner."

He dramatically gasped, shaking his body with yours, "You wouldn't! I think I'll actually die without her yams this year, and Christmas is way too far away to have them again!"

You laughed, turning off the stove and grabbing the oven mitts that were on standby, "You're so whipped for her cooking - I'm surprised you haven't figured out she makes extra just for you."

"She does?" His hold on you slipped as you picked up the pot of macaroni, stepping back to let you pour it into the strainer waiting in the sink. "Since when?"

"Our second Thanksgiving together when I had to make a to-go container full of them alone, and she asked if I was making you a plate and I had to tell her that, that was your plate." You placed the empty pot back on the stove, "And I still think it's unfair because I'm her grandchild! I asked her so many times to make me a separate batch, I'd even buy her the stuff! But no, she wouldn't do it for me but anything goes for her grandson Chris!"

In the midst of your teasing rant, you hadn't noticed the silence from your boyfriend behind you until you had started the sauce mixture for the macaroni and cheese, urging you to turn around to look at him suspiciously.

"Chris?"

He gazed at you with soft eyes, an almost delicate pout set on his lips as a fine blush turned his ears red. "She likes me that much?"

Family had always been a huge factor for him, and the desire of having your entire family love him the way they loved you was something he had strived for since the first time they met. So, it was no surprise that hearing that your grandmother would go out of her way for him and his admiration for her cooking made his heart swell.

"Aw, Channie," you cooed, turning the stove to low before making quick steps over to him, your hands cupping his slightly puffed cheeks from rest. "She absolutely loves you - my whole family does! My aunts ask about you whenever they call, my younger cousins always ask to see you, and even though my uncles joke about putting you in a shallow ditch if you break my heart - they can see how much you care about me and they honestly look forward to having you around."

Guiding his head down, you placed a quick kiss on his lips, giggling when he followed you away to steal another.

"My family loves you, my extended family loves you, and you already know I love you."

His pout melted into a smile, one you embarrassingly missed for the few moments it was gone, "Even with my corny jokes?"

You rolled your eyes but nodded in agreement, "Even with your corny jokes. Now, help me finish the mac and cheese and we can start getting ready - I'm sure if we stay here longer we're gonna be the last ones to get a plate, and I'll be damned if I let my cousin get to the corn pudding first."

Slinking your way our of his arms, you took to stirring the sauce mixture before speaking over your shoulder;

"Then when we get home, I'll show you what else I'm thankful for."

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @goblinracha, @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @j-onedrabbles, @happilydeepestwonderland, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @sometimesleeknows, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @instabull, @maximumkillshot, @bandolls, @y-ur--i, @acker-night, @dreamescapeswriting, @sunnyhonie, @specialstay, @broken-glowsticks, @s00buwu, @all4innie, @dancerachaslut, @junglyric

✧. ┊If your username is in bold italics that means tumblr won't let me tag you. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill out this form!

[wikiangela]

tease tidibt tuesday

tagged by @jeeyuns @thewolvesof1998 @hippolotamus @jamespearce9-1-1 @daffi-990 💖💖

guess who's baaack - alive shannon my most beloved <3

ngl I've been kinda stuck on this one (writing s2 eddie is so hard, and buck's pov is fighting me haha) and I left it for a minute, and when I was trying to get back to it, I was writing like half a sentence a day

but today I got inspired and progress was made haha (this is obvi a rough draft, I'm just trying to get over this little slump haha)

prev snippet

___

“Dinner’s ready!” Eddie calls out, putting the plates down, then walking into the living room, where Buck can see Shannon and Chris still on the couch, surrounded by books and notebooks. “Mama, you need help getting to the table, or do you wanna stay there? We can eat with you on the couch.” Eddie adds, walking over to them and starting to clean up the homework mess.

“We’re not gonna eat on the couch.” Shannon rolls her eyes and tries to get up, but then winces in pain. 

“Let me help you.” Eddie sounds exasperated, already by Shannon’s side. “Why do you always do this?” he asks, sounding like they’ve been through this countless times already.

“I hate not being able to even move by myself.” Shannon grumbles, as Eddie helps her up, careful with her broken leg. Once she’s up, she leans against him, breathing heavily, just getting up taking a lot of effort. It’s a heartbreaking sight, and Buck just feels so awful for her. “This is ridiculous.”

“Just let me help you instead of trying to overexert yourself, and you’ll get better soon.” Eddie responds, sounding more concerned than annoyed. Buck empathizes with her, he knows he’d hate that, too.

Buck watches Eddie slowly help her get to the table, Chris right behind them, as he starts setting the table, suddenly feeling awkward again. It was nice, hanging out for a minute with Eddie, in his kitchen, like nothing’s changed. But now he feels out of place again, and hates that he’s making it about himself, even just in his own head. This woman almost died, and she’s the mother of the kid Buck would die for – and here he is, worrying about this new normal with her around, about how his comfort place doesn’t feel all that comfortable now.

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @gaydiaz @diazass @thebravebitch @silentxxsoul @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @arthursdent @diazblunt @911onabc @spagheddiediaz @housewifebuck @gayhoediaz @rogerzsteven @watchyourbuck @monsterrae1 @honestlydarkprincess @underwater-ninja-13 @eowon @exhuastedpigeon @weewootruck @loserdiaz @jesuisici33 @evanbegins @steadfastsaturnsrings @ladydorian05 @lover-of-mine @malewifediaz @pirrusstuff @theotherbuckley @911-on-abc @spotsandsocks @hoodie-buck @giddyupbuck @wildlife4life @fortheloveofbuddie @nmcggg @disasterbuckdiaz @diazpatcher

[archangeldyke-all]

okay, here goes! One BSAA agent Sevika request as promised - I'm sorry if its too long and not very good, I'm still getting back into the flow of regular writing but thank you for showcasing on your blog, as a big fan of yours it means a lot! - Starlight

(I'm rubbish at tagging, but there are mentions of bioterrorism, outbreaks of fictional infection, creatures, death and loss of family members, loss of a pet, please add more if I've forgotten any)

Sevika was a gym rat before the outbreak, worked as a personal trainer at her local gym.

Pointedly ignored her father’s demands she join Raccoon City PD, just like him and her younger brother.

She knew she probably would eventually join up; thought she had all the time in the world to make her mind up.

Then the T-Virus happened.

Her father and brother were killed trying to battle the infected in the streets. Sevika lost everything during those awful days, even her dog.

She made it out during the evacuation, moving from place to place, joining up with any anti-bioterrorism group who will have her.

She never talks about Raccoon City, and people know better than to ask her about it.

By the time she meets one Chris Redfield, she’s lethal. Her hand-to-hand combat and weapons training have been meticulously honed.

Chris likes her immediately. Watching Sevika go toe-to-toe with a Hunter, and winning, he knew this woman had to join his squad.

During a mission gone bad, she loses an arm to a Licker. Chris sees to it personally through his BSAA connections that she’s fitted with a state of the art prosthetic.

She meets you in the floating city of Terragrigia and for the first time in a long time, the world suddenly doesn’t feel so grim.

She’s a typical BSAA agent, striding around in her combat gear like she owns the place, always on the lookout for danger. Her not so typical prosthetic is a glossy black, and she keeps it immaculate so it’s always glinting in the sun.

You’re a no nonsense bartender who knows her whiskey, with a piercing stare that quashes any trouble and a dazzling smile that nearly has her missing her mouth and spilling whiskey down her front.

She frequents the bar you work in, many BSAA agents do. One night, when you slide her usual whiskey over to her, she smirks, writes down her number on the little napkin then saunters over to her BSAA buddies as you gape after her.

Your first few dates are casual, she takes you out for coffee, to the cinema. She holds your hands, kisses you gently after each date. By date number four or five, it seems her patience has finally worn thin when she grabs you after dinner and presses you against the door of your apartment. The kiss is intense, too much and not enough, filled with the sultry promise of what’s to come. That night, she breaks your bedframe and apologises profusely, but she’s not sorry really, not when she smirks as she watches you walk shakily around your apartment the morning after.

After 5 months, you find yourself moving into her apartment.

She takes the same breakfast every day, oatmeal and black coffee. She’s pleasantly surprised when you start adding some ‘pizzazz’ to her oatmeal, some blueberries here, a sprinkle of cinnamon, even caramelised apples. She rolls her eyes and grumbles that ‘plain oatmeal does the job just fine’ but she’s getting worse and worse at hiding her smile.

She has terrible nightmares. She never seems to wake from them, calling for her father, her brother, her dog Finn. All you can do is wrap your arms around her, soothing her by speaking softly in her ear, stroking her hair. She relaxes now when she feels you, but her arms always tighten around you, the only person she isn’t willing to fathom losing.

When the Terragrigia Panic starts, and hundreds of Hunters are released into the city in the worst act of bioterrorism the world has seen, Sevika has only one goal: find you.

She fights her way out of the BSAA HQ, races to your apartment just to find it empty. She sinks to her knees, she thinks ‘not again’ but then she hears your frightened whimpers coming from the bedroom closet.

When she tears open that closet door to find you curled up inside, one of her handguns clutched in your trembling hand, she almost breaks down crying. But she stays strong, for you. She gathers you up in her arms, kisses you so fiercely you stop thinking and then she gets you out of there.

An armoured BSAA escort is awaiting, and yet again Sevika manages to escape the chaos with her life, and something far more precious to her.

A Hunter tries to attack while everyone’s getting loaded into the vehicles and you watch with equal amounts horror, morbid fascination, pride and let’s be real, horny as Sevika roars and punches the creature square in the face.

Chris shakes his head, grinning and you can’t seem to pick your jaw up off the floor. Sevika quirks an eyebrow at the both of you as the convoy pulls away from the carnage unfolding, the BSAA having been ordered to withdraw. “What? Nobody comes at me or my girl without catching hands, Hunter or not!”

Chris says nothing, and all you can mumble through your daze as Sevika wraps you in her warm arms is “I think I need to come with you on some missions…for science.”

THIS IS AMAZING omg i've never played this game before but this fic is making me want to holy shit. i'm so excited to see what else you come up with in the future!!!!! woah. this was so good!!!!

taglist!

@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki