#that just simply hasn’t been the case with buddie

[bunnysbrainrot]

Supernatural Headcanons!

SPN has been on my mind like crazy lately. I wrote tons for it when I was younger, but now the writing skills developed and I must dump these somewhere.

Sam: Sam loves quality time with the people he cares about. This can be anything from researching together, or simply buying groceries. He lets you get a few treats for yourself on grocery runs, and thanks you for giving him some company. Back at home, he prefers to relax and watch documentaries or action shows. Being with Sam feels productive and exciting, learning new facts and debunking cases together.

Dean: Even though Dean has a harder time to warm up than Sam, he still likes his downtime. Just like his brother, Dean enjoys a good TV show, but he likes the drama-filled ones. He likes the trashy ones that definitely seem scripted, even though it’s just for fun. Jerry Springer, Maury, Judge Judy, those are his guilty pleasures that he would only share with you. He likes to make a few snacks with you to munch on while you browse the channels.

Castiel: Castiel knows how little of the world you’ve truly seen, and wants nothing more than to show you the beauties of the world. He shows you his favorite historical sites, relaying the stories that stuck there. He tells you stories of Heaven, and if the beauty of the first days in creation. Cas is gentle and kind, but sometimes there’s a disconnection with what humans are like compared to angels. Though, you are giving him more insight to understanding them.

Crowley: The king himself, and as proud as he is, it translates into your time together. Crowley loves to show you exciting parts of the world, bringing little gifts home for you to enjoy. You insist that the gifts aren’t necessary, to which he insists that you deserve them and then some. He’s very doting, although he acts like he hasn’t a care in the world. He also enjoys soap operas and dramas. Luckily you his best buddy to do that with.

I plan to do another part for this, what characters would you like to see? Can be both SFW or NSFW

[amatchinwater]

Melting a Heart of Ice

Pairing: Steo

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Theo Raeken, Isaac Lahey, Derek Hale, Liam Dunbar, Josh Diaz

Warnings: none? I don't think

Words: 3035

Prompt: @steodiscord First Responders with enemies to Lovers and an ice bath challenge peppered in

Ao3 link Masterlist

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When he graduated from highschool, everyone- Stiles’ father included- assumed he'd join the police academy. Become a deputy and eventual sheriff just like his dad. Naturally when he came home with coursework to be a firefighter, Stiles shocked quite a few people. Except for his best friend Isaac, he knew from the start. Isaac even joined with him. 

Which would have been perfect. Fantastic even. There was just one minor hiccup Stiles didn’t account for. An old childhood crush turned enemy. Theo fucking Raeken. Once upon a time, Stiles and Theo used to be the best of friends. Shared trauma in the loss of close family members at a young age. A playground crush Stiles simply couldn’t avoid.

But then puberty hit and Theo somehow got even fucking hotter. Not to mention a bit of a prick and nearly a Jackson level bully. Gone were the days of sleepovers, hanging out, and even friendly conversation. Common courtesy too, considering the asshole couldn’t be bothered to return a simple smile or head nod in the hallways. And decided to fuck everything with two legs.

So what did the asshole do?

Became a firefighter. 

Irony really chose to make Stiles her bitch too. Because he’s always paired up with Theo. Not his best friend that he likes to be around. No. Why would that happen? Who did he piss off in a past life to earn this atonement?

At the very least, when they’re out on an actual call, Theo has enough common sense to be professional. For the most part. If the call is nothing too major, just checking vitals while they wait for the ambulance to show up on a fainting case, Theo will find a way to tease him.

There was this elderly lady once that had slipped and fell in her home. They arrived at the scene before the ambulance did, she wasn’t showing any signs of having broken anything, but still good to get checked out just in case. When Theo crouched down to check her vitals, she commented how attractive he was. So Theo, with his whole chest, said that she should check Stiles out. That Stiles was much hotter. 

He knows that’s far from the truth.

Stiles could do without the school yard teasing. 

It hasn’t exactly gotten better over the last six years either. Stiles wouldn’t quite call it worse. It’s just- Theo is about this close to making Stiles pull his own hair out. Or drown his fellow firefighter in the dunk tank.

Yes, the dunk tank.

This weekend, the firehouse is helping with a fundraiser carnival. All proceeds go to helping schools in the district with things like music, sports, and supplies. They usually do it twice a year. It’s fun for the kids and a great way for the community to give back while having a good time. Typically, it’s one of Stiles’ favorite things. Because he gets to be paired up with Isaac running the dart toss.

Irony made Stiles her bitch, remember?

So he’s paired with Theo at the dunk tank, the ice bath challenge, and then the ring toss.

All fucking day.

Okay, he’s being a bit dramatic. It’s not all day. After their first rotation they get a half an hour break for lunch and to enjoy the festivities. After that, it’s right back to their stations. At least they only have about ten minutes left at the dunk tank before their break. Stiles is in desperate need of a turkey leg, a funnel cake, and Isaac. Some human interaction that doesn’t make the firefighter want to bash his own head in. 

“Aww, that’s okay, buddy,” Theo snaps his attention back while talking to a kid. The little boy paid for three balls and missed every one of them. “Practice makes perfect, right? You’ll get better, I know it.”

Stiles hates how good the other firefighter is with kids. It’s wildly infuriating. Theo shouldn’t be allowed to be as hot as he is and good with kids. Even on the job, he always gets the kids calm and to safety. They love him. It’s just unfair. Someone should really knock him down a peg. Or four.

“Hey, bud,” Stiles calls after the kid. He stops and turns around with pinched brows, his mother's matching. Stiles tosses another ball that the boy catches. “One more shot, on me. Because I think you can take him.”

His mother smiles, “what do you say, honey?” She asks.

The boy beams, front tooth half grown in, “thanks, Mister!”

“All right, aim right here,” Stiles taps the target in encouragement. “You got this.”

The ball soars, missing its mark again. But the firefighter is fast and smacks the target button. Theo yelps before falling in the dunk tank.

Stiles cackles, high fiving the kid, “you did it! What prize do you want?” The little boy sheepishly points at a stuffed dragon. “That’s my favorite too," he grabs it and hands it over.

“Stiles,” Theo splashes to the surface, climbing out of the tank and throwing a towel around his shoulders. Wet hair matted in so many directions. 

“Thank you,” the mom smiles.

Stiles shrugs, “it’s for the kids and I got a good laugh out of it. Enjoy the rest of your guy’s day. Hey,” he squats to be eye level with the boy snuggling his new toy, “listen to your mom, okay? Have fun,” Stiles ruffles the kid’s hair until he giggles.

“Good job, kid,” Theo bumps his fist with the boy. When they’re far enough away, he glares at Stiles, “seriously? Not even the adults dunked me.”

“Someone had to,” Stiles says before walking away. Kira and Josh are on their way over for their shift anyway. He’s starving and wants to be away from Theo for a bit. He makes a direct beeline for the food truck promising turkey legs. Stiles hasn’t had one in a long time.

At least, not like this.

Fair turkey legs are just different.

After paying the girl for both the leg and funnel cake, Stiles waits by pick up. Thankful that he happened to pick the truck that sells both. As much as he doesn’t want to be around Theo, he can’t help but smile at all of the people having fun. Especially the kids. Stiles remembers coming with his mom when he was younger. It’s why Stiles did what he did for the little boy. He saw a kid with just his mother and Stiles’ heart bled a bit. 

“Order for Stiles,” another girl calls, “and Theo!”

Son of a bitch.

How the hell did he get here so fast? 

As he grabs his own food, Theo comes up behind him, “can’t get rid of me that easy,” his words ghost along Stiles’ neck and he has to fight the shiver.

“Guess I’ll just have to try harder,” Stiles snarks, walking away to an empty picnic table to eat. He’d rather be a dick than have to think about why the other guy’s voice almost made him shudder. Theo sits across from him with cheesy fries and a funnel cake of his own. “Can you not let me eat in peace?”

“When I enjoy your company so much? Never,” Theo teases, taking a bite of his fries. “Cheese fry?” The other firefighter offers the fork.

They do look good. But that fork was just in Theo’s mouth! “No, I’m okay.” Stiles is just going to shovel this in his mouth and run somewhere else. He tries to sit and eat as though the other guy isn’t even there. Just to preserve his own sanity because he can feel the way Theo keeps looking at him. Stiles just didn’t account for Theo eating as quickly as him.

So when he gets up to throw his trash away, the other firefighter is right fucking there. “What are you thinking about doing? Bumper cars? Water guns? Fun house?” Theo asks, falling in stride with him as if they’re here together. “I figured we don’t have a lot of time left, we should stick together so we can get back to our booth.”

Ugh, it’s practical and responsible. Stiles hates it. “I’ll know when I see it.” Honestly, he’s just aimlessly walking around until their time is done. As fun as bumper cars sound. They pass Isaac and Derek- their captain- working the ice bath challenge.

“Hey, you're early. What do you guys think?” Hale asks, gesturing towards the bin, “You wanna give it a shot?”

“I don’t know, Cap,” Stiles says, eyeing the ice skeptically. He got lucky that Theo lost the rock, paper, scissors for sitting in the dunk tank. The firefighter doesn't really want wet clothes.

“Come on, Stiles,” Isaac pushes.

Before he can argue again, Theo lightly elbows him, “it can’t be that bad. I mean, we deal with intense heat on a daily basis. What’s a little cold water?”

“Uh, ice cold water!” Stiles shrieks, he’d like to keep his toes.

“Aww,” Theo coos with a fake pout, “are you scared?”

This fucking asshole! It’s one thing to tease him about something or even dare Stiles. But never accuse him of being scared. Stiles runs into burning buildings for a living for fuck’s sake. Derek, Isaac, and a few bystanders ‘ooh’ at them. Thus sealing his fate.

“Not even close, Raeken,” Stiles moves the other firefighter away who chuckles under his breath. He yanks his shoes and socks off, not wanting to walk around with wet, squishy shoes. Because, ew. He takes his phone and wallet out of his shorts, handing them to his captain.

"I bet I can last longer," his partner smirks.

Stiles looks over his shoulder, "excuse me?"

“Ten bucks says I can last longer than you,” Theo dares, having followed his lead with his shoes and belongings.

“I’ll take that bet,” Isaac grins, “Stiles is too stubborn not to win.”

A hand claps his shoulder, Josh’s to be exact, “I’m with Isaac. Put me down for ten too, Cap.”

“I don’t know,” Liam joins in. Where the fuck did they all come from? “Theo is just as stubborn, I’ll put ten on Theo,” the probie pulls the bill out of his pocket.

Stiles gasps in exaggeration, “traitor.” Theo cackles, holding his stomach. “You’re on toilet duty for a week.” Liam pales at his words, looking to their captain for confirmation. Derek only nods. “What’s the time to beat?” Stiles asks, needing to know exactly what he’s getting himself into. Exactly how long until this is over.

“Three minutes,” Isaac informs him. “Any more bets? Ten bucks on Stiles or Theo for three minutes!” Money practically goes flying. Both from their team and just people standing around. He glares at his best friend. “What?” Isaac snickers, “it’s for a good cause!”

“I hate you,” he grumbles, joining Theo by the tub. Three minutes. Just one hundred and eighty seconds and it’ll be over. Provided his fellow firefighter doesn’t bitch out first. He just has to out last Theo.

“Last the full three minutes and you two can go home for the day." That's certainly a nice incentive. On your mark,” Derek sets the stop watch. “Get set!” Theo smirks and winks at him as they each grab the tub. “Go!”

The jump into the ice water and Stiles’ yelp is so loud it might as well have been a scream. Theo is behind him gasping his breaths. His bones feel cold and the shivers are instant. It’s too cold to think, let alone speak. And Stiles can’t remember the last time he and Theo were this closer. He’s practically in the guy’s fucking lap, skin being stabbed by numerous icicle knives.

It actually hurts. 

“Two minutes to go,” Derek announces.

Stiles yells, gripping the edge of the metal tub so hard his fingers hurt. His teeth are chattering and his toes have gone numb. Theo’s arms wrap around him, pulling Stiles close. As cold as they are, what little body heat they have left to share helps. Why is Theo helping him?

“Come on, baby,” Theo shakes behind him, “you can do this.”

Come on, who now? 

Great, Stiles is so cold he's hearing things. He pinches his eyes closed, fighting to not dive out of this torture chamber.

“One minute left,” Derek sounds more excited than he should. Maybe it’s pride for his subordinates. Who knows. 

Stiles is grunting through his determination. Trying to convince himself that he’s not cold. Think warm thoughts. This is a hot tub, not a form of frozen torture. Yeah.

Theo chuckles, warm breath tickling his ear, “just one more minute, babe. You’ve got this, I know you do,” his thumb brushes soothingly along his stomach. 

He’s too cold to comment- to comprehend Theo holding onto him for dear life. For calling Stiles baby and being nice. For the way that Theo’s breath affects him like that, for the second time today. It’s too much to deal with on top of this fucking ice. 

Places that shouldn't be cold are freezing. Everything hurts. His brain feels like it might explode or have a system meltdown. 

God, why did he agree to this? 

“Ten, nine, eight…” Derek chants, the audience joining in all the way to, “three, two, one! New record!”

He never put money down. He lasted the three minutes he was challenged. He needs out. Stiles needs to run away as best as his frozen limbs will allow. He clambers out of the tub as quickly as possible, pausing only for the second it takes him to grab his belongings from the table.

Stiles runs.

Not caring in the slightest about the sticks and small stones poking the soles of his bare feet. Dodging people as best as can, finding the firehouse’s tent blissfully empty. Stiles’ entire body is trembling. Running like that did nothing in terms of helping Stiles warm up. Thousands of needles stab at his fingers and toes, teeth chattering away.

“Come on,” Stiles groans, looking about the tent. There isn’t a single towel or blanket here? “Am I fucking blind?” He hugs his arms tightly to his chest, trying to keep his core warm. He knows he brought a bag with a change of clothes, so, “where the fuck is it?” Stiles looks under the small cot, ready to give up and just go home in wet clothes. Derek said they could leave after, he plans to go home and not have to deal with any of this.

At all.

“There you are,” Theo says. When he looks up to face his partner, Stiles is met with warm fabric being thrown around him. Theo grabbed him a towel. Not something he expected from the other firefighter, that’s for sure. Nor is the way Theo pulls him close and says, “I can warm you up if you let me, baby,” while rubbing his arms.

It does help. Stiles can’t deny that. But his brain is back online now and Theo calling him baby is so fucking far from normal. Or something the firefighter can begin to comprehend. “What the hell?” He pulls back, wiping the dripping water from his hair. “Why do you keep calling me baby and babe? You hate me,” Stiles states. 

“No, I don’t,” Theo scoffs. Like the very suggestion is ludicrous. As if they’ve had a single truly friendly conversation in over ten years. That Stiles is simply speaking nonsense.

Not to Stiles he isn’t.

“Yes, you do.”

“Right,” Theo chuckles, “I hate you so much that I show up to the station ninety minutes early just so that we can work out together.” Stiles tries to rebuke the statement, but the other presses on. “I leave only once you do because your deathtrap of a jeep rarely starts and I want to make sure you’re safe all because I hate you.” Theo gets in his space again, pounding Stiles’ heart. “I hate you so much that I would ask Derek to partner us together so that we have time to be around each other. I would risk freezing to death just for the chance to hold you because I hate you, right?”

Stiles’ mind is reeling with all of the information it was just given, “but-”

“I’ll prove it to you right now that neither of us has a shred of hatred for the other,” Theo challenges, eyes zeroed in on Stiles’ mouth. 

Defiant to his last breath yet swallowing with a click, Stiles says, “okay,” ready for the other firefighter to do nothing but prove himself wrong. 

Theo puts a hand at the small of his back, pulling Stiles close and crushing their mouths together. The soft noise in the back of his throat is unmistakable and Theo knows it because his groan was just the same. His fingers dig into Stiles’ waist, keeping him close to deepen their kiss. His tongue does a wonderful job of making Stiles dizzy. The last ten plus years, he could’ve been kissing Theo instead of biting him with his words. The childhood crush that never left his heart could have had a proper home there.

What an idiot.

Pulling back for air, Stiles looks up at blown blue eyes. Theo’s having just as hard of a time breathing, but keeps his satisfied smirk in place. “I never hated you, babe,” Theo whispers, kissing him softly, thumb gently brushing his cheek. 

“I-” Stiles clears his throat, curling his fingers in the hem of Theo’s soaked shirt. To physically hold something to remind him that this is real. To keep him from falling off the earth. “I don’t think I did either.” 

“I know,” Theo smirks, “so how about I take you home with our brutally earned free time?”

Stiles starts to nod yes.

“Cap,” Isaac yells out of nowhere, “you owe me twenty bucks!”

The rest of the team shows up, cheering them on. Each with their own versions that they knew all along. Theo flips them off, smiling as he kisses him again. Stiles just chuckles into his mouth, happy to be in Theo’s arms again with the unspoken promise of so much more once they get out of here.

[blowflyfag]

WORLD WRESTLING FEDERATION MAGAZINE : JANUARY 1996

The Return of Marty Jannetty

STILL ROCKIN’ AFTER ALL THESE YEARS

By Vince Russo

Many called them the tag team of the future—and there was no doubt they might have been!

When Marty Jannetty and Shawn Michaels broke into the World Wrestling Federation in the late ‘80s, they represented a spectacular duo that was eons ahead of its time. As the Rockers, this explosive team brought a new dimension of tag team wrestling to the Federation. Depending mostly on their quickness and speed, Jannettyband Michaels could take to the air as no team ever had before. To them the top rope was home. When they found themselves in trouble, they would simply strap on. Their wings and attack their opponents from heights they simply couldn’t combat. Many of the more massive teams, who made their living on power and strength, just didn’t have the know-how to crash-land the dynamic high-fliers. It soon became evident that when Jannetty and Michaels left their feet, all the muscle in the world wasn’t going to stop them. That is what made the Rockers so successful.

Unfortunately, as the story goes, all good things must come to an end. Call it frustration—because the Tag Team Title always seemed to just somehow elude them—or call it pure selfishness on the part of Shawn Michaels, but whatever the case, the Heartbreak Kid shattered Marty Jannetty and the future of the Rockers when he decided to take it upon himself to terminate the team.

Since the divorce, we all know the Shawn Michaels story: three-time Intercontinental Champion, two-time Tag Team Champion. Add to that a win at the 1995 Royal Rumble, and you are looking at a kid already holding a ticket to be inducted into the World Wrestling Federation Hall of Fame. Marty Jannetty, on the other hand? Even though he did reach the same levels as the Heartbreak Kid on two occasions—snagging the Intercontinental Title away from Michaels and capturing the Tag Team Title with the 1-2-3 Kid—his road to riches has been the more rocky one, to say the least. Even in his moments or glory when he did capture Federation gold, Jannetty lost the prize only days later on both occasions. Following his and the Kid’s loss of the Tag Team Title to the now defunct Quebecers, Marty Jannetty decided he had had enough. At hay should have been the night of his career, he turned away from the squared circle.

“Basically, I was reconsidering my wrestling career at that point,” commented Jannetty. “After striving so hard for so long to capture Federation gold, only to lose in a matter of days on BOTH occasions was very disheartening for me. I honestly didn’t know if I still wanted to wrestle!” Fortunately enough for the talented Jannetty, you can take the wrestler out of the ring, but you can’t take the ring out of the wrestler. After spending nearly two years resting his beaten body and contemplating his future, Jannetty realized that there was no place like home. So he packed his bags and headed back to the Federation. “When I looked at all the new talent in the Federation, I realized I wanted to be a part of it again!” exclaimed Jannetty. “A lot of my buddies are here, and I wanted to be associated with the New Generation! I now understand that wrestling is in my blood. It’s my life, and that’s what I live for!”

Upon the mere mention of Jannetty’s return to the Federation, fans around the world were buzzing in debate. Most wanted to know what would his relationship be with former partner Shawn Michaels. “My immediate reaction is that I can’t forget about what happened between Shawn and me in the past,” reflected Jannetty. “Even though we did spend six years together as a team, the confrontation that ended it is something I just can’t forget. When we cross paths in the World Wrestling Federation and step into the ring as opponents, the past will definitely enter my mind! Hey, you never forget something like that, and I feel the score hasn’t been settled! Deep down in my heart, I know that I can defeat Shawn Michaels and become the Intercontinental Champion! When I settle the score, is there the possibility of a Rocker Reunion? Hey, never say never!”

Once Jannetty settles his personal scores and puts the history book to bed, he’ll then look forward to tangling with some of the other gladiators of the New Generation. “The guy I would most like to get in the ring with has to be Dean Douglas,” stated Jannetty. “He seems to have a major attitude problem, and I would love to be one to correct it for him. Also, there is the Bad Guy Razor Ramon, who seems to be at the top of his game right now. That challenge would be a great measuring stick for me as far as my comeback is concerned. Hunter Hearst-Helmsley is also another top contender who is just begging to be put in his place! In all honesty, though, it doesn’t matter which opponent I face. I’m just looking forward to taking on ALL the top contenders here in The World Wrestling Federation. I want to prove to the fans and superstars alike that Marty Jannetty is still the best!”

[poemjunkie]

Enduring Will (9-1-1 Holiday Gift Exchange)

For the 911 Holiday Gift Exchange 2022, arranged by @paranoidbean, as a gift for @yelenasbuddie. They asked for buddie, angst with a happy ending, friends to lovers, love confusion. I did my best, though it didn’t turn out to be very angst-y. Whoops.

Title: Enduring Will Length: 7.6k Read on AO3

Eddie doesn’t think about it in the well. Does not think, “What happens if I don’t make it out?” He simply can’t allow the thought into his brain. Once he gives up, it’s over.

No. That thought comes after.

He thinks of the moment he knew he had to fight. The memory of Shannon, leaving again, but not because she wanted to. Telling him to take care of Christopher. So, he had to live.

But what if he didn’t?

The question begins to haunt him.

Eddie isn’t entirely impractical. His whole life, his careers haven’t been safe. He made his first will before he went into the Army. The decisions had been simple then – he had a wife. Even when things were rocky, he trusted that Shannon would take care of Christopher. 

Of course, Shannon got Christopher. Of course, Shannon got everything. Of course.

The clauses about what happens in the event they both pass at the same time leave their assets in a trust, managed by Eddie’s parents. But that was a remote scenario, then. It was much more likely he’d go first. He’d been prepared for that. 

He hasn’t changed his will since Shannon died. That’s stupid of him. But not disastrous. After all, they’ve already included a clause about what happens if both of them die. Eddie’s parents get Christopher. That’s still the plan. It’s not as though Eddie really has any other options. His sisters? With their own families, already trying to make it work? Abuela? Pepa? At their age, with Christopher’s CP?

No, of course, Eddie’s parents make sense. They’re younger than Abuela, there’s two of them, they have the money. They want Christopher. It makes sense. Of course it does. 

So, why does the thought of it make something in Eddie’s stomach twist?

Eddie really does not want to go to the hospital after the well. For one, he’s worried that they’ll decide he needs to be kept, and he’s not prepared to miss Chris’s class presentation.

For two, work injuries are hard on Christopher, and a hospital trip is going to make it worse. 

He allows Hen and Chimney to check him out, and wrap him in mylar to raise his body temperature. He doesn’t even protest when Bobby tells him to take the rest of the shift off.

It’s when Buck is getting changed into his civvies alongside him that he gets a little exasperated.

“Buck, you’re not coming home with me. I’m fine.”

Buck flashes him his best puppy eyes. They’re admittedly lethal. Hen doesn’t compare him to a golden retriever for nothing. 

“I’m not saying you’re not fine,” Buck said, his tone implying he definitely didn’t think Eddie was fine. “I just think it would make everyone feel a little better if you had someone with you tonight. For just in case.” He looks innocent. “Bobby already approved it.”

“And you’ll what? Sleep on the couch?” Eddie asked, dryly. 

“I’ve had worse beds,” Buck said, stubbornly. 

Eddie pointed a finger sternly. “Stay.”

But when he exits the locker room, Buck is trotting at his heels. Eddie raises an eyebrow at Bobby, who is watching them with an amused expression over the balcony railing. Bobby simply raises his coffee cup in a good-luck salute, and Eddie realizes that Bobby probably already had this argument with Buck, and lost.

Eddie sighs through his nose, and gives up. Bobby is the only one who has ever had a chance at steering Buck to do something he doesn’t want to do (besides Athena, but Athena doesn’t count, because she’s Athena and can do anything). If he’s already lost, Eddie doesn’t stand a chance. 

Eddie just shakes his head, and gives Carla a call to let her know he’s coming home early.

When Eddie wakes in the morning, it’s to excited chatter in the kitchen, and he groans an buries his face in his pillow. Christopher must have woken up to discover Buck on the couch. No doubt they are now making a much more elaborate breakfast than Eddie could ever manage by himself. He’s pretty sure he smells French toast.

He takes a bleary look at his clock, and realizes he’s running late. Buck must have turned off his alarm, the sneak.

He rises from bed only reluctantly, dragging on a sweatshirt and shuffling to the kitchen.

Buck is indeed flipping French toast on a pan Eddie’s not even sure belongs in his kitchen. Christopher is beside him, leaning against Buck’s hip as he peers into the pan while Buck mans the spatula.

Eddie can’t resist ruffling Christopher’s curls, and bites his tongue to do the same to Buck, because his morning hair is a sight to behold, and the curls are just as ruffle-inducing as Christopher’s.

“Daddy, Buck slept over! You didn’t wake me up!” Christopher accused. 

Desperate to hide his grin, Eddie makes for the coffee pot, where a pot is already brewing. “Growing boys don’t need to be up in the middle of the night,” he settles for. 

Christopher scowls at him. “I bet you just wanted to do grown-up sleepover stuff without me.”

Buck and Eddie share a look across the stove, amused at the thought of having a grown-up sleepover together. 

“What happens at a grown-up sleepover, buddy?” Buck asked, sliding two more finished pieces onto a plate that’s already quite full. Eddie would say it’s too much for three people, but one of those people is Buck, so it’s probably just about right. 

Christopher thinks about this for a second. “Like, pillow forts.” He makes a face. “And kissing games.”

“Hm. Probably still a little young for kissing games,” Eddie said. “But a pillow fort is in the realm of possibility.”

“But you and Buck already had your sleepover!” Christopher protests. “And I missed it.”

He looks so hangdog, it’s a look that he must have picked up from Buck, and suddenly, Eddie is faced with it in stereo, as Buck is looking at him with an identical expression. The twin pairs of blue eyes are a combination that provide a staggering blow to Eddie’s steel resolve. 

“Okay, buddy,” he relents. “How about a sleepover with all three of us, the next time we have a 48-hour off. Pillow fort included.”

Buck and Christopher cheer, and share a high-five.

“Yes!” Christopher says. “And you and Buck can still play kissing games if you want,” he assures Eddie. “Just after I fall asleep, because kissing’s gross.”

Eddie coughs into his coffee, and Buck blushes and almost drops the plate of French toast he’s ferrying to the table. 

“We’ll keep that in mind, buddy,” he says, hiding his own blush behind his cup of coffee.

Christopher, satisfied, sits down with Buck and starts loading his plate as he chats with Buck about his upcoming show-and-tell. Buck listens with rapt attention, though his cheeks are a little pink. Eddie feels his heart squeeze with love for his little boy, and he mentally scolds himself about not updating his will. It’s Christopher. There shouldn’t be any question about doing something, even something hard, if it’s for Christopher.

He resolves to find a lawyer. Today.

Eddie hates lawyers. 

He has perhaps never felt the same about the profession since that disastrous stretch of time when Buck was suing the department.

But he’s come to accept that lawyers are a necessary evil, especially when it comes down to things like making sure Christopher is taken care of. He’s dealt with more for less.

He looks up family law attorneys in L.A., and settles on Katya Ward for her estate planning specialization. 

She has an early opening, and Eddie feels like he’s ready for it. He updated his will when he became a firefighter, so there’s not much to change, but at the same time, everything has to change, because of Shannon. 

Still, he feels prepared, with his most up-to-date financial information, and the idea that he’s going to be putting Christopher in the hands of his parents, if anything happens to him. 

Katya Ward opens her office door to let out her previous client right on time, and gives Eddie a professional smile. She’s younger than he expected, with blonde hair meticulously styled in waves around her face and wearing a blouse and black slacks instead of a power suit. She gives none of the sleezy vibes of a Chase Mackey type, and Eddie feels himself relax, only slightly.

“Mr. Diaz?” she greets him, and holds out a hand for a shake when he nods. “I understand you’re interested in updating your will?”

She invites him into her office with a gesture, and he prepares himself.

She settles behind her desk and opens a yellow legal pad. “Now, how extensive of a review are you interested in?”

Eddie swallows. “Pretty extensive. My primary beneficiary…my wife,” he bit his tongue to prevent him word-vomiting the messy nuances of the relationship at the end, “has passed away.”

Katya put down her pen. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Eddie fidgeted. “It’s been about a year.”

“And you haven’t updated the will since?” There was no judgment in her voice, but it was the carefully judgment-less tone of someone who was, in fact, judging.

“It’s been kind of a rough time.”

“Well, I’m glad to help you work through the update. Do you know who you want your new primary beneficiary to be?”

“My son. Christopher. He’s eight.”

“And did you and your wife have a provision for who was to take care of Christopher in the event of your both passing?”

Here, Eddie fell silent, his mouth dry.

“Mr. Diaz?”

Eddie swallowed. “We did.”

She waited, but when he didn’t say anything further, she prompted, “And would you like to have them hold your assets in trust for Christopher?”

The pause stretched on longer this time. It edged on close to too long, and then tipped over that edge.

Katya sat back in her chair. “Mr. Diaz, I’m happy to have a conversation with you about your choice of beneficiaries, or we can reschedule, if you need more time to consider.”

Eddie rasped out a laugh. “It’s been a year. I can’t keep putting it off.”

“I agree. But it is also a decision that shouldn’t be made lightly.”

Eddie nodded. “It’s my parents. My parents get Christopher, if both Shannon and I die.”

“And that’s what you still want?”

Eddie’s silence was louder this time. Katya nodded. “Why don’t we reschedule, then.”

Not sure why, since his options wouldn’t have changed in a day or a week or a month, Eddie could only nod, clutching his folder, and trying to calm his heart, which had started to race in his chest as he came face-to-face with the realization. 

He didn’t want his parents to raise Christopher. 

He just didn’t have any other good choices.

Carla Price is a saint, and this isn’t the first time that Eddie’s had that thought.

When she arrived for her shift on Friday, he was attempting to get Christopher to eat his cereal, which today, for no reason Eddie could discern, was suddenly a problem.

“What do you mean you don’t like Frosted Flakes?” Eddie asked, baffled. “You just had them yesterday, and you liked them fine then.”

“They’re not symmetrical,” Christopher said, seriously.

Eddie took a breath. Christopher was eight. Eddie was pretty sure he hadn’t known what symmetrical meant when he was eight, much less applied it as a standard to measure his breakfast by.

“I don’t have any symmetrical cereal for you, buddy.”

He reminded himself that people were allowed preferences, and those preferences were allowed to change. Christopher wasn’t being defiant or rude by suddenly not wanting Frosted Flakes, and just because Eddie had just purchased a new box didn’t justify getting frustrated with him over it.

“I could make you some eggs?” Eddie said, dubiously. He was pretty sure he could handle an egg. Well, maybe scrambled eggs. If Christopher wasn’t too picky about the burnt parts.

Christopher gave him a skeptical look.

“Toast?” Eddie offered in compromise, even though he was sure that Christopher needed more than bread in the morning.

It was at that moment the doorbell rang, and Eddie breathed a sigh of relief at the incoming reinforcements, abandoning the negotiations to let Carla in. She greeted him with her usual sunny smile and a kiss on the cheek.

“We’re dealing with a suddenly picky eater,” he muttered to her in a low voice as he gave her a hug.

“Hm, we’ll see if that stands up to Carla’s famous French toast,” she said, amused. 

“Ooh, I don’t know about that. You’ll be going up against Buck’s famous French toast, and it set a pretty high bar. 

Carla pursed her lips. “Hm. I’m probably not winning that fight. Luckily, my pancakes are also famous, and symmetrical.” She gave the top of his head a critical glance. “I’ll deal with breakfast. You go comb your hair.”

“You’re a lifesaver.”

Eddie sprinted to the bathroom, trying to comb his hair and brush his teeth at the same time, eyeing his watch and cursing his late start.

In my day, we ate what was in front of us, and no whinging, Eddie thought, looking in the mirror in frustration.

Then, he paused, hair still sticking up on one side, and toothbrush clenched between his back molars. Because that was it, he thought. In Eddie’s parent’s household, there was no breakfast negotiation. You ate what was on your plate, or Papi would hear about it when he got home. 

There was no negotiating, because his parents knew best, always. Any other opinion was always seen as argument or back talk, even with his mother, who was by far a softer touch than his father.

Eddie didn’t want Christopher living in a house where his voice wasn’t heard. 

Eddie finished brushing his teeth with unusual vigor, finishing his morning routine in a rush. Identifying the problem wasn’t the issue, though. He’d known for certain since he’d been sitting in his lawyer’s office what he didn’t want. He just didn’t know what else to do about it.

Eddie was exhausted when he arrived home, tired from a long day and the thoughts whirling in his mind for much of it. It was late, and when he pulled up, Carla was knitting on the couch.

“Christopher asleep?” he asked, shucking his jacket and tossing his keys in the bowl by the door.

“Like a baby.”

“And how did dinner go?”

“There was a debate whether meatloaf was symmetrical, if it was served as a square.”

Ah, so it was going to be a thing. Eddie shook his head, and reminded himself to enjoy these moments, the charming childhood quirks that only lasted so long, and were funny in hindsight, if not for the next few weeks while he ran down his limited cooking repertoire with geometric foods.

“Would you like a glass of wine before you go home?”

Carla studied him, her perceptive gaze taking in his tired appearance. “Do you need to have a glass of wine?” she asked. “And maybe a talk?”

Eddie swallowed a lump in his throat. “You’re not my therapist. I don’t want to dump my problems on you.”

“Mm-hm. I’m not your therapist,” Carla agreed. “Just a friend. And you seem like you need one at the moment.”

A hot sting developed behind Eddie’s eyes, and he nodded, clutching Carla’s offered hand in comfort.

He poured Carla a glass, and fetched a beer for himself, and they sat down at the kitchen table. 

“You want to tell me what’s going on with you?” Carla asked.

Eddie cleared his throat. “When Shannon died, I didn’t update my will,” he said, starting with the bare facts.

Carla nodded, as if this were a perfectly understandable response, and not utterly irresponsible for a single father.

“I was trying to get it squared away the other day. Because of what happened in that well. It was…close. Closer than I wanted to admit to Christopher even. And it made me think that I really needed to address it. Except when it came down to it, I couldn’t do it.”

“What’s the block?” Carla asked. “Are you having trouble letting go of Shannon?”

“No. It’s more…concrete than that.” He paused, picking at the label on his beer bottle. Carla waited him out. “Right now, if something happens to me, my parents get Christopher.”

“Okay,” Carla said. And waited. Eddie picked at the label on his beer, before he raised his head and took a breath.

“I love my parents,” he started, because he wanted that to be clear. “But I don’t always agree with the way they do things. The way they did things with me. The way they do things now, with Christopher, sometimes. It’s not that I don’t think they wouldn’t treat him with love. But I don’t know that they’d always treat him with respect.”

Carla was silent for a while. “I don’t know your parents, Eddie. But I’ve worked with a lot of families. Sometimes there’s a blindspot around kids with disabilities. It’s not impossible to overcome, if they’re willing to work at it.”

Ramon Diaz wasn’t afraid of hard work, Eddie knew. But he also wasn’t particularly interested in turning a lens inward. They had had enough arguments now that Eddie knew his parents had simply taken some of his points of view on the matter of Christopher, and on Shannon, and decided to agree to disagree.

But even then, they couldn’t help the occasional jab.

“There’s also Shannon. They didn’t like her. They never liked her, but after she left…it was sometimes nasty. Especially my dad. He would make comments. No matter how many times I set that boundary, there was always something to say. God, even right after her funeral. And he’ll say he’s sorry, but he never learns from it.”

Eddie shook his head. “I can’t have Christopher growing up in a household that’s not understanding towards his mother. They excuse me from doing what I did because I was ‘providing for the family.’”

And, of course, Ramon could never say a word against a man abandoning his children to provide. Could never acknowledge what a burden that could be to a partner, to the children left behind. That resistance to that internal lens would never allow that.

“But in the Diaz household, it’s the wife’s job to care for the children, to keep the house. They’ll never forgive Shannon for not being able to tough it out. And I don’t want Christopher to grow up with that mindset.”

“Okay. So, you know what you don’t want. What do you want?”

This was a list Eddie knew intrinsically.

“Someone who supports him. Who doesn’t automatically say no to every new thing he wants to try. Who’ll make him square breakfast foods when he decides Frosted Flakes aren’t symmetrical. Who’ll let him stay in his current school with his friends. Someone who understands him. Who will…who will fight for him.”

“Hm. And who is that?”

You, is Eddie’s first thought, but of course, he knows that’s not the right answer. Carla is everything he needs in a support system. She’s invaluable to him. But she’s not who Christopher needs all the time.

Christopher needs someone high energy. Someone who can meet him in his mindset, who can spend hours enjoying coloring or Lego, or support Christopher when he wants to do something physical. 

He needs someone who can look at a situation, and know what Christopher needs and then get it for him. Like when Christopher needed a Carla. 

Eddie opens his mouth. Closes it.

Carla seems to be waiting for him to reach a conclusion.

“Buck,” Eddie finally says. “You knew it was Buck, didn’t you?”

Carla sipped her wine. “It didn’t have to be Buck. But he does fit the bill rather nicely.”

“Is that a crazy thought?”

“I don’t see why.”

“Well –” Eddie struggles to come up with a reason. “He’s single. And his job has long hours.”

Carla waits him out on that one, eyebrows raised.

“Okay, yes, I’m single, and we have literally the same job, I get it.” Eddie gropes for another excuse. “He’s young.”

“Not that young. Only a few years younger than you. You were certainly younger when you had Christopher, and he’s in a significantly more stable place than you were when you had him.”

Eddie sorts through his other potential issues. Buck doesn’t have any experience with children, except for how he’s amazing with them, and particularly Christopher. He might want to start his own family, except for how he pretty much already considers Christopher and Eddie family already. 

And any other excuse runs into the brick wall that is the fact that Buck adores Christopher. That Buck is supportive of Christopher’s activities – that, in fact, Buck had introduced Christopher to more than one of his activities, and found places that would work with an adaptive program. That he genuinely enjoys taking Christopher to the zoo and the botanical gardens, so much so that sometimes he’ll take Christopher there just the two of them when they have a rare shift that doesn’t overlap. 

Eddie runs his hand over his face.

“Because it’s weird,” he finally said. “It’s weird that I would go to my male, single, best friend over my family.”

“But is it what’s best for Christopher?”

And Eddie knows that it is.

Carla patted his hand. “Follow your heart, baby.”

The more Eddie thought about it, the more it made sense to him. 

He pictured that morning after the well, Buck making French toast for Christopher, fostering Christopher’s interest in cooking, rather than lecturing him about being near the stove without his crutches, which Eddie has seen his mother do on more than one occasion, even when Christopher had the counter for support. 

It’s a nice picture. 

It could be a forever picture, and the more he considers it, the more he realizes he’s okay with that. That it’s in fact what he wants, if he can’t be the one there. 

He just knows that his parents aren’t ever going to be okay with that choice. He can hear his father’s voice ringing in his ears, even now.

“A stranger, Edmundo? Over your own family?”

And his mother, with tears in her eyes: “Were we so awful, Eddie? That you would take Christopher away from us?”

It’s giving him a headache just thinking about it.

Or maybe it’s the party music. Abuela is hosting a block party, and Eddie had been forcibly recruited into decorating and hauling duty all day, and now that the party is actually here, he’s exhausted. He rubs his eyes, trying to wake up a little. He’s not gotten much sleep over the past few days, as he’s chewed on the question of what to do with his will. 

Suddenly, as though she can sniff out weakness (he’s not entirely sure that’s not the case) Pepa appears in the lawn chair next to him, eyeing him with concern.

“That’s not a very happy face for a party, Edmundo,” she says, voice colored half with concern, half scolding. “You should have said if you were not feeling up to it.”

Eddie doesn’t roll his eyes, but only because no one rolls their eyes at Pepa and gets away with it.

“I’ve just got something on my mind, is all.”

He may as well have dumped chum in front of sharks. 

“Oh?” Pepa asked, her eyes sharp. She had a nose for gossip of all kinds, and she particularly thought that Eddie needed a little more meddling than he preferred.

“It’s nothing for you to worry about,” Eddie tried. 

“Edmundo,” she said, sternly. “We’re family. We worry. Now, you don’t have to tell me. But that is only going to make me worry more.”

Eddie smiled wryly. 

“Anyone ever tell you that you are a force to be reckoned with?”

“Daily. Now, what is this problem that has you sighing like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders?”

Eddie hesitated. Pepa had grown up with his father, and certainly knew his faults. She had taken Eddie’s side in arguments more than once. 

“What would you say if I told you I wanted to change my will, so that someone besides Mom and Papi gets Christopher, if something happens to me?”

Pepa didn’t respond immediately. In fact, she seemed to actually be giving the question some thought. 

“I would say that whoever it is had better have a will of iron, because Ramon won’t be happy about it,” she said, finally. “But that it’s probably for the best.”

“Really?” Eddie asked, surprised.

“Edmundo, they don’t like to admit it, but your parents aren’t getting any younger, no matter what Ramon tries to tell himself. And Christopher isn’t getting any smaller. He needs someone young and fit and with lots of energy. Your parents did their part in raising you and the girls. They’re Christopher’s grandparents. They can still be his grandparents.”

These were all arguments that Eddie had made himself over the past few days. 

“I know. But they’re going to hate it.”

“And just who are you thinking of?”

And here was the real test.

“Do you remember Buck?”

Pepa quirked an eyebrow. “Well, I only met him the once, but I may have heard about him a time or two from a certain great-nephew of mine. Apparently they’re quite the fast friends. And I heard something about a sleepover he’s been promised.”

Eddie couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah. He’s…he’s just great with Christopher, Pepa. You have no idea. Even before the tsunami, they were thick as thieves. But afterward…there’s a bond there, now. It’s different from my bond with Christopher, but it’s just as strong. There’s…trust.”

Pepa folded her hands in her lap.

“He’s certainly a strapping young thing. No problems helping Christopher when he needs it.”

“Right.”

“And we certainly know he’ll fight for Christopher.”

By now the whole family has heard about Buck and the tsunami through Christopher’s, admittedly very biased, lens. 

“Exactly.”

“And apparently you two are going to play kissing games at this upcoming sleepover.”

Eddie sputtered. “We’re not…that’s not why…”

Pepa patted his hand, consolingly. 

“I think you should stop worrying about what your father and mother are going to think. There’s someone else whose opinion matters more.” Pepa cast her glance to the yard, where Christopher was kicking a ball around with some younger children from the neighborhood.

“And for what it’s worth, I think he’s a fine choice. For the both of you.”

And then, before Eddie could rally, she was swanning off to Abuela, probably to share the several pieces of juicy new gossip she’d acquired.

Eddie dropped his head back into his hands and groaned.

Pepa had of course hit the nail on the head, the way she always does. Eddie has been focusing on the wrong person. 

Eddie was off for the next 48 hours, and he intended to spend every one of them with Christopher.

These days, spending time with Christopher often meant spending time with Buck, and this weekend included the promised sleepover. But before Buck arrived, Eddie decided to take Christopher to the park for a heart-to-heart, praying he wasn’t about to make a mistake.

Christopher made a beeline for the expanse of sand, complete with buckets and sand molds. He was in a building phase. Lego, modeling clay, and Play-Doh were all current favorites. They doubled as good occupational therapy, so Eddie could only encourage it.

Eddie dutifully set aside Christopher’s crutches so he could get down to the business of building, going for the classic sand mountain, before he decided to wade right into the conversation.

“Hey buddy, do you think we could have a serious conversation?” Eddie asked. 

Christopher didn’t seem phased. The phrase was something they three of them had worked out with Christopher’s therapist to signal a potentially heavy conversation. There had been a lot of them after the tsunami, and after Shannon. 

Christopher kept piling sand in front of him. “Yeah, okay,” he said. 

“Do you remember when Mommy died, we talked about how she had left you some things in her will? And I’m taking care of them for you until you’re an adult.”

“Yes,” Christopher said, patting the sand into a mound. “She left me some money. And Grammy’s jewelry.”

“Right. Well, I thought maybe we should have a conversation about what would happen, if I wasn’t able to take care of you.”

“If you die, too, you mean?” Christopher looked up from his ever-growing mound of sand. Eddie’s heart squeezed, but he didn’t want to lie to Christopher. 

“If anything ever happened, like I was sick, or hurt, or, yes, if I died. I’m not planning on anything happening to me. You know that I try to be as careful as I can at work. I have my whole crew looking out for me. Everyone does their very best to make sure everyone else gets home.”

“Like Buck,” Christopher said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, Buck especially watches out for me. We’re partners. So, I try to be very safe.”

Christopher, satisfied with his mound of sand, began scooping out a tunnel through the center. 

“But sometimes you’re very careful, and it doesn’t matter,” Christopher said. “Mommy always made me look both ways before she crossed the street. But she got hit by a car anyway.”

Eddie swallowed. “Yes.”

“And Buck is always careful, too. But he got all cut up in the tsunami. Because you can’t plan for a tsunami.”

Eddie closed his eyes, stomach churning as it always did when reminded of that day and the retroactive terror he’d felt when he’d spotted Buck – Buck, what is Buck doing here, where’s Christopher? – cut to ribbons with a familiar pair of small glasses hanging by a lanyard around his neck.

“No. Sometimes things happen that you can’t plan for. And no one wants them to happen, but they do anyway. Which is why we make plans, just in case. That way, even if something really bad happens, we know what’s going to happen next. And sometimes that makes things a little better.”

“Like the home safety plan!” Christopher enthused. He’d been very involved in the process of mapping out all the potential exits in the house, and which ones he would use in an emergency. He’d been highly selective of their emergency tool kits for both the house and Eddie’s truck.

“Exactly like that,” Eddie said.

“Okay. So, what’s the plan?” Christopher asked.

“Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Because you have a lot of people that love you. So, you have lots of choices about who would take care of you if I couldn’t.” Eddie swallowed. “Like Abuelo and Grandma in El Paso.”

Christopher concentrated on his tunnel for a moment, widening the sides until he could pass his arm through. 

“I love Abuelo and Grandma,” he said, finally. “Even when they’re fussy. But I don’t want to move back to Texas. I like my school.”

Eddie internally bit back a sigh of relief. “Well, like I said, we have lots of people who love you. Not even just family. And I was thinking –”

“Couldn’t I just stay with Buck?” Christopher asked, with the simple guilelessness of a child. Eddie’s breath left him in a whoosh, with a strength he hadn’t experienced since entering that fight club with Lena Bosko.

“You’d want to stay with Buck?” he said instead, trying to keep a level tone, so that Christopher didn’t pick up his own feelings on that matter.

“Buck’s my best friend,” Christopher said, as though it were obvious.

“I know. You’re Buck’s best friend, too.” Christopher grinned at that. “But when someone is taking care of you, they can’t just be your best friend. Sometimes they have to do things like tell you to clean your room.”

Christopher looked at him like he was crazy. 

“You don’t have to tell me to clean my room. It’s on the chore chart.”

“Right.”

“I clean my room every other day.”

“It was just an example, buddy.”

“Oh.” Christopher thought about this for a moment. “Well, I think that if I couldn’t have you, I’d still want Buck, even if he did have to tell me to clean my room and stuff. He’d take good care of me. And he cut the crusts off my French toast, so it’s a square.”

As if those were the only qualifications needed to be a good parent.

But, Eddie supposed, as he started to dig a tunnel on the opposite side of Christopher’s sand mountain, weren’t they?

Buck arrives for their sleepover armed with a bag of stuff he insists are “sleepover surprises,” and Eddie should really stop bening astounded by this man.

Christopher, of course, immediately wants to investigate the bag, and Buck has to hold it above his head to keep nosy fingers from delving inside immediately. Except he then puts it down in the living room almost immediately, too excited to share to bother with being mysterious for longer than twelve seconds.

His treasures include a game of Trouble – obviously new – and a thick stack of Uno cards – obviously well used – a box of popcorn and a mix of popcorn seasonings, a copy of “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe,” and three pairs of red long-john style pajamas, one set conspicuously smaller than the other two.

“Oh, no,” Eddie protests, the moment he sees them. 

“Oh, yes,” Buck replies.

“Daddy. We can match,” says Christopher, absolutely delighted. And Eddie stands no chance.

He delays the inevitable, by halting out the stash of blankets and pillows he and Christopher spent all afternoon scouring from every corner of the house. 

“Who’s ready for a blanket fort?” 

“Me!” Christopher shouts, and Eddie can see from the gleam in Buck’s eye that the pajamas might have fled Christopher’s mind for the moment, but there’s no chance Buck is going to forget. “How big can we make it?”

Eddie looks at Buck, who holds up his hands in surrender. “Don’t look at me,” he offers. “This is my first blanket fort.”

Sometimes Buck will say things that seem absolutely crazy to Eddie, but with a total lack of understanding that there’s anything odd about it. For instance, a surprising amount of popular culture references fly over his head. And there are certain childhood milestones Buck seemed to have missed out on.

“Never?” he asked, surprised. Eddie would classify his father as strict, but he and Sophia and Adriana still made their share of blanket forts. 

“My mom was not really a fan of mess.”

Buck says it like it’s not a big deal, even seems to think it’s not a big deal, but Eddie marvels at a childhood that precludes blanket forts. And who knows what other activities, because they were “messy.” 

Kids are messy. Inherently. Eddie’s heart squeezes at the thought of Buck’s big personality being squished down to avoid being a bother.

Eddie had been planning something simple, a blanket draped over a few pieces of furniture to create a tent, and a nest of blankets and pillows underneath. Suddenly, he’s overtaken with the urge to utterly destroy his living room while in the pursuit of the most epic blanket fort of all time. 

He claps his hands. “Well, we better get to work, then.”

The fort requires the re-arrangement of a significant amount of furniture and an ungodly number of safety pins to make the blankets stretch far enough to create the Taj Mahal of blanket forts. The cushions get pulled from the couch to create a tunnel annex to a second room that encompasses the television, for a late-night movie, which Christopher insists is crucial to the sleepover experience. 

Then, there’s no more delaying, because Christopher is adamant that one cannot properly snuggle in a blanket fort in jeans, insisting on switching to the matching pajamas.

Eddie, predictably, folds like a shaky house of cards, and puts his on. 

He looks ridiculous. 

But it makes Christopher and Buck so ridiculously happy.

He decides it’s easily worth the potential blackmail material Buck is sure to get from it this evening. The unfair thing about Buck is that he has no proper sense of shame, and so it makes it very difficult to embarrass him. He’ll probably post a selfie on his Instagram in the long-johns, himself. Probably with Eddie and Christopher included, and captioned “Twinning!”

Hen and Chimney are going to have a field day with this.

Buck mans the microwave to make the popcorn, because Christopher insists Eddie will burn it. It’s not Eddie’s fault – he pushes the button marked ‘Popcorn,’ why would it come out burnt?

This starts Buck off on a rant about the history of the popcorn button, and how some microwaves use a humidity sensor to assess when the popcorn is done, and others just use a standard time that’s basically a best guess. And is sometimes wrong.

Christopher looks at Eddie accusingly, vindicated. Eddie shakes his head, because it’s so typically Buck to know something like that.

Buck portions the popcorn into several small bowls so they can try all the popcorn seasoning flavors, and Eddie says a small prayer for his rug, because there’s no way they’re making it to morning without at least a little popcorn ending up ground into it.

But he finds he doesn’t really care. 

They make their way through the popcorn and two rounds of Uno, and one of Trouble (during which Buck attempts to shamelessly cheat, but they still get trounced soundly by Christopher) before snuggling together in the annex to watch Finding Dory. 

It’s not quite a midnight feature, but by the time the movie winds to an end, Dory reunited with her parents, and settled back home in the ocean, it’s an hour past Christopher’s usual bedtime, and his eyes are fighting to stay open.

Buck and Eddie share a knowing look, and Buck breaks out “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.”

“No fair,” Christopher whines, rubbing his eyes. “You’re trying to make me sleepy so you can play kissing games.”

Eddie flushes. “Where is this obsession with kissing games coming from? Buck and I aren’t going to play kissing games.” Eddie’s going to have to pay closer attention to what media Chris is consuming if he has even a passing knowledge of Seven Minutes in Heaven.

Christopher looks skeptical, but gives in, burrowing in one of the many blankets that make up the living room floor and looking expectantly at Buck, who opens the book, and starts reading about the adventures of four British siblings and their adventures in another world. He doesn’t even reach the part where Lucy Pevensie discovers the lamppost at the entrance of Narnia, before he’s nodded off.

Buck closes the book, giving a loving pass through Christopher’s hair before carefully removing his glasses and setting them aside. He does it naturally, as if he’s done it a thousand times before. 

“You’re so good with him,” Eddie finds himself saying.

Buck laughs, softly. “It’s easy when he’s such a good kid.”

Eddie’s not sure what comes over him in that moment, but he leans over, and places a chaste kiss on Buck’s lips, a split-second meeting over the top of Christopher’s sleeping head.

Buck blinks, and then touches his lips, briefly. “What was that about?”

I just wanted to, Eddie thinks. Instead, he says, “Christopher seemed to think it was an integral part of the sleepover process.”

Buck blinks at him again, before grinning. “He’s going to be mad that we ended up playing kissing games after all.”

Eddie knows that’s not a particularly normal reaction to getting kissed by your male best friend, but it feels normal for them. As though it were inevitable, a natural progression of their relationship.

Eddie laughs himself, laying down next to Christopher, Buck bracketing him on the other side. It’s late for Christopher, but a little early for them to go to sleep, but he doesn’t mind. The three of them together, here, feels like family.

When Eddie walks back into Katya Ward’s office, he’s prepared with arguments. 

He and Buck haven’t kissed again since the night he slept over. They haven’t even mentioned it. But something has shifted between them. They stay a step closer to each other now, circling each other like they’re caught in the other’s orbital pull. It’s only a small closing of the gap, but considering how closely they invaded each other’s space before, Eddie can feel a significant difference.

Buck shows up for breakfast quite a lot now. He bought a set of geometric cookie cutters and has been making Christopher breakfasts shaped like squares and circles and triangles, before driving into work with Eddie. 

They have never eaten so well. 

Eddie knows he and Buck are on the cusp of something, and maybe that something won’t manifest for awhile. Maybe not ever.

But he thinks of those cookie cutters, and he knows. Whether their relationship shifts, or it doesn’t.

Buck is the choice. Of course he is. 

There’s nobody in this world I trust with my son more than you.

He should have known then.

“Mr. Diaz. Welcome back.”

“Ms. Ward,” he acknowledges. “I’m sorry about last time. I didn’t mean to waste your time. I can only say that I honestly thought that I knew what I wanted when I walked in. And please, call me Eddie.”

She smiled at him. “Katya, then. Have you made some decisions since our last meeting?”

He readies for battle. “Yes. I want to leave everything to Christopher in trust to Evan Buckley.”

He expects questions. Who is this Evan Buckley? A family member? Christopher’s uncle? Grandfather?

He nearly deflates when she simply nods and picks up her pen to make notes.

As it turns out, the question never comes. She accepts him at his word that Buck is the best choice for him to leave in charge of all his worldly goods, plus the most precious thing in his life.

Instead, she narrows in on the specifics. Does he want the house managed until Christopher turns 18, or does he want it sold and the profits added to Christopher’s trust. It’s a question that symies him. In the week he’s been imagining it, he’s been imagining Buck and Christopher in his house, not in Buck’s loft or some other, nebulous location. 

But he doesn’t have the kinds of savings that would pay the mortgage for the next ten years, and leave Christopher with anything left over.

Buck could afford to take over the property, but it’s hardly fair to ask him to pay the mortgage for the next ten years on Christopher’s behalf.

Buck should get the house, he decides. If he wants it. He chose that place to raise Christopher, and that’s where he wants Christopher to be raised. It’s close to Carla and Pepa and Abuela, convenient for a commute to the 118, and to Christopher’s school.

She advises she can made that conditional on him accepting taking custody of Christopher, a provision that startles Eddie out of his thoughts.

“I mean, yes. Of course,” Eddie says, because he’s not naive. “But there’s no way he wouldn’t.”

“I’m sure,” Katya says, making her notes. “But even though he may have agreed to it now, I should make it clear that there is actually no obligation on his part to accept the provisions of your will. It’s merely a precaution.”

“He hasn’t.”

Katya looked up. “Pardon.”

“He hasn’t. Agreed. Technically.”

She assesses him. “Eddie, if you need some more time, we can arrange that.”

“No. It’s Buck. That’s who I want for Christopher. I trust him.”

“Clearly.” Her voice is bone dry. “But you may want to have a conversation with him about it first. As I said, he isn’t obligated to accept. And, as we discussed last week, this is a decision that’s best not made lightly. You should be sure.”

Eddie considered this. There was no universe in which Buck said no, he knew that. Faced with Christopher, in need of a home, of a parent, and knowing that Eddie wanted that to be Buck…there was no way he said no.

He was equally sure that if Eddie asked him, Buck would break out all the arguments Eddie had for why he was a bad choice.

It didn’t matter how Eddie countered him, Buck would insist Eddie find someone else. Not because he didn’t want Christopher. But because he didn’t trust himself to be the best choice.

No. Eddie wasn’t risking it. It had to be Buck. If that meant evading Buck’s baffling self-esteem issues by just…not asking him, then so be it.

“I’m sure. He’s it. Do you need his authorization, or something?”

He’d certainly talked to his parents before naming them in his previous will. Which, he grimaced, he probably needed to address at some point, too. His father was not going to be happy.

Katya hesitated. “No. It can be done without his authorization or even knowledge. But I will strongly advise you that if you want your wishes followed, that you make them known to the people involved.”

Eddie can see how it might go down. That his father might raise a fuss, that his parents might argue with Buck that Christopher needs to be with family, with them. 

He’s equally sure that Buck, who would probably make the same arguments to Eddie now, won’t, if Eddie was gone and no longer there to argue with. He’ll fight for Christopher, and he’ll fight for Eddie, in a way he won’t fight for himself.”

Eddie thinks of the way Buck’s lips felt on his, for that brief moment, underneath Buck’s first blanket fort, his son sleeping between them, exhausted by a day with his favorite people. 

That’s what he wants for Christopher, always. That complete picture. Both he and Buck.

But if it can’t be that, than at least Buck.

He looks Katya in the eye, determined. 

“I’m ready to sign.”

And, he realized, as a feeling of peace settled in his chest at the words, he was.

[littlerosetrove]

CRITICAL THOUGHTS INCOMING

If the writers never make Buddie canon, I honestly think it’ll be a big disappointment and a dumb decision. Let me explain. 

If the writers decide to keep Buck and Eddie with either A) Natalia and Marisol or B) some other women down the line, either case is, TO ME, uninteresting and boring. And frankly a disservice to the characters of Buck and Eddie. 

Look, I already don’t have that much faith in the writers to - again if they decide to keep Marisol and Natalia around - make these two interesting, just for starters. History, aka canon, shows that the writers and powers that be don’t have much interest in making any love interest for Buck or Eddie interesting or particularly compelling. 

Abby is an exception because she was a main character in season one. Shannon in her own way is an exception too, despite being a temporary side character. 

TK, I guess, would be considered the second best “developed” character/love interest. But good god, at what cost? We effectively had to sit with TK for a season and a half to have it drilled into us that she’s selfish, career driven (in a bad way), struggles to be nice or have sympathy for others in any capacity, has unresolved daddy issues that she refuses to work on, and is an overall bitch. Wow, so glad we had to witness this for a season and a half. Oh and, no, TK may be a shitty person, but I didn’t find her to be all that interesting. (the actress was mediocre too, so that didn’t help matters)

Ali had a little sass to her and couldn’t handle the reality of Buck’s job (which is fine. it’s good she recognized they weren’t compatible). Not much else to her. Ana was a teacher, low key ableist, “nice,” and... fuck if I know what else. She was there and, to me, she was uninteresting. 

Marisol hasn’t even been set up in any way beyond us, the audience, knowing that Eddie met her on a call, she pointed out the right glue in front of Eddie’s face, and she does DIY. At best she’s a one dimensional character right now. 

Natalia is also, at present, pretty one dimensional as well. We only know her profession, but we’ve been given nothing else of substance to understand really why she has done or said anything in the show. We were shown she’s uncomfortable with Buck and his life, so she left, but came back because???? Natalia says she likes Buck, but we haven’t been shown why she does beyond her initial intrigue with his death. Her character already has a weird and rocky start, so.... Good luck to the writers.

Whether the writers decide to keep Natalia and Marisol and make them endgame, or bring in two new love interests at some point, I simply don’t have faith that the writers will make them good, compelling, and even somewhat decently developed characters. Yes I get that this show is a first responders show, and so that’s their focus, but my gosh if they can make interesting characters out of the people on their calls (not always, but sometimes), then why can’t they make the love interests for Main Characters interesting and fun to watch?????

The writers honestly wrote themselves into a corner making Buck and Eddie so incredibly stellar as an obvious romantic pairing. They WROTE these two as always having each others backs, always supporting each other, having fun together, being silly together, understanding each other on such a deep level truly no one else compares, loving each other, being protective of each other, having fantastic chemistry (that’s on the actors), and on and on. They WROTE these two as, truly, being perfect for one another in every way. 

I really do think it will be such a bizarre and dumb decision to, potentially, never make Buck and Eddie canon. 

I will also say that, for me, even if whatever LI Buck and Eddie end up with (that’s not each other) are developed well or even decently, I know I still won’t care about them. Why? Because again I already know Buck and Eddie are perfect for each other, so no one can compare. 

Yes I’m a big Buddie shipper. I also recognize there are definitely people out there that easily accept simple (underdeveloped in my eyes) characters like Ali or Ana or Marisol, etc. I get that people will go with the flow of, “Buck/Eddie seem happy with this person, so that’s good enough for me.” I get that. But I’m not one of them, and definitely not for characters like Buck and Eddie who I think deserve better than poorly developed love interests. Like gd, am I really asking that much of the writers to do better when I know they have it in them? 

In relation to all this I’ve stated in other posts that I don’t really care for Marisol or Natalia, and I don’t have to. I’m allowed to say “yeah I don’t really care for this character” without there being some deep and/or terrible reasoning behind it. I also don’t have to like specific storylines for characters. As this post indicates, I don’t care for the current romantic storylines of Eddie and Buck, but especially Buck (we’ve seen this movie four gd times already). If someone likes it in any way, that’s totally cool. You feel how you feel. 

I doubt I’ll have anyone coming onto my post debating me about this, but just in case? Please don’t bother. I don’t care that the likelihood of Buck and Natalia lasting are probably low. Same with Eddie and Marisol. I just don’t care because I don’t care for these storylines. I’m not looking forward to seeing more of either of these storylines, no matter how long or short they last. 

EDIT: Also? Holy shit I'm also just tired of Buck and Eddie being paired off with unmemorable and forgettable people. The most “memorable” one would probably be TK, but only because she’s such a bitch, and yet still uninteresting. 

TL;DR? I want better for Buck and Eddie. Letting them get together and be together romantically is, I think, the best and logical decision for these characters. 

[matan4il]

Not really Buddie but I had put in my back pocket something I had wanted to address depending on if Buck did the sample donation.

You had an ask about why Conor would choose a white guy as a donator and as someone in a mixed race relationship I wanted to give my opinion on why it wasn't a surprise to me

I am white and my husband is Asain. Both my kids look absolutely nothing like my at all. Like not one feature and it's just something we laugh at and we're expecting.

It makes sense if you are a same race couple you would choose the donor according. But in mixed race I don't think that's as important. Also what struck me is how she shares alot of features with Buck so there also could be alot to the fact they are just picking a good donor and hey plus side you guys could be siblings.

Hi lovely Nonnie! Thank you for your input, I always appreciate hearing people’s experiences and different perspectives. I think it’s beautiful that it doesn’t matter to you what the kids look like! Not that long ago, there were shameful, racist laws that prohibited interracial marriages. On top of social stigma. Reading something like your ask makes me wanna stop and just be grateful for a second for how far we’ve come. We are not yet where we should be, but it is good to note that progress has been made, too.

IDK if you and your hubby had to use a sperm donor, and of course I wouldn’t ask you. I can only speak of my own lived experience as a gay woman who would have to use a sperm donor if and when I wanted to become a parent, and from the lived experiences of my gay friends who followed that route. Obviously, no group of humans is a monolith, but I find that for a lot of gay people, when using sperm donors, we do tend to want a donor who look a lot like the non-biological parent. It’s something that helps make us feel connected to the kid, but it’s also something that can help in cases where an issue might arise. Because sadly, a POC with a white looking kid can still draw way more unwanted attention (and even suspicion) than a white person with a POC kid. That’s the part that makes me say that we’re still not where we should be (I hope one day soon we will be).

Granted, Connor and his wife could have decided to go against it, there’s a lot of different reasons I could think of for why they might have decided they’re cool with their sperm donor being white when the wife is white but the husband isn’t (maybe Connor loves his wife so much, all he wants is for the kids to look like her, or maybe they deliberately want to go against the racists and what they might think, say or do if they see a man of color with a white kid, or maybe it’s important to him to show that he will love this kid whether it looks like him or not, or maybe they place kindness truly above anything else and neither one knows anyone kinder than Buck). All of these things are valid. So what was said wasn’t to invalidate Connor and his wife’s decision, it's simply one that I think gave some viewers (myself, with my particular experience) pause. One of the things I considered is maybe this couple hasn’t really stopped to discuss that aspect, and is it maybe a sign that they’re desperate and rushing into things? I have no idea. It’s just one option out of many. We’ll know more if this is ever addressed on screen.

Thank you again and lots of hugs to you and your beautiful family! xoxox

(and as always, if anyone’s looking for it, here is my ask tag! xoxox)

[rootslosangeles]

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[seddair]

i feel like people always forget network tv is NOT subtle. shows really telegraph what they're gonna do with respect to relationships.

Exactly! I’ve watched a number of network television shows over the years that had slow burn romances, and pretty much none of them were all that subtle lol. There’s a couple that come to mind that didn’t hint at romance at the beginning (Barney/Robin from HIMYM for instance), but it never took THIS long to get around to it.

Is there a chance they could change course and start telegraphing Buddie? Sure. But it isn’t just gonna happen out of the blue without some pretty obvious hints as to where this is going. Some people might think they’re already there, but they really aren’t at all lol.

[prof-peach]

A few years ago I got an eevee as an emotional support pokemon and she recently evolved into an espeon. She’s always been really sweet and loves to snuggle up with me after a long day. Her behavior hasn’t changed much since evolving. One of my family members told me that I should re-home her because my depression would affect her health. Since then I’ve noticed her cuddling up to me a lot more often now. I’ve heard before that psychic types are really sensitive to people’s emotions so I wasn’t sure. I love her so much, and I’d hate to be hurting her but I’d be so devastated to see her go. Do you think that I should re-home her?

This is one of those situations where you shouldn't listen to your family, they're making uneducated assumptions it would seem.

So Espeon are a pokemon I am always suggesting to people, along side many other psychic types, for the exact reason that they help regulate moods.

Yes. Psychic types become linked to their trainers, and often detect their moods and any unusual brain activity. However, just because they detect something, does not then mean they are slaves to that. They often have an understanding of human emotion, but don't always get dragged into the complexity of it all. Psychic types also can use energy waves to regulate moods, once they gain some practice.

As your buddy has only recently evolved, she wont have mastered this yet, but will be trying, i can assure you. If the gem on her head is faintly glowing, or more obvious than normal while around you, she's actively trying to help you stabiles how you're feeling.

They are excellent support mons, and you've given me no reason to think she's suffering because of how you're feeling. Thats not really now it works. There are of course cases of pokemon who are too sensitive to humans, and they show very distinct behaviour that would suggest that rehoming is a good choice. Your buddy is not showing that, in fact quite the opposite, cuddling up more. Contact strengthens the psychic bond, she still sits on and around you, no issues, no changes in behaviour otherwise, so like...don't listen to people who tell you what to do with your team? If you're worried, ask your actual pokemon. They're smart enough to understand you, more than intelligent enough to give you a real response in terms of what they do and don't want. Their opinion is the only one that matters here. You're doing nothing harmful to them, they're just trying to help you. Should their behaviour become shy, nervous or skittish, this is where you may need to consider further action. Until then, nothing to stress over. Focus on recovering, help yourself too, your pokemon cannot cure depression, they simply can help relieve symptoms, so you gotta take the lead if you want to improve. Good news it will help to have them! The job becomes easier, can say first hand, a psychic type makes managing moods FAR easier, why'd you think I keep a Vulpix around? Same reason as you bud.

Chin up, you have the best support you could ask for in your partner!

[mrcspectr]

wake me (when it’s over), chapter 2

Summary: In which Steven discovers the nightmare is not as hollow as Marc might think.

Title from Wake Me When It’s Over by the Cranberries.

Living in the past, it's difficult to hide. Some things will never last when you're swallowing your pride.

Inspired by this fantastic piece that’s been living rent free in my brain for a solid week now. You should absolutely go reblog it because wow.

Also, did an instrumental playlist for this story, if you’re into that sort of thing.

Word Count: 5.6k

Warnings: implied/referenced suicide, canon-typical violence, angst

Steven?

Steven sits in the center of the bed, dressed in a soft, white t-shirt of his own and a pair of dark, navy sweatpants of Marc’s. While they don’t agree on much when it comes to their normal, everyday clothing, tonight Marc can’t deny that his headmate has excellent taste when it comes to what he wears to sleep.

Scratch that, he briefly thinks to himself with a huff, when he tries to sleep.

Most of the clothes he’s started leaving around the flat are practical, yet comfortable. A bit bland for Steven's taste, but he’s just happy that Marc is now finally taking some initiative in cleaning out the storage locker. It’s been a slow process — a bag here, a hard, dented case of old, yet official looking documents there. But it’s a start, anyway, and the man hasn’t held onto many personal items to begin with.

It almost makes Steven feel guilty about the whole situation, the way Steven's own things have easily overtaken every available shelf and bit of wall space in the flat. Marc sometimes complains about the mess, though he’s never done much when it comes to contributing to it or even straightening it up.

He��s threatened to, on occasion. But there’s never been any follow through. Not yet, anyway.

That is, until Steven took it upon himself to start bringing the storage locker key with him to work in the morning. And if something well worn of Marc’s happened to make its way home with him, well. How he managed that must've slipped his mind entirely, as far as Marc's questioning was concerned. 

Besides, Steven is quite forgetful.

Everything Marc has begrudgingly brought on his own is very simple, very, well … Marc. He’s not sure when they started sharing those things, either, but the give and take feels natural, after some time. Steven simply reaches for something in their dresser drawers, paying no mind to whose it is.

Each bit of fabric feels more familiar than the last, somehow. These hands have held these things before, he knows. But it’s never been Steven, not until now.

And anyway, he’s much more at peace during the night than he’s been in years, and he’s always been able to concentrate best when he’s comfortable. And maybe just a little bit sleep deprived, somehow.

Some things never change, even his worst habits.

Hey, Steven.

“Hm?” He turns the page of the book that lies open in his lap, barely registering Marc's low voice in his ear. His glasses have slid down towards the end of his nose, but he’s been so engrossed, he hasn’t noticed enough to adjust them.

Have you been listening to me?

“Well, not since you’d started nattering on about me wasting our time, no, not really. Why d’you ask?”

Steven can almost sense, without looking, Marc's eyes rolling in the reflection above him. Look buddy, thanks for the honesty, but I'm tired. We're tired. Can we give this a rest?

With an exaggerated sigh, Steven takes the pen he's been absentmindedly chewing on and puts it between the pages, marking his place. "Alright then, so it's fine when it's convenient for you, is it?"

What are you talking about, Steven?

"Well," he lifts his head to the reflection, raising an eyebrow questioningly at Marc, as if punctuating the dark frames of his glasses. "Y'haven't slept in days."

Looking down again, he flips through the corners of the pages so that he can skim ahead to the next chapter. The title reads Oneiromancy in Egyptian Culture in thick, black letters.

Well, that’s a new one, isn’t it? Haven't read that word before.

"Hard not to notice your insomnia. Especially when I'm the one who usually wakes up in a state."

Not tired. Not until right now, anyway.

"That's sort of the point."

Kinda helping the process along here with … whatever it is you're reading. Looks boring.

Steven's eyes widen, staring incredulously now up at the mirror. "Marc!"

Oh, suddenly we're not being honest now?

"That's not—" Steven closes his eyes, taking a deep breath in an attempt to control his impending annoyance. "You're supposed to be talking to me now, remember? You promised, back in Cairo, and we’ve discussed this."

There were a lot of things they purposefully chose to forget, after they left Egypt. Maybe that was their first mistake. Marc has been trying, Steven knows he has, it’s just… Slow going on some days, more so than others. With that, Steven has done his best to lean on his sense of patience, but again, Marc is… Well, he can be trying with that, too.

The dark circles under their eyes are quite familiar to Steven, but the worrying bit is that he isn’t the one who’s put them there this time. Each morning that Steven has awoken first, he’s noticed that they’ve become more distinct, a deeper shade of purple, carving a crescent moon just above their cheekbones. While he seems to feel particularly more refreshed mentally these days, the physical exhaustion on the body is starting to take its toll on the both of them.

“Something’s going on here. And I just want to understand, that’s all.”

I keep telling you, Steven, they’re just… They’re nightmares, they’re nothing. Marc drags his hand down his face, closing his eyes. I’ve always had ‘em, since I was a kid. There’s nothing to really talk about or explain, just happens.

“But they’re worse, and have kept getting worse since we’ve been back. We look like we might very well drop with the right gust of wind.”

Even if I said that, which I haven’t, by the way… Marc opens his eyes again to throw a stern glance in Steven’s direction. Steven thinks he’s supposed to be intimidated by it, but decides very quickly he isn’t. You’re not gonna fix it with your nose in a book.

“Think we both know I’ve fixed quite a lot with my books, mate.”

Didn’t say that either.

“Don’t have to.”

There’s a triumphant grin on Steven’s face that he can’t quite hide whenever he wins an argument. In the past, it’s always had the tendency to make Marc roll his eyes at him, never allowing him the satisfaction of being right. On his worst days, he’d even disappear from the reflection in a huff, shaking his head as he went.

But lately, things have been different. Better. It’s not that Marc doesn’t get frustrated anymore, — that’s a hurdle Steven expects them to be jumping for the foreseeable future. But Marc is more willing to give in a little, to actually listen, and it’s made it easier to pick away at his foundation day by day.

There’s something especially rewarding about the way Steven watches some of the tension leave Marc’s expression, his eyes softening at the edges, but still trying to keep up appearances through their glare. Stubborn, but not as steely as he used to be.

Sometimes, Marc still feels impossibly far away, even etched in Steven’s mind as he is. But in other moments, quiet ones like this, at night, when it doesn’t feel like they have to be anything but themselves, all Steven feels between them is a smooth panel of glass. Just a tool they use whenever they want to look each other in the eye, when occupying the same space and the same heart isn’t enough.

An echo of a memory passes between them. Steven’s memory. Hard tile under his feet and the tight coil of fear in his gut, slowly unwinding as a dark, unfamiliar voice spoke to him for the first time.

Let me save us.

“Let me help us, Marc.”

A flicker of recognition passes through Marc’s eyes then, and to Steven’s surprise, he actually smiles. It’s hesitant and unsure at first, the slow spread of it easing out the once seemingly permanent creases in Marc’s brow. There’s a warmth in the way he looks down at him then, and Steven can feel it spread out further from his ribcage.

You ever gonna tell me how you do that?

"What's that, throwing your old hero nonsense back at you?"

Marc lets out a laugh, soft and low, and Steven finds himself almost sad when it fades out.

It worked when it counted, didn't it? Wasn't trying to be a hero anyway, just needed to save our skin. They both go quiet at the memory, eyes shut as they remember the sound of the jackal screeching, echoing along the museum's empty halls. Pieces of broken porcelain scattered around their feet, the smell of dust and sand from the fabric pulled tight against their face.

There had still been fear, sure. But more importantly, there'd been comfort, too. Safety.

A thing foreign to them both, but welcomed all the same.

What I mean is … how do you know what to say? Even when I don't. They open their eyes again at the same moment, not needing to search for the other's gaze as they reach it, immediately, every time.

Especially when I don't.

"I don't always have all the answers, Marc. Thing is, I'd like to help you find them, if you'll let me."

I have a hard time with that, bud.

"Yeah, I know. Doesn't mean I'll stop trying, though."

Marc chuckles under his breath again, shaking his head. Okay, why don't you tell me about what you've been reading, then? That thing looks ancient.

"Alright, let's dive right in, yeah?" Steven pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and, in his excitement to show Marc his most recent studies, he flings his pen off the side of the bed where it clatters to the floor.

"See, the Egyptians believed that dreams were actually messages from the gods, and that inducing a vivid dream state gave them the blessing of divine revelation…"

~~~

Waking lately has begun to feel a lot less like a sharp fall. Now the sensation feels more like floating up to the surface, and Steven is grateful to discover the difference. As he creeps forward into awareness, he finds a gentle breeze blowing across his face, his dark curls brushing against his forehead as he comes to.

A heavy sigh escapes him, his warm breath a contrast to the cool air.

He isn’t sure when he fell asleep, actually. He'd been talking to Marc, leaning back against the headboard with his book, its old, yellowed pages held out in front of him. He’d been going over a particularly fascinating chapter about oracles and interpreting messages from the afterlife.

Marc had asked him to read out loud, and so he'd pleasantly complied, slowing his typical frenzied pace so that nothing was missed, and Marc could ask questions in between if he wanted to. And he did, to Steven's delight.

At no point did he feel rushed, or like he was being too much. It was quite nice.

He must've trailed off at some point, the rhythmic tone of his own voice mingling with Marc's occasional hum of encouragement, lulling him to sleep. Ah, well. He'd pick it back up again eventually. They had plenty of time for all that.

But gosh, it’s cold in here. Did they leave the window open or something?

As he opens his eyes, expecting to see Marc staring blearily down at him from the mirror again, he’s surprised to find not a reflective surface, but a starry night sky. A murky darkness, with a few scattered points of light.

Not even a hint of the dated wood that made up his London apartment, his home. Their home.

"What the—"

With a start, he scrambles to prop himself up on his elbows, only to find less than stable ground beneath him. Not their bed back at the flat, then, either. He digs his arms further down in an attempt to sit up, and slowly he starts to make out his surroundings. He feels a shift and flow that’s familiar, unmooring him and winding a tight knot of fear in his gut.

Like sand.

Now jerked into alertness, Steven practically throws himself to his feet, head whipping around to take in his surroundings. There’s not much to see: tall dunes of swirling sand, carried up and through the air by the same winds that seem to have brought him here. A deep purple sky, bearing down on him as his breath catches in his throat, heart rattling against his ribcage until it aches.

He feels himself begin to shake, his fingers twitching by his sides, and a roaring through his ears that he can’t explain. Like his whole body is rebelling against the memory of the last time he’d been in this place, against the cold and the fear and the quiet. Forcing him to move in tight, jerking motions, to remind him that he could. That he wasn’t frozen in place, looking after a boat that had long since left him behind.

I’m back in the Duat. I’m back here.

How is this possible?

Did I — did I ever leave, then? Was all of it… Cairo, Harrow, the flat… Was any of that real?

Was I frozen here this whole time?

Steven shuts his eyes tight against the memory, digging his fists into the sides of his skull, like if he could just create enough pressure, it might soothe his spinning thoughts enough to figure out how the hell he ended up here again.

And why, despite the whirlwind occupying every available space in his head, it somehow still feels quiet and empty. Like there is something missing.

Through the fog, he grabs hold of an anchor. A single word that enters his mind, yanking him back to the present.

A name he’s only just learned, but now can never forget.

"Marc?"

For a beat, he’s met with more silence in return. His blood runs cold in his veins as time seems to drift off into nothing. His vision darkens at the edges, tunneling further and faster still, ears ringing, until a voice, heavy and unfamiliar, breaks through behind him.

“Yeah, I was lookin’ for him too, and I found you here instead. Damn shame, I guess."

Turning to face the man speaking, Steven’s heart leaps into his throat. The feeling of unease and panic threatens to drag him down into the ground below as he takes in this … individual, whether he be man or ghost. It isn’t Marc, no, because he knows Marc’s presence by feeling alone, without ever needing to see him. However, this is exactly who he’d been looking for, in every word on the pages of that book. In every other dream.

They share the same face, Steven knows, but the way this man holds his features is so unfamiliar, Steven considers for a moment that he must be looking at a stranger. And he is, technically, because he���s never found this particular set of eyes looking back at him through the mirror. In fact, the man’s eyes seem to darken by shades the longer he stares in Steven’s direction. His mouth is set in a tight, thin line, and there is an unlit cigarette held between his fingers, hanging at his side. He stands stiff and at attention, his gaze never drifting away from Steven’s tense, wavering frame.

And he looks tired. More tired than Steven has ever looked, if that were even possible. And somehow more withdrawn than Marc, despite all of Marc’s struggles these past few weeks.

Steven takes a deep breath, and feels the thrum of his heart slow as his mind connects his racing thoughts back together. As the shock of recognition and fear fades into the background, it is replaced by Steven’s preferred state of being — that of inquiry and analysis.

“Oh. T-this must be a dream. Alright. Good. Very good.” His voice comes out shakier than expected, so he swallows against it, tries again. “Are you … the other one? Well, I think you might be, anyhow. Marc seems to think you’re a—”

“I’m a … what? Just a part of the nightmare?” The man makes a low sound in his throat, something that could be a laugh, but it’s trapped too deep inside himself to make out. Steven winces. "Yeah, guess he would think that. This ain’t your fight, hermanito. You shouldn’t be here.”

“Just a minute, that’s—” Steven clasps his hands together in front of him, a poor attempt at ending their shaking. “...that’s Spanish, right? Marc had said you spoke it once, in his last dream. So I’ve been practicing. It means little… Little what, exactly?”

"I bet you've got a book for that somewhere. Back at home. Maybe you should go find out."

“So you know what home is like, then? Have you been there before, or do you just…” He gestures meekly around them. “Stay here?”

“Missin’ the point here, Steven. That’s not like you.” His sentences are clipped, abrupt. He hasn’t been here long, but already he seems to be losing his patience.

He reminds Steven of Marc. Just a little.

“Oh! And you … you know my name already. Wow. I hadn’t even introduced myself yet. Guess we can skip that step, then. For m’self, anyway.”

The man sighs, reaching into his jacket pocket to pull out a small, black lighter. He flicks the edge of it to ignite a flame. A thought breaks through Steven’s nerves then; it seems that the flickering light is much like the thousands of twinkling stars above their heads. There’s something reassuring about those stars, however far away they might be. Still warm, even in the cold, dark night. Steven shivers but carries on, emboldened by the idea.

“Could you at least maybe tell me your name? So I know who I’m speaking to?”

No reply. Though the man hasn’t changed the subject, or walked away. Perhaps Steven just needs to give him time. He tilts his head, looking up at the sky for what feels like hours. Maybe time passes differently here; Steven’s not sure. Last time he was here, he certainly felt frozen for long enough, longer than anyone should. And he somehow came back feeling older from it. Maybe even a bit wiser, he thinks cheekily.

After an indefinite period of time, Steven glances back at the man. He looks like he’s contemplating what he wants to say … though there’s no telling whether he intends on speaking the truth. A muscle twitches in his neck and he sighs, looking back at Steven again.

“The name’s Lockley. That’s what I tell people when I’m working.”

“And when you’re… Not working?”

“Jake. Just Jake.”

“Well, Just Jake, it’s a pleasure. Now if you’ve got the time, I have a few ques—”

“No.” His voice is abrupt, sharp, cutting through the night air and right into Steven’s resolve.

“I-I’m sorry?”

The man named Jake begins to walk, moving with short, slow steps in a wide arc around where Steven stands. It seems to Steven that the movement is more of an anxious habit than a deliberate choice. He observes the way Jake makes a point not to look at him as he goes, choosing instead to fiddle with the lighter. The flame is close to his face now, illuminating one side while casting the other in shadow.

“This ain’t the place for your nagging. And I already said. You’re not meant to be here. Something must've happened. Messed it up. It was always supposed to be the big guy.”

“Do you mean Marc?”

“Yeah.” Jake eyes him from the side, tightening his jaw reflexively. “Marc.”

“That’s sort of what I wanted to ask you, actually. Y’see, he’s been having trouble sleeping, and it’s … it’s been causing us both a bit of grief, y’know? Same body and all that. And he… He can’t seem to stay out because, well…” Steven hesitates, unsure how his next sentence will go. Still, he musters up the courage to rattle it off anyway.

“I think you've scared him.”

Jake stops dead in his tracks, turning toward Steven again so fast it makes him jump. He’s angry, that much Steven’s sure of, but the feeling doesn’t quite meet his eyes. They look dull somehow, hollow almost to complete emptiness. It’s a deep enough sadness that Steven feels like he should look away. But just before that, if he looks closely, he can see a shred of guilt, just below the surface. But he waits too long to say anything about it, and it’s gone again.

“Hell, you think I’m not tired?”

He turns away from Steven again, lighting the cigarette he’s been holding; the end is a single point of dim light in the murky desert air. “And anyway, maybe I’ve got a better question. He apologize to you yet?”

“Apologize?”

“Marc. You know, el jefe. The least he could do.”

Steven tilts his head to the side, not quite seeing the point the man was headed towards. “You’ll have to give me a bit more than that, mate.”

“You know. All that time you thought you were sleepwalking? The fake shit he planted in your head? That he’s so sorry for what he’s done. It was all to protect you, blah blah blah. Like he knows what that word means.” He resumes his steady pace, his footprints blown away by the hastening wind. This time Jake’s eyes meet Steven’s as he goes, and Steven follows, feeling as if he’s sinking further into the sand as he turns alongside Jake’s steps.

"And what is it you're getting at, exactly?"

"He blew up your life, Steven. To shreds. Kept you in the dark to what was really going on. Marc’s in control, Marc knows best. Thought you would've figured that out by now." He says it with spite in his voice, and there’s something in the tone that’s familiar to Steven, an echo from the days when he truly didn’t understand. It’s the same venom that once coated his own words, back when he'd shouted from a mirror on a dark night in London.

But with the truth has come acceptance, and a companionship that he’s not sure he ever wants to do without, now that he’s felt it. There’s an honesty that’s grown between them that Steven believes in; he feels it deep in the marrow of his bones.

He trusts Marc, more than anything else in this world or the next. And if this man, this Jake, is truly a part of them, then they are a part of him too.

And Steven wants to understand. And needs Jake to understand. But Jake shakes his head.

“Don’t know about you, but it’s about time we make our own damn decisions around here.”

"He … is that what all this is about? Why you’ve been attacking him in his dreams? You think he…" He shuts his eyes tight, shaking his head before he opens them again. "Jake. This is our life. I know that now."

"Is it? Because something tells me it would've gone a lot differently for you if you'd known that," he inhales deeply from the cigarette, blowing a plume of smoke up and towards the stars. "A long time ago."

"No, you've got it all wrong. That was Khonshu he … he manipulated Marc, made him work for him. Made him do horrible things. And Marc, he did want to protect me. And he did, from Mum, from that old bird, from everything. But Khonshu’s gone, and things are better now. Much better. I didn’t know it then, but—”

“That’s the whole problem, Steven. Do I have to spell it out for ya? You didn’t know. You never knew. And didn’t you have the right? To decide for yourself?”

“Marc just wanted me to have a better life, better than whatever it was he got stuck with.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Jake takes the half burned cigarette from his mouth, throwing it, still lit, to the sand at his feet. Lifting his heel, he grinds it down into the desert itself, the smell of smoke its only memory of ever being there at all.

“But you still don’t get the half of it, you know."

“Can you just… Can you tell me, then? Without lying to me? I’m trying here, really, I am.”

Jake laughs, the hollow shape of it echoing across the sands. “Everybody lies, Steven. Some of us are just better at it, is all. You being here? Not knowing me, what I do? Best lie I ever told.”

“So you have been around then, haven’t you?”

The dark smile that had crept across Jake’s features falls suddenly flat, his expression now tight and strained.

Gotcha.

Steven considers Jake for a moment as he chooses his next words, carefully piecing together the sentences in his mind before he decides to risk voicing them, trying to swallow the nervousness still vibrating at his core. "And anyway, isn't … lying not far off from keeping secrets? It's still an omission, if you get down to the bare bones of it. And you want honesty and choice. That’s what you’re so angry with him about, yeah? Because it seems like… You want me to be angry, too. So that I leave, maybe even fight with him myself. Is that right?"

"This conversation ain't about me. This is about you.”

"Alright, yeah, I can see you're trying to make it that. Your logic's a bit flawed though, innit? Can't really be angry with Marc if you're doing the same thing. Thing is, he's not the one tearing you apart in the desert."

“What happens out there’s got nothing to do with me. In here, I can do what I want."

Steven wants, more than anything, to break eye contact, to take a step back. Give them both some breathing room so that maybe he can de-escalate. But he's so close to really getting to the roots of this man… So, he carries on, almost pleading.

"He doesn't fight back, does he, Jake? What does that tell you, about what he thinks of everything he’s done?"

“Yeah, well. Maybe I’ve been shitty to him in here. But that’s only because I know he’ll wake up just fine back out there.”

Steven looks down at his hands, fidgeting under Jake’s intense stare. He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to that, like he's looking right through him.

“But he’s not fine, is he? And neither are you, Jake. You can't really believe that. I think… I think you’re one of us, and you don’t want to be in here anymore. You want out, and something’s stopping you, keeping you trapped in here. S’like your dragging yourself out.”

Jake's fists are tight at his sides, and Steven thinks they might be shaking like his own, but he can't be sure in the dim night.

"Can take care of myself, 'nito."

He bites off the words, trying to hold onto his anger but failing, letting it slip from his grasp as his eyes soften at Steven's words.

Steven takes a tentative step forward, bridging the gap that had been casually widening throughout their conversation. “You don’t have to, is the thing. It could be different. We’re different now, and we can help.”

Steven takes another step but stops when he sees Jake’s eyes dart down toward his feet. “You could be a part of that, if you really wanted."

"Got no issues with you, Steven. You’ve been in the dark on my being here just as much as the big guy. Was easier that way, 'til now."

“But you can’t just pick and choose who to be angry with, Jake. It doesn’t work like that. We're all here, making the best of it. We’re in this toge—”

“No. You two are in it together. I’ve been in here, rotting until you muck something up enough to need me.” Now Jake is the one to step forward, voice rising, coming towards Steven in wide, reaching movements.

 Steven thinks he should be afraid, maybe. But he buries it, as deep as it will go. He hesitates, not wanting to regret his words when he's not certain they'll ever speak again past this moment, but it’s no use. His anger gets the best of him. “We never asked you to do that.”

“You never had to, that’s the whole idea.”

“Bloody hell, for a man you seem to hate, you realize you sound just like him, right?"

Steven turns on his heels and starts walking. To where, he's not entirely sure. There's no discernable landmarks on the horizon, no figures in the distance, no sign of the gates of Osiris. But it's better than being here, arguing in circles again with a man he barely knows.

Once before was quite enough.

Marc was wrong, Steven is sure about that now. There is something here to fix, something tangible, and there’s certainly a lot to talk about and explain. But they’re not going to get anywhere while they’re both cheesed off, experience has taught him that. Broken mirrors have shown him that, more than once.

They’ll figure this out, they have to. They just need time.

And Steven … he needs Marc on this one.

Jake stays rooted in place, but his gaze never leaves Steven's retreating figure. Jake’s eyes soften slightly. If anyone were looking, they might even say that his expression is aching now, unsure. The mask seems to fall more easily once there’s no one around to see it. Jake looks toward the horizon, past Steven’s footsteps in the sand, watching as he goes but never making a move to stop him. Leaving him to his choices. 

His voice is quieter now, Steven near straining to hear him. "Where are you going?"

"Home! Have to wake up eventually, right?"

Steven turns for just a moment, looking back at the man he tried so hard to find. Jake doesn’t look that angry anymore, he just looks… Lost. Reluctant. But still he stands there, frozen, exactly where Steven left him in his anger. Steven almost goes back, then, if only to wipe that look off his face. To make him move.

He knows what it’s like, to be trapped in one place while you’ve tried desperately to find yours.

A man familiar, but just out of reach.

“I’ll be back, though. Now that I know you’re ‘round, it’s just a matter of … getting here. So when you’ve stopped being a git, call me, I guess. Or whatever it is you have to do.”

Steven smiles at him then, and Jake’s eyes widen at the sight.

“It was a pleasure, Just Jake.”

~~~

He’s a lot like you, back when we first met.

Marc is standing in the kitchen, eyes a bit blurry from lack of sleep but oddly enough, more rested than he’d been in days. That was Steven’s doing, no doubt. The guy saw a problem and dove head first into solving it, despite how much Marc had protested.

The smell of fresh coffee passes over him, and he’s reminded of the mug in his hand as the chime of the machine brings him back to his senses.

“Steven, that guy is nothing like me.”

Yeah, well. You would say that, wouldn’t you?

Marc opens the fridge, moving a few takeout containers around so that he can reach a tiny carton of cream he’d hidden at the back of the shelf. But just as his fingertips graze the edge of it, his arm freezes in place.

Not on our life, mate.

Marc sighs, his arm falling to his side. “Steven, I’m not above begging.”

And I’m not above blackmail, either.

“What are you—”

Listen, whether you believe it or not, Jake’s around, and he’s not going away as much as you’d like him to. Steven’s reflection in the glass of the coffee pot is stern, the most grounded Marc’s ever seen him. He isn’t going to let this one go, that’s for sure.

Why you’d want to bury another guy in our noggin like that, I’ll never understand.

“I dunno, maybe it’s because he’s spent our nights ripping a centuries old armor off my body, among other things.”

He wants to live, Marc. He’s angry.

“Yeah, I get that. Can be pissed without getting people hurt, though.”

Marc looks over after a beat of Steven’s silence, the man’s eyebrow raised in the glass as he stares back at him. Waiting.

“...okay, noted.”

Look, all I’m saying is… Be open to the idea, yeah? Some sleep and conversation might be good for us, for all of us, I think.

Yeah, definitely not letting that one go, then. As much as he’d like to go on believing the man called Jake was just a part of his own ongoing nightmare problem, Steven had made it a point to replay their entire conversation as soon as they woke up. All of which Marc had had no knowledge of. And here he’d just assumed he was lucky enough to have one blissful night of dreamless sleep. Guess there’d been a lot going on while he was out.

At least there’s comfort in knowing that their dynamic is the same, even after these new revelations that could have upended … everything.

He knows Steven means well, will always mean well, but he can’t help the worry making a home in his bones. After all, they’ve just started to figure this whole thing out, and it’s been… Nice. Things are good, minus the whole not sleeping thing. But he can deal with it, if it means not messing the rest of it up.

They’ve started to figure out how to make a life together, and the idea of adding someone else to it, someone he’d always brushed off as just a part of his very overactive imagination…

The whole thing just seems like a mess waiting to happen.

“Y’know, I’d be a lot more open to it if I could drink this how I want to.”

Alright, fine. But when you’re dealing with the consequences later, don’t come looking for me.

Marc picks up the pot and Steven disappears as he pours the dark, warm drink into his cup. But he’s not gone, not really. Not in the way he used to be. There aren’t walls anymore, nothing to break down, nothing to keep them from speaking to each other.

Steven is always there. And the thought is enough to keep Marc open to more, just a little.

[texasthegreatdestroyer]

Well. EA finally took a stance on pay walling, and creators are triggered.

It hasn’t even been a full day since this information has been released, and people are already losing their shit about it and saying some of the stupidest shit, and it’s... wow, I fuckin live for it. Someone get the popcorn, I’m down to watch mental breakdowns caused by getting kicked off pedestals.  I want to give my thoughts on some stuff, and the first thing I want to address is the whole Felixandre supposedly talking about taking EA to court, which I haven’t seen a statement directly from him saying that, but I mean, with how money hungry these exclusive assholes are, I wouldn’t be surprised if that was something that left his dumbass gullet. (That and I’m sure it’s a passing thought most exclusive creators are having right now, so I’m gonna make a statement on it under the pretense of if this was true.) So here’s a little bit of a raining on the parade for all the perma paywallers who actually wanna take this to court. News flash!!! You’re gonna lose. No, seriously. Microstar vs. Genform is the only case on mods that realistically on par with what the Sims 4 community has been dealing with on mass, and it’s a case where the IP holder won. The defendant, Microstar, took a bunch of Duke Nukem mods, burned them onto CD’s and sold them. Genform sued their ass and won, setting the legal precedent we have today stating that profiting off of mods is illegal. Now I’ll give them some benefit of the doubt, this precedent is over 20 years old and very well could be challenged, HOWEVER. If Felixandre is suppose to be the case to turn the tides, well uh... I got some bad news for ya buddy. The Duke Nukem mods that successfully got Microstar sued were actual mods that transformed the game play. They were custom made game levels. They weren’t just the kind of mods you create, that being a mere reskinning of assets. Your little kitchen set is not transformative enough to justify allowing a bunch of random people the ability to profit off someone else’s IP directly through their programming.  To keep it short and sweet for you, if legitimate gameplay altering mods weren’t considered transformative enough to win a copyright lawsuit, what makes you think your mere reskinning of assets in a game that simply only makes it look pretty is going to get a stamp of approval from copyright law? The answer is it won’t. So if you want to waste your time going after a multi-million dollar company for copyright in a lawsuit that you will objectively lose, be my guest. It would be so fucking funny watching you go bankrupt. Please, be that stupid. As for the stuff with Early Access creators. I have always supported the idea of Early Access, and the reason for this is because of the fact that it’s a happy middle ground were people can make a little bit of side cash for the work they do, and everyone still gets the content they want for free. However, EA has also done away with that. This isn’t the end of the world however, there are ways to adapt. If you’re skilled enough, consider taking it to a professional level. Get your portfolio out there, show companies what you can do, and get yourself working for legitimate game companies. Because realistically, that’s how it starts for people who do this stuff professionally. They build up a portfolio through making mini games, pushing their own projects, and mods. Creators can also, and I’ve been saying this for months now, essentially utilize a loop hole. You cannot profit off of cc it self, but you can profit off of the blender files. Sell your models to hobbyists and allow them to put your models in game. If someone likes what you do enough to put your work into the game, you will get paid for it. As stupid as it is, if people are willing to pay for blender renders, something that does not alter the game in the slightest and really just isn’t sims anymore, they will pay for models to put in the game. Additionally, @mack3030 made a good post on other things people can do to make up for the fact that Early Access has been done away with. Her Post: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/mack3030/691299466761961472?source=share It’s also important to note, that while I understand that getting a job can be a tough thing, especially for those who have a disability. (I get it. I am disabled myself, however, I unfortunately still have to take a job, even if destroys my body, because you do what ya gotta do to survive.) I understand those people are the ones who struggle the most with this, and that’s understandable, but Sims 4 cc was never made to be profitted off of. This whole thing with EA making a statement about mods and such is not anything we didn’t already know, that anti paywall people much like myself haven’t already said. If anything, EA is simply putting their foot down and saying that those rules still very much apply, and that the people who were breaking their ToS needed to shape up. From the start, this was never supposed to be profited off of at all. Even early access shouldn’t have existed. That’s not to say I don’t support it, but based on the ToS, it shouldn’t have, and Guru Drake should have known better before even speaking on it, because the community took his word as gospel, including anti paywall peeps who liked the middle ground provided, and because of that, a community got reliant on it, and now there’s a lot of confusion and understandable stress on how to deal with this, because some people’s lives have catered to this and it’s now being torn down around them. If early access had never existed, it would have sucked, yes, but it would have meant less people would be reliant on it in the first place. It means people would have a more stable way of adapting to situations like this where people are being stripped of the extra cash they needed. Now honestly, I think people should support their patreons regardless of the content, because those are people who actually need the money, as opposed to Cowbuilds and their 10,000 off of patreon alone which is likely gonna end up crashing around them, because I can tell you now, they’re likely going to be one of the first people EA comes after once reported, and I mean... Let’s be real here, would anyone be naïve to think that there aren’t people reporting her content now that it’s been made more possible to do so? The community has a chance to get rid of a well known doxxer in this community, I doubt there isn’t at least one person taking that opportunity as we speak. Hopefully creators can learn to adapt to the changes, but unfortunately that’s how it has to be, and EA is justified in doing as such, as it is their game in the first place. Over all, I’m glad EA has actually said something now, and has clarified that their stance on mods have not changed. Rather or not most of Patreon creators are going to heed their words is another thing entirely, and I’m looking forward to seeing how that’s going to end for those creators, but now this debate can finally end, and now the exclusive creators can seethe and cope. Again, they can talk about suing all they want, or leaving their community because they’re big mad, but uh. 1. Good luck with that. None of yall are gonna win, and 2. Good riddens. You won’t be missed, and half of your stuff is likely up on anti paywall sites anyways. Update: The new thing I’m seeing now is apparently Leosims and a few of her buddies are trying to loophole this shit with garbage word play that means nothing in the grand scheme of things. She’s sitting there talking about how she’s going to just sell regular meshes for conversion purposes now, which is all fine and dandy, and then turns around and says, “I’m going to make free Sims 4 conversions of those files to give to patrons.” (Not the public, patrons.) if it needs to be explained why that’s an issue, allow me to point it out. If you have to be a patron to get those conversions in the first place, then they aren’t free, and thus breaking EA’s ToS, and EA can still sue them over it. They can also deny them services and make it to where they cannot make Sims 4 content anymore. So really what it comes down to is Leosims is still going to do the same illegal shit she was doing before. And if anyone decides to leak her Sims 4 content, make sure you report her while you’re at it. She can also say that her “lawyer” said it’s fine all she wants, but these people have lied about legal interpretations in the past, going as far as to fake screenshots with EA employees to make their points seem more valid than they actually are, and additionally, I don’t think a lawyer would realistically potentially risk their reputation by telling them “If you word it this way, you can still do illegal shit.” because if theoretically this went to court, and Leo lost the case because the only basis to their argument is literal word semantics, then that would be on the lawyer. I’d like to think that most lawyers are smart enough to know that’s not a bright move.

[buckleyblueyes]

if you're doing the soft prompts thing, could i request " i knew you wouldn't go to sleep willingly, so i brought you some chamomile tea and a blanket. twenty minutes of shut-eye, okay? " + buddie? preferably post shooting but whatever you like, thank you ❤

At long last! I am finally filling this prompt! It didn't turn out to be a recovery fic, but it's definitely impacted by the events of 4x14, so I really hope you like it! It's very soft.

Buck is being ridiculous. Absolutely irrational. He’s well aware of this fact. And yet, he finds his thumb hovering over the call button.

It’s not like it’s Christopher’s first sleepover. He’s eleven years old, of course it’s not. It’s not his first sleepover since the pandemic, either, or since Eddie was shot. He’s had quite a few since then, actually. It’s not even his first sleepover since he and Eddie went from work partners to life partners.

But it is Christopher’s first sleepover since Buck moved in with them. The first time he spent his evening cooking dinner for only two. The first time he didn’t have to help with homework or watch a movie that Christopher picked out. The first time in a month that Buck has had to go to sleep without kissing his head goodnight.

And sure, there were good parts. There are certain benefits to being alone with his boyfriend and not having to worry about being unknowingly interrupted by an eleven year old. But it’s nearly midnight now and all that’s left to do is sleep--or at least, pretend to sleep while actually staring at the ceiling and wait for a panicked middle of the night call because something went wrong.

He’s sitting up in the bed he and Eddie now share, phone in hand, willing himself not to call Christopher and check in. He knows Christopher is a pre-teen now, that he’s probably having a great time, that his calling would just be embarrassing, and probably (hopefully) wake him up. He sighs, tossing his phone down on the empty pillow beside him. It’s going to be a long night.

Eddie is supposed to be in bed with him, and he’s sure being alone is making it worse. He’s not even sure where Eddie is--he said he would follow Buck to bed after getting some water and brushing his teeth--but it’s been a little too long for just teeth brushing, so Buck has a feeling his boyfriend is up to something. His suspicions are confirmed a moment later when he hears the tea kettle whistling. Odd, considering the tea kettle is Buck’s, something he brought with him when he moved in--Eddie isn’t a big tea drinker, usually only drinking it when he’s sick, preferring to caffeinate with coffee.

Buck only has to wonder what Eddie is doing for a few moments before Eddie shuffles into their bedroom, a blanket Buck recognizes from Christopher’s bed piled under one arm and a steaming mug in the other hand.

“Whatcha got there?” Buck asks, glad for a distraction at least.

“Well,” Eddie sets the mug down on Buck’s bedside table. “I knew you wouldn’t go to sleep willingly, so I brought you some chamomile tea and a blanket.” He tosses the blanket at Buck’s face. It smells like Christopher’s no-tears kid shampoo, and Buck inhales deeply. “Twenty-minutes of shut-eye, okay?”

Buck spreads the twin sized blanket out over his side of the bed. “You made me tea?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Are you or are you not going over every possible worst case scenario in your head right now?”

“Uh.” Buck swallows, sheepish. “Maybe?”

“Exactly.” Eddie crawls into bed next to Buck, picks up Buck’s phone from his pillow, stretches to place it next to the mug, and finally wraps an arm around him. “I just want to help you relax.”

“Even though I’m being totally irrational?” Buck asks, leaning into Eddie’s embrace.

“Yup.” Eddie drops a kiss onto the top of Buck’s head. “I remember Christopher’s first sleepover. I sent that mom so many emails. And then I didn’t sleep at all, I was just waiting for something to go wrong.”

“But he was younger then, and this isn’t his first--”

“It’s your first, though.” Eddie cuts him off. “I know you’ve loved him for a long time, but this is the first night since you moved in that he hasn’t been here.”

Buck sips his tea and grips the blanket a little tighter. “I miss him.”

Eddie chuckles, low and warm. “I know.”

“Do you ever...get used to this feeling?” Buck asks carefully.

“If you mean, will you ever stop worrying about him when you’re not around to protect him, the answer is no,” Eddie shakes his head. “That’s what being a parent is.”

“I’m not a--”

“Evan, you better not have been about to say you’re not a parent,” Eddie says, voice so firm and serious that Buck has no choice but to listen. “You’ve loved Christopher like he was your own since before we were even dating. You take care of him, you worry about him, you always help him when he needs it.”

Buck’s heart feels like it’s about to burst out of his chest. “Of course--of course I love him so much, but you’re his dad. But it’s not like I’m--maybe if we were--but I’m just your boyfriend.”

“Maybe if we were what?” Eddie narrows his eyes. “If we were married?”

Buck’s throat is dry. Sometimes he really hates how easily Eddie can read him. “Uh.”

“Because we could do that,” Eddie continues. “If that’s something you want.”

And now Buck’s brain is short-circuiting. “Is it something you want?”

Eddie bites his lip. “I didn’t think it was, not after Shannon. But…” He sighs. “I told Chimney once that tomorrow isn’t promised to anyone, and I know that you’re it for me, and it’s not like Shannon and I had much of a wedding anyway, so it might be nice to, I don’t know, do it right? If it’s what you want.”

“I do,” Buck answers hastily. “Want that. I already know we’re forever, but I think it would...help. With some of my doubts. If we made it official.”

Eddie beams. “Then I guess we’re getting married.”

Buck can’t quite remember how to breathe. There are so many words he wants to say, but none of them seem right, so he just pulls Eddie into a soft kiss, which Eddie reciprocates eagerly. “I love you so much,” he murmurs when he pulls back. “Of course I want to marry you.”

“I love you so much, too.” Eddie presses a kiss to his temple, and then one to his jaw, and a few to his neck.

They fall into a comfortable silence for a few moments, the only sounds in the room the sounds of soft breaths and Buck sipping on his tea.

“Are you feeling better?” Eddie asks, breaking the silence.

Buck considers this for a moment. There’s still worry gnawing at him, but he feels less silly about it now. And most of him is simply overwhelmed with happiness. “Yeah, yeah I am.”

“Good.” Eddie gives a brisk nod. “Now shut up, drink your leaf water, and go to sleep.”

“Actually, chamomile tea is made with the blossoms of the--”

“Buck.”

[fcntasmas-archive]

Buddie & 29: Wedding fic + 100: Accidentally Saving the Day ??? I'll have you know the romantic in me just wanted to do wedding and flowers but you know plot is probably good lmao also Idk if I did this right but

FOR YOU MY LOVE???? i would have done it. i would have, ok. and i woulda found a plot somewhere in there, too, unlike this mess you allowed me to write: ok. so. i feel like around october 2021, maddie and chimney finally decide to get married. it’s long overdue, yadda yadda, they’ve heard it all. but they’re happy with the road they’ve taken — however long it’s been, it’s theirs, and theirs alone. their relationship was built on patience and understanding, after all, and after a long and unified treatment of maddie’s postpartum depression (with extensive therapy and medication as needed) for the rest of the year, they feel like they’re finally in a place to throw this big and beautiful party they feel like they’ve definitely earned. buck and eddie, on the other hand. eh. things are not progressing as we would hope. don’t get me wrong — after eddie confessed to buck that he’d changed his will to make buck christopher’s legal guardian, he’d felt — not — something had shifted, and buck had simply assumed that was their friendship growing stronger, and he was right, for the most part — their friendship was stronger than ever. buck spent a lot of time with them, he was more cautious out on calls (if eddie doesn’t want his kid to end up with his parents in case of his death, it’ll be pretty fucking hard to prevent that if buck is also dead, after all), he was just — grateful. aware of what a gift every day is. yeah, he’s dating taylor, but he’s doing a good job of balancing his relationship and this new role he’s found in the diazes’ lives (i mean. so he assumes, but taylor’s been left on read by him enough times to know something’s gotta give here). and eddie is— he’s going crazy, okay? he’s going insane. because when he got shot, the last thing he saw was buck’s face, and so when he woke up, the first thing he expected to see was buck’s face because it felt like a second had passed but instead he saw ana’s and there was this deep, gut-wrenching disappointment when it happened and he didn’t mean for buck to be the first person he asked after, but last he’d remembered there was blood all over him and he just wanted to make sure he was okay— and it was this big, monumental thing for him, to realize that buck was — buck is — the best decision he’s ever made in his life. because that’s what buck is — a choice. he chose buck — everything good in his life has come to him through blessings or coincidence. he loves his son with all of his being, but even he was a surprise, a surprise he welcomed with open arms (and fears that formed into an escape but he got back, somehow. he found his way back to him, like he always does). buck, on the other hand, was a man who hated him for approximately twelve hours, then smiled at him and told eddie he could have his back any day. he’d tentatively offered himself in eddie’s life as a partner, a friend, a confidant, and eddie — eddie chose to let him in. eddie, notorious for keeping as many cards as possible close to his chest, allowed him into his life to fill all of these roles, and eddie hasn’t regretted it a single day of his life. trusts him with his entire world more than anyone — and god, if that shouldn’t have said something to him sooner. so. he’s kind of stupidly in love with buck, who is kind of dating taylor kelly, and it’s fine, he’s fine. (except for the part that he feels like every single tendon in his body is slowly and painfully snapping out of place, threatening to leave him a crumbled useless mess on the floor any day now. but that’s, like, fine.)

it doesn’t get any easier. mostly because buck’s place in his life doesn’t diminish despite him dating taylor and especially since eddie breaks up with ana. he’s there for all the big stuff — christopher’s birthday, abuela’s birthday, tia pepa’s retirement party, eddie’s extensive physical therapy, at three in the morning when eddie wakes up from a nightmare and all he can do is seek out the comfort of buck’s voice, quiet and alive in his ear.

it’s infuriating because he’s always there, in the months that follow the shooting, the same way he’s always been, so instead of shoving the feeling down eddie is forced to confront it every single day in the way buck smiles at him, in the way he reaches out and squeezes him arm in comfort when he’s far away, in the way he makes christopher breakfast and answers his endless array of questions, in the way he greets his grandmother with a kiss to the cheek and dutifully allows her to make the sign of the cross over him before he leaves despite not being religious in the slightest, in the way he subconsciously reaches out to eddie after every call as if to make sure he’s still there, it’s in every single part of buck and buck is in every single part of him and so he cannot — even if he wanted to try — shove the feeling aside when it’s so fucking alive in him every single day.

and it’s why, a day before the wedding on a december evening, when buck leaves one of his many jackets behind at their house and eddie picks it up to move it from the couch to the entrance to remember to give it back to him, he feels like his soul leaves his body when he sees a small black box fall from the pocket and onto his floor.

it’s a ring. it’s obviously a ring.

and he spends the rest of the night staring at the box in his hand, terrified of opening it, not wanting to know what it looks like. because what would taylor kelly like, in a ring? eddie can’t imagine it wouldn’t be something extravagant. buck probably knows. he has to know, if he’s picking one out for her. if he’s so sure about her he’s going to propose.

and that’s just — is it chim and maddie? has it gotten buck thinking about the future? should eddie ask? because buck shouldn’t — he shouldn’t. it’s only been months, for fuck’s sake. he’s just gonna — and when does he even find the time—

he is desolate. he doesn’t even call buck that night, after he wakes up from a nightmare, because this one is shaped a lot like the black box he refuses to open sitting on his end table, and he can’t really explain that one away to buck, can he?

he thinks about it the entire morning of, when he doesn’t hear from buck. he doesn’t expect to, obviously; he’s busy being maddie’s best man (something about not conforming to the norms or whatever) and he has to be at the reception way earlier than any of the guests have to be and so eddie is left pointedly ignoring the box on his end table as he gets himself ready, carla being the angel that she is and helping get chris ready.

when he has nothing else to distract him, he kneels in front of his end table and glares at the box until he realizes he’s being really fucking ridiculous. he should just — give the box back to buck, and ask zero questions — or, congratulate him, because that’s what a good friend would do, right? a good friend who is not in love with him would most definitely give him the ring back and joke about his commitment issues because, ha ha, you sure play fast and loose with the one object meant to represent your eternal love for her, dude!

christ. he’s a child.

he pockets the ring and pretends it’s not burning a hole in his coat pocket the entire hour-long ride to the reception.

it’s here where he runs into a panicked-looking buck in the middle of the reception lobby, tie askew and eyes a wild shade of his usual blue, and eddie has to steady him and take him outside in the cold before he passes out in the middle of all the people lounging around. buck is having trouble breathing, saying something about i lost — i lost—

and eddie can kind of fill in the blanks here, stomach swooping with guilt when he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the one object that’s been killing him slowly all day.

buck blinks at the box for a second. silent. awed. then he looks at eddie and tells him he could kiss him, holy shit, and he takes the box and it’s actually one of those boxes that opens from the middle, which, huh, eddie hadn’t noticed, and when buck opens it (and there’s a moment where eddie considers running away from the sight, he’s not gonna lie) there are—

two wedding bands.

oh.

“holy shit, ed, you just saved my ass,” he tells him, pulling him in for an embrace that does nothing to settle eddie’s super mature yearning. “i thought i’d lost them! i thought maddie was going to have my entire head.”

of course it’s not an engagement ring, of course it’s not. they’re chim and maddie’s wedding bands, and actually, eddie should be a little more concerned at how easily buck had forgotten them at eddie’s, but he’s too busy feeling the relief flow through him like an antidote to the veins, and he realizes right here, right now, that actually, he doesn’t think he could ever handle buck marrying anyone. not taylor, not the next girl, or the next.

buck freezes against him, and eddie realizes a little belatedly he just said that out loud. 

he pulls away immediately and coughs into his hands and starts muttering incoherently about a game he’d seen last night on the tv and how he has to go to the bathroom and he’s, uh, actually gonna go, glad he could be of help, glad he could save buck’s ass—

buck looks at the rings and back at eddie and asks if eddie thought this was for taylor, and eddie makes a noise that sounds like “alilbit”, and buck shakes his head in disbelief and tells eddie he broke up with taylor, like, two weeks ago, and eddie is shocked because what? when? why didn’t he say anything? and buck shrugs and admits he didn’t want the focus to be on whatever he is or isn’t feeling so close to chim and maddie’s wedding and eddie says, right, but, no offense to them, but he comes first to eddie, and he would be wondering that anyway, and buck looks at him for a second and he asks eddie, point blank, “you didn’t want me to marry taylor?”

or anyone, eddie doesn’t correct. he tries to come up with a flimsy excuse — just thought it was too fast, blah blah — but then he looks into buck’s eyes, one of his favorite sights to lose himself in, and he blurts out: “no. no, i didn’t. i think i was gonna ask you not to, actually. because the thought of you marrying anyone who isn’t me fills me with dread and despair, so i also think i was going to confess i’m stupidly in love with you.”

and buck looks indecipherable, for once. eddie is shifting his weight both in a nervous gesture and in an attempt to keep warm because it’s cold, alright, it’s cold for LA and he’s also from texas so he’s not good at handling any kind of cold—

and buck just closes the box in his hands and then waves his hands in the air like he’s trying to get eddie’s attention and eddie’s super confused but then buck’s like what the fuck, eddie, and he starts pacing back and forth ranting about how long he’s been wanting to hear that and how much sleep he’s lost trying to come up with the right way to tell him and eddie just shows up, saves the fucking day, and confesses? just like that? it’s so fucking annoying how easy he made it look, like buck hasn’t been shitting his pants any time the words even try to make it past his lips, and also, also, on maddie’s wedding day? how is he supposed to think about ANYTHING ELSE now? he’s supposed to walk around like he doesn’t know the man he’s been in love with for years loves him back? 

and he keeps going on and on about how actually this is the worst-best thing that’s ever happened to him, but all eddie can hear are the ones where buck confesses to being in love with eddie for years, and it takes them a moment to settle in his veins, push past the insecurities, and reboot his entire body until finally, finally, he interrupts buck in the middle of a sentence (“and then you did that thing that one time with your mouth—”) by pressing his lips against his, and it’s like the cold around them exists no more.

eddie’s never felt warmer.

buck is right, in the end. he seems to find it exceedingly difficult to keep his eyes off eddie during the ceremony, enough so that eddie has to force himself not to blush, and when the vows are said and wedding bands are exchanged and the groom has kissed the bride — when the night gets started and everyone starts mingling and no one spares him a second glance, eddie finds out that coat closets are, in fact, not as soundproof as buck promised him they were, and he also ends up owing denny fifty dollars so he never, ever tells his mom he caught him sucking on buck’s face like a teenager when all the poor kid had wanted was his coat.

(worth it, though.)

[pokemon-future]

Kanto Gym Leaders

Are you ready to take on the Kanto Pokémon League again? Check out more information under the cut.

Want to learn more? Check out the Memories of Kanto tag. 

Though the badge case image has the gym leaders in their traditional order, you won’t be challenging them that way in Memories of Kanto. Since you begin your journey in Lavender Town, the gym challenge will be in the following order:

Gym Leader 1: Mariana (Cerulean City)

Mariana hasn’t been gym leader in Cerulean City for very long, and she has big shoes to fill! The layout of the gym has remained largely the same, with a large pool in the center of the room where the other trainers in the gym (a swimmer and a tuber) swim around until they spot you. 

Once you defeat Mariana’s team of Poliwag and Goldeen, you have your first badge: the cascade badge.

Gym Leader 2: Torsten (Pewter City)

Pewter City gym has a straightforward design. It’s simply a rocky path where you will be challenged by two campers and a black belt. 

When you reach Torsten, you’ll need to defeat his Onyx and Aerodactyl to win the boulder badge.

Gym Leader 3: Fina (Cinnabar Gym)

Fina has recently built her gym and science center on Cinnabar island, after the original gym was obliterated by an eruption of the island’s volcano. She’s here to research and monitor the island, and her gym is staffed by scientists and ruin maniacs. These trainers do have work to do, so they might just let you pass by unchallenged, as long as you answer their trivia questions correctly. I hope you know about type effectiveness and Pokémon evolution! 

However, you can’t avoid taking on Fina’s Vulpix, Growlithe, Flareon. Once you defeat her, she will reward you with the volcano badge.

Gym Leader 4: Janine (Fuchsia City)

At first glance, Fuchsia City gym appears empty. However, this gym has trained ninjas for decades now, so no one is surprised that it is affectively booby-trapped. Trainers are hidden throughout the room, and you never know when you’ll be thrown into battle with a ninja boy, lass, or battle girl. Make sure you have a lot of antidotes on hand! 

Janine’s team of Venonat, Nidorina, and Crobat, will surely leave you poisoned, but if you survive the battle you’ll receive the soul badge. 

You’ll also receive congratulations from the retired ninja master Koga, who has great faith in his daughter’s abilities. If you talk to him prior to challenging her, he will share some information about poison types with you, though he is skeptical of your odds against Janine.

Gym Leader 5: Vince (Vermillion City)

Vince keeps a much more relaxed gym than his mentor, Lt. Surge. The gym has now been fitted with colorful, musical tiles; if you step on all of the tiles of a given color in the gym, following them from front to back, they’ll play a tune together and turn off one of the rungs in the electric fence blocking off Vince’s stage. Following the musical paths will definitely put you in the sights of the gym’s trainers: a sailor, a juggler, and an idol, who mention that they are also a lead guitarist, keyboardist, and master Metal vocalist, respectively.

Vince compliments you on your musical chops when you reach him, and compares the support a gym leader gives to trainers--both his friends in the gym and the challengers that come from across the region--to the easily-overlooked importance of a bass guitar in a rock song. Once you’ve defeated his Pikachu, Lanturn, Magnezone, and Ampharos you’ll be rewarded with the thunder badge.

Gym Leader 6: Murdoch (Saffron City)

The youngest gym leader in Kanto, Murdoch works hard to be professional. He has turned the nine rooms built into the gym into a shadowy mirror-maze. It’s dark and difficult to navigate, and you will be challenged by school kids and mediums as you work towards Murdoch. (The school kids aren’t subtle about being Murdoch’s battle buddies, and the mediums are similarly un-subtle that they all look upon Murdoch as their adopted grandson and they’re very proud of him. Some will laud his world travels and interest in staying up-to-date with the newest Pokémon discoveries.)

Murdoch is impressed that you reach him, and even more impressed when you defeat his Haunter, Mimikyu, Mismagius, and Gengar. Somewhat begrudgingly, he will give you the marsh badge.

Gym Leader 7: Erika (Celadon City)

Erika takes pride in the upkeep of her flowering maze of a gym. In fact, at one of the windows outside a young girl gazes longingly at the beautiful trainers in the gym. These trainers include a lass, an aroma lady, a beauty, and a pair of ace trainers. 

Erika’s team of Victreebel, Jumpluff, Bellossom, and Tangrowth are formidable, but if you can beat them you’ll receive the rainbow badge, and then there’s only one gym left.

Gym Leader 8: Blue (Viridian City)

Blue has done his grandad proud (if you talk to the retired Professor Oak in Pallet Town he’ll tell you as much!) by becoming a major facet of the community in Viridian City. He has taken well to being a gym leader, though he’ll playfully taunt challengers until or unless they defeat him. He’s built his gym to prepare trainers for the variety of his team, a stark contrast to the rest of Kanto’s gym leaders. You’ll need to navigate through a stream, a grassland, and some rocky terrain to reach Blue, and on the way you’ll battle a variety of ace trainers, all with Pokémon themed to the terrain (water and ice along the stream, grass and bug in the grasslands, and fire, rock, and ground type in the rocky terrain).

Blue will grant you the earth badge once you defeat his team of Rhydon, Exeggutor, Alakazam, Arcanine, Blastoise, which is no small feat. Now that you have all eight badges, he’ll wish you luck against the elite four and the champion. You’ll need it: Blue has never been able to defeat the champion, and not for lack of trying.

I also made Vs. sprites for Mariana, Torsten, Fina, Vince, and Murdoch to be able to make the badge case, but you can’t actually see much of them there, and I spent way too much time on them not to include them, so here they are:

[you-cant-spell-subtext-without]

ahdflksjaklf;jsls ok buddies - I hate talking about 14x13: Lebanon, but it has relevancy in the “John Winchester is a villain and cannot and should not be redeemed” discourse as well as being a crucial piece of finale denialist lore so I Have Been Thinking About It Too Much.

As you may recall, the Occult Object of the Week - the pearl - in Lebanon is supposed to grant Dean’s “heart’s desire.” Dean and Sam are Very Sure this means expelling Michael (the Dean Winchester Must Be Saved installment of season 14) (honestly that premise always seemed a little slim to me, I was hoping for Dean’s heart’s desire to be Cas, on Dean’s car, naked, covered in bees). 

Instead they summon Dad of the Year, which at first feels infuriating.  However after discussion with my earworms, I Have Fixed It (and also turned it into a grenade to launch at 15x20.)

Finale denialists and John Winchester derogatorians ASSEMBLE! and let’s discuss after the cut.

I’ve written in depth about Dean’s struggles with the cycle of abuse, so I won’t go too far into it here, but if you want to revisit any of that meta this is a good place to begin.  This post hinges on the same theory - that Dean’s true freedom is established in his release from that cycle - that is the logical outcome of any hero’s journey for him, and where he would finally be able to accept happiness and love.  This logically would also make release from the cycle of abuse and the feelings of self-hatred Dean struggles with his “heart’s desire” for purposes of the pearl.  When it comes to emotions, we also know Dean doesn’t deal with them well.  He punches things instead.  So odds are, Dean hasn’t really worked through these feelings.  

Dean also mentions when John returns that “it was what [Dean] wanted since he was 4″ - when they lost Mary, right before John became obsessed with revenge.  Season 12 Mary canonically remembers John as a “good dad,” so we can draw a line from that to the abuse really starting shortly after her death.  This is also corroborated by Dean himself:

DEAN: You know when you died, it changed Dad. 

(A visual of the John Mary remembers) (just my excuse to put pictures of Matt Cohen on your dash) (I shouldn’t need an excuse) (Matt Cohen hi you are on Tumblr please don’t read any of this I’m embarrassed).

So what Dean has is pre-Mary’s-death John and post-Mary’s-death John, post-Mary’s-death John being the one whose abuse created Dean’s own damaged persona.  Dean thinks the fix is to stop things on the front end (he is ignoring any process-centered solution, he just wants it to never have happened, he is in denial that he has to work through this and just wants it to be erased, etc etc etc).  

***also keep in mind that going back in time to change things on the front end as a “fix it” is a storyline SPN repeats regularly***

***and it always ends up being impossible to do*** 

Ok so for Dean, his damage/anger/brutal nature/darkness is always linked to John, and this cycle “began” for Dean once their family was torn apart by Mary’s death.  So the fix is his “blood family” together.  That’s his heart’s desire in Lebanon because Dean hasn’t really worked through any of his emotions, and it’s his very Dean way of fixing it - “oh if my family gets put back together I will be put back together too.”

***speaking of quick fixes, I’d like to note that any case in SPN that is referred to as a “milk run”  inevitably becomes complicated and messy***

***continuing the thematics of there’s no such thing as a quick fix***

This is no different.  Stopping the cycle by simply erasing it from the narrative erases anything else that happened along the way during the journey.  It erases this Mary (who they know as a person by this point and not just the mom on a pedestal) 

and (most importantly) it erases this Cas (the episode specifically replaces Cas with one who Doesn’t Know Dean).

We Emphasize This Of Course In The Dialogue In Case You Missed It

DEAN Cas, you know us. ALTERNATE CAS I don’t know you.

***Simply erasing the origin of Dean’s trauma erases all of Dean’s growth.  It erases this family that Dean is so proud to tell John he has now. It erases everything he has already overcome despite how hard it was to achieve it.

So, John goes back.  In that way, the pearl does give Dean his heart’s desire - his realization that this is not about a quick fix, it is about the journey to the good, and all you gain and become along the way (kind of similar to “Happiness isn't in the having. It's in just being. It's in just saying it" eh?).  it’s the process.  It’s every moment along the way.  It’s the people who help him get there.

And then he starts the healing journey by taking control of his own life, by owning his feelings instead of displacing the blame, by recognizing he is NOT guided solely by the actions of his father and this cycle:

DEAN

And for the longest time, I blamed Dad. I mean, hell, I blamed Mom, too, you know? I was angry. But say we could send Dad back knowing everything. Why stop there? Why not send him even further back and let some other poor sons of bitches save the world? But here’s the problem. Who does that make us? Would we be better off? Well, maybe. But I gotta be honest – I don’t know who that Dean Winchester is.

And the episode fucking ends with Cas, the Cas Who Knows Them coming into the bunker and asking them what happened, calling each of them by name just to emphasize again That He Knows Them, because Cas knowing Dean, and Cas being Dean’s family is the cornerstone of what Dean’s heart desires.

[CAS walks in from the door at the top of the stairs. SAM, DEAN and MARY walk out from the library to see him.]

CAS Mary, Sam, Dean. What happened?

So yeah, it took 14 damn seasons but Lebanon is where Dean realizes he can be defined by more than the acts of his father.  (That’s why it’s so terrifying for Dean when Chuck snatches back any control he gained in Season 15.  Because for Dean, Chuck is just John Winchester Controls My Every Action all over again, except he’s God which makes it even worse.) 

That’s also why the final blow to Chuck is not Dean killing him. 

The last stage in the journey that begins here with Dean’s “I’m good with who I am” - [I’m still bad and dark and damaged but I’m good with it]

is Dean’s “that’s not who I am.” [the most caring man on Earth; the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know]

Thats equally why 15x18 is so brilliant, 15x19 is at least acceptable, and 15x20 simply does. not. work.

Dean Winchester’s perfect heaven cannot possibly center on the blood family.  It does not have John Winchester and Mary, husband and wife, who took away his own free will.  It is THIS FAMILY.  The found family.  Cas and Jack and Sam and the Mary that was resurrected.  Dean’s entire character arc supports this journey, and to have it culminate in something that is so established in the season prior to this one as something Dean knows he no longer wants is maddening.

I’m even more mad now because I just remembered that the most prominent picture above Dying Sam’s bed was the blood family portrait from this episode; almost like they wanted us to remember this particular stupid lesson.  This show is so stupid when it could have been so so so very good.

***I want to say thanks again to all of you who read my spiraling if you got this far.  It’s therapeutic for me to do it, but it makes it all the better that people actually read it.  Seeing you in my notes MAKES my entire day****

[thetriggeredhappy]

recently rediscovered your blog and read the fic from your dad spy au where scout starts out as the "guard" and then becomes scout from there and lemme tell you that shit put me on some s-tier brainrot. like a cranial decay type beat.

i had a concept in my head that instead of being hired as a guard, he could have been hired as a right hand man to the administrator like pauling, because i think hed be awesome in that position. like imagine having a personal merc who can get in fast and out even faster. but maybe he would stay in the base like the rest of them, sort of like a secret on call intel gatherer, who also maybe sometimes has to dig a couple graves. and also like, nobody on the team expects anything from him at first because its this 20 year old newbie kid. hes dressed in his formal clothes and he talks like somebody from relatively around boston but not quite. i can just imagine one day he comes back during a team dinner with his shirt half untucked and stained with blood, hair disheveled as he asks soldier if he can borrow his shovel, or him debriefing them for a mission when miss pauling is busy. same vibe as the fic i mentioned before but scout gets to have a job as cool as miss paulings. honestly id write it myself if i didnt have the attention span of a fly

anyways your scout content gives me life thank you

scout teamfortress but 20% more competent standing next to miss pauling teamfortress while she's doing her job and doing like silly quips and otherwise contributing nothing like it's a buddy cop film is literally my fucking ideal

(warnings for some canon-typical violence)

-

“Oh, Pauling, it’s good to see you again,” greeted the chairman, smiling in an imitation of a grandfather and clasping her hands perhaps too-kindly considering she barely knew him. “Young as ever, and still so stylish, I see. And who’s the new fellow?”

“He’s just here to help with transport, Mr. Montgomery, nothing unusual,” Miss Pauling replied, returning his smile and adjusting her glasses. “Heavy cases, you know how it is.”

“Of course, I remember you almost toppling clean over last time we made a trade!” Montgomery agreed, frowning at the memory. “You’ll pull a muscle that way, better to be careful. It’s a pleasure to meet you, young man. And your name?”

“Mr. Normandy, sir,” the new kid replied easily enough despite his slight East Coast accent, giving the man a firm handshake, expression neutral and stony, the picture of professionalism. Internally, Pauling breathed a sigh of relief.

“Firm grip there, young man,” Montgomery praised, nodding approvingly. “Tennis player, perhaps? Or golf?”

“Baseball, sir,” he replied, still evenly. “First baseman.”

“Ah! Of course! Were you any good?” Montgomery joked.

“At everything but playing in front of the crowds, otherwise I’d be in the major leagues,” he replied, tilting his head just slightly to imply that he was joking, his sunglasses glinting at the movement, and Montgomery barked a laugh.

“I like this one, Miss Pauling!” Montgomery said, and Pauling just barely caught herself from physically relaxing at it.

“We do too, Mr. Montgomery,” she agreed. “I was under the impression that you’re very busy today, so we won’t keep you for too long, we just wanted to sort out the final details surrounding the manufacturing rights for the—“

“—Pacific Northwest branch, up into British Columbia and Alberta, of course,” Montgomery agreed, nodding faintly. “Of course, of course.” He turned to regard his own man in a dark suit, the one standing to the right, who appeared to be unsuccessfully trying to stare down Normandy, who was completely ignoring him. “My briefcase, please.”

The man handed over the briefcase, and Montgomery put it on his desk, opening it and pulling out a sheaf of papers. “All our requests are submitted and approved, at this point we just had a few dustbins to take care of regarding initial percentages and making sure everything is wired to the correct accounts, which names are undisclosed, things like that,” Pauling explained as he glanced through the papers.

“Right, right, everything looks good here,” the man murmured, nodding to himself, sending his long-white hair just ever-so-slightly out of place. “I’m assuming these more sensitive documents should be sent some way besides through the mail?”

“If you finish them today I can take them with me, otherwise either me or Mr. Normandy can return to pick them up at your convenience,” she replied, to which Normandy gave a singular nod.

“Oh, it would only take me a short while,” Montgomery said, waving a hand. “We have a lovely lounge just down the hall from here if you’d prefer to wait there, it should only take me ten, fifteen minutes at most. In the meantime, I do believe there’s also the manner of payment for services rendered.”

Miss Pauling tilted her head just slightly to one side, confused.

“I arranged with Helen already,” Montgomery explained, not looking up from where he was initialing a few things. “The payment, rather than being wired, she asked to be made in material investment. A venture of mine from years ago that she’s willing to sit on. Rather than gold or bonds, she agreed to take some old currency of mine that my family collected, from early 18th century New Zealand and Australia. Monetarily it’s worth around the same, and I’m quite a bit attached to it to be entirely frank, but it was at her request to buy the whole collection from me, and after years of the work we’ve been doing together, well, I’d never trust it with anyone else.”

He gestured to the other man, the one on his left, who stepped forward to hand him a manila envelope, which he passed to Pauling.

“Inside is both keys, the door alarm codes, and all other security information for the building where the collection is being stored. They’ll ask for a few codes and confirmation of identity, only because several other art collections and artifacts are being stored there by other affluent individuals such as myself.”

“Thank you, Mr. Montgomery,” Pauling said, taking the envelope gratefully.

“Think nothing of it, my dear. Helen talked me into it all her own,” he said easily enough. “Now, gentlemen, if you would let Miss Pauling and Mr. Normandy into our lounge? I should have these wrapped up before any of us can even think about lunch, eh?”

One of the suits showed the two of them through the doors and down the hallway, through two doors bracketed by similar suits who simply nodded politely at Pauling and ticked their chins at Normandy as they passed them.

Normandy posted up beside the door for all of three seconds before they shut and Pauling pulled her glasses up, rubbing at the bridge of her nose and making a vaguely distressed noise. He then promptly relaxed, instead leaning his hip against an armchair probably worth the same amount as a small car. “So, uh, we’re glad that he’s giving us a bunch of commemorative coins from when dinosaurs still walked the earth?” he asked just below normal speaking volume, eyebrows raised.

“Yes. Very glad. Because unlike about six people total on the planet, he hasn’t figured out yet how valuable those are.”

“What, is a picture of a kangaroo on some copper really gonna make up for a couple hundred thousand American dollars?” Normandy asked, sounding doubtful.

“Not copper. Something else,” she replied. “I can’t tell you much more about it other than that, but these coins are made of something priceless to us. And to the Administrator.”

“…Love? Memories? The magic of family?” he joked, cracking a smile, and she rolled her eyes, moving to open the envelope and start reading the papers inside. “Hey, uh, not to question whether my job should exist, but what the hell am I doing here, exactly? Besides carrying a briefcase. Like, chivalry isn’t dead but I really don’t think you need me carrying your bags and holding the door for you.”

“You’re helping with security, basically,” she replied, adjusting her glasses to squint at tiny handwriting about the collection. “Mr. Montgomery is trustworthy, but he mostly hires out to… well, people like us. His security detail is mostly people we’d rather have screened, freelancers, stuff like that. A lot of people we contract out to are like that. Most of them have heard about me and know better than to try and pull something, since I can hold my own pretty well, but if they haven’t, seeing a second person might persuade them to think it over again.”

“Oh, so I’m like, uh, when it says ‘tow zone’ next to the no parking signs even though nobody checks, or when they’ve got a camera in the corner of the store that isn’t even plugged into anything,” he said, and the looked up at him, confused. “Like, uh, what’s the word… I’m a casual deterrent.”

“Sure,” she said, because it sounded like he knew what he was talking about, shuffling the papers back away and closing the envelope again, making a note to ask the Administrator if she should change their current containment procedures to be closer to Mr. Montgomery’s. “Just… if there’s a fight, you deal with it, otherwise you just stand there and look like you’re paying attention.”

“That’s what the sunglasses are for,” he agreed. “I was blinking morse code at the guy across from me literally the whole time.”

“You know morse code?” Pauling asked, surprised.

“Just the alphabet, ‘S.O.S.’, and ‘ass’.”

She rolled her eyes again, and that’s when the door opened.

She expected Mr. Montgomery, not one of the men in suits. “Excuse me, both of you, if you don’t mind,”the man said, accent having the slightest English tilt to it, a Londoner if Pauling had to guess. “You’re Miss Pauling, the Mann Co. affiliate, yes?”

“That’s me,” she agreed, hesitant, and glanced at Normandy.

“I’m afraid there’s been a mistake. Mr. Montgomery have you the wrong envelope on accident,” the man said apologetically, extending a hand forward. “We apologize for this unfortunate mix-up, it’s really quite embarrassing, but those documents are sensitive and we’ll be needing to see them back now.”

Pauling looked at him, and within a moment, shifted her expression. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” she agreed, nodding. “No, right, of course. These aren’t the papers for the currency collection?”

“I’m afraid not,” the Brit agreed, head tilting just slightly, hand still extended, moving a fraction further forward.

“Well, thank goodness we figured out now and not with us halfway back,” she joked, and moved to hold the folder closer to her body. “I’ll take this right back to Mr. Montgomery, then.”

“He’s sent me to correct the error,” the man explained simply.

“Right,” she said, and saw in her periphery that Normandy had already started sneaking a hand in towards his primary, clearly having pieced together something she was only suspecting. “We can bring this to his office, then, right down the hall.”

“You misunderstand,” the man said, taking a step forward again. “I’ll be taking it to his office myself.”

“That’s funny,” Pauling said. “I didn’t realize you had clearance to be in there. Or to be carrying a semi-automatic instead of a standard handgun.”

The Brit reached for the semi-automatic, and before he could even get it out properly, Normandy hit one clean shot to the side of his head and another to his thigh, sending him crumpling to the ground.

Pauling had only as far as pulling her own handgun free, thumb on the safety, and breathed a sigh of relief, glancing over at Normandy, shifting to more comfortably hold her gun. “Quick reflexes,” she noted.

“Just noticed a lot sooner, maybe,” he shrugged, stepping forward to glance over the body, tucking his gun back away.

“What was your hint?”

“He’s here to give us the right folder, yeah? Well, why were his hands empty, then?”

She was just starting to nod and realize that as well when a second man shouldered through the door, holding a gun at the ready. Normandy scrambled to draw his own, but Pauling fired a shot into his knee, shoulder, and neck to send him dropping before he was even close. “There’s quick on the draw, and then there’s prepared,” she said pointedly. “Gotta think of if there’s more than one, new guy.”

He nodded, and drew his gun again, bending to hit the guy on the ground at the temple hard enough to knock him out if he wasn’t unconscious already. He then glanced up at the sound of a shout from the other side of the door, two men shouldering through, guns drawn but lowered. It was only the firm eye contact they made with both her and Normandy that made her pause the millisecond it took to realize these ones weren’t trying to kill them.

“Pauling, what on earth is going on here?!” Montgomery demanded, entering the room and staring with wide eyes at the bodies on the ground. “What could’ve possessed you to—“

“He was trying to run off with these documents,” she explained quickly, gesturing with the envelope. “He knew whatever was in here was valuable.”

“He drew his gun, sir,” Normandy added, tipping his head down towards the body, and Pauling glanced down as well and found herself a little surprised. He’d rearranged the man just slightly, apparently, adjusting the arm to be holding the gun a bit further outward. “Other one was aiming to kill.”

“My, my,” Montgomery tsk’d, shaking his head as he surveyed the scene. “What a mess. My apologies, Miss Pauling, Mr. Normandy.”

“It’s alright, but you need to start doing more thorough checks on your staff, Mr. Montgomery,” Pauling stressed.

“He’s only been here two weeks, sir, he was one of the men we hired in a hurry after the incident last month,” one of the bodyguards said, and Montgomery shook his head.

“Thank goodness nobody was hurt,” he sighed. “Mutiny, and besides that, they’re bleeding on my carpet. Here are those papers, Miss Pauling—what a day, eh?”

“It’s really alright, we handled it,” Pauling assured him, giving her bravest smile, a little exasperated now.

“Right, right, you and the first baseman,” he agreed, and Normandy fought back an actual smile.

“If you’d like, we can take care of those for you,” Pauling said, gesturing at the bodies. “To pay you back for the carpet and the scare.”

“Sounds fair to me,” Montgomery agreed, clearly relieved.

-

“My dad’s gonna be pissed, by the way,” Normandy was so helpful as to say on the way back up the path to the base. “And you’re fielding that.”

“About the suit, or the fight?” she asked, glancing at his clothes where he was somewhat covered in a fine dusting of mud and grime from the gravedigging, shovel still in his free hand.

“Both. Mostly the fight. Your fault for saying it’d be an easy one to start with,” he said.

“If it was going to be that much of a problem, you wouldn’t have gotten this job. I’d just have made you go do dishes all day or something,” Pauling replied.

“Point taken,” he said, walking ahead to get the door, holding it open for her. “Wait, we’re allowed to mention what we do, right? Just not names?”

“Or locations, even with travel distance. Round up to the hour if it comes up,” she replied.

“Sure, sure,” he agreed, trailing a step behind her as she led the way through the base.

In the common area, there was a bit of a ruckus happening. Soldier, Heavy, and Demo appeared to be having some kind of arm wrestling competition on a rapidly-toppling table, the Engineer was on a stepstool trying to fix the ceiling fan, and Sniper appeared to be half-watching the beginnings of an argument between Pyro and the Spy regarding use of the oven as Medic patched up a burn on his arm.

“Hullo,” Sniper greeted the two of them, sounding a little bored, Medic giving them a brief, polite nod. Normandy’s eyebrows were raised pretty far as he surveyed the room.

“Hi, Sniper,” she greeted in return, then cleared her throat, raised her voice. “Team meeting in five minutes! New mission for next week!”

Groans from the room at large, the eight mercenaries starting to finish up what they were doing and filing out. Spy moved over, glancing over Normandy and starting to talk to him in rapid-fire French, picking smaller bits of gravel off of his suit as they walked.

“Alright,” she addressed the room, Normandy peeling off from getting mother hen’d by Spy to stand next to the blackboard with her. “Monday, you’re all going on a transport mission. Getting the truck from point A to point B with everything in the boxes intact. Already we’ve had to put up with some people trying to get ahold of these things, so bring your guns.”

“Oh, our guns, you said? Lads, this is a serious one, keep your heads on a feckin' swivel, she’s sayin’ we might even need guns, can you believe it?” Demo faux-gasped, and chuckled when Spy bopped him on the arm, rolling his eyes at the Scot's theatrics.

“Yeah, yeah,” she waved off, flipping through the papers a bit. “So Engie, I’ll need the keys to the truck, me and Normandy are going to be loading those tomorrow, all of you need to be at this drop point bright and early.”

“How early?” Heavy rumbled.

“Six. Hour and a half of drive from here.”

Some complaints from the room that she sighed at.

“Hey, hey, calm the hell down,” Normandy cut in, and she glanced over at him where he had his arms crossed and a stern look on his face. “You chuckleheads get to have all eight of you to unload the damn thing, me and Miss P gotta do all the rest of this on our own and probably kill twenty guys on the way there and back. She had to be up at 6 AM, workin’ since 7 AM, lunch break at noon and nothin’ else, and we just got back now at, what, fuckin’, 10, 11 PM? Any of you work her shift and then see if you even got the energy to complain about wakin’ up early, how about that?”

The room went utterly devoid of complaint or backsass. “Thank you, Normandy,” she said politely, and he just nodded once, glancing off to the side. “Anyways, anything new on this end? Spy, how are you adjusting?”

“Very well,” he said simply. “I have nothing pressing to say. Once I’ve been updated from the stock weaponry provided here to my requested preferred weaponry, I believe I should do just fine.”

“I see you already have Herr Normandy digging graves,” Medic chimed in. “Straight into the hard labor, ja?”

“Eh, hey, y’know, it’s why they keep us young people around,” he shrugged, grinning, and there was a brief uproar to drown out Medic’s entirely offended scoffing and Spy’s snort-laughing.

“Get ‘im, lad!” Demo cheered, and Normandy indeed looked fairly proud of himself.

“Monday, transport mission,” Pauling noted over the noise, writing it up on the chalkboard to hide her own smile from the room. “Normandy, you and me are doing the boxes tomorrow. Everyone on the same page? Good. Dismissed. Oh, and Pyro—stop taking the fire alarms down when they beep. They’re beeping because you light things on fire in the base. Do that outside.”

“Oh, hey, uh, helmet guy, All-American Beef,” Normandy called, and Soldier straightened up. “Here’s your shovel back. Gettin’ my own tomorrow.”


Soldier walked directly over to him, clasping a hand on his shoulder. “That’s a high honor, Cadet,” he said, tone grave. “Do not take this responsibility lightly.”

“I, uh, I won’t?” he said hesitantly, and blinked a few times as the shovel was carefully taken from him before it was promptly marched from the room in double-time. Only then did Normandy look over at her. “So he’s always like that?”

“You’ll get used to it,” she assured, dusting chalk from her hands. “You should get to sleep soon, we have to be up early.”

“Sure thing, Miss P.”