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#i’m like dennis would not handle one single day of this
sewerkingcharlie · 10 months
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Any Charmac relationship headcanons you have to share? I love how you write them.
do i have any charmac headcanons? this right here is the charmac headcanon post. now let's talk about the charmac headcanons. can we talk about the charmac headcanons, please, sunnyblr? i’ve been dying to talk about the charmac headcanons with you all day, okay? "cat <3 mac 4evr," this phrase keeps coming up over and over again. every day charmac headcanons are getting to me. cat <3 mac 4evr! cat <3 mac 4evr! i look in the charmac headcanons, and mush’s whole BRAIN is cat <3 mac 4evr!
okay fr. yes. ofc i do. strap in bucko oh buddy oh pal i’m bullet pointing this shits
charlie has been in love with mac since they were kids, but he’s not always known what that feeling is. before he knew how to define and associate his feelings as a kid, he just thought mac was warm and bright and welcoming. as he grew up though, into teenage years, he started realising that the way he feels about mac is the same way all his peers talk about their crushes and stuff. he buries it down though. he doesn’t let it torture him, doesn’t make plans to act on anything. he just lets himself feel warm about mac and keeps it at a distance, accepting that it would seem gay and being gay is weird and wrong (cos it was the 90s). instead, he just carries on as he always does with mac, joined at the hip. sometimes, the yearning feeling gets a bit stronger, but he huffs glue to keep it at bay. hoping naively the feelings might get easier to handle as he grows older — hoping incorrectly.
mac has been in love with charlie since they were kids too. however, unlike charlie, he’s always been painfully, painfully aware of what those feelings are — and he’s always hated them. he’s always resented being in love with charlie, because he knows it’s wrong and he knows he’s not allowed. so whenever charlie brushes up against him in a moment those feelings are on his mind, he flinches or pulls away or scoffs like it doesn’t matter to him. it gets worse through high school, harder to cope with, his thoughts obsessively about charlie one moment and then reciting bible verses to himself the next. he tries to get rid of his feelings for charlie so starts to make jokes about him in their friendship group with dennis as it forms, starts being crueller as they grow a little older. eventually, he uses dennis as an emotional distraction, an easier, less loaded, tangible person to put his attractions that he can process better than being in love with somebody who’s seen every single part of him. even the ugly, even the shameful parts, even the parts where he was crying and snotty and blotchy cheeked. it’s easier to pretend to love dennis than to actually love charlie, because to love charlie would mean to be vulnerable, and that terrifies mac more than anything else
charlie did mac’s shamrock tattoo
mac and charlie would escape to each other’s houses as kids, essentially living with each other between two different homes, to make life less scary and the nights easier to sleep through
charlie wants to be able to initiate love freely and without rejection or a break of his trust. mac wants to be loved without having to initiate anything, out of fear or rejection. charlie wants stability. mac wants to protect.
charlie’s a really good kisser by typical standards whereas mac is really not. mac gets clumsy and often doesn’t know what to do with his head or his hands, and his teeth often smush or accidentally nip, so he kisses hard and almost aggressively when he does to make up for it. charlie likes it though — it feels more real to him, when mac kisses him honestly without pretending to be something he isn’t.
they fuck a lot. like rabbits. seriously. they’ve both been sexually unsatisfied for far too long, so when they get together, they bang all the time. neither of them believe in top or bottom, dom or sub, not bothering to put labels or definitions on what they do. they just do. and it’s always rough as hell, always desperate and aggressive and masculine and fiery, making the most of doing things they may not have done before because they know that they can trust the other with their life.
mac gets really into a caretaker/looking after role. he loves trying (and failing) to cook for charlie, doing little things like giving him haphazard massages or combing his hair or giving him weird things he finds that he thinks charlie will like. in the early stages of when they get together, mac derives a lot of his self worth from looking after charlie, not wanting to let weakness show. but eventually it does, no matter how stubbornly hard he tries to stop it, and when charlie leaps into action and cheers him up and looks after him (very brashly and casually), mac has to stubbornly bite back tears. not because he doesn’t like it, but because he realises that he loves it, and that charlie still wants to look after him despite his flaws
they’re t4t. this isn’t a particularly strong headcanon but i do like to think about it every now and again :] mac is post-metoidioplasty, charlie is post-phalloplasty. they didn’t realise that the other was transgender when they met and became friends as young boys, but eventually when they inevitably find it out about each other, they both make a sacred pact and vow to keep it a secret and protect each other. they get closer than ever after learning that, helping each other out with transitioning and passing tips before going to school each day or before going to hang out with other friends, making sure they both look as passable as possible. they also take care of each other post surgeries, so that their secret doesn’t get out, both wanting to be as stealth as each other.
they don’t get into an actual proper relationship until their 40s (at sometime past s14). although they’d have spent their lives drunkenly hooking up or having brief flings, kissing in closets and then vowing never to again, cuddling in bed, etc, they never actually committed. they almost did though, or at least were the closest they’d get, through s11 and s12, hooking up frequently on the down-low and spending a lot of time together privately. this only stopped when mac came out. they have an argument where charlie tries to push him into admitting that they’ve got a good thing going on and that now he’s out, they might as well get together, but mac freaks out and they “break up”. s13 and s14 is spent with charlie bitterly and angrily yearning for mac, whilst mac rebounds his feelings onto dennis. this leads to the interaction in the gang gets new wheels (“well i am gay, but he’s not my boyfriend because i could do better.” “oh really? then why don’t you, mac?”) and the interaction in the gang texts where charlie yells at mac about abandoning him for dennis.
when they do get into a relationship, it almost doesn’t seem any different. they don’t suddenly become all cuddly and kissy, they don’t start calling each other sickly pet names. in fact, for all intents and purposes, they behave exactly the same towards each other. they still bicker, still call each other dude, still quip and poke fun at each other and high five across the bar, etcetera. the only thing that changes is that every now and then, they’ll retreat to the back office or the basement or the back alley to make out/bang, charlie pretty much lives in mac and dennis’ apartment sleeping in mac’s bed, and when they do have a moment of affection/protection, it’s intense and overwhelming and leaves both of them feeling stripped, vulnerable. that, and the fact that overall, they become more grounded. more humanised. more authentically themselves.
mac will always give charlie the last toke of a blunt
they don’t always cuddle in bed, because charlie often gets too hot or too restless in the same position for too long, so spooning is almost always off the cards. when they do cuddle though, charlie lays on his back and lets mac curl around him and, when they’re both asleep, charlie will naturally, subconsciously, turn onto his side and curl into him back.
mac is generally pretty fine with charlie not showering as much as he does, but when it gets too much for him to cope with, he convinces charlie to wash/brush his teeth by making it worth his while (blowing him in the shower, promising to let him pick a movie to watch, agreeing to let charlie choose how they fuck that night, massaging him, etc etc etc.)
when it’s a night that charlie wants to cuddle in bed, mac doesn’t stop him from eating cat food but does make him chew a couple of mints afterwards
mac kept the teeth that charlie pulled out when they faked their death in that little tin. he kept the tin in a safe place and eventually forgot about it, in the back of a cluttered drawer somewhere. one day, in their 40s after getting together, charlie tears through mac’s room trying to find something he’s lost and stumbles across them. he sees that in the tin are a collection of his teeth and a little faded, creased, printed photo of them posing on a motorbike together.
on the rare occasion that they’re both feeling soppy and sentimental and romantic at the same time as each other (blue moon sort of rare), they go hard. mac lights candles and charlie tries to make some dinner. mac professes all the things he feels in a jumbled, vulnerable spiel of words, and charlie professes all the things he feels with little touches and kisses that are delicate and soft and slow, instead of their usual rough and firm tendencies. during the rare, romantic days or moments, it’s almost always charlie that bottoms — it’s more vulnerable for him, more emotional, and mac loves to take care of him and make the most of being able to be gentle and loving.
always, no matter what, charlie and mac practise aftercare of some sort. maybe not the typical way all the time, but they’ll always naturally do it — cleaning each other up, getting an ice pack for any sore marks, antiseptic cream, joint showers, comforting kisses, changing the sheets together, or simply staying in each other’s company quietly for a while. there’s always something, even if they’re pissed off at each other and they angry fuck. no matter what, they’ll always make sure the other is okay and taken care of, even in little indiscriminate ways.
mac has an oral fixation and often likes to kiss in ways that charlie historically can’t stand. however, charlie comes to realise that when it’s with mac, he likes it. he really, really likes it.
whenever mac decides to cook for charlie, he always makes kraft mac n cheese, as it’s the only thing he knows how to cook properly. charlie loves it though. he never gets bored of it, because it’s cheese, and he could never get tired of cheese.
they never end up living together permanently, no matter how much time passes or how old they get. charlie loves him apartment with frank too much to leave it behind completely, and they both value their personal space when they need it. living separately works, even if they spend most of their time together, even if charlie sleeps in mac’s room most of the time, even if mac comes to spend a lot of time with charlie and frank overnight. sometimes it’ll be months on end that charlie stays with mac, but he’ll always go back for some time at his own place with frank.
they don’t ever do big healthy communication or deep conversations, don’t practise boundaries or the things that people now are learning they should do. mostly because they don’t need to. they’ve grown up with each other, they know each other like the back of their hand, so never bother to verbalise anything or discuss anything. and yes, that causes a lot of problems and miscommunications, but it never, ever causes a permanent rift. they’re past that. after a lifetime of each other’s company, it makes no sense to call it quits after a few heavy rows and arguments.
i could talk about charmac headcanons for literally fucking hours they are Everything to me. thank u sm for the ask, this has been Very Fun to answer!!
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redorich · 3 years
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What if Tommy and a few other Hermits went to the Dream SMP to take care of some business (aka Dreamon + small family reunion for Tommy) and they see Tommy hug these two PvP gods as a ghost floats around them saying, “oh Tommy! You’ve been gone so long! Where did you go?” And seeming quite happy as well. The hermits get to see just how fucked this place is. Tommy told them Techno is by far the richest person on the server yet he only has one stack of diamond blocks. Not a single shulker box to be seen. Phil tells them The End is Off Limits. They get to see the main hub of this world is less impressive than a single of their big builds. They see fighting in the streets. From the other side of walls they hear people threatening eachother. They get to see and experience the comparative hell that Tommy cane from -🐍
Scar’s the one that gets to go first. He and Grian jockey for the privilege, but in the end Scar is the mayor of Hermitcraft, which means he gets to visit the Dream SMP first. (Grian pouts for days.)
Scar wears his very nice mayor sash, and irons his trousers, and keeps his armor in his inventory so that everyone can see his nice apparel. He smiles, and opens his eyes to what is basically a pit. The ground is more creeper-hole than actual ground, and there are mishmash walls all around him. His smile falters.
<Dream> Oh shit hes at spawn
<Technoblade> dream forgot to change visitor spawn, worst admin ever
<Dream> Shut up
Tubbo hit the ground too hard
<Technoblade> TUBBO IS GONE CRABRAVE
<ItsFundy> canon death
<Tubbo> NO
“Hey there,” Tubbo says from behind Scar. The mayor yelps, whirling around and nearly falling on his face.
“Sorry to scare you,” Tubbo laughs, “but how about I show you around? After I get my stuff back, that is.”
“Y-yeah,” Scar says, visibly perturbed. Tubbo leads him through a hole in the wall just large enough for them to go through one at a time, then through a small patch of forest. (Do these people seriously not even have a way out of spawn, or a path from spawn to the important locations?)
Dream catches up to Tubbo and Scar right as the town comes into view. They meet up at a patch of ruined land, on which two identical Nether portals are sat.
“Welcome to the Dream SMP,” Dream says with a gesture toward the slightly-broken oak slab path stretching out from the portal. “Sorry I’m late, I had to take care of some business.”
“Business?” Scar asks despite himself.
Dream fidgets with the handle of his axe sheepishly. “Yeah. I sent some of the troublemakers on a wild goose chase several thousand blocks away from here. Hopefully, they shouldn’t bother you.”
“That’s great and all, but I kind of need to get my stuff back,” Tubbo cuts in before Scar has a chance to question Dream.
“Sure, it was near Tommy’s old house, right? Why not show Scar the Prime Path while you’re at it?”
Tubbo smiles, and takes Scar’s hand in his. “Great idea. Come on, Scar!”
Scar allows himself to be pulled along, dodging holes in the “Prime Path” as he does so.
“That way’s Eret’s Gay Castle-- you can’t grief it, it’s homophobic,” Tubbo explains, “and up ahead’s Church Prime.”
It’s not much of a church, Scar thinks, given the giant floating poster that’s been left to peel away. Bits of the poster have even been torn off and stolen, leaving only the item frame behind. Still, he knows better than to say rude things about someone else’s religion, even if the state of disrepair... No. He won’t say anything.
Various depictions of anti-Technoblade propaganda still up. They’re so, so ugly. Further along the path there’s a tower that actually isn’t hideous, so it was probably made by-- Eret, was it? The same guy who made the Gay Castle? A stray chicken clucks while Scar tears his eyes away from the Walmart which has magma for floors, and the Targay, and the cobblestone framework of what Tubbo claims is a Denny’s which was used once for roleplay and then promptly abandoned.
Tommy’s old house can best be described as “open air”, to put it politely. At least there’s a fence..? But as Tubbo picks up his items and the two set off for L’Manberg, politely ignoring the giant Gogy posters, they hear a scuffle up ahead.
“Let go of my fucking hair!” George shrieks.
“Not until you give me back my potato,” Sapnap responds. The two grown men are fighting like children in the middle of the Prime Path in broad daylight, pulling each other’s hair and slap-fighting but at least-- no, never mind, they’ve got their weapons out now.
George shrieks at the top of his lungs when one of Sapnap’s swings gets too close. “It’s rotted anyway, why the hell do you want it?!”
“Because it’s mine,” Sapnap insists. He finally bonks George on the head hard enough to kill him, then scoops the rotten potato out of George’s belongings. His hand toys with a flint and steel, but he eventually seems to decide not to burn George’s items for the offense of stealing his potato.
“Oh, hi there!” Sapnap says once he spots them. He waves.
Scar hesitantly waves back. He’s beginning to think that perhaps he should have worn his armor after all. He watches in morbid fascination as Sapnap takes a bite of his rotten potato. Sapnap’s face drains of all color; he immediately leaps off a cliff to go be sick in a valley away from prying eyes. George’s things are left on the ground.
“Y’know, I think I left the oven on,” Scar says slowly. Tubbo looks at him with sad, pitiful eyes, as if to say, do you see what I have to deal with?
“Would you like to go back to Hermitcraft and try again another day?”
Attempting to affect nonchalance and failing miserably at it, Scar waves his hand rapidly. “Actually, Grian really wanted to come see your server, so-- maybe I’ll send him. I’m real busy with, uh, mayor stuff.”
Tubbo nods, pretending to buy the excuse. “I’ll have Dream send you back.”
“Thank you,” Scar says fervently.
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dontcare77ghj · 3 years
Text
Don’t Touch That Dial
Wanda x reader x Vision
Non-reader POV
It was the middle of the night. Vision, Y/N, and Wanda were all sound asleep in their single beds when Wanda bolted upright at a loud thudding sound.
"What was that?" Wanda wondered aloud. She looked to her right to see Y/N and Vision sleeping. For a second, she questioned if she should chance to wake them up, but when the thuds continued, she turned the light on with her magic.
Stop being silly, Wanda chided herself, turning the light off. But what if it is something? Wanda wondered, snapping the light back on. It's probably nothing, Wanda. She decided turning the light off again, this time for good.
While Wanda was debating waking her loves, she hadn't noticed they had already woken.
"Wanda?" Vision asked, pulling his eye mask off.
"Yes, dear?" 
"Are you using your powers to turn on the light?" Vision questioned, staring at the window.
"Yes, dear," Wanda admitted, feeling guilty.
"Allow me, dear." Vision said, getting out of bed as Y/N sat up.
"What even woke you up?" Y/N asked before there was another loud thud. "Never mind."
"What do you see?" Wanda questioned Vision, who was now standing at the window.
"Only your lovely rosebushes and carnations," Vision told her.
"That's all?" Y/N wondered.
"Are you using your night vision, Vision?" Wanda quizzed the man.
"I assure you, my love, I see nothing amiss." Vision promised, turning to face both women. "You have absolutely no reason to be frightened." The android said before there was another loud bang. Vision let out a loud yelp and jumped back into bed quickly.
"You were saying?" Y/N asked, raising a brow while Wanda shook her head. 
"Actually, I did overhear a couple of lads at work remarking on a few unsavory characters settling in the neighborhood. Now, who knows what those ne'er-do-wells might be up to? Robbing houses, vandalizing property." Vision suggested.
"Walking through walls. Moving objects without touching them. Causing lightning of sunny days." Wanda teased.
"I did that once, and it was because you scared me," Y/N grumbled. 
"Wanda, sweetheart, you can't possibly be suggesting my colleagues were referring to us," Vision asked before there was another bang.
The three jumped, and Wanda caused all three beds to join.
"One of us should really determine the source of that sound." Vision commented.
"That's something we could do," Y/N said, clutching her blankets.
"One of us should." Wanda agreed.
It was more a bang this time that caused them all to jump.
"Oh, this getting ridiculous." Y/N snapped, pushing her blankets down. "I am going to take a look." 
"Be careful, Y/N."
"Oh, God." 
Without moving from her spot, Y/N blew the curtains open to reveal the tree. Its branches, crashing against the window.
"Well, I think we handled that well," Wanda said, sinking down into the bed.
"Yes, I must say I'm rather proud of myself. And look how you seized the opportunity to redecorate." Vision said, noting that all their beds were pressed together.
"This is better, isn't it?" Wanda asked.
"Mmm." Vision nodded before Wanda pointed her finger, and instead of three separate beds, the three of you were now on one large joint bed.
"Why did it take us this long?" Y/N asked, smiling at how close she was to her husband and wife.
"Wanda, darling?"
"Yes, dear?"
"Hit the lights." 
The three pulled the blankets over their heads, and Wanda snapped the lights off.
"Ladies and gentlemen, for my final trick, I bring you The Cabinet of Mysteries." Vision practiced in front of an invisible audience. "Wanda, that's your cue." 
"You said "The Cabinet of Mysteries?" Wanda called from behind him. 
"I said "The Cabinet of Mysteries."
"Then that's my cue." Wanda agreed and began to wheel a large cabinet into their living room.
"Holy Toledo!" Vision exclaimed, rushing to help Wanda. "Darling, do all the other acts in the talent show have such elaborate props?"
"Are you kidding? Fred and Linda are building a moat and a fully functioning portcullis, and no-one knows why." Wanda shook her head. 
"I heard Fred was going to throw Linda into the moat," Y/N said from inside the cabinet. "Can we hurry this along? I'm getting claustrophobic." She added.
"Let's keep going." Wanda nodded, taking her place.
"Yes. Yes. Where was I? Ah, yes, watch closely as I, Illusion, Master of Enigma, make my captivating assistant, Glamour, disappear." Vision rehearsed as Wanda held her hand up and gasped. The two opened the doors, and Vision helped Wanda into the cabinet.
"You really are very dashing." Wanda complimented, breaking character.
"Thank you, darling." Vision smiled. "Fear not, Glamour, for I, Illusion vow, to bring you back." The android said, shutting the doors on Wanda. "Abracadabra." He announced, opening the doors to reveal Y/N standing in Wanda's place. "What's this? I seem to have changed my lovely assistant into another lovely being." 
"I saw your assistant in the dimension of the cabinet," Y/N said as Vision helped her out. "To bring her back, I think you'll have to try the spell again."
"So we shall." Vision nodded. He and Y/N closed the doors once more, and Vision held his wand at the ready. "Abracadabra." He said, tapping the cabinet twice, and when the doors opened, this time, there stood Wanda, who was clapping her hands and grinning widely.
"Darlings, you're not at all worried that the audience might just see through this little charade?"
"That's the whole point, sweetheart," Y/N assured her husband. "In a real magic act, everything is fake. Not everyone can do what Wanda does."
"The talent show fundraiser is the most important event of the season, and it's our neighborly duty to participate." Wanda fretted. "Plus, it's our chance to appear as normal as possible while doing so."
"Well, I don't think that should be a problem." Vision joked, gesturing to his undisguised face.
Y/N and Vision chuckled at Vision's joke, but Wanda just stared between the two.
"This is our home now. I just want us to fit in." Wanda admitted.
"Oh, Wand, of course, we fit in," Y/N promised, resting her hand on the woman's waist.
"And if not, then we shall. And we're going to knock the neighborhood's socks off. Especially if the two of you are dressed like this." Vision commented, picking up one of his wife's costumes.
"Oh, that's actually the rest of your costume." Wanda joked, cracking a smile. "Oh, Y/N, we better get going if we want to make the planning committee meeting." Wanda gasped, noting the time on her wristwatch.
"That's me off too, actually." Vision said, pulling on his sweater. "There's a gathering of the neighborhood watch at the public library. After last night's excitement, I want to make sure this town's security is up to snuff." He admitted.
"That's an outta sight idea, Vis." Y/N complimented.
"Real swell, sweetheart. You tell those tree branches whose boss." Wanda teased, leaning up to kiss the man.
"Would you look at us? Wanda, Y/N, and Vision, Westview fitter-inners." Vision smiled before kissing Y/N. "I'll see you both at curtain call." He said, moving to leave.
"Do you have your keys, Vis?" Y/N aked before he left the house. 
"Of course." Vision said, pulling on a hat and his glasses. "When have I ever forgot them?" He wondered, causing Y/N and Wanda to share a look.
"Just now, to name one time," Wanda said, floating Vision his set of keys.
"Oh. Perhaps my processors need a cleaning." Vision mused, changing his appearance and taking the floating keys. "Until curtain call!" He exclaimed.
"Until curtain call!" Both women called back.
Y/N and Wanda still had several minutes before they had to leave for the committee meeting. The two moved around the house, putting dishes away, straightening trinkets, and fluffing pillows when there was a loud noise outside.
"Do you think it's the tree?" Y/N wondered as Wanda began to move out the front door. 
But Wanda didn't respond as she continued to walk in a trance-like state.
"Sweetheart?" Y/N asked, following after her wife. Wanda moved outside and towards the rosebushes where a toy helicopter sat. "Do any of our neighbors have children?" Y/N asked, receiving no response once again.
Wanda pulled the toy out of the bush and stared at it in confusion. 
"Wanda? Sweetheart?" Y/N asked, resting a hand on her shoulder.
"Howdie stars!" Agnes exclaimed, suddenly appearing at the gate. 
Both Y/N and Wanda jumped as Agnes chuckled.
"Agnes! Y/N!" Wanda chuckled, holding one hand to her chest. "I'm sorry, what did you say, Agnes?" Wanda asked, taking Y/N's hand and clutching it tightly.
"I brought my pet rabbit," Agnes said, holding up a cage with a large rabbit. "For your magic act." She explained.
"Yes, of course! Thank you, Agnes." Wanda nodded. 
"We promise we will take good care of him," Y/N added, taking the cage into her arms. "I'll take him inside." She told Wanda.
"I'll come with. I'll lock the back door." Wanda said, following her wife.
"Senor Scratchy just loves the stage. He played baby Jesus in last year's Christmas pageant." Agnes bragged loudly as the two Vision women took her rabbit into their home. "Good morning, Dennis." That was the last thing Y/N and Wanda heard from Agnes as they disappeared into their home.
"You gonna tell me what all that was about?" Y/N asked, putting Senor Scratchy's cage beside the couch.
"What what was all about?" Wanda asked, locking the back door.
"The helicopter." Y/N reminded. "You blanked out on me." She said as they moved back towards the front door.
"I'm having a spacey day, sweetheart. That's all." Wanda assured, closing the front door and stopping Y/N on the porch. "I promise." She said, pressing a kiss to Y/N's lips, taking her hand, and walking back down to Agnes. "Shall we?"
"We shall." Agnes smiled, hooking her arm around Wanda's free one. "So, are you ready to meet Queen Cul de Sac and her merry homemakers?" Agnes questioned the two.
"Dottie, can't be as bad as you say, Agnes." Wanda laughed.
"Wanda, have you met most women? Not everyone's like Agnes or us." Y/N asked, causing Agnes to laugh.
"She's right, you know? You'll notice Dottie's roses bloom under the penalty of death." Agnes told the two, though Wanda scoffed a little. "Can I give you girls a bit of friendly advice?" Agnes asked, stopping in her tracks.
"Is it about how we're dressed?"
"Yes, but it's too late for that now," Agnes said, looking the two over. 
Wanda looked concerned, but Y/N couldn't bring herself to care.
Pants were slowly becoming more incorporated in women's daily wardrobe, and Y/N wouldn't be giving them up for anyone.
"Dottie is the key to everything in this town." Agnes continued. "Country club memberships, parties, school admissions." She teased the two. 
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves." Wanda shook her head, though there was a smile on her face.
"You get in with Dotties, and it'll be smooth sailing from here on out," Agnes told them. "Just mind your P's and Q's, and you're gonna do just fine." She said assuringly.
"Why can't we just be ourselves?" Y/N asked.
"More or less so," Wanda added.
Agnes stared at the two in confusion before letting out a laugh.
"That's good, girls. Very good." She said.
"Everyone, hurry up, please." A new voice called. 
The three women turned to the left and noticed a fair-haired woman leaving a house with a procession of women behind her.
"Hiya, Dottie!" Agnes called. "Your roses are divine!" She complimented, waving a hand.
Y/N and Wanda both followed suit and waved as well. Wanda little more enthusiastically than Y/N's awkward one.
"Well, thank you." Dottie smiled politely and waved daintily. 
Neither Y/N nor Wanda knew just what they were getting themselves into.
Y/N, Wanda, and Agnes all followed Dottie and her group to the country club. The three had sat to the side as Dottie's followers meticulously set everything up.
As one woman spoke about the fundraiser's progress, Wanda watched Dottie intently as the woman made her ice tea to her liking.
"The rotary club is finishing the stage set-up as we speak. They've given the gazebo a fresh coat of paint, and they'll be installing the final decorations all throughout the town square. And if you recognize the antique footlights, it's because they're from my store." The lady standing finished explaining with a fake smile.
"And the chairs?" Dottie asked, tilting her head to the side.
The woman seemingly froze at Dottie's question before she forced a smile back onto her face.
"I'm sorry, Dottie. I didn't ask about the chairs." She admitted.
"So you better not ask me if you can chair any committees in the future," Dottie said, grinning at the other women who laughed at her words. "The devil's in the details, Bev," Dottie said, standing as Bev rushed back to her seat in shame.
"That's not the only place he is," Agnes said to Wanda.
"As you all know, the talent show is the sole fundraiser for Westview Elementary," Dottie explained.
"This might help," Agnes said, raising a small flask.
"Do you have any spare?" Y/N asked, leaning over Wanda, but Agnes shook her head.
"In the eight years since I founded our little club, this event has gotten bigger and better every season." Dottie bragged as a woman passed around a tray of biscuits to Y/N, who handed them onto Wanda.
"Say, those pants are peachy keen. Both sets." The mystery woman complimented.
"Do you really think so?" Wanda asked with wide eyes. "The other ladies are in skirts. I was worried."
"Not me," Y/N mumbled, sipping her drink.
"We only have a few hours until showtime. So, a little less cross chatter and a little more focus would be greatly appreciated," Dottie interrupted, causing the three to freeze.
"Okay." Wanda nodded, passing along the tray. 
"Those little boys and girls are counting on us. All of this is for the children." Dottie said.
The other women, bar Y/N and Wanda, parroted back the phrase, 
"For the children."
Y/N looked very uncomfortable at the chanting women and muttered,
"This is a cult."
But Wanda had been eating her biscuit and parroted the phrase back after everyone else had finished. 
Everyone turned to stare at the Vision women, and Dottie looked more than displeased at the two.
"So I want you all to give yourselves a big hand," Dottie started but was interrupted by Wanda clapping loudly. "At the appropriate time, of course." Dottie scolded as you grabbed Wanda's hands and pulled them down. "But first, let's review event etiquette. The dress code is, of course, upscale garden party,"
"The only reason I didn't clap is that I'm afraid to move." The woman beside Y/N leaned over to whisper.
"I don't think I was paying enough attention to clap," Y/N told her. The woman smiled while Wanda lightly hit her wife's leg.
"I actually don't know what I'm doing here." The mystery woman admitted. 
"I'm starting to feel that way myself," Wanda admitted. "I'm Wanda." She said, holding her hand out.
"I'm, uh, Geraldine." The woman introduced herself after taking Wanda's hand.
"And I'm Y/N."
"And I'm irritated." Dottie interrupted, staring at the three of you, her features pinched together in anger. "Tickets for tonight are completely sold out. Now you can clap." Dottie commanded. The woman allowed everyone to clap for five seconds before she raised her hand. "And stop."
"How is anyone doing this sober?" Agnes muttered, shaking her head.
Across town, Vision had finally made his way to the library and was rushing inside. Afraid to have missed his chance at joining the committee.
Vision quickly found the group he was looking for, surrounding a table, speaking quietly amongst themselves.
"Pardon me, is this the neighborhood watch meeting?" Vision asked, standing to the left of the group, his hat in his hands.
Everyone turned to stare at the man, all clearly unsure what he was doing there.
"Oh, hiya Vision. Didn't expect to see you here." Norm said. "This is sort of a 'members only' type of deal." He informed his coworker.
"Oh certainly! Right, well." Vision stuttered, rocking back on his heels. "I'll just stay here and be quiet as a church mouse until you open up the floor for new business." Vision assured the assembled group.
"Well, in truth, we were just getting to new business." Herb, his next-door neighbor, admitted.
"Oh, splendid! Could you tell me how often you rotate security patrols?" Vision inquired, pulling up a chair between Herb and Norm. "Do you interface directly with local law enforcement? And what are your protocols for threats such as burglary, graffiti, and reckless driving?" He pushed.
"No Vision," Norm started, but Vision interrupted him.
"I know these are indeed grave matters." Vision nodded.
"New business actually means another round of Danish," Norm admitted.
"Raspberry or cheese-filled?" Jones asked, pulling a box onto the table and sitting it before Vision.
"Oh, neither for me, thank you. I don't eat food." Vision said without thinking. 
Vision didn't even register what he had said until he noticed the rest of the table staring at him in confusion.
"What I mean to say is that I don't eat food in between meals but at mealtimes. I'm a regular eating machine." Vision rambled.
There were a couple nods at Vision's reasoning, and Herb even huffed out a short laugh before he leaned in close to the table.
"Hey fellas. Vision here does have a point. Now listen up because I got some top-secret intelligence for you." Herb told everyone who leaned in closer to hear.
"Oh, excellent!"
"You know how Johnson's been braggin' about that treehouse he built for his kids?"
"Yeah?"
"It's a prefab job," Herb informed everyone. The table immediately scoffed at his words and nodded along.
"That blockhead can't even hold a hammer." One mocked.
"I can do you one better." Norm bragged. "You know those bowling trophies Arthur's always polishing? He bought 'em all at a yard sale in Hackensack."
"I knew it! I've never once seen him down at the lanes." Herb shook his head.
Is this how I'm to fit in? Vision pondered. By peddling gossip and stories? Well, if it is to fit in. He decided, nodding to himself.
"I, too have, some top-secret gossip to share." Vision announced. "Norm here's a communist." He declared.
Norm froze for a second as the rest of the table turned to face him. But he didn't have to worry as everyone burst out into boisterous laughter, Norm included.
"Vision, you're a real cut up." Jones complimented.
"You know, I always thought you were kinda square," Norm told him.
"Me? No! I'm as round as they come." Vision said, causing the rest of the men to laugh once more.
"Hey, Vis, card for a stick big Red?" Herb asked, offering a stick of gum to the android.
"Well, hold on a second. Didn't you hear the man? He doesn't eat food." Norm teased as Vision held the gum between two fingers.
"Is gum food?"
"Well, my understanding is that it's purely for mastication." Vision shrugged, turning his head to Herb for began to stutter.
"Oh no, I don't do that!" Herb denied, shaking his head firmly.
"Well, when in Westview." Vision shrugged, unwrapping the gum. "Cheers." He said, raising the stick before putting it in his mouth.
"Who knew you were such a funny guy?" Norm asked.
"And to think you came here all hot and bothered about protocols and nonsense." Herb chuckled. "We actually thought you were serious," Herb said, slapping Vision on the back.
At the rough and sudden movement, Vision accidentally swallowed the gum in his mouth.
Vision could feel the wad of gum sliding down his throat and getting stuck in his internal processors.
"He's funny. All right, so, back to the barbeque." Herb directed the meeting back on topic. 
But what none of the other men noticed was Vision's growing panic at the foreign object now stuck in his internal processors.
Back at the country club, it was now only Y/N, Wanda, and Dottie. 
Wanda and Y/N had been tasked with cleaning up after the meeting while Dottie sat prissily behind them.
"And this is why you never do a seating chart on an empty stomach," Dottie commented as Wanda heaved a heavy tray of plates onto the table.
"Golly, you're a whiz at all the committee stuff, Dottie." Wanda complimented as Y/N picked up two stacks of teacups. "Thank you for choosing us to help you clean up. I feel so lucky." Wanda commented, taking one stack off Y/N's hands.
"You are." Dottie shrugged as they lugged the china onto the cart.
"I don't like her," Y/N whispered into her wife's ear once their backs were to their host. "Let's just split now."
"Not yet." Wanda denied before turning back to Dottie. "I can't help but wonder if the three of us haven't gotten off on the wrong foot, Dottie. And I'd like to, we'd like to, correct that if we can."
"And how would you do that?" Dottie asked, her face void of emotion.
Wanda didn't have an answer for Dottie as she chuckled awkwardly and glanced at her wife for an answer. But Y/N didn't have one either.
"I've heard things about you," Dottie revealed, rising to a stand. "About you, about your husband, and about your wife," Dottie said, pointing at both women.
"Well, I don't know what you've been told, but I assure you we don't mean anyone any harm," Wanda said as Y/N moved to stand beside her.
"I don't believe you," Dottie said, staring the two women down with a mean glare.
For a minute, the three women merely stared at one another. Dottie glared in distrust, Wanda looked almost scared, and Y/N was glaring at Dottie for threatening her wife, husband, and their life here.
The staring contest was interrupted by the radio crackling loudly before a man's voice came through it.
"Wanda. Wanda, can you hear? Agent Barton, do you read me?"
"Who is that?" Dottie asked, looking at the radio in fear.
"Wanda? Y/N?"
"Who are you?" Dottie gasped, now turning her fearful gaze to Wanda and Y/N.
The voice continued to call for both Wanda and Y/N. It kept repeating their names until a glass shattered.
The glass in Dottie's hand shattered, and the radio silenced.
"Dottie!" Wanda gasped, gazing at Dottie's bleeding hand in shock.
Wanda quickly took the woman's hand into her own as Y/N pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket.
"Pop quiz, Wanda," Dottie said as Y/N wrapped her hand. "How does a housewife get a bloodstain out white linen?" She asked. When neither woman gave her an answer, she answered her own question. "By doing it herself."
And with that, Dottie walked away.
"Wanda, what is going on?" Y/N demanded as Wanda glanced down at the radio. "What was that? Was that you? That couldn't have been you. Why was it calling me Agent Barton?" Y/N questioned her.
Wanda had never seen her wife really lose her cool in all their time together.
Y/N was always the level-headed one of the trio.
"Sweetheart," Wanda said, taking Y/N's face in her hands. At Wanda's touch, Y/N physically slacked in her grip. "You're exhausted," Wanda explained, running her thumb under Y/N's eye. "It's been a long day, and we didn't sleep last night. You need rest." 
"I need rest." Y/N agreed, nodding her head gently.
"We have time before the show to go home and take a nap." Wanda determined. "Maybe we can find something for your head at home or some tea? Does that sound okay?" 
"That sounds okay." Y/N nodded, smiling at her wife. "You know it's really your fault we didn't get any sleep last night." Y/N teased as she stood upright.
"Of course it was." Wanda smiled, wrapping her arm around Y/N's waist. "Let's get you home."
As the two began to walk away, Wanda couldn't stop herself from looking back and at the radio.
Just what was that?
Wanda and Y/N had gone home and taken an hour for themselves before they had to get ready for the show and bring their props down to the town square.
All of their neighbors had prepared an act. Everyone was performing.
Wanda, Y/N, and Vision were the last act on the agenda. The only problem with their performance was that they were missing a key component.
They were missing Vision.
"I'd hate to go after this guy." Geraldine giggled, staring at what was happening through the curtains while Wanda paced.
"What?" Wanda panicked. 
"Oh no, not like that. You guys are gonna be great." Geraldine assured. 
"Oh, what time is it now?" Wanda asked, beginning to pace again.
"Wanda, it's been two minutes," Y/N told the woman.
"I just don't know where he could be."
"Wanda, Vision will be here," Y/N promised, stopping her wife in her pacing by taking her hands. "He promised, and he'd never break a promise to us."
"Is that him?" Geraldine interrupted, pointing to a man stumbling up the stairs. 
Y/N and Wanda both turned to see their husband stumbling up the steps of the gazebo.
"It looks like he's got a little hitch in his giddyup," Geraldine commented, shaking her head.
"Vis?" Wanda asked, moving towards the man.
"Wanda! Wanda, my little cabbage, you look smashing!" Vision complimented before letting out a groan.
"What have you been doing?" Y/N asked, stepping next to Wanda.
"Not to worry, my little squash, me and the boys were just playing a rather thrilling game of horses with shoes." Vision said before shaking his head. "No, that's not right. Shoe horses. Horse's shoes!"
"Listen, something strange happened with Dottie," Y/N said, grabbing Vision's arms. "And before that. Something strange has been going on all day. It's hard to explain." Y/N told him.
"I was just playing with his shoes!" Vision yelled, pointing his finger at a man walking by in a horse costume.
Both Y/N and Wanda stared at their husband in confusion. He'd never acted like this before.
"What is going on?" Wanda asked a tad hysterically.
"You are!" Geraldine interrupted.
Wanda rushed to the curtains where Geraldine was peeking her head out to see Dottie giving a speech.
"I want to thank you all for coming out to support Westview Elementary, "For the Children." Dottie gushed.
"For the children." The crowd parroted back.
"The whole town's in this cult." Y/N shook her head.
"And for our final act, I give you Wanda, Y/N, and Vision," Dottie announced, politely clapping as she left the stage to sit with her husbands.
Wanda grabbed Y/N's hand and pulled the woman through the curtains.
The two smiled at the audience as they moved to their spot and, at the same time, gestured for Vision to exit.
Except Vision didn't exit. He completely missed his cue. 
"Hey! Hey you! You're up, Cowboy!" Geraldine snapped backstage at Vision.
"What?" Vision asked, struggling with a deck of cards. "Oh, shoot! I've got to go!"
Vision rushed towards the stage, and instead of exiting calmly, as they had planned, Vision burst through the curtains.
"Hello, Westview!" Vision exclaimed as Y/N and Wanda exchanged looks. "It's so lovely to be. I'm so sorry!" Vision apologized to a handrail he had bumped into. "Excuse me. I am Allure, and these are my delightful assistant's Illusion and Glamour."
"I am Glamour," Wanda interjected, raising a hand in a flourish.
"And I am Allure," Y/N added, copying Wanda's movements. "And this is the incredible,
"Illusion." The two introduced.
"Whatever they said." Vision nodded along. "Today, we will lie to you, and yet you will believe our little deceptions because human beings are easily fooled. But that's not your fault!" Vision told the audience. "It's because of human's limited understanding of the inner workings of the universe." He shrugged while his wife's once again stared at him questioningly. "Flourish!"
"You don't have to say it out loud, honey," Wanda muttered.
"You just do it. Like we practiced." Y/N added.
"Bah!" Vision waved off the advice. "And now, my wive's and I will delight in your dumbstruck little faces. Flourish!" He called before he was suddenly floating above the stage.
Wanda and Y/N froze at their husband's actions. And they weren't the only ones. 
Everyone in the audience saw what Vision was doing, and they all gasped at the sight of him floating.
What was he thinking?
Wanda's head snapped to the audience, and she noticed Dottie watching intently. 
Thinking quickly, Wanda pointed at Vision and conjured a wire for him to float from.
Y/N, noticing Wanda's actions, rushed across the stage and moved a poster board revealing the lever connected to the rope and pully.
"Ha! Do you see? He's using a rope!" Norm called from the audience.
"Wanda, what's, oh God! No! Y/N, stop her!" Vision yelled as Wanda began to pull Vision higher, to the audience's delight. "Darlings, let me down! I'm feeling pukey!"
After that line, Wanda finally lowered Vision to the ground as the audience clapped loudly.
"Thank you!" Vision smiled. "What's next? Oh, yeah, this is, this is gonna be great!" He said, moving over to the piano. "A staggering feat of strength!" He bragged, raising the piano with one hand.
The audience gasped and stared at the man in confusion.
"What do you think of that?" Vision asked the crowd.
"Illusion." Wanda gasped, struggling to think of how to fix this. "Illusion, Master of Engima, allow me." She said, wiggling her fingers subtly before rushing across the stage.
Wanda grabbed the piano out of Vision's hand, and it was replaced by a cardboard replica.
"Whoops!" Wanda gasped as she showed the audience the fake back. "You weren't supposed to see how we did that trick!" She teased, causing the audience to clap and giggle.
"That was my grandmother's piano," Jones said in the audience, watching as Wanda threw the piano to Y/N.
As the piano was removed from the stage, Vision turned his sights to the audience before excitedly exclaiming,
"Sherbert! This is my old mate Sherbert!" Vision yelled, moving towards the crowd. "Stand up, Sherbert! Say hello to the crowd!" He demanded, rushing beside the other man.
"It's Herbert. Herb." Herb clarified.
"Pipe down, Sherbie, and pick a card." Vision said, pushing the deck in Herb's direction. "Any card, now put it back in the deck." He ordered, turning his back to his neighbor. "I'm not looking. All right, watch this."
Vision halved the deck and pulled out the King of Diamonds, holding it smugly in front of Herb.
"Is this your card?"
"No." Herb shook his head.
"I beg to differ." Vision scoffed, thrusting the card towards Herb.
"It's not."
"Really?" Vision asked, cocking his head to the side. "Is this your card?" He questioned, pulling out another card.
"Vision," Y/N said from the stage, a fake smile on her face.
But Vision ignored her as he continued to pull cards from the deck.
"Is this your card? Is this your card? Is your card?" Vision kept repeating, showing cards and then throwing them to the side as Herb denied him.
"Sweetheart?" Wanda asked as cards flew everywhere.
"Is this your card?" Vision demanded, pulling out the King of Spades.
"Oh, it is," Herb said, surprised at it finally being pulled out.
"It is what?" Vision asked, staring at him in confusion. 
"It's my card." Herb smiled.
"Well, pardon me, Herb. Have it back." Vision scoffed, thrusting the card into the man's hands.
"No, that's not what I meant. You did the trick right." Herb told him as Vision stormed away.
"Well, of course, I did the trick right. I'm Illusion!" Vision exclaimed, rolling his eyes. "Flourish!" He emitted, bowing deeply.
Wanda and Y/N quickly began to clap at Vision's trick', causing the audience to join.
"And now, for my next trick," Vision began to announce.
"He's still going?" Y/N whispered to her wife, who sighed.
"Where's my hat? Who stole my hat?" Vision asked, turning to see his hat on the stage floor, Senor Scratchy hopping out of it. "Oh! Stop that rabbit!" He called as Y/N, and Wanda chased after the rabbit. "I've got to pull a hat out of you!"
"Senor Scratchy's got real star quality, don't you think?" Agnes asked anyone who would listen as Wanda caught him.
"Maybe we leave the poor bunny out of this one, shall we?" Wanda questioned, stroking the rabbit's fur gently.
"That sounds swell," Y/N said, approaching Wanda with the cage.
"Well then, I will just have to pull this hat out of myself!" Vision determined, facing the audience with a grin.
"Vision no." Wanda gasped, staring at him pleadingly.
"I'm doing it."
"Don't you dare," Y/N said, putting her hands on her hips.
"Ah-ha!" Vision cheered. Having ignored his wives pleading, Vision had gone ahead and pushed his hat through his torso.
The crowd didn't clap, and they didn't gasp. Everyone merely stared in confusion, not understanding what they just saw.
"If only we could tell you our secret." Y/N awkwardly smiled as Wanda wiggled her fingers.
The curtains opened behind the three, revealing a set of mirrors to the audience.
The assembled crowd let out sounds of recognition and began to clap, now understanding the trick.
"Is that how mirrors work?" Bev wondered a costume horse head on her lap.
"Shut up, Bev." Dottie scolded the other woman without even turning to look at her.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen, for our grand finale." Vision announced as Wanda moved to get the cabinet while Y/N closed the curtains. "I bring you the Magnet of Crysteries!"
"The Cabinet of Mysteries," Wanda told the crowd, a slight snap in her tone.
Wanda was so fed up with how the day had gone that all she wanted was to get the show over with.
But she was so focused on her frustration that she never noticed, Y/N wasn't in the cabinet.
"I will now make my wife disappear!" Vision announced, opening the doors to show the crowd and shutting them before Wanda could enter.
"Are you sure you don't want an audience volunteer named "My husband Ralph?" Agnes called from the crowd.
The rest of the crowd, particularly the women, laughed at Agnes' joke.
"No. Abracadabra!" Vision cheered, tapping his wand on the cabinet door.
"Uh, Vision, sweetheart?" Wanda said from where she still stood.
"Yeah?"
"Hi." Wanda waved, causing Vision to freeze.
"Oh."
"Hiya, darlings," Y/N announced, now standing beside Vision.
"Oh." Both her partners said, now staring at her.
"What's in the box?" The crowd began to chant. "What's in the box? What's in the box?"
"What is in the box?" Vision asked, staring at his wives in confusion.
"What's in the box? What's in the box?"
Wanda pointed at the cabinet, and when she and Vision opened the doors, there stood Geraldine.
The audience all gasped at the woman's appearance before beginning to clap wildly.
"Let's bounce," Y/N said, grabbing Vision's hand and dragging him off stage with Wanda following behind.
Once away from the crowd, Vision immediately began to cry.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so stupid." Vision cried.
"Vis, it is all right," Wanda assured, putting her hands on Vision's chest.
"Vision, it's okay, everything is fine. You're not stupid." Y/N added, taking his hand in one of hers.
"But what is going on with you?" Wanda demanded of him.
"I have no idea!" Vision cried. "I've been feeling weirdy all day!"
"It's okay. We can solve this," Y/N told him soothingly.
Wanda stepped back and raised her hand towards him. She began to scan through Vision's systems and stopped in the middle of his torso. 
Vision let out a groan at the sensation as Wanda's eyes widened.
Wanda worked her magic and forced the gum out of Vision's systems.
The gum forced itself up Vision's throat and out of his mouth.
"Disgusting," Y/N said, cringing at the scene.
"Well, would you look at that? That really gummed up the works, didn't it?" Vision joked, the gum that had caused so many problems between his fingers. "I'm not as funny without it, am I?" He asked when neither of his wives responded.
"Oh, honey, no," Y/N said, squeezing his hand. "You weren't funny with it either." She teased.
"Well, you're back to yourself." Wanda sighed, relieved.
"And that's all we really need," Y/N promised, leaning up to kiss his cheek.
"Now, let's get out of here before Dottie, and the planning committee, string us up for ruining the show," Wanda said to the two.
"Don't joke. The cult might actually do that." Y/N commented.
"I'm sorry, what cult?" Vision asked, looking quite concerned.
"I'll explain later," Y/N promised as the three reached the edge of the curtains.
The three tried to inconspicuously sneak away from the show but were stopped with a cry.
"You three, stop right there!"
"Oh, we're dead." Y/N cringed as the three began to turn around with grimaces adorning their faces. 
"Nothing, like what the three of you just did up there, has ever happened in the history of our talent show," Dottie told the three.
"Dottie, we are so,"
"Hilarious." Dottie cut Wanda off. "That was the most hilarious act we've ever seen. Wouldn't you agree?" Dottie asked the crowd, who applauded in agreeance.
Wanda let out a relieved chuckle while Y/N grinned victoriously.
"Oh, yes, of course!" Vision exclaimed, playing along as if everything that had just happened was intentional.
"You three, come on up. Come on." Dottie ordered. 
The married three all looked at one another before agreeing it was safe to move on stage.
"On behalf of the planning committee, I would like to award you with the inaugural Comedy Performance of the year," Dottie announced, handing Wanda the trophy.
The audience rose to their feet and began to cheer for the three.
Wanda, Y/N, and Vision all giddily grinned as Wanda raised the trophy, and they indulged in their moment.
Wanda heard clapping from the stage side and turned her head to see Geraldine clapping happily.
Y/N, noticing where Wanda was looking, also turned to Geraldine and began to gesture her over.
"Come on." Wanda mouthed as the other woman hesitated.
With a bit more encouraging, and Vision pulling her over, Geraldine finally moved to stand with the three, a smile on her face.
"I do have to ask," Geraldine whispered, turning her head to Vision. "One second I'm backstage, and the next, I'm in a dark cubby hole." She said as the four bowed. "How'd you do it?"
"Oh, a magician never reveals his secrets." Vision said sagely. "He leaves that to his assistants.
"And she's not talking," Y/N told the curious woman.
"Nope. Neither of them are." Wanda added with a sly smile.
"Why did I have a feeling you'd say that?" Geraldine asked with a giggle.
"For the children!" Norm called from the crowd.
"For the children!" The rest of the crowd repeated.
"It's still culty," Y/N whispered in her wife's ear.
The three were in a joyful mood as they walked home. Despite the show not going the way they had wanted it to, everything had turned out okay.
They had fit in with their neighbors, entertained their friends, and no-one was any the wiser about their secrets.
"When did you learn to salsa dance?" Wanda laughed, watching as Y/N and Vision danced down the street.
"I don't remember when I learned to, I just know it was at night, and I read many books on the subject." Vision said as he twirled Y/N out.
"Of course you." Y/N laughed before she took over the dominant role and began to lead. She then spun Vision towards Wanda.
The three continued to dance into their home, their costumes and other items balanced in skilled hands.
"You were tremendous, Glamour." Vision complimented, opening the door as Wanda dramatically fell into his arms.
"As were you, Illusion," Wanda said, grinning up at the man.
"Despite the circumstances." Y/N smiled, entering behind the two. Wanda had moved out of Vision's arms to put the trophy away, allowing Vision to wrap both arms around Y/N's waist.
"Why, thank you, Allure." Vision said, smiling down at his wife. Y/N returned the smile before leaning up to kiss the man.
"I don't know what I was so worried about." Wanda sighed, taking her seat on the couch. "It wasn't so hard to fit in at all." 
"And all we had to do was be ourselves." Vision agreed, sitting to her right.
"At least the public version," Y/N smirked, sitting on Wanda's other side.
"And it was all for the children."
"For the children."
"For the children."
"Well, I think the children might need some popcorn," Wanda commented.
"And some coffee," Y/N added as she and Wanda rose to their feet.
"Wanda. Y/N." Vision said, stopping the two of them in their tracks.
"Hmm, what?"
"Yes, sweetheart?" 
As Vision rose from the couch, his gaze remained focused on their stomachs, causing the two to finally look down.
"Oh shoot." Y/N gasped, noting hers and Wanda's matching bellies. 
"Is this really happening?" Wanda asked, a hand on her engorged stomach and her other on Y/N's.
"Yes, my love." Vision smiled, leaning down to kiss Wanda gently as if she would break if he applied too much pressure.
"We're gonna have a family." Y/N smiled, pressing her fingertips onto Wanda's stomach as her husband and wife pulled apart.
"We are, my dove." Vision nodded, grin still attached to his face, before leaning down and kissing Y/N with the same gentleness.
"We're pregnant." Wanda grinned, her eyes slightly glassy before she pulled Y/N into a kiss. Hers more firm than the one's Vision had done.
As Wanda kissed Y/N, there was a loud banging outside, causing the three to jump.
"If that's that damn tree again, I'm going to rip it out by the roots." Vision snapped, storming towards the door.
"Don't touch my tree, Vis!" Y/N exclaimed as she and Wanda followed after Vision.
"I don't see anything," Wanda said as the three searched the yard for the noise.
"What is that?" Vision asked, standing at the gate. Y/N and Wanda moved to see what he was looking at and saw a storm drain cover moving.
As something began to climb out, Vision moved forward and wrapped his arms around his wives protectively.
A man in a beekeeper's costume emerged, a swarm of bees surrounding him.
"No," Wanda whispered as the man's head snapped towards the three.
"We're pregnant." Wanda grinned, her eyes slightly glassy before she pulled Y/N into a kiss. Hers more firm than the one's Vision had done.
When the two pulled apart, it was as if their world was suddenly all the more vibrant. 
Their home was bright, and the three were glowing. 
"Everything's changing," Y/N said, looking at her partners with a grin.
"It is." Vision agreed, pulling the two women into his embrace.
"All for the better," Wanda told the two.
And it was. 
Taglist will be open throughout the series.  
@x-uglyprincess-x @imthedoctorlove @loveinnoya @unknownalien3388 @bindythedemon @summersimmerus @buckmesidewaysandcallmesteve @natasharomanoffismywife @mcsteamy4ever @monxpeet @amywinehouseisgod @milleniumloki @buckybarnesplumwhore @kennedywxlsh @drpepperobsessed @madamevirgo @superbsccissorsdeanexpert @itty-bitty-witch @essenceproxima @severusminerva @okkulta @mrscasnovak @niki-is-a-thing
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diazevan · 3 years
Text
these little words (somehow they're changing us)
Christopher can make anybody smile, even when they feel like they can't.
Christopher Diaz Week, Day 7: ANYTHING CHRIS GOES + “I love you.”
Read on AO3 (This is a long one lol)
TW: For ‘Part 4: Harry’ there are mentions of a bully who teased Harry for having a gay dad. 
1: Bobby
Washing up, Bobby could turn his back on the team and couldn’t be asked a million questions about how he was feeling. At home, with Athena and May, they spoke to him with their gentlest voices, then at work, the team did the same, it was too much.
The anniversary of the fire was creeping up, the single worst day of Bobby’s life, that he wished he could lock in a box and throw to the bottom of a lake.
He knew that his family cared.
It was why Athena was up early to make him breakfast every morning, why Hen and Chimney let him win their Mario Kart tournament, why Eddie did the grocery run, and why Buck saved him the last cupcake from the bundle Taylor had dropped off to celebrate Buck and Eddie’s engagement.
Those gestures, Bobby didn’t mind, but it was the talking; the mindless head tilts and the usual, “How are you doing?”
There was no answer for that, unless he lied, nodding his head, and saying he was doing okay, but when he closed his eyes, he saw his kids laying across those white sheets.
Bobby celebrated – internally, of course - when Eddie asked if Christopher and Carla could stopover for lunch. He adored Christopher, and so did everybody else, it was impossible not to. So, while everybody was distracted by Christopher’s wonderous tales, Bobby could escape the constant questions and the worried glances.
Running his hand through the lukewarm water, Bobby turned off the faucet and turned, swinging open the dishwasher.
He skipped over to the table, gathering as many plates as he could with two hands.
Christopher grabbed his empty plastic cup and jumped onto his feet, “I’ll help!”
Bobby couldn’t help but smile, “Thank you.” He turned, starting to place the plates into the dishwasher, “Those cups can’t go in here, do you wanna put it in the sink for me?”
“Okay!” Christopher bounced over, tossing the cup into the water, “I’m very good at washing up.”
Bobby raised his eyebrows, “Yeah?”
Christopher lowered his voice, “Better than Buck.”
Bobby pressed a hand on his stomach, barking a laugh, “I bet you are.”
Buck couldn’t wash up, not without making a mess; Eddie couldn’t cook, even after many one-to-one lessons with Bobby. Together, it worked.
Christopher stood on his tiptoes, looking into the sink, “Do you want my help?”
“Sure,” Bobby held up his hands, “I’ll grab the other cups.”
Before he could, Christopher was hugging him, locking his arms firmly around Bobby’s middle.
Bobby knelt, folding his arms behind Christopher’s shoulders, letting the kid press his chin on his shoulder, “Hey,” Bobby hung his head back, “What was that for?”
“I don’t know,” Christopher lifted his shoulders with a shrug, “But I think you needed a hug.”
A warmth spread across Bobby’s chest as a grin gradually grew across his face, “I guess I did.”
Christopher patted his shoulder, “Love you, Bobby.”
Bobby lifted his hands, ruffling Christopher’s hair, “Love you too, kid.”
Standing to collect the cups together, Bobby searched the room for Eddie, he found him on the couch, grinning up at his fiancée who had laid his legs across Eddie’s lap, trapping him. Eddie locked eyes with Bobby, nodding slowly, with a knowing smile, he knew better than anyone that reassurance from Christopher was exactly what Bobby needed.
2: Maddie
Maddie understood that she couldn’t protect Jee-Yun from everything unless she planned to take helicopter parenting to the next most extreme level.
Jee-Yun was teething and despite knowing that her daughter would never remember the pain or the tears, it didn’t ease Maddie’s worry. She hated knowing that Jee-Yun was in pain, there was nothing she could do to soothe her, aside from cradle her, and buy her toys to chew on to her heart’s content.
“I know, baby,” Maddie pressed a kiss to Jee-Yun’s temple, “It sucks, doesn’t it?” Her daughter hung her head, wailing as loud as she could, Maddie tried to shush her, “Daddy’s sleeping.”
“No, Daddy’s awake,” Chimney emerged from the bedroom, with a yawn, he rubbed his eyes with the backs of his fingers.
“Oh, Chim,” Maddie squeaked her empathy, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not her fault,” Chimney clapped his hands, taking Jee-Yun into his arms, “It’s a part of growing up.”
She sighed, “But you have to work tonight.”
“I’ve had five hours,” He shrugged as he patted Jee-Yun’s back, “That’s enough.”
Maddie pressed her hands on her hips, trying to conceal a yawn, but it didn’t go unnoticed by Chimney, who raised his eyebrows, tilting his head to his shoulder, she jabbed a finger in his direction, “Shut up.”
Chimney laughed, “I didn’t say anything,”
There was a knock at the door.
Maddie narrowed her eyes, considering she hadn’t buzzed anybody in, she reached for the handle, pulling open the door.
She was greeted by three familiar faces; Buck, Eddie, and Christopher.
“Aunt Maddie!” Christopher locked his arms around her legs, greeting her in his usual fashion.
“Hey, honey,” She tapped his back as she darted her eyes up to her brother, “What are you guys doing here?” She asked through a yawn, “I thought you were venue hunting.”
“We are,” Eddie shrugged, “But not until later.”
Christopher headed inside, wearing a grin as he stopped by Buck’s side.
“So, we’re here…” Buck moved inside, pressing a kiss to Maddie’s cheek, “To help.”
Maddie raised her eyebrows, “Help?”
Buck pressed his hands together, resting them under his chin, as he turned on his heel, “Consider this an intervention.”
Maddie stepped closer to Chimney, “An intervention?”
Buck tilted his ear to his shoulder, “You two need sleep.”
“Desperately,” Eddie added as he pushed the front door shut, pressing a hand to his son’s back.
Chimney scoffed a laugh, “We’re fine.”
Buck snorted, “Sure.”
Eddie crossed his arms, “Is that why you look like you’re about to fall over?”
Chimney exclaimed, “Hey!”
“Now, there’s my favorite niece,” Buck held out his arms, scooping Jee-Yun, with a smile, not phased by her sobs, “Oh, no.”
Maddie sighed, “You really don’t have to do this.”
“We want to,” Eddie assured her, “You two deserve some time.”
“I mean,” Chimney met her gaze, “It’s basically free babysitting, right?”
“Yeah…” Maddie nodded, “Um, are you sure?”
Buck smiled, “Get some rest.”
Going into the bedroom, Maddie and Chimney fell onto their bed, not even bothering with the covers, curling into one another.
She couldn’t work out when she fell asleep, but Maddie was suddenly woken up, by somebody prodding her arm.
“What?” She turned, meeting Chimney’s tired gaze, “What is it?”
He raised his head, “Can you hear that?”
She couldn’t hear anything, “No.”
“Exactly,” Chimney mused, “Jee-Yun’s not crying.”
Maddie needed to see this, she sat up, crawling out of the bed, cracking the door open, and leaning her head out.
Jee-Yun was laying in the crib, blabbering happily, her eyes on the ceiling.
Eddie and Buck were dancing around the kitchen, finishing the washing up, while gazing into each other’s eyes, like they always did.
Maddie’s eyes found Christopher, who was kneeling beside the crib, poking his fingers through the slates, letting Jee-Yun grip onto one of them with all her might.
Christopher grinned, fascinated by his cousin, he sang, “Hey.”
Jee-Yun spun her head, watching Christopher, squeezing his finger as she did, she giggled loudly, staring at him like he held all the answers to the universe.
Christopher lowered his voice, whispering, “Love you, Jee.”
Tears filled Maddie’s eyes as she smiled, turning back to Chimney.
Jumping back into her bed, she couldn’t drop her smile.
Her family was the best.
3: Denny
Denny skipped into his bedroom, placing Christopher’s bag on the end of his bed.
They were having a double sleepover; two nights with Christopher, while Eddie and Buck were out wedding planning, which meant they could play games all day and talk through the night.
Christopher was having Denny’s bed while Denny took the inflatable mattress that they’d blown up by the window and covered in a spare quilt.
Denny bent beside the toy box, opening the lid, and searching for his new Star Wars Lego set to take into the living room. He stopped when he noticed something buried at the bottom, under the scrabble box, he dug his hands inside, pulling out a pink horse plushie, “Oh.”
It was Nia’s.
All his happiness was gone, Denny climbed onto his bed, laying on his side, hugging her horse under his arm as he let out a long sigh.
The bedroom door creaked, and Christopher asked, “What’s wrong?”
Denny hummed before saying, “Nothing.”
Christopher climbed up onto the bed, lying next to him, patting Denny’s arm, “I miss Nia too.”
Denny lifted his head, looking at his friend.
“It’s okay to miss people,” Christopher told him, “I miss my mom sometimes, but she’s not coming back, but she was here,” He squeezed the plushie, “Dad says that the important thing.”
Denny couldn’t imagine losing one of his moms; Christopher was one of the strongest people that he knew because he never stopped smiling.
“Nia is with her mom,” Christopher said, “She’s happy but she probably misses you too.”
Denny nodded slowly.
“You might see her again one day,” Christopher smiled, “That would be fun.”
“Yeah, it would,” Denny reached over, pulling Christopher into a hug, squeezing his eyes shut.
Christopher tapped his back, “I’m not going anywhere, Denny.”
“I know.” Denny scrunched his nose, “Love you, Chris.”
“Love you too.”
4: Harry
Harry was unloading the dishwasher, ignoring the glances that his mom and Bobby were sending his way as they muttered between themselves.
He knew he was in trouble, his parents had made that very clear when they collected him from school and grounded him, being suspended from school for a week was a big deal, he understood that.
He couldn’t tell them the whole truth, he knew how extravagant his parents were when they were angry, especially his mom. If he told Bobby, it would reach the station, and then everybody would be mad; he could already picture Hen and Buck storming the school with his mom.
Harry would rather handle it, by himself, and not stress his family out, yet. It wasn’t long until Eddie and Buck’s wedding, he didn’t want to put a dent in that, because it definitely would.
“Harry,” Bobby leaned on the kitchen surface, “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.” Harry closed the dishwasher, “I pushed Ben over; that’s all.”
“That’s all,” Athena muttered, shaking her head as she buried her hands in his pockets.
“We know you, Harry,” Bobby said, clearly being the ‘good cop,’ “You wouldn’t have just pushed him.”
Ben’s torments filled Harry’s head as he met his stepdad’s gaze.
Your dad’s got a boyfriend?
Harry shrugged, “It’s nothing, Bobby.”
That’s so gross.
Harry adored his family, that included David, and when Ben came for him, Harry saw red, pushing Ben to the ground; Ben had seen the engagement party pictures for Eddie and Buck on Harry’s Instagram, that added fuel to the fire, but Harry would defend his family until the end.
The doorbell rang.
Bobby hung his head, looking to Harry’s mom, “That will be the boys.”
Harry rolled his shoulders; he forgot that Buck, Eddie, and Christopher were visiting for dinner.
“Harry,” Athena said strictly, “Christopher’s gonna wanna play games with you, but no video games, you hear me?”
Harry nodded.
Athena put on a grin, skipped up the stairs, and opening the door, with a joyous, “Hey!”
“Sorry, we’re so early,” Buck said, “Christopher was very excited to see Harry.”
Harry stepped over with Bobby, looking up to the door, as his mom turned to face him, with a knowing glance.
“Well, Harry’s grounded,” She pressed a hand to her hip, “But if Christopher is okay with board games.”
“We love board games,” Eddie sang, “Don’t we, bud?”
Christopher jumped, “Yeah!”
“This way, Chris,” Harry nodded his head to the couch, pulling out the Scrabble and Monopoly boards from under the coffee table, as he sat down, leaning his back on the edge of the couch.
Bobby skipped into the kitchen, to prepare drinks, while the others sat at the dinner table, jumping right into talking about the wedding.
Harry was happy for the distraction while he played games with Christopher.
Christopher balanced his crutches on the floor before jumping down to see near Harry, he lowered his voice, leaning his head, “What happened?”
Harry lifted his hands, “I got grounded.”
Christopher muttered, “Why?”
“I pushed a kid over,” Harry told him as he got out the parts for Scrabble, laying the board across the table, “I don’t wanna talk about it.” The thing was, he did want to talk about it, he wanted everybody to know that he didn’t do it without a reason, but he couldn’t.
Christopher asked, “Was he a bully?”
Harry nodded, keeping his voice quiet, “Yeah.”
“Oh,” Christopher let go of a long breath, “Did he push you?”
“No,” Harry shook his head, “But—”
“He was mean?”
“Very.” Harry sighed, darting his eyes to his mom, who was caught up in her conversation, she wouldn’t be able to hear them, “Can I tell you what happened?”
“Yeah.”
“The kid, Ben, he was being mean,” Harry looked over at Buck and Eddie, before turning his face back to Christopher, “He said it was gross that my dad is gay.”
“That’s wrong!” Christopher cupped a hand over his mouth, shushing himself, “He can’t say that—”
“I know.”
Christopher held out his hands, “I would have pushed him over too.”
Eddie was on his feet, pacing over, “What did you say, Chris?”
Harry cursed their luck, he forgot that his parents could hear everything.
Christopher lied, “Nothing.”
“No…” Eddie shook his head slowly, “We all heard.”
Buck, like Bobby, seemed to take the role of ‘good cop’ so he stood back, crossing his arms, eyes locked onto the boys.
While Harry’s mom stepped over, stopping next to Eddie, the pair crossing their arms.
Christopher explained, “Harry pushed him because Ben was making fun of Michael for being gay.”
Harry sighed, slouching, as the adults were stunned into silence.
Harry’s mom met Eddie’s gaze, while Bobby clamped a hand on Buck’s shoulder.
“And—” Christopher breathed, “If somebody said that about you, I’d be mad.”
“Yeah, buddy, I know,” Eddie sighed gently, “Ben is wrong.”
“Harry,” Athena spoke softly, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t wanna hurt Dad or David.”
“Still, sweetheart…” Athena sighed, bending down to cup his cheek in her hand, “You have to tell us these things, so we can understand.”
“Okay, Mom.”
“And pushing him over, wasn’t the best move,” She scolded, “But I get it, next time, you come to me, or one of your teachers, okay?”
“Yeah,” Harry nodded, “I will.”
“We’ll talk to your school tomorrow,”
Standing up, Bobby stepped over, wrapping an arm behind her back, pressing a kiss to her cheek.
Harry turned, tugging Christopher into a hug, “Thank you,” He whispered into his ear.
Christopher frowned, “Why?”
“For helping.” Harry pulled back, “I didn’t know how to tell them.”
“Ben has to be told off,” Christopher told him, “And he will be.”
“Yeah,” Harry tapped his friend’s shoulder, “He will.”
Christopher reached out, grabbing the bag of letters for Scrabble, he looked up with a smile, “Love you, Harry.”
Harry grinned, happy to have a friend in Christopher, “Love you too, Chris.”
5: Buck
Sometimes Buck would wake up, panicked by memories of the tsunami. In a few short months, it would be the third anniversary of when the wave came crashing down, and he couldn’t understand where the time had gone.
Buck could feel the rush of the water; the pressure gathering him up and pushing him back, away from Christopher.
The ringing in his ears, his heart racing in his chest, and his arms thrashing through the cold avoiding debris as he swept past, Buck remembered it all.
He leaned back in the chair at the kitchen table, slowing his breathing as his eyes found the clock on the wall.
4:48 am.
He was surprised he hadn’t woken Eddie when he got out of bed, his fiancé wasn’t exactly a heavy sleep, and usually, with the slightest hint of unfamiliar movement, Eddie would be up on his feet before Buck could reassure him that he was only getting up to grab a glass of water.
It had been two hours since Buck had left the bedroom, taking his place in the kitchen, to sit with a cup of cocoa and stare at the wall, thoughts running through his head, at a mile a minute.
Eddie hadn’t been distributed when Buck slipped away, likely because they’d had a long shift at work, and when they made it home, Eddie had been out like a light.
Buck rubbed his hand down his face, wanting nothing more than for Eddie to gather him up in his arms, and tell him that everything was going to be okay.
He knew that if he knocked on the door and woke Eddie, then he would be exactly what he would get; Eddie didn’t show it, but he was a softy at heart.
As much as Buck wanted that, he couldn’t.
Buck? Wait, what are you doing here? Are you okay? Wait, where's Christopher?
Memories of that day, that moment when he thought he’d lost Christopher and had to tell Eddie, they weighed heavy, keeping him sitting in the chair.
Me and Christopher, we were...at the beach, and--um...and listen to me, okay?
Oh, he’d never shake the look in Eddie’s eyes.
I swear to you... okay, I tried...
Tears filled his eyes, he brushed them away, bracing his fingers together and planting them on the table, as he slowed his breathing.
Buck had been in love with Eddie for as long as he could remember, but when that day, he thought any potential relationship was buried.
Eddie and Christopher were two of the most important people in Buck’s life, two who pulled him to shore while he was sinking fast. He let them down that day, let Christopher slip through his fingers, but his soon-to-be stepson was adamant that Buck was a hero, but he didn’t feel like one.
Shortly after the whole lawsuit debacle, Eddie caught Buck off-guard, asking him out on a date, and explained that he was done wasting time that they didn’t have.
Buck was sure that he’d never been happier, than in that very moment, and then a year later, Eddie asked him to marry him, that day quickly took the top spot.
Buck fiddled with his engagement ring, leaning his head against his hand as he shuddered, feeling like he needed to wade through water before he could make it back to bed.
Christopher’s tired voice caught his attention, “Buck?”
Buck plastered on a false smile, lifting his head, as he turned in his chair, “Hey, buddy.” He tried to clear his throat, but his voice came out hoarse, “What are you doing up?”
Christopher tilted his head, “Are you okay?”
Buck thought he could lie but as he stared into Christopher’s eyes he knew he could, but his words escaped him, so he simply shook his head, his lower lip trembling.
Christopher sped over, opening up his arms.
Buck crumpled to the floor, on his knees, collecting Christopher in a hug, tucking his forehead against his shoulder.
“It’s okay, Buck,” Christopher whispered in his ear, brushing his hand through Buck’s hair, “Nothing bad is going to happen.”
Buck squeaked, closing his eyes as he let out of a sob, “I’m sorry.”
“You can be sad,” Christopher assured him, “It’s normal.”
“Yeah,” Buck nodded as he clung on tighter, “It is.”
The bedroom door clicked open, and a half-asleep Eddie emerged, stopping by the wall, eyes on them.
Buck leaned, pressing a hand to Christopher’s cheek, “I love you, Superman.”
Christopher smiled, as wide as he could, “I love you too, Papa.”
Eddie raised a hand, laying it under his chin as he struggled to hide the fondest of grins.
Buck chuckled through his tears, as he clung onto Christopher, his feet finally on dry land.
6: Eddie
Eddie kept going to the mirror to make sure that his tie was positioned properly, if he sat still for too long, his leg started bouncing and his heart would race.
He’d been a groom before, but his and Shannon’s wedding was quick, not many people attended the ceremony, it was a spur-of-the-moment decision that the pair made together.
With Buck, Eddie knew that this commitment was one he was making, until the end; he and Buck were entangled, in more ways than one.
God, Eddie loved him, he really did; sometimes he’d focus on the time they’d lost while they were idiots who never discussed their feelings, but he couldn’t concentrate on that.
Buck was more than perfect because they were best friends first, and still were, to this day, which made that step to boyfriends, that much easier; Buck loved Christopher like his own, before he and Eddie were together, which was beautiful.
There's nobody in this world I trust with my son more than you.
When Eddie had muttered those words, he should have realized, there and then, his true feelings but he left it too long, pushed his future further away.
He wouldn’t let that happen again.
That didn’t relieve the pressure that had rested on his chest, he was terrified of getting it wrong, or tripping up when he needed his balance the most.
He’d never considered the dangers of his job until he started counting the odds with Buck’s life, as well as his own.
He couldn’t lose another, his heart wouldn’t be able to take another blow, and Buck wasn’t exactly known for his level-headedness.
Despite that, since they started dating, both of them were far more responsible on calls, Bobby wished they’d been together since the beginning.
Christopher was sitting on the chair, in the corner of the room, dangling his legs in anticipation, “Are you okay, Dad?”
Eddie clapped his hands together, “I’m fine,” He rubbed the nape of his neck, “Just a little nervous.”
Christopher sang loudly, “It’s gonna be so cool.”
Eddie chuckled with a nod, “It is.”
“Pepa helped me with my speech,” Christopher beamed, happy with his Best Man role.
Eddie moved over, pushing Christopher’s hair out of his eyes, “You excited about that?”
“Yeah!” Christopher nodded, “Chimney is doing his first.”
Eddie rolled his eyes, knowing what that was going to entail, “He is, is he?”
“Then me!” Christopher exclaimed, “Auntie Karen typed it up on cards for me.”
Eddie smiled; this day was a serious family affair, “I can’t wait, buddy.”
Christopher chuckled, “Athena said Bobby will cry first today.”
“I bet,” Eddie sat beside him, breathing slow, leaning his arm against Christopher’s side.
“Dad,” Christopher held up his head, “You’re gonna be Eddie Diaz-Buckley, and Papa is gonna be Buck Diaz-Buckley?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Eddie smiled, he and Buck couldn’t wait for all the pranks they would pull at work with the name changes.
“Can I change mine?” Christopher asked, “To Christopher Diaz-Buckley?”
The pressure shifted off Eddie, for a moment, as he folded an arm around Christopher’s back, “If you want.”
“I do!” Christopher threw up his arms, “I love Buck.”
Eddie smiled, “I do too.”
Christopher leaned his head on his arm, “I love you, Dad.”
“Love you too, buddy,” He bowed down, pressing a kiss in Christopher’s hair.
There was a knock at the door, Eddie’s dad poked his head around, “It’s time, boys.”
Christopher held Eddie’s hand, tight, “We got this, Dad.”
As they piled into the corridor, and Eddie was met by a wall of his family, he let go of a slow breath, he was more than ready.
Meeting Buck at the altar, holding his hands tight, smiling with tears in his eyes, and seeing their son a couple of steps away; he’d never been happier.
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datleggy · 3 years
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I wonder how much PTO the 118 have built up? Because I don’t think any of them have taken a vacation in all the seasons. The weekend away hen took with Karen not counting because she wasn’t officially back on duty yet.
same. i feel like the only times they’re ever off is in the case of “under investigation” ---hen and bobby. or injured---chim and buck. 
i want them to take a giant family vacation with all the kids--like i just NEED them to relax and have fun for a straight two weeks lmao (and for buck and eddie to get stuck sharing a bed BECAUSE reasons) 
imagine them renting out one of those giant houses with enough rooms in it for like 15 people w like a huge pool in the back? buck and eddie have to share a room, of course, bc otherwise one of them would hafta sleep on the couch, and they’re the only two singles in the group, but they don’t mind since the bed is big enough that they can both stretch out in it comfortably. 
they realize their feelings for each other throughout those two weeks--especially after waking up in eachothers arms every day and feeling more rested than they have their whole lives??? the first couple of days they disentangle themselves awkwardly and brush it off but by like the third or fourth night buck just rests his head against eddies shoulder after turning off the lights and is like “what? ur comfortable.” and eddie rolls his eyes and wraps an arm around buck, pulling him a little closer. 
and maybe eddies away on a grocery shopping trip w a couple of the others and christopher is playing w denny and harry and accidentally takes a tumble and its nothing too serious, just a bloody knee, but its buck who’s instantly there to comfort chris and take care of the wound. 
eddie finds out about it through bobby, who’s on the phone w athena asking her what kind of cheese the kids would like when it happens, and bobby assures him that bucks got it handled and isn’t too surprised when eddie nods in relief, bc he knows how much the man trusts buck w christopher (hell, with everything!) 
on the last day when everyone is packing up the cars and getting ready to leave hen is like “omg where are eddie and buck? those two still sleeping??? im gonna go wake them up so they can help load all this stuff smh” and so she runs upstairs and throws their door open to startle them awake only to catch them locked in a heated kiss, eddie practically on top of buck, and bucks hands grasping at the back of eddies t-shirt frantically. she clears her throat, scaring the crap out of the both of them and says, “i’m glad u two finally figured it out but we gotta be outta here in like thirty minutes, so ima need u guys downstairs in the next two minutes, thanks.” 
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maxwell-grant · 3 years
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Since Krins last ask was a bust, how about the other major pulp-adjacent character whose name references ghosts: Will Eisner's The Spirit
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Maybe the most consistently great long-running American comic book character of all time who maintained consistent greatness even after being passed to other creators through the decades (I hold Calvin and Hobbes in vastly greater esteem but it ran for about a decade and was all done by his creator), and if we consider him a pulp hero then he’s definitely the most consistently great of them who’s been long-running for decades. He gets called a superhero often enough and I guess it sorta works by the already arbitrary definitions of superhero, but like with Hellboy, not only does he take much, much more from the pulp heroes than anything from the supers, but he was explicitly created to not be a superhero, as Eisner put it.
Eisner left to create "The Spirit Section". "They gave me an adult audience", Eisner said in 1997, "and I wanted to write better things than superheroes. Comic books were a ghetto. I sold my part of the enterprise to my associate and then began The Spirit. They wanted an heroic character, a costumed character. They asked me if he'd have a costume. And I put a mask on him and said, 'Yes, he has a costume!'"
Eisner's rumpled, masked hero (with his headquarters under the tombstone of his supposedly deceased true identity, Denny Colt) and his gritty, detailed view of big-city life (based on Eisner's Jewish upbringing in New York City) both reflected and anticipated the noir outlook of film and fiction in the 1940s. Eisner said in 2001 that he created the strip as a vehicle to explore various genres: "When I created The Spirit, I never had any intention of creating a superhero. I never felt The Spirit would dominate the feature. He served as a sort of an identity for the strip. The stories were what I was interested in."
In my first discussion with 'Busy' Arnold, his thinking centered around a superhero kind of character—a costumed character; we didn't use the word 'superhero' in those days... and I argued vehemently against it because I [had] had my bellyful of creating costumed heroes at Eisner and Iger... [S]o actually one evening, around three in the morning, I was still working, trying to find it—I only had about a week-and-a-half or two weeks in which to produce the first issue, the whole deal was done in quite a rush—and I came up with an outlaw hero, suitable, I felt, for an adult audience
As a character Denny Colt’s not exactly among the most intricate or complex of the bunch, or a character that really leaves much for me to write on. He’s a simple, but likeable man, who’s designed to work in just about any number of ways, who wears an iconic costume and often tends to get the absolute stuffings beat out of him constantly, as part of the charm. He looks and even somewhat acts like a cartoony bumbler and has a lot of goofy covers and funny scenes, until the story throws a gut punch your way to remind you that this is very much still a character mired in pulp and noir and urban drama. 
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The virtues of the character are self-evident even if they are usually not the point of the story. He is a good-natured guy who should have died, but who hauled himself through six feet of dirt and out of his coffin, realized what happened, and decided to make the most out of it by putting on a funny costume and using his former grave as a hideout. In a sense, that’s pretty much all you even need to know about Denny Colt going in to a Spirit story. It’s an elegant simplicity that makes him the perfect protagonist for stories that are not supposed to be about one guy or hero specifically. 
The real appeal of The Spirit was never supposed to be the title character, but instead how the title character’s misadventures served as a jumping point for any story Eisner wanted to tell. The Spirit is often where comic book writers and artists go to both pay their tribute to Eisner or flex their creative muscles, because if you’re gonna handle Eisner’s baby you gotta bring your A-game, and luckily that’s what most people who handle the character usually do. Minor exceptions aside.
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I don’t think I’m equipped to convey exactly what is it that works so well about The Spirit other than just picking any of countless panels from the original run, and the many, many artists since then who’ve tried their damn hardest to live up to Eisner to varying degrees of success. Artists write entire essays on single-pages of Eisner’s Spirit work, and that’s an area a bit outside of my scope, even if everytime I pick a Spirit story, I always find myself getting at least several ideas for visuals I want to create and explore in my own art.
I’m definitely a big fan, and I very much need to read more of him.
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fleetwoodmak99 · 3 years
Text
Primed for Sin (5/10)
SUMMARY: Arthur tends to keep his promise to give Elena space but after days of pure torture from his job and Randall down his throat about the gun, he just can't stay away anymore.
WARNING: SMUT (18+), Loss of Virginity, Dirty Talk, Oral (F Receiving), Vaginal Penetration, Murder, Talks of Blood, Smoking, Swearing 
Hi. So I’m sorry it took me way too long to get this out but I hope to make it up with this part finally having smut in it and it being longer. I hope its not too long lol. I just started school back up and it definitely takes up all my time but hopefully once things settle down I’ll have more time to work on this series. I hope I don’t disappoint and thank you for those who actually follow this story. 
Part 4
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It has been four day since his last conversation with Elena. Four damn days.
He did as he promised, he stayed away and gave her space. He respected that sometimes she would need a break from the world but it was a lot harder than he had originally anticipated.
Arthur hate to admit it but Elena practically dominated every single one of his thoughts. He wondered what she was doing, who she was with, when was she going to call.
The downside to this was his brain never stopped so he isn't able to stop himself from falling down the rabbit hole multiple time the past few days. His mother had gotten very ill and had been taken to the hospital. As much as he loved his mother, he was glad she was someone else problem now. 
Arthur walked into his apartment, his legs felt like they were going to fall off as he started to take off his clown gear from being at work all day. He switched on the TV and turned it to the local news station. Arthurs been trying to fill his time with watching the news to keep up with any advancements in the subway case.
To his dismay, they had.
"Police are now looking for what seems to be a killer clown responsible for the killing of Wall Street brokers Dennis Reynolds, Ronald Ponderosa, and Ben Kelly." The female anchor spoke professionally through the screen.
Arthur grabbed a cigarette, sparking it up and took a drag of it as he finally sat down and inspects the photos presented by the police. It was of a fake clown with green, blue and pink laced all over it. The women continued to speak, "only one witness has come forward, describing the scene as a massacre."
His heart dropped. Did she tell someone?
Arthur's thoughts were put to rest when an old man popped up on the screen. The man was short and had white hair already dominating most of his head.
Arthur watched as the man started to make his testimony.
"Well you see, I was going about my normal business heading to work when I saw a man wearing some sort of clown mask running up out of the subway. I thought I heard a women screaming but when I went to check what was wrong, I only found the three poor souls that sick clown left behind. People like that just can't get away with things like this. Justice has to be served."
Arthur couldn’t listen anymore, he could feel his anger boiling. His thought switching to Elena. It had been for days now but he told himself to hold on just a little bit longer. It was starting to get too much to bare when he sees people like that getting more attention on the TV than people who actually deserve it.
There was so much wrong with this city. That was one of Arthur's reasons he wanted to always be around Elena, even when she didn't know it. It was the only way to effectively protect her.
Arthur was pulled from his thoughts when he heard a loud bang at the door.
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Randall could tell that Arthur had been acting strange. He's more distant, only caring to talk when someone addresses him. Its been like this for a few days, ever since the city went into an uproar over the subway killings. 
Normally, Randall wouldn't give a shit but with him giving a gun to Arthur and all, he wanted to make sure his name was in the clear. So he made his way down to Arthurs apartment to give him a talk. That was a mistake.
Opening the door, Arthur still had his clown makeup on from work. He looked in bad shape. 
“Arthur!” Randall shouted. “How you doin pal?” He gave Arthur a pat on the shoulder before pushing his was into the mans apartment. 
Arthur’s apartment was filthy. It had clothes laying aimlessly all over the place with a mountain of dishes piled in the sink. Not that Randall’s apartment was any better. 
Randall turned to Arthur, who was closing the door. “Anything new?”
“Umm oh!” Arthur snapped his fingers at Randall as he locked the door behind him. “I stopped taking my medication, I feel a lot better now.” Arthur gave out a small forced laugh but his face was completely dead.
Randall looked at Arthur confused. “Oh okay. Good for you.” 
Arthur just nodded his head, taking a drag of his cigarette as Randall continued. “So hey, I don’t know if you heard but the cops have been coming around the shop talking to all the other guys about the subway murders.” 
Arthur started to tone the man out, not wanting to listen to him try and explain himself. He reached his hand out and started to put out his cigarette, slowing forming his hands into a fist against the wall.
“I’m not saying you did anything but I just wanna make sure if the cops talk to you, we are all on the same page about who gave you that gun.” Randall gave out a nervous laugh. 
That was enough for Arthur to slowly move his hand towards for the knife that laid on the dining room table behind him. Nodding his head in agreement as he did so, so Randall wouldn’t notice. 
“You know, cause your my boy in all.” Arthur now had his hand on the knife. Arthur felt everything he had pushed down the past four days starting the boil over as he made a fist around the knife handle.
“Right. Right.” Arthur agreed before squeezing the knife and deciding to give into his anger. 
Now.
He slashed the knife into Randall’s neck before he could say another word. Arthur was surprised with how much blood came out but he held the knife in place as Randall struggled against him. 
Randal was able to push Arthur off but only for Arthur to grab his head and bash it into the wall. This was when Arthur blacked out. 
He wasn’t Arthur anymore. He had been changing into something else the moment he meet Elena. Arthur was becoming more powerful and he wanted to share that with her. 
Only thinking of her as he stormed out of his apartment, not caring about the mess he had just made. He found himself at her apartment door, blood soaked, face painted and rage filled. 
Arthur didn’t give it any thought and started to bang on her door. This was it. No more holding back, no more space. They were meant to be together and he was done denying himself that. 
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Elena sat on the couch smoking while the Murray Show played on the tv. She could feel the smoke leaving her lungs as she exhaled. Michael had gone down later than usual so she wasn’t able to have her normal alone time. 
She jumped when she heard a bang at the front door. Elena looked at the door confused, she wasn’t expecting anyone. She quickly hid her bong under a blanket and rushed to the door. 
Opening it, she was startled to see Arthur standing there. She didn’t even have time to examine him as he immediately pushed himself against her and smashed his lips into hers. 
Elena couldn’t help but close her eyes in shock. She didn't fight against him, instead it was almost of an embrace. She couldn’t believe how her body just couldn’t help but give into him. 
Pushing the both of them inside the apartment, he placed both of his hands on either side of her face so she wouldn't be able to break the kiss even if she wanted to. Eventually she felt the cool wall being pushed against her back, being pinned there.
When she felt Arthur release her lips, she finally let out a breath. He kept her body close, their faces only inches apart. She could feel his hot breath on her face but didn’t dare open her eyes. He placed his forehead on hers. “I thought you were gonna call.” 
She let out a small breath, almost laughing. “I-I’m sorry.” She innocently whispered. 
That sweet voice tore into Arthur like knives. His dick already hard for her. He couldn’t wait any more, he needed to be inside her.
“Don’t worry sweet girl. I’m gonna take care of you tonight. Where is Michael?” She then opened her eyes to see Arthur dark ones staring into hers. She could now see the painted faced man covered in small specks of red looking at her hungrily. 
“Ummm,” She cleared her throat. Elena had to admit, he looked so sexy like that. She tried pulling herself together to answer his question. “He’s asleep in his room.”
Arthur smiled wickedly at her, pleased with answer. “Good. Good.”
He gave her a few more deep kisses on the lip, soaking in the taste before lifting her up and wrapping her legs around him. 
Breaking away for a moment, he asked. “Bedroom?”
She was hesitant. Was this really gonna happen? Right now? Was she ready for all that? She wanted him. Elena couldn’t deny that. After everything, she was still willing to have a relationship with him. 
He waited for her response patiently. Not rushing her. Eventually she gave into her desire and pointed Arthur in the right direction. A wicked smile appearing across his face as he leaned in again. She too leaned into the kiss this time, not fighting it either. They made their way towards the bedroom.
Taking his time, he slowly placed her on the bed. Not breaking the kiss but somehow deepening it by entering his tongue in her mouth. He pinned her there for a moment. He seemed to like to play with her. Their tongue swirling around each others mouth, trying to explore every part of each other. 
She could feel his hands moving all over her body. It felt amazing to have such big hands on her body. They clawed at her breast, her ass, eventually making its way towards her pussy. Elena grabbed his hand out of instinct. 
Arthur immediately stopped his movements, worried that he had crossed the line. She tried desperately to control her breathing and tried to speak. “I-I’m sorry Arthur. I-I-I’ve never done this before.” 
Elena could actually die from the embarrassment she felt telling him how inexperienced she was. It was put to shame when he gave her a sweet smile. She could just melt looking at the face painted man. 
He leaned his forehead on hers. “Don’t worry. I’m gonna take care of you tonight. Just listen to me. Okay?”
She nodded, giving in almost immediately. 
With that, he leaned into her again, completely taking control as he reconnected their lips and started gently taking off her clothes, one by one.
Elena now laid there, completely naked and exposed for him. She felt a sense of vulnerability, she wasn't able to hide anything from Arthur now. He didn't want her too. He wanted to hear and see everything.
She felt cool air hit her body as she anxiously waited for Arthurs next move. He gazed at her, taking a full look at what he picture in his mind a million time before. She exceeded his every expectation. 
“You are so beautiful, Elena.” He spoke to her like she was the only people left in the whole world. 
Elena gave out a small whimper, reaching her hand out for him. He obeyed as he slapped messy kisses all over her neck. She turned her head so he could have more access. She wanted him to feel every part of her. 
Arthur started to kiss his way down her neck, towards her breasts. She ached her back at the sensation of Arthur taking one of her sensitive nipples into his mouth. Her eyes were forced shut when he started to softly started to suck. 
Elena moved against him, jerking and twitching to the new experience of having someone’s mouth on her. She clawed at his back, digging in her nail as she felt a warm feeling starting to pool around pussy. It was something she never felt before but it over powered every nerve in her body. 
She felt as Arthur started to kiss down her stomach. Elena knew where he was heading.
Her eyes shot open as excitement and nerves when she felt his hot breath at her entrance. She came to see Arthur at the end of the bed. His hands now on the inside of her thigh, spreading her apart so her pussy was now on full display for him.
Putting his face just inches away, he spoke to her. "We gotta get this pussy nice and wet for me to fuck."
Her eyes widened from the vulgarity Arthur was showing. She didn't know if she should be scared or if she should be excited.
She soon found out when Arthurs tongue started to explore her, placing small kitten licks all around. It was so weird. At first Elena didn't even find the point until he latched himself onto her clit.
Immediately feeling a burst of pleasure go through her body, her head feel back as she let Arthur go to work. Feeling as he flicked and sucked at her. She bucked her hip towards him, she could feel the burning sensation of her clit being abused and loved every second of it.
Without even meaning to, Elena start to moan Arthurs names. Begging him to keep going as she brushed a hand through his hair, grabbing it kindly and pushing his head towards her core in order to chase that incredible release.
But of course it never came. Arthur was able to break from her grip and stepped away from her now deprived pussy.
Elena pouted in response, now having no way to release herself.
"I know. I know." Arthur caressed her cheek tenderly. "All in good time darling. We gotta take things slow for your first time."
Arthur gave her a quick peek on the lips before stepping back and discarding his own clothes. Elena just notice she was the only one naked until now. A flow of shame washed over her.
Arthur must have noticed the humiliation she had felt because as his clothes hit the floor he started to ramble, placing small kisses all over her face.
"You are so beautiful. I-I thought of you everyday like this and still you outdo my imagination every time. I-I can't believe your mine."
Her heart leaped hearing this. No man has ever said such things to her and now the perfect man was completely bare before her.
Looking down at his package, she couldn't help but gasp. She'd never seen one before and she certainly didn't think it would be that. Also how did he expect that thing to get inside her? It was huge compared to what she was used to.
Arthur breaking his line of kisses to rest his lips back on her for a moment, "its going to hurt honey but don't you worry ok? You are going to feel real good soon. I promise."
It was going to hurt?
Elena never thought it would hurt but she knew she wanted Arthur inside her so she leaned into him. Sticking her tongue in his mouth to show him she was ready.
Arthur chucked at her, his hand slowly making it way in between her legs in an attempt to see just how ready she was. Feeling a puddle of wetness forming for him, he broke the kiss again.
"Nice and wet. Just for me." He then pumped himself a few times before lining himself up at her entrance. “Are you ready, sweetheart.?” 
This was it. She thought. This is actually happening.
Giving a hesitant nod, she sucked in her breath as she felt the tip of his dick dip inside her. Feeling a piercing pain burst through her, she jolted away from him but didn’t get anywhere when she felt Arthurs hands gently holding her there. 
“Shh shh shh I know. We just gotta get through this part.” 
Arthur didn’t even give her time to respond before thrusting his hips into her at a painfully slow pace. Elena practically screamed at the feeling. It was so much to take. 
The feeling of being stretched out by him was so intoxicating she couldn’t even help but close her eyes and focus on the sensation. It definitely hurt but she couldn’t help but love the feeling of him filling her up. It made her feel whole.
Elena couldn’t believe the man was able to fit himself in as deep as he was. She could feel him in her stomach as she tried to force herself to relax. She felt herself clenching against him, trying to adjust when he spoke again. This time, right into her ear
“You are so damn tight. Tighter than I could have ever imagined. I’m going to move sweetheart.” 
Elena tried opening her eyes but some unknown force kept them shut. Instead she let out a small whimper. The pain had yet to subside as she twitched against him but unable to say no, she nodded her head.
This was all Arthur needed to push himself out before slamming back into her. It was slow but strong. Elena's whole body bucked to the sensation. 
Again. Slowly taking himself out of her before smashing his hard cock back into her now drench pussy. 
He repeated this.
As much as the pain wanted to make her cry it was soon replaced with pleasure. The same feeling she had felt before when Arthur was in between her legs, completely devouring her. Elena involuntarily started to buck her hip towards Arthur.
 Now creating friction in between them as he started to move faster, pounding into her. The room filling with both their moans. 
“Oh Arthur! Please don’t stop.”
Elena hoped Arthur locked the door. Knowing her luck, Michael would coming walking right in with all the noise they were making but she could help herself.
Arthur was ruthless with his thrusting. His hands were holding her against him as he did so. Elena started to chase for her release once again. Grinding against him as he continued to pound her.
"Say it." He whispered in her ear, not letting up.
"What?" Elena whispered back. Knowing fully well what he was talking about just not ready to take that step.
"Say it and ill let you cum." Arthur was stir and dominate. It only added to Elena arousal.
"I-I-I," Elena was so over powered by pleasure that it trumped her fear of opening that box, she couldn't help but fall into his trap just to get her sweet release. "I love you Arthur."
Arthur growled in her ear, biting down on it lightly. He then pumped deep insider, hitting that special spot that sent her soaring.  "Good girl. I love you so much."
That was her cue to let go completely. As the warm feeling in her stomach erupted and burst through her entire body. Making the poor girl shake against Arthur, losing control of her body.
Elena clenched hard against Arthur, making the man groan as he too came inside her.
Shit. He didn't wear a condom. Of course he didn't. Elena was his now.
Elena slowly came down from her high as Arthur pulled out of her. Making his rightly place on the left side of her bed, pulling her limp body close to him.
She felt a big pair of muscular arm wrap themselves around her, feeling a sense of protection fall upon her. 
"Get some rest now, sweetheart. Your most likely going to be sore tomorrow and am going it need your rest." Elena felt at peace as she nuzzled her head into his neck. Letting herself close her eyes as she slipped into a deep sleep, dreaming of the man she just gave her innocence to.
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I know I’m the only person that wants this but I want that movie Stand By Me, the adaption from the book The Body, to be made into a tv show. Like, the first season would be before the events of trying to find the dead body, where Denny Lachance is still alive and the characters are just living their lives and Ray Brower could be there and then the season ends with Dennis dying and Ray going missing. Then the second season would be about the dead body of Ray and going to go find it. And then the third season would be when they are still kids, and they all deal with the aftermath of all that’s happened in the first two seasons. Do I want this just because the lives of these characters and their relationships intrigue me a strange amount and I want to see flashbacks of how these two different friend groups met and I imagined entire personalities in Ace’s gang for those who didn’t have one? Yes, thanks for asking. Speaking of flashbacks on how they met:
The older boys:
I have this feeling that Charlie Hogan and Billy Tessio probably knew each other since preschool. They probably both wanted to slide down the slide first and ended up getting into an actual fist fight that the teacher didn’t care enough to break up. Afterwards Billy was probably like, “Okay, we fought so we’re friends now.” “Huh?” “Yeah, I heard that if you fight with someone, then you become friends.” “Nuh uh!” “Yeah huh! I heard it on TV.” “Oh, okay.” Unfortunately, nobody else seemed to share this mindset as they started beating up people they wanted to be friends with, and nobody wanting to return that offer of friendship for some reason. They were the epitome of single brain cell shared between them even back then. And nobody gave a damn about either of them enough to explain why their friend making strategy was a bit flawed.
Then there was Ace Merrill, or John Merrill, who Charlie and Billy didn’t really pay attention to until in the third grade when he demanded everyone started calling him Ace. Everyone immediately complied, since Ace was absolutely terrifying, known for going batshit insane at the hint of disrespect. Once a kid didn’t let him borrow a pencil, so when Ace did get his hands on a pencil, he stabbed the kids eye with it. But Charlie and Billy kept forgetting to call him Ace, which Ace took as a slight, and beat them both up. Ace expected that to be the end of it, only to be completely baffled at how now Charlie and Billy wanted to be his friends. As they tried to explain their ideology, Ace thought it was stupid but the two of them were persistent, and that’s how Ace begrudgingly allowed them to hang around him, but had to explain to them that not every person they would beat up would become their friends, which they had to come to terms with much to their dismay. They did start remembering to call him Ace, although it took months.
In the sixth grade is where Eyeball Chambers comes in, or Richard Chambers. Upon entering middle school Ace and his ‘lackeys’ Charlie and Billy had gotten quite the reputation. Ace has evolved his batshitness into something a bit more terrifying; he’d talk gently to you while making threats, smile at you, right before breaking every bone in your body while yelling angrily at you. Now, Richard was a pretty quiet kid, always covered in bruises from his old man, not wanting any attention. But one day he gained Ace’s attention; walking home from school he accidentally tripped over Ace’s bike, breaking it. Ace was unhappy about this, so he gave his usual gentle talking before he pinned Richard to the ground and put out his cigarette just under his eye, accidentally missing his eye, while Charlie and Billy shouted insults and threats. He was going to do more but than Richard was so nonchalant about this injury, not even making any sound of pain. Richard calmly said that he would fix Ace’s bike, to which the three other boys called bullshit, saying that Richard wasn’t smart enough. The three boys followed Richard to his work shed, surprised to find all sorts of little built machines. As it turns out, Richard was good at making things. He fixed Ace’s bike easy, but at that moment Richard’s dad came in drunk and started attacking Richard, breaking Ace’s bike once again. The three boys fought off Richard’s dad and took the bike and Richard and ran. Richard apologized for the bike and Ace just shrugged, saying he could just fix it again. After that, the three boys, especially Ace, would start hanging out with Richard, asking him to fix random stuff, him gaining the nickname Eyeball. Ace actually gave him that name as a strange way of apologizing for the scar. The more Eyeball and Ace hung out, it became clear that Eyeball was somehow special to Ace, and Ace’s favoritism of him was so blatantly obvious it wasn’t even funny. While Billy and Charlie would occasionally suffer the wrath of Ace, as well as the later members of the gang would, never Eyeball.
A year later in 7th grade is where both Vince Desjardins and Fuzzy Bracowicz, or Norman Bracowicz, would join this dangerous group of messed up kids. Vince was easily scared, and when someone or something scared him he would just throw one of the rocks he always kept on his pockets at them and run away, and he was a damn fast runner. So people kept their distance from Vince, not wanting to be on the receiving end of his rock. Now with Ace’s gang, they were an even more dangerous threat with Eyeball. He was still a quiet kid, but if people messed with his friends he would beat them up, although he didn’t care if people messed with just him, having gotten used to it from his dad. His friends however, especially Ace, would care a great deal, so nobody messed with him either. But then Eyeball accidentally spooked Vince which resulted in a rock to the face. Eyeball really didn’t want to make a big deal about it, but his friends thought otherwise. He tried to argue that he’s had worse injuries, AKA his dad, but that was evidently an ineffective argument as they would spend the next week trying to beat up Vince, only for him to out run them each time. They were then approached by Fuzzy, having gotten that nickname in the 5th grade when he threw a possum at his teacher and laughed, and he offered a plan to offer a truce to Vince to hang out and drink, and then jump him once Vince was drunk. They asked why he was helping them, and Fuzzy apparently just thought this entire situation was hilarious, and he wanted to witness the whole thing. So Fuzzy goes and convinces Vince, the most jumpy kid they knew, to come hang out with the most dangerous group in town who have spent the entire week trying to beat him up, a feat that truly impressed the gang. The rest of the gang tried not to get drunk along with Vince but as it turned out Vince was actually a fun person to hang out with and they ended up getting just as plastered. And sure enough, both Fuzzy and Vince began hanging out with the group. They told Vince later what their original plan was, to which he responded that he hated every single one of them, while leaning against Fuzzy and his legs on Charlie’s lap. (I like to think that this group of friends are very physically intimate with each other)
And finally, in the 9th grade is when the final addition to the group was made; Jack Mudgett. Jack had just moved to town, and had made an impression when he was asked to introduce himself to the class, to which he looked straight at the teacher and said, “If you make me do that I will shit all over your desk. Seriously. I’ll take the shit and rub it all over.” Evidently, he wanted to be left alone. And naturally, Fuzzy thought messing him was the peak of amusement, and he recruited Charlie and Billy into his cause, with Eyeball, Vince, and Ace only joining in occasionally. At this point, even upon entering high school were the older high schoolers thought they could knock Ace’s gang down a peg, they found themselves sorely mistaken, and at this point even the police didn’t want to handle them. Vince, while still jumpy, can now hold his own in a fight, although if something spooks him he will throw the rock first, only running if he’s alone. Jack, in response to this bullying from the most feared group in the town, was to be perfectly blunt and tell them they disgust him. Ace, naturally, beat him up so badly that he had to go to the hospital for a few days. But when he came back to school, he continued acting blunt towards them like they didn’t just send him to the hospital. This happened again and again, with Jack never learning his lesson, and at this point Ace is ready to cut off a limb or kill him or something, but Fuzzy thinks this is fantastic and practically begged Ace to let him join the gang. Ace said no, of course, even when Fuzzy got the other friends to ask too. But one day in the cafeteria, while Fuzzy and the rest of the gang were loudly making their case to Ace with Ace threatening to stab all of them, Eyeball spoke up and said that having Jack in the gang could be fun, to which Ace immediately complied and walked over the Jack immediately and practically dragged him to the table; again, blatant favoritism. Jack of course is unhappy with this arrangement, not wanting to be friends with them, but after some time actually fit into the group very well, and he joined the close knit nature of the group.
They probably all bullied Denny to be honest. Jack was the one that came up with the idea to carve a word into their arms, although he was being sarcastic, but Charlie and Billy hatched onto the idea and persisted until it was decided to actually go through with it.
The younger boys:
Gordie Lachance and Chris Chambers probably met in kindergarten. Gordie was always by himself, having trouble connecting with other kids, and Chirs was by himself too, since the other kids parents had warned them all to stay away from that Chambers kid. However, one day Gordie was by himself in the sand, talking to himself. Chris saw this and approached him, asking what he was doing. Chris didn’t really expect a response since most kids ignored him, but Gordie was thrilled at the possibility of a friend, and told him all about this story he was making up. Gordie didn’t really expect Chris to care, since nobody cared except Denny, but Chris was enraptured by his story. And so they became each other’s friends, since nobody else would bother with them.
It was just the two of them until 2nd grade, when both Vern Tessio and Teddy Duchamp joined in, although the came into the group separately. Vern was first, probably struggling hard with some assignment, and all the other kids would always make fun of him for being stupid, except for Gordie and Chris; they only make fun of their friends, which at this point in time was just the two of them. Gordie felt bad and let Vern copy off of him, although they were caught by the teacher and both got in trouble. Chris told them both off and said that Gordie should have just taught Vern how to do it rather than let him copy off him, the mom of the group even back then. And so both Chis and Gordie would help Vern study with varying success, but those study sessions quickly formed into hang out sessions.
It was later into the year when Teddy would join them. The trio were hanging out, and they saw Teddy actually trying to steal a car, although having no idea how to go about it given that he was in the 2nd grade. They went over, Chris saying that if he didn’t know how to steal a car then he probably shouldn’t go ahead and do it, since he’d probably just get caught. Vern said that this reminded him of something and then rambled on about, while Gordie actually managed to get the car door open and start the car. They all turned to Gordie, to which he shrugged and said he read about how to do it, since he was thinking of a story that had someone stealing a car. And Teddy the whole time was just standing their thinking who the hell were these weirdos? But with the now properly stolen car, Teddy wanted to take it for a spin and got Gordie to scoot over. Not wanting to leave Gordie alone in the car with the class maniac, Chris got in to, and Vern got in as well, not wanting to be left behind. Teddy immediately crashed it and they all had to run away from the scene. After that, Teddy just started hanging around them, and before they knew it they were the infamous gang of misfits; the bad news Chambers kid, the Lachance’s failed son, that Duchamp loon’s even loonier kid, and the second idiot the Tessio family produced.
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watusichris · 3 years
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Rock Gunfight in the Antipodes
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Listening today to the hot new Grown Up Wrong! comp by Sydney’s Lipstick Killers, whose lone officially released single was produced by Deniz Tek of Radio Birdman, it occurred to me that my old Music Aficionado faux faceoff between Australia’s pioneering bands of the ‘70s (all of which I dearly love) has disappeared into the online ether. It’s time to bring it back.
**********
By Chris Morris
The mid- to late ‘70s were fertile days for rock ‘n’ roll in Australia. Here and there across the vast but not terribly populous island continent, fires were started by several attitude-filled bands bent on doing things their own damn way. They all managed to make their way off the island, but if they hit the American consciousness, it was for little more than a nanosecond during their heyday.
Who were the truest Rock Wizards of Oz? For this Down Under face-off, I’ve selected three contenders: the Saints, Radio Birdman, and the Scientists. All of them had fairly slim discographies; ironically, the act probably least known in the U.S., the Scientists, recorded most prolifically, with their core line-up producing several magnificent albums and singles during a productive four-year stretch in the early ‘80s. But none of these bands ever stayed together long enough to make a deep impression among the Yanks.
So where’s the Birthday Party, you ask? There are a few things to consider. First of all, though the band and its precursor unit the Boys Next Door were in business from 1976 on, they didn’t release their first LP until 1980. Also, Nick Cave is well known enough that more (king) ink needn’t be spilled on him. Finally, I still resent the fact that Cave stole PJ Harvey away from me, so it’s personal.
On with the showdown…
HIT ME LIKE A DEATH RAY, BABY
The Saints, founded 1974 in Brisbane
The prime movers of the Saints were a pair of literal outsiders: vocalist Chris Bailey, born in Kenya to Irish parents, and guitarist Ed Kuepper, raised in Germany. Thus the otherness of their work is no surprise.
With schoolmate Ivor Hay – who over time would play drums, bass, and piano with them – the pair founded a combo originally known as Kid Galahad and the Eternals (borrowing their handle from a 1962 Elvis Presley picture), but they swiftly renamed themselves the Saints and began playing in their hometown on the northeast coast of Australia.
Listening to their records, which were made in something of a cultural vacuum, it’s difficult to get a handle on where the Saints’ distinctive, aggressive sound came from. To be sure they were aware of such homegrown precursors from the ‘60s as the Master’s Apprentices and the Missing Links (whose 1965 single they covered on their debut album). It’s safe to assume they were conversant with the Velvet Underground, the Stooges, and Lenny Kaye’s 1972 garage rock compilation Nuggets. Yet they bred something utterly their own in the ocean air of Brisbane.
With Hay on drums and Kym Bradshaw on bass, Bailey and Kuepper mounted noisy local gigs that swiftly attracted the antipathy of the local constabulary; they wound up turning their own digs into a club to play shows. In 1976, they recorded and issued a self-financed single featuring two originals, “(I’m) Stranded” and “No Time.” These dire, ferocious songs were distinguished by venomous lyrics, unprecedented velocity, and guitar playing by Kuepper that sounded like a (literal) iron curtain being attacked with a chainsaw.
The record died locally, but a copy of its U.K. issue found its way into the hands of a critic at the English music weekly Sounds, which declared it the single of the week. This accolade got the attention of EMI Records, which signed the band and financed the recording of an album, also titled I’m Stranded, in a fast two-day Brisbane session.
The album, which was ultimately released in the U.S. by Sire Records, blew the ears off anyone who heard it, and it landed with a bang in England, where punk rock was lifting off in all its fury in early 1977. It was hurtling, powerful stuff that stood apart from punk in several crucial ways: While some of the songs were clipped and demonic in the standard manner, the Saints proved they could take their time on expansive numbers like the almost Dylanesque “Messin’ With the Kid” and the sprawling, hellriding “Nights in Venice.” And one has to wonder how British p-rockers took to their perverted take on Elvis’ squishy “Kissin’ Cousins.”
Made by musicians who never considered themselves “punks,” and who in fact abhorred the label, (I’m) Stranded is nevertheless one of the definitive statements in the genre, and it has maintained its force to this day.
Settling in England for the duration, the Saints decided to throw a curveball. One could not find a more profoundly alienated album than Eternally Yours (1978), a series of yowling protests, twisted prophecies, and savage put-downs, including the snarling second version of the single “This Perfect Day.” But, though the record was loud and for the most part swift, the group applied the brakes to their sound somewhat, and a couple of songs, including the caustic album opener “Know Your Product,” were dressed by a soul-styled horn section. Punk loyalists ran for cover.
By the time Prehistoric Sounds was issued in late ’78, the dejected Bailey and Kuepper were moving in different directions, and you can hear it in the grooves. The record is slow, almost listless at times, and its logy originals are complemented by incongruous Otis Redding and Aretha Franklin covers with none of the energy of earlier Saints soul-blasts. It is an album primarily for loyalists, and by then there were few in that number.
Kuepper exited the band on the heels of the third album’s release and returned to Australia, where he enjoyed a long career as leader of the Laughing Clowns; Bailey continued to perform under the Saints mantle with a shifting lineup that at last count numbered more than 30 players over the course of 37 years
Bailey and Kuepper reunited for one-off gigs in 2001 (at the ARIA awards ceremony) and 2007 (at Australia’s Queensland Music Festival).
THERE’S GONNA BE A NEW RACE
Radio Birdman, founded 1974 in Sydney
People who toss the “punk” handle around often throw Radio Birdman into the mix, but the sextet from Australia’s Southeast Coast may be best referred as the world’s youngest proto-punk band.
Its mastermind was guitarist, songwriter, and producer Deniz Tek, a native of Ann Arbor, Michigan, who emigrated to Sydney in 1971 to study medicine. As a teen, he got a chance to witness Detroit’s most explosive pre-punk bands – the MC5, the Stooges, and the Rationals; he would later wind up collaborating with important members of all those groups.
After apprenticing with and getting bounced from a Sydney band called TV Jones, Tek formed Radio Birdman (its name a corruption of a lyric from the Stooges’ “1970”) with singer Rob Younger; the lineup ultimately solidified with the addition of guitarist (and sometime keyboardist) Chris Masuak, bassist Warwick Gilbert, drummer Ron Keeley, and (on and off and then on again) keyboardist Pip Hoyle.
Rapidly acquiring a fan base made up of some of Sydney’s lowest elements, including members of the local Hell’s Angels, Radio Birdman ultimately took over a bar, re-dubbed (in honor of the Stooges, of course) the Oxford Funhouse, as their base of operations. The band’s severe Tek-designed band logo emanated fascist-style vibes for some; at a co-billed appearance in Sydney, the Saints’ Chris Bailey remarked from the stage, “We’d like to thank the local members of Hitler Youth for their stage props.”
Despite much antipathy and some attendant violence, the band maintained a loyal local following, and in 1976 it issued a strong four-song EP, Burn My Eye, via local studio-cum-independent label Trafalgar. This was succeeded the following year by a full-length debut album, Radios Appear.
Anyone looking for something resembling punk will likely be disappointed by that collection. The band wears its all-American hard rock/proto-punk influences on its dirty sleeve. Radios Appear is dedicated to the Stooges (whose “No Fun” was the lead-off track on the Aussie issue of the LP), and a song co-written by Tek and Stooges guitarist Ron Asheton, “Hit Them Again,” was cut during sessions for the record. Tek pays deep homage to MC5 guitarist Wayne Kramer with his playing, and blatantly cops a signature lick from the 5’s “Looking at You” at one juncture. The album title was lifted from a Blue Öyster Cult lyric, and the Tek-Masuak guitar-bashing bows to their multi-axe sound. Finally, in both Younger’s sometimes Morrisonian vocalizing and Hoyle’s Ray Manzarek-like ornamentation, homage to the Doors in paid in full. Given that Sydney is a beach town, there’s even a frisson of surf music in the mix.
Bursting with power-packed originals like the apocalyptic “Descent into the Maestrom,” youth-in-revolt anthem “New Race,” the cryptic, insinuating “Man with the Golden Helmet,” and Tek’s autobiographical “Murder City Nights,” Radios Appear was a power-packed set that established Radio Birdman as Oz’s leading rock light.
However, renown did not equal success in Antipodean terms. In 1978, the band cut its second album, Living Eyes, at Rockfield Studio in Wales; it was a solid effort that included remakes of three Burn My Eye numbers (including the wonderful Tek memoir “I-94,” about the Michigan interstate) and excellent new originals like “Hanging On,” “Crying Sun,” and “Alone in the End Zone.” But, with success seemingly within their grasp, Sire Records – their American label, and the Saints’ as well – switched distribution and cut their roster, leaving their new work without a home. Within months of this catastrophe, Radio Birdman disbanded.
The principals scattered, to Younger’s New Christs and Tek and Hoyle’s the Visitors; Tek, Younger, and Warwick Gilbert later joined MC5 drummer Dennis Thompson and the Stooges’ Ron Asheton in the one-off New Race. Tek also later recorded with Wayne Kramer and Scott Morgan of Ann Arbor’s Rationals in Dodge Main.
Radio Birdman’s original lineup reunited for a 1996 tour; in August 2006 – after four of the original sextet regrouped to record a potent new album, Zeno Beach – the band played its first American date ever, at Los Angeles’ Wiltern Theater. Your correspondent was there, and it was freakin’ incredible.
IN MY HEART THERE’S A PLACE CALLED SWAMPLAND
The Scientists, founded 1978 in Perth
Among the important Aussie bands of the ‘70s, the Scientists were among the first to be directly influenced by the punk explosion in New York.
As guitarist-singer-songwriter Kim Salmon – the lone constant in the Scientists’ lineup during their existence – wrote in 1975, “Reading about a far-off place called CBGB in NYC and its leather-clad denizens, all with names like Johnny Thunders, Richard Hell, and Joey Ramone, got me thinking…I immediately went searching for Punk Rock. What I found were The Modern Lovers and The New York Dolls albums.”
Salmon first dabbled in the new sound with a band bearing the delightfully punk name the Cheap Nasties. Cobbled together in Perth – the Western provincial capital of Australia – from members of such local acts as the Exterminators, the Victims, and Salmon’s the Invaders -- the early Scientists were as derivative as one might imagine. Their early songs, heard on their self-titled LP (the so-called “Pink Album”) and an early single and EP, sport original songs authored by Salmon and drummer-lyricist James Baker, the backbone of shifting Scientific crews through 1980. The tunes range from straight-up Dolls/Heartbreakers rips (“Frantic Romantic,” “Pissed On Another Planet,” “High Noon”) to buzzing romantic pop-punk in a Buzzcocks vein (“That Girl,” “She Said She Loves Me”).
Not terribly promising stuff, but, after the departure of Baker for the Hoodoo Gurus in 1981 and a brief stint in a trio called Louie Louie, Salmon assembled a new Scientists who would prevail for nearly four years. That outfit – Salmon, guitarist Tony Thewlis, bassist Boris Sujdovic, and drummer Brett Rixton – promptly relocated to Sydney and started making the noise they are noted for.
By that time, Salmon had begun cocking an ear to the Birthday Party (and no doubt paid careful attention to the sordid noise on the Melbourne group’s 1982 album Junkyard), had discovered the miasmic voodoo of the Cramps, and started grooving to the dissonant, slide guitar-dominated racket of Captain Beefheart and his Magic Band. In short order, he would also absorb the bluesy downhome assault of Los Angeles’ roots-punk outfit the Gun Club.
The Sydney-based Scientists hooked up with indie label Au Go Go, which issued a devastating run of careening, mossy records by the band in 1982-83 – the vertiginous singles “This is My Happy Hour”/“Swampland” and the corrosive “We Had Love” (backed by a faithful cover of Beefheart’s “Clear Spot”), and the heart-stopping mini-album Blood Red River, which bore the churning “Set It On Fire,” “Revhead,” and “Burnout.” Others were essaying a similar style, but the Aussie youngsters were beating their elders at their own game.
Eying the big time, the band moved to London in 1984. Some opportunities presented themselves initially: The band got European tour slots with the Gun Club and early Goth act Sisters of Mercy. But their deal with Au Go Go fell apart acrimoniously; while they made a pair of fog-bound albums, You Get What You Deserve (1985) and The Human Jukebox (1987) for Karbon Records (and a set of re-recorded songs, Weird Love, was issued in the U.S. by Big Time Records), they scraped by in Britain.
Defections from the ranks commenced in ’85, and by early 1987 the depleted Salmon used money from a housing settlement to move back to Australia, where he founded a new band, the Surrealists.
Still valued among the cognoscenti, Salmon, Thewlis, Sujdovic, and latter-day drummer Leanne Chock appeared, at the invitation of Seattle’s Mudhoney, at London’s All Tomorrow’s Parties Festival in 2006. Earlier this year, Chicago-based archival label the Numero Group issued a comprehensive four-disc box of the band’s original recordings.
So, at the end of the day, who is the all-time champeen of ‘70s Oz rock?
Scoring on points, the Saints are tops for Being Punk First with additional wins in the Pure Noise and Weltzschmerz categories, Radio Birdman takes the Technical Ability and Old-School Attitude slots, and the Scientists prevail in the Loud Young Snot and Grunge Thug division.
And the championship belt goes to…the Saints!
Of course, that could all change tomorrow, but that’s rock ‘n’ roll for ya.
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But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 18: Summers In Florence] [Series Finale]
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A/N: If it doesn’t end with a wedding, is it even my fic??! 😂 For those who somehow haven’t yet read Baby You Were My Picket Fence (my most popular series), you might be a tiny bit confused during this chapter. Just roll with it. 😉 Also, COVID-19 doesn’t exist. What a wonderful world. Thank you so much for sticking with me and BYCNL. I love you all. 💜
This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.
Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.
Chapter warnings: Language.
Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE
Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​ @sleepretreat​ @hardyshoe​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @sevenseasofcats​ @tensecondvacation​ @queen-crue​ @jennyggggrrr​ @madeinheavxn​ @whatgoeson-itslate​ @brianssixpence​ @simonedk​ @herewegoagainniall​ @anotheronewritesthedust1​ @pomjompish​ @writerxinthedark​ @culturefiendtrashqueen​ @allauraleigh​ ​@deakydeacy @bluutac​ @johndeaconshands​ @nyxaura​
It’s May 25th, 1984, and Roger and John are in Perth, Australia to promote Queen’s eleventh album, The Works.
Interviewer, daytime television host Ronald Inglewood: “Good morning and welcome to our viewers across Australia! We’re sitting down this morning with Roger Taylor and John Deacon, respectively the drummer and bassist of Queen, who are here to talk about the band’s brand new album called—quite self-assuredly, if I may say so, gentlemen—The Works. Hello to you both.”
Roger: “Good morning, Ron!”
John: “Hello.”
Interviewer: “And this latest album has been rather well-received so far, is that right?”
Roger: “It has, yes, and we’re enormously proud of it.”
Interviewer: “Now, The Works is a very different album than Hot Space, Queen’s sort of notorious foray into disco...do you think the back-to-basics, classic rock and roll feel of The Works has been the driving force behind its success?”
Roger: “Well, you know...I think experimentation is very important. We’ve always been an experimental band. The single Bohemian Rhapsody was hugely experimental, and that’s why it was such a phenomenon. We were experimenting long before A Night At The Opera, and I suspect we’ll keep on trying new things until we run out of ideas, whenever that is! I didn’t love every song on Hot Space, I’ll be completely transparent about that, but I certainly don’t think the album was a failure or a waste of time. It was an experiment. And The Works is an experiment as well, just one that runs in a different vein, I suppose.”
John: “Some people did actually enjoy Hot Space.”
Roger: “I think I know one or two.”
Interviewer: “Of course, it did have its bright spots. Under Pressure remains one of Queen’s biggest hits, doesn’t it?”
Roger: “Yes, and John wrote the bassline for that one!”
Interviewer: “Really?!”
John: “And Roger has his own hit on The Works, at last. We’re all very happy for him.”
Roger: “Only took ten years.”
John: “Fourteen, actually.”
Roger: “I’m going to murder you as soon as we get backstage.”
John: “You’re welcome to try.”
Interviewer: “Now this hit of yours, Roger, is Radio Ga Ga. And I’m sure we’ve all seen the famous music video, the hovercraft, the futurism, the clapping...we’ve all seen it, right? Where on earth did you get the idea for that song?”
Roger: “It actually originated from something I heard my daughter Violet say.”
Interviewer: “Fascinating! And you’ve just welcomed another one recently, haven’t you?”
Roger: “Yes, last month, in fact. A little girl named Nora. “
Interviewer: “Congratulations!”
Roger: “Thanks so much, Ron. Our eldest, Violet, turned two in January, and the idea for Radio Ga Ga came about when she was first learning to talk. She would always stumble around—you know how babies do—clapping her hands and squealing the most nonsensical things, and one day she started trying out ‘radio’ and then adding random words to it, ‘radio goo goo,’ ‘radio mama,’ ‘radio dada,’ etcetera. Well ‘radio ga ga’ got stuck in my head and I started sort of lamenting how television had begun to eclipse the radio as a medium for music and entertainment. We were on vacation in California at the time, and I locked myself in a hotel room with a keyboard and a drum machine to get it written. I initially thought it might end up on one of my solo albums, but then John heard it and wrote a bassline, and Freddie really thought it could be a hit and pushed to have it on The Works...and here we are today!”
Interviewer: “That Freddie Mercury has awfully good instincts about these things, doesn’t he?”
John: “Oh, he’s a genius, no doubt about that.”
Interviewer: “And John, I understand you wrote the other single released from The Works, I Want To Break Free. Any deep philosophical messaging in that one?”  
John: “Well I suppose we’ve all been in situations that feel...rather constraining or hopeless. And then things that bring us back to life again. So this song is about a character going through that process and coming out on the other side.”
Interviewer: “Indeed.”
John: “But we wanted to keep things amusing and lighthearted in the music video, hence the dressing in drag bit. And to our absolute horror, Roger was very alluring as a schoolgirl.”
Roger: “It’s true. I have irresistible legs. I was born to wear miniskirts.”
Interviewer: “Ah, this is the music video that is beloved in Europe and here in Australia but has stirred up so much controversy over in the States. Has the hullabaloo dampened your enthusiasm for the song, or even the entire album, somewhat?”
Roger: “We’re not bothered much at all, to be honest with you. It’s like I said, Queen is always going to have fun and experiment and take creative risks. And if people don’t like it, then they’re welcome to not listen.”
Interviewer: “Yes, yes, I suppose you could say that.”
Roger: “Americans, you know, they can just be so bloody puritanical. It absolutely takes all the enjoyment out of life. All the humor. Americans these days can be very difficult for us to connect with.”
John: “Well, not all of them.”
Roger: “No, of course, not all of them.”
John: “But we’ll start touring at the end of August, and we’ll be spending several months in the States, so they have time to come around to us. We’re all really looking forward to being on the road again.”
Interviewer: “It has certainly been and will continue to be a very eventful year for Queen. And for the four of you personally. A new baby for Roger, and you’ve just gotten married, haven’t you John?”
John: “I did, yes. And Roger was in attendance! No miniskirt that day, though. Sadly.”
Roger: “The whole band was there. And my girlfriend and children too. It was quite a party.”
Interviewer: “That’s wonderful to hear, considering the...the...well, not to bring up tabloid gossip, but the complexity of the situation. It was a destination wedding, wasn’t it?”
John: “Yes, we were married in the Basilica di Santa Croce in Florence, Italy. It’s breathtaking, the largest Franciscan church in the world, built in the 1300s. And we filled it with friends and family and live music and flowers and food...all the trappings. Took about a million photos. Celebrated until dawn.”
Roger: “It was a very sentimental occasion. Everyone really enjoyed it. John cried.”
John: “I did, it’s true.”
Roger: “He promised he wouldn’t and then he did.”
John: “Well, you don’t have to bring it up all the time!”
Roger: “It was touching, really.”
Interviewer: “It must have been a magical time. You’re positively radiant, John! Marvelous. And some much-needed good news, I imagine. I understand you’ve recently gone through an exceptionally antagonistic and protracted divorce.”
John: “Well...uh...I suppose that’s...uh...”
Roger: “How about we ask you the same thing? How was your divorce, Ron?”
Interviewer: “What?”
Roger: “You’re on your third marriage, is that right? And I think I heard that the latest Mrs. Inglewood is very young indeed, almost thirty years your junior. How did your former wife take that news? How did your adult children? How was your goddamn divorce?”
Interviewer: “That’s a rude question.”
Roger: “Yes, you’re right, it’s an extremely rude question. So you shouldn’t fucking ask it.”
~~~~~~~~~~
It’s December 25th, 1986, and the children are tearing open presents under a fifteen-foot-tall Christmas tree in the living room of Garden Lodge.
Freddie and Jim Hutton are serving cookies and milk and clapping their hands as they tower over tiny shoulders, cheering the kids on as they litter the floor with wrapping paper and bows and scatter their new toys everywhere: Care Bears, Magic 8 Balls, My Little Ponies, Mr. Potato Heads, Barbies, Etch-A-Sketches, Transformers, miniature Lukes and Leias and Chewbaccas, View-Masters with scenes of oceans and deserts and forests and stars. With so many fragmented families, there was only one logical approach to handling major holidays: convincing everyone to celebrate together on neutral ground.
Mary and Veronica are chatting by the roaring fireplace. Phoebe, Joe Fanelli, John, and Roger are embroiled in a brutally competitive Scrabble game; Dominique, smirking stealthily, leans over Roger to read his tiles and periodically whispers ideas to him. Brian and Anita are circling the flock of giggling children—Laszlo, Anna, Teddy, Evelyn, Lena, Antoni, Violet, and Nora—and snapping photos with your Canon between long, yearning gazes at one another, wearing matching Christmas sweaters that are a deep, passionate crimson. Chrissie’s husband Denny is admiring Freddie’s extensive vinyl record collection as he sips a hot chocolate and compulsively strokes his green-and-red striped tie. Tiffany the cat rolls around between his feet and occasionally hisses or gnaws on an ankle, which Denny takes in stride, as he does most things.
Meanwhile, you and Chrissie are camped out by the wet bar, drinking mulled wine and nibbling on cookies shaped like snowmen and reindeer. You give Veronica a wide berth with the children anytime you’re in the same space; she hates you, and she’ll probably always hate you, but she loves her children too much to poison them with that reality. Their happiness is her whole life, her purpose. And that’s the only thing that finally convinced her to come to the bargaining table.
“She seems...nice,” you tell Chrissie, gesturing to where Anita is crouching to wrestle a Yoda piggy bank away from Antoni before he can lob Teddy on the head with it. To John’s children, Veronica is “mum” and you’re the distinctly more American “mama”; and no one ever really taught them that, they just started doing it somewhere along the way.
Chrissie rolls her eyes and shifts Stevie to her other hip. For two and a half years after leaving Brian, Chrissie made it her mission to date at least one man from every country in Europe. She managed to cross off Ireland, France, Germany, Austria, Italy, Sweden, Switzerland, Portugal, Poland, and Greece before meeting professional archer Dennis Clarke at the 1984 Olympics in Los Angeles. They got engaged at Christmas, eloped on New Year’s Day, and had a daughter that Chrissie named after Stevie Nicks nine months later. Stevie Clarke has adorably chubby baby legs, wide blue eyes, and blonde hair without a single spiraled ringlet.
“My therapist said I needed to cultivate a rapport with Brian for the good of the kids,” Chrissie says. “You know. Be the bigger person. Get amnesia and forget about how he made my life a living hell. Act like I don’t want to freaking decapitate him. So I, trying to be nice, trying to rise above and make polite small talk with my nauseating ex-husband, made a comment about how much I liked EastEnders. So he starts watching EastEnders. Then he begins to fancy one of the actresses. Then he meets her at a movie premier in Beverly Hills and invites her to the concert at Wembley. Then he ends up in love with the woman. What the fuck. You couldn’t write this shit.”
“Love is a roulette wheel,” you agree.
Chrissie scoffs sardonically. “Yeah. Russian roulette, maybe.”
After his marriage fell apart, Brian bounced between New Orleans and London, liberated bliss and aimless, disgraced, black depression. Whoever Peaches is as a person, she couldn’t tame Brian’s demons. You worried about him almost constantly until he started seeing Anita. She’s cheerful and magnetic and persistently hopeful in a way that reminds you of Roger. She’s good for Brian. She’s good for all of you. Well...Chrissie is still coming around to the idea.
“I do like that she wasn’t fucking my husband behind my back,” Chrissie muses. “So that’s something.”
“And she’s good with the kids.”
“True...”
“And her hair matches Brian’s.”
Chrissie laughs. Her sparkling ornament earrings jangle, and Stevie paws for them with minuscule, uncoordinated, wrinkly hands. “Okay. You win. I don’t despise her.”
“That’s the Christmas spirit.” You knock back the rest of your mulled wine. “I’m gonna go search the refrigerator for cheese cubes, you want anything?”
“Yeah, a Valium.”
“Slavic Jesus would be horrified. And on his birthday!”
Chrissie grins. “Surely drugs would be the least of our sins.”
Freddie’s sunshine-yellow refrigerator is enormous and a labyrinth of shelves and crevices without a single tray of cheese cubes in sight. You sift through jars of olives, bottles of champagne, a glazed ham waiting to be put in the oven, a sack of yams, eggnog, rising bread dough, and numerous pies—apple and cherry and lemon chiffon, naturally—swathed in aluminum foil.
“Damn,” you mutter, and then you try a mysterious drawer beneath the double doors of the refrigerator. Lo and behold, it contains a sprawling tray of cheeses. “Yaaaaassssss.” You lift the tray out, set it on the kitchen counter, and peel back the clear, clinging saran wrap. As you spear cheese cubes with a decorative toothpick—the handle is a little plastic Christmas tree—and plop them onto an appetizer plate, you hear the click of heels on the hardwood floor behind you.
You glance back. “Hi, Dom. Can I offer you any of Fred’s extremely expensive and exotic cheeses?”
“Sure,” she replies in that effortlessly elegant French accent; but that’s not why she’s here. She’s wringing her delicate hands, which are bronzed from her last holiday to Ibiza and ringless. Dom divorced the husband she had back in France—or maybe he divorced her, who knows, that’s not your business, although Roger would tell you if you ever asked—and she and Roger signed papers for the good of their daughters. But being Roger Taylor’s wife is not always such an easy thing.
“He’s getting bad again, isn’t he?” you ask softly.
Dominique nods; but you already knew.
Roger was perfect for years after they had Violet: attentive, content, startlingly domestic. He rarely popped pills. He went to physical therapy. He quit smoking six months ago at Dominique’s insistence, around the same time John quit for you. But since the Magic Tour ended in August—and with no new tour in sight, considering Freddie’s seeming reticence about scheduling another—he’s started to drink more, stay home less, disappear at night citing dinners or parties or recording sessions that Dom isn’t invited to. He’s edgy and irritable. He’s rarely home when John calls. And you can see all those immortal shadows of imperfection creeping back into him like storm clouds, like smoke.
“I’m going to tell you something,” you say. “It’s very similar to what somebody else once told me. I wasn’t ready to understand it yet, to really let myself feel it, to believe it, but you might be able to.”
She watches you with those vast oil-well eyes, biting her lower lip, waiting.
“Roger is wildfire. He’s bright, yes, he’s warm, but he’s reckless and insatiable too. He always has been. He always will be. And that has nothing at all to do with you. It’s not your fault. He’s wonderful, of course, and you already know that; he dazzles people, he makes life so exhilaratingly beautiful that you forget what it felt like without him. But he’ll always disappoint you. He’ll relapse, he’ll cheat, he’ll come home late, he won’t come home at all. And he’ll hurt you. He’ll do it as many times as you’ll let him. But here’s the thing other people won’t tell you.” You smile at her, with empathy, with sorrow, with hope. “It might still be worth it.”
Dominique blinks, not understanding.
“It might be enough for you to only ever have part of him, because that part is so incredibly brilliant. It was almost enough for me. And I would never blame you for leaving Roger. But I wouldn’t blame you for staying either.”
And then you embrace her, and she latches onto you, her long manicured nails nipping through your sweater, her Coco Chanel perfume a plume that fills the kitchen. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. You hold her until she pulls away, swiping at her tearing eyes with slim fragile fingers, sniffling, looking away to hide her heartbreak behind her shock of glossy bangs.
“Here.” You pile an appetizer plate high with cheese cubes and shove it into her hands.
Stunned, she giggles. “All my woes have vanished.”
“That’s exactly how stolen cheese works,” And then, seriously: “Don’t be sad on Christmas, Dom. There’s plenty of time for that later. And I’ll do everything I can to help him.”
“That’s why you’ll never leave the band, isn’t it? You can’t leave Roger alone. You can’t let him destroy himself.”
“I owe him,” you say simply. “Without him I never would have followed Queen to London. I never would have found this family. I never would have married John. Roger took things from me, yes, of course he did. He took until I felt empty. But he also gave me the world.”
She nods slowly, thoughtfully.
“Please, Dom. Go enjoy yourself.”
“Alright. Joyeux Noël.” She gives you a parting wave and slips back out into the living room, where Freddie is now playing the grand piano and signing Thank God It’s Christmas. Roger is assisting in an increasingly hoarse falsetto.
A moment after Dominique leaves, John strolls into the kitchen, humming merrily. He stops dead when he sees your somber face, your shining eyes. “Who do I have to fuck up?”
You chuckle and shake your head. “No one. I just heard something sad.”
“Not about you, I hope.”
“No, I don’t have many sad stories anymore.”
“Yeah, me either.”
He reaches out to take your hand. A sapphire glints on your left ring finger, and it means everything.
“You sure you don’t need me to torment anyone for you? I could get drunk and plow my Benz into their house. Or write a scathing diss track about them. Was it Brian? Please tell me it was Brian.”
You laugh and twirl a lock of his fluffy hair. “That won’t be necessary.”
“In that case, you’re needed in the living room immediately,” John says, smiling. “Antoni climbed halfway up the Christmas tree and says he won’t come down for anyone except his mama.”
~~~~~~~~~~
It’s November 3rd, 1999, and Roger, John, and Brian are promoting Queen’s upcoming compilation album, Greatest Hits III.
Interviewer, daytime television host Brad Chenoweth: “Today we have a very special treat for our viewers. Here with us in our London studio are the men of Queen: guitarist Brian May, drummer Roger Taylor, and bassist John Deacon. Good morning, and thank you all so much for being here.”
Brian: “It’s our pleasure.”
Roger: “I do screams as well as drums, Brad.”
Interviewer: “Hahaha, yes, of course. Now Queen has had an extremely busy year, and this Greatest Hits album has a few new selections on it, right? Take us through that process.”
Brian: “It does have a few new tracks, that’s correct. You know, ever since Freddie...ever since we lost Freddie Mercury, I mean, you know, it’s impossible to fill a space like the one that he left in the world.”
Roger: “Yes, yes.”
Brian: “But as difficult as it was, after finally finishing Made In Heaven in 1995 and getting it just right, feeling as if we had really done Freddie justice...we were left with this distressing feeling of ‘what’s next?’ What are the three of us supposed to do with ourselves? Split up and never work together again? Retire to the seashore? Open up some corner store to putter around in until we die?”
Roger: “A clog shop, perhaps.”
Interviewer: “You were thinking, ‘well hell, we’ve got plenty of talent ourselves!’”
Roger: “Well, talent, yes, but also energy. Drive. We’ve been working at being one of the best bands in the world for almost thirty years now, Brad. I wouldn’t even know how to begin to stop.”
Brian: “None of us wanted to stop, we came to that realization. And so we’ve done a tremendous amount of benefit concerts and recording sessions with some of the best artists of our time, and I think people who listen to this album are really going to appreciate that. We’ve got a live version of Somebody to Love with George Michael, and The Show Must Go On with Elton John, he’s just lovely to work with...oh and a rap version of Another One Bites The Dust with Wyclef Jean, which John was not exactly a fan of. But we all have to learn to give and take, don’t we?”
Interviewer: “Absolutely, and I’m really looking forward to getting my hands on a copy of this record. Is there any chance Queen might settle on a permanent new front man one day?”
Roger: “If we can ever find somebody John likes enough!”
Interviewer: “But, truthfully...none of you wanted to quit after Freddie passed away? It was a unanimous decision to keep with it?”
Roger: “Essentially, yes. I mean I think it was an all or nothing deal, wasn’t it? If one of us left then that would throw the whole thing off. I was always adamant from very early on in the band’s lifetime that I wouldn’t be interested in continuing without John. And I couldn’t imagine him and Brian being left alone together, my god, there’d be literal bloodshed, someone’s throat would be cut within the hour, believe me.”
John: “We might have lasted a day or two. But yes, it was more or less unanimous.”
Interviewer: “Now you’ve always been known as the quiet, domestic one, John. You weren’t tempted by the thought of retirement? Not even for a moment?”
John: “Well...I think it depends on the circumstances, really. I like working, and I like touring and traveling a good part of the year. But I imagine I’d get very homesick if I was alone on the road. Fortunately, that’s not the case. So the thought of retirement didn’t appeal to me nearly as much as it might have otherwise.”
Interviewer: “That’s right, I understand that your wife has been Queen’s touring nurse for...how long now? Twenty years?”
John: “Since 1974, so that’s twenty-five years.”
Roger: “Wow. It’s been that long?!”
Brian: “Feels like yesterday, doesn’t it?”
Interviewer: “How lucky for you, John. And look, you’re beaming!”
Roger: “Get it together, Deaks.”
John: “I’m an astronomically lucky man. It’s like having home with you anywhere in the world.”
Roger: “She’s good for curing hangovers as well, so that’s useful. And she knits everyone hats.”
Interviewer: “And you’ve got children, haven’t you John?’
John: “Four from my first marriage, yes. They’re all adults now so they come to visit us quite often, especially when we’re travelling. It worked out beautifully really, because they’re very close to their mother, of course, but my wife and I got together when they were all still fairly young, and so she’s always been there for them as they’ve grown up. My youngest especially was a rather...how would you say it diplomatically? A spirited child. But he warmed to her right away.”
Brian: “All the children are still friendly with each other as well, mine and Roger’s and John’s.”
Interviewer: “One big happy family, huh?”
Roger: “There are still a good amount of screaming matches between us dads, to be completely forthcoming.”
John: “You have to keep things interesting.”
Roger: “Exactly!”
Interviewer: “Yes, one can sense that there are still plenty of egos in this room, even after all these years! Tell me, Queen is nearly three decades old now, a worldwide phenomenon, the second-bestselling artist in the UK of all time behind the Beatles...how have you stayed together for so long when most bands last only a fraction of Queen’s lifespan?”
John: “Well I think we’ve all, you know, for the good of the band we’ve all had to grow towards each other to bridge the disagreements and keep peace. For example, I’ve had to learn to be more communicative, more open to collaboration and change. I can be someone who’s very comfortable being in the background. But then I’m resentful if people don’t see my point of view, even if I haven’t properly expressed it. So I have certainly had to work on that quite a lot.”
Brian: “Yes, John, I think that’s very true. Personally, I’ve had to learn to not get lost in the details so much. I have a bad habit of getting so fixated on something that I cause a massive row over a vanishingly small aspect of a song that no one else will ever notice. It’s just not worth the strife. So I’ve really tried to avoid that. Although, I’ll admit it, I still occasionally cause my share of drama.”
John: “Oh, sure.”
Roger: “And I’ve had to work on being less...”
John: “Annoying?”
Brian: “Combative?”
Roger: “Fiery.”
John: “That’s one word for it.”
Interviewer: “Was there ever a time when Queen’s existence was in serious jeopardy? And if so, how did you pull through?”
Brian: “Well, to be perfectly honest, as a band we went through quite a difficult time in the early 80s. And then we did again in the early 90s. And on both occasions there was a real worry that Queen might be over and we would all go our separate ways. But what kept us together through that...and feel free to disagree, Rog, John, if you have a different perspective...but what I feel kept us together was this profound sense of family. Queen predates all of our marriages, our children, our successes in the music industry or otherwise. It has become a constant place of belonging in the midst of professional and personal turmoil. And now our partners and children have been integrated into that network as well, so even if an individual relationship is strained or falls apart, the gravity of the band keeps us all in a perpetual symbiotic orbit. And I don’t see that ever ending.”
John: “Yes, well, I suppose that about sums it up, doesn’t it?”
Roger: “Bleeding christ, Brian. ‘Perpetual symbiotic orbit.’ Just say we’re friends, you pretentious twit.”
~~~~~~~~~~
It’s August 19th, 2020, and John’s 69th birthday party is winding down as the sun dips lazily into the rust-colored western horizon.
You’re standing on the cobblestones in the garden behind the Surrey house. You had always thought it was too extravagant, too massive; it wasn’t until Roger sold it to you and John in the spring of 1982 that you realized it was the perfect size after all. Six bedrooms meant one for each of the children, one for you and John—the one with the blue-grey wallpaper and nautical decorations, to be exact—and the last for when Chrissie and Denny or Roger and Dom stay the night, which is fairly frequently. Your vacation home, where you and John spend most of the summer when Queen isn’t on tour, is a little country cottage in the sunlit Alpine hills of Florence, Italy. John designed it himself, every last detail; right down to the white picket fence grown over with ivy.
“Look what we got in the mail.” You hold up the invitation to show your husband, grinning, raising your eyebrows. “Guess we have to buy him another toaster.”
He reads the names on the shimmering cardstock patterned with jungle ferns and dinosaur footprints. Interesting choices. “Is Ben actually going through with it this time?”
“John!”
“Wasn’t he supposed to marry some Italian heiress or something?”
“Love can be complicated, Mr. Deacon,” you remind him.
When he smiles, crinkles spring up around his eyes. “Yes, I suppose it can be.”
“Ben Hardy’s having another wedding?” Chrissie calls over from where she’s shooting arrows at the archery targets set up in the backyard. Denny periodically steps in to correct the angle of her wrist or elbow. “And Queen’s invited this time?”
“Apparently,” you reply. “You could go too if you were still married to Brian.”
“Ha!” Chrissie cackles and looses an arrow. It hits damn near the bullseye. “Not worth it.”
“I’ll bring back all the scandalous gossip I can scrounge for you.”
“You better. What do the kids call it now? Spilling the tea? Spill all the tea, bitch.”
“Oh, kettles and kettles’ worth.”
“So a teapot,” John says. “Not another toaster. Maybe decorated with...” He squints at the invitation again. “What’s the theme? What do they like? Fossils? Brontosauruses?”
“Bizarre people,” Chrissie mutters.
“I’ll figure something out,” you say. “Something special. Something old.”
“John?” Brian shouts from the doorway that leads into the kitchen. Inside the refrigerator is covered with sketches and birthday cards and photographs curling and fading around the edges. “Anita and I are heading out now, can we get a hug goodbye?”
“Ugh,” John jokes. “Well, alright.” He gives you a wink as he trots off.
The Surrey house isn’t exactly roaring—John has never been one for crowds, and incidentally neither have you—but it is alive with his children and grandchildren and life-long friends. Not just his, you correct yourself. Ours.
Veronica—once Tetzlaff, then Deacon, then Tetzlaff again, and finally Kowalski—is not in attendance. You see her only at holidays and birthday celebrations for the kids and grandchildren, and even then only in passing. She is still cold towards you, resentful, extremely Catholic...although somewhat less dogmatic since her second husband Ivan, a former priest, left the Church to marry her. When the last of her children were grown, Veronica got certified to be a doula and now primarily serves unwed mothers seeking assistance from Catholic charities in London. She mentioned to Chrissie, who later told you, that something you had once done for her had inspired her to pursue it. That’s the only nice thing you’ve heard her say about you in almost forty years.
Roger wanders over to meet you, nursing a Heineken, stroking his white beard with his free hand. He and Dominique have always been off and on—including a few years in the late 80s when he moved out of their three-story Kensington townhouse and had a daughter called Adeline with some leggy, platinum blonde supermodel—but these days they’re mostly on. He and Dom had two children after their reconciliation: a son, Blaise, and a daughter named by Freddie after the Japanese word for tiger, Tora.
You gaze out into the sunset. Half of the garden is flooded with white calla lilies, a new bouquet for every February 15th since 1978.
“You’ll be sending back an RSVP in the affirmative?” Roger asks.
“Of course! Any excuse to visit the States. And I like Ben. Although he doesn’t look anything like you.”
He groans. “Those wigs, bloody hell.”
“It’s like they produced a whole movie just to have an excuse to make fun of your atrociously crunchy bleached hair.”
“And I bet you enjoyed that.”
“You deserved it.” When Freddie’s health began to fail and Queen stopped touring, you went back to school to get a degree in physical therapy. You and Roger have sessions three times a week, provided he’s on the wagon; and he usually is, nowadays. When he’s not, John’s the one to get the call from Dominique, and he hunts Roger down, convinces him to come home, works whatever quiet, soothing magic he carries around in his deep pacific blood. But right this moment, Roger is awfully quiet himself. His large, pale eyes—like clear water, like unraveling delphiniums, like the harmony that only comes when age burns away all those last entrenched talons of bitterness, of fear—skate over the calla lilies.
“Do you think things would have been different for us?” Roger asks softly. “If she had lived.”
It took you a long time to understand why Roger was in no hurry to get a divorce, to move you out of the Surrey house. They were the only ties he thought he had to anchor you to the band, to him. They were the only cards he thought he had to play to keep you in his life in any capacity. But John fixed that dilemma. He can fix just about anything, you’ve learned.
“No,” you tell Roger. “You would have worn me down eventually. You and your drinking and drugs and late nights and interminable recklessness. It might have taken longer, but we always would have ended. And John always would have been my home. She wouldn’t have kept us together. She just would have lived. And I wouldn’t have loved her for being a part of you. I would have loved her for whoever she was, whoever she grew up to be. But now I’ll never know who that would have been. I love the children I have, Roger, I do. But I still miss her, miss the person she would have been. It’s like chasing a shadow. It’s like a page of a book written in a language I can’t read. And it’s a feeling that never quite goes away.”
He smiles at you wearily, immensely sad, full of perfect understanding. “I know.”
~~~~~~~~~~
It’s October 10th, 2020, and the reception is held under shedding autumn leaves the color of rubies and imperial topaz and amber and yellow jade. The exuberant bride and groom weave through the crowds milling about the quaint farm, which is nestled in the hills of a small town in Northern California called Zenia. It belongs to Gwilym, apparently, and he and his flame-haired girlfriend Shiloh are shuttling tirelessly this way and that making sure everything goes according to plan. They don’t speak much to Ben or his new wife directly—there’s a stiltedness there, an uncomfortable period of readjustment that reminds you of how John and Roger were for a while after all the secrets came out—but there is undeniable kinship as well. Love can be complicated, you find yourself thinking, for the innumerable time. But that doesn’t mean it’s not real.
Making the rounds with the bride and groom is a strikingly beautiful, dark-haired boy who wears a miniature suit and a perpetual, mischievous grin. The new Mrs. Hardy almost always has her hand on his shoulder, his back, wiping cake frosting from his cheeks, ruffling his hair.
“Eli is kind of a demon kid,” Joe Mazzello warns you. “But in the best possible way.”
“Hm. I have somewhat of an affinity for demons myself.”
“Clearly,” Roger quips, sipping pink champagne. The snack table is Halloween-themed and extremely casual: Cheetos and pumpkin pie and caramel apples and dinosaur-shaped brownies. Per usual, you’re grazing through an orange paper plate stacked high with enough nibbling material to keep any undesirable small talk at bay. But strangely, in all of the times you’ve crossed his path since Bohemian Rhapsody’s filming began, you’ve never minded chatting with Joe.
“Yeah, you two were married at some point, right?” Joe asks. Then he immediately blanches. “Oh my god. That was so rude. I did not just say that. I’m so sorry. I saw it on Wikipedia. I’m gonna go drown myself in the stream now.”
“No, you’re right!” you admit in a peal of laughter. “Briefly and disastrously.”
“It wasn’t that disastrous,” Roger protests, thieving a Cheeto off your plate. He misplaced his prescription sunglasses on the flight over and is thus relatively helpless.
“Rude. Get your own. They’re over on the other end of the table.”
“I can’t see that far—!”
“Dom?” you call as she sashays over in a flowing white dress and licking a stick of orange rock candy. “Please control your husband.”
She smiles. “If I haven’t managed it yet, I don’t think there’s much hope.” She nods to Joe. “It’s so nice to see you again. Meeting you people was the only bright spot of that whole movie ordeal.”
“What, you didn’t fancy it?” Roger jests.
“At least they included you,” you tell Dom, smirking. “They ignored my existence entirely. They threw in some random woman with zero lines and called her Veronica in the credits. Whatever.”
Dom rolls her expressive umber eyes. “Yes, how flattering, I was in two scenes and one of them involved a joke about Roger cheating on me.”
“You’re a star, baby,” you say. “Deal with it.”
Dom smacks your arm playfully. She may be annoyed, but it doesn’t pain her the way it used to. She’s had decades of practice.
“The script could have been better,” Joe concedes. Then he spies John as he approaches, almost drops his caramel apple, waves frenetically. “Hi, Mr. Deacon! Hi!!”
“Wonderful job with all of this, Joe.” John shakes his hand as Joe gapes at him, starstruck. He’s always like that around John, appreciative, in awe, acutely aware of John’s legendary place in rock and roll history; and you love that someone besides you and Roger look at him that way.
“Thanks, I did it myself. Just kidding. It was 99% Gwil.”
“Well, I’ll still get you front row seats at the next Queen + Adam Lambert show.” It had taken a long time for John to find a front man he liked...a long time. He drove Roger and Brian insane. He kept saying he wanted someone who was like Freddie and yet simultaneously not trying to be Freddie, someone genuinely kind and charismatic and empathetic, an otherworldly talent, a natural performer. And then, on an unassuming spring night in 2009, they found him.  
Joe claps a palm on John’s shoulder and grins, his eyes glistening. “I’m obsessed with this little old guy! Obsessed, I tell you!”
“You want to see how old he is?” Roger teases. “Lift up that hand-knit hat and see what’s underneath. I’ll give you a hint. Not much.”
“At least I made it through the 90s without requiring hair plugs,” John counters.
“It was from all the bleaching!!”
“Hi, Rog!” Ben shouts as he rushes to embrace Roger, nearly knocking him off his feet. Mrs. Hardy is still across the field, talking to Brian, Anita, Rami, and Lucy, and trying to convince Eli not to crawl into a chocolate fountain.
Ben Hardy has always been somewhat of an enigma to you, mostly because he’s nothing at all like Roger. He’s subterranean-voiced and emerald-eyed and brooding and guarded and seems so much older than his twenty-nine years, and then every once in a while someone will come along and light him up like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Unlike Roger, Ben doesn’t light up for many people. He does for his son Eli, of course, and for Joe Mazzello...and for his new wife. He lights up for her like fucking wildfire.
“Ben,” you say, holding out a bag speckled with black cats. “I have our gift for you.”
“You shouldn’t have! Thank you so much.”
“You can’t thank us until you open it,” John chastises.
So Ben does. Inside is an album of hundreds of photos you’ve taken of Queen since Roger bought you your first Canon for Christmas in 1974: pictures that have never been released publicly of the boys at the Rainbow, at the Budokan, in Rome, in Boston, in Japan, in New Orleans, at Montreal, at Madison Square Garden, at Live Aid, at the Surrey house, at Montreux. Interspersed are some of John’s sketches, the only ones you can bring yourself to part with: close-ups of a long-haired Freddie drawing on messy eyeliner, Roger adjusting his sunglasses with a cigarette smoldering between his fingers, Brian tuning his Red Special.
“Oh my god,” Ben whispers.
“Most of those are very old,” you explain. “And I heard you both like old things.”
“We definitely do.” He hugs you, suddenly and fiercely and warmly; and you catch a glimpse of what it must be like to be one of the few people that he allows to truly know him, those shadowed depths to balance Joe’s uncomplicated light.
Maybe that’s it, you realize. Maybe Joe is more like Roger and Ben like John.
The wedding playlist is exclusively classic rock songs: the Doors and Aerosmith and Fleetwood Mac and Led Zeppelin and Queen. As A Kind Of Magic ends, the eerie opening notes of Hotel California ripple out over the breezy autumn fields.
“Not this fucking song!” Roger cries.
Joe turns to you, confused.
“LSD,” you inform him. “1977. I would not recommend it.”
“Noted.”
Roger continues, rubbing his forehead: “It makes me think of...freaking...weird, creepy shit...like swimming at night through cold water. But I just keep swimming and can’t get anywhere.”
“It makes me think of sharks,” you say. “Maybe they’re related.”
“Freddie always said it made him think of birds,” John sighs. “And the color blue.”
The three of you pause, nodding, remembering.
Joe frowns solemnly, peering down at his shoes. “I’m sorry I never got to meet him.”
“He would have adored you,” you say.
“Really?”
“Are you kidding?! You would have been best friends. Always looking out for people. Always plotting the next escapade. That charming chaotic energy. The utter inability to bake anything.”
“Awwww.” Joe beams, delighted. “I fucking love you guys.”
“That’s the thing,” Roger says. “People don’t realize it. We’re more of a family than a band. We find people we take a shine to like ancient treasure, snatch them up, sand away all their rough edges, show them everything the world has to offer. And if they can survive the casualties of stardom, that trial by fire, they become permanent. They grow like roots into our blood, our bones...and perhaps we claim a part of theirs as well. They become things we can’t live without.”
“And once you’re in the family,” John tells Joe with a fond, crafty smile. “You can never leave.”
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doomonfilm · 3 years
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Ranking : David Lynch (1946-present)
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Film is definitely an art, and yet, it seems to be distinct from other forms of visual art such as painting or sculpture.  Perhaps that is what makes David Lynch such a fascinating director, as he has the ability to tap into the surreal stimulus often found in the most famous paintings and transform it into brain-bending moments on film.  Whether it his fear-fueled fascination with fatherhood present in his debut film Eraserhead, his ruminations on Hollywood society present in Inland Empire, or any of the stopping points in-between, it’s safe to say that David Lynch sits in the rarified air of directors like Ingmar Bergman, Alejandro Jodorowsky and the other few who can turn film into something deeper, more visceral and more meaningful.
With one of the most unique collections of films credited to his name, including a couple of curveballs in the early portion of his career, ranking the films of David Lynch is as perplexing as it is entertaining... so, without further ado, we attempt to climb that hill.  I’m not even going to pretend that I can break down all of the symbolism and meanings of these films, but I can give my honest opinion about them.
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10. Dune (1984) For a film that is supposed to be such a science-fiction gem, it’s a bit funny that nobody can seem to make a coherent, entertaining version of Dune.  After nearly 15 years in pre-production hell (and three iconic names attached to versions of the production), the film landed in the laps of Dino De Laurentiis and Ridley Scott, but after another extended period delaying production, Scott bowed out, leaving the door open for David Lynch to step in.  For what it’s worth, he did bring a huge list of names to the project, but the fact that the directing credit for Dune belongs to the throwaway pseudonym Alan Smithee should clue in any perceptive viewer that the project may not be one that Lynch cares to stand behind.
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9. Inland Empire (2006) David Lynch isn’t the type of director that revisit ground he’s already covered, which is what makes Inland Empire (the seemingly final film from Lynch) such a confusing choice.  Had this film not been released after a five year gap between it and the stellar Mullholland Drive, another film that focuses on the dark underbelly of Hollywood, fame and the tolls of the acting craft, perhaps it would hit a little different to me.  That’s not to say that the film isn’t good, as it is definitely a slight adjustment from the style that Lynch basically trademarked, but when a director like Lynch experiments on what feels like general principle, it makes experiments that feel like a step backward lose impact.
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8. Lost Highway (1997) Technically, you could count all of the Lynch “mystery” films as noir in some capacity, but Lost Highway feels like a direct skewing of what we know as the traditional noir structure.  At its core, the film is a simple murder mystery, but it doesn’t take long for the Lynch signatures to begin appearing in every form from a mysterious, unnamed character to our protagonist literally changing into another person with no base explanation provided.  Perhaps the latter choice was a look into split personalities and the disassociated nature that can come with brutal crimes... as I said before, I’m not here to try and decode the David Lynch mystery.  While Lost Highway serves as a good entry point into the David Lynch catalog, it sits on the back half of the rankings due to no fault of its own... it’s more of a situation where the other mysteries are so stellar, that even the strange seems simplistic by comparison.
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7. The Straight Story (1999) If you played a game of “one of these things is not like the other” with the films of David Lynch, it would not be difficult to make a winning choice, as The Straight Story is clearly the most accessible and standard of all the Lynch fare.  What the film lacks in oddness and style, however, is more than made up for in terms of heart and performance.  The use of a lawnmower as the main source of travel allows for some beautiful landscape cinematography, and the sheer force of will exhibited by Richard Farnsworth pays off in spades when he is reunited with Harry Dean Stanton.  If you’re looking for something creepy, eclectic and mind-warping from Lynch, there are plenty of other films to choose from, but if you are looking for an excuse to shed a tear or two, this is the film for you.
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6. The Elephant Man (1980) It’s funny to think that if not for The Straight Story, the Joseph Merrick biopic The Elephant Man would serve as the most normal film of the Lynch canon.  This sophomore film dialed back on the abstractions present in Eraserhead, but it brought some extraordinary makeup and costuming to the table, not to mention it gifted viewers with a powerfully moving performance from John Hurt.  Though memorable in its own right, the film really made its mark by tying Raging Bull at the 53rd Academy Awards, garnering eight nominations (and sadly losing in all categories, going home empty-handed).  The backlash for the Academy’s lack of giving The Elephant Man special praise for its makeup effects also led to the creation of a Best Makeup award for the Oscars.  It is quite possible that the combination of shock from Eraserhead in tandem with the skill and prowess shown in The Elephant Man opened all of the creative control doors for David Lynch, as not even Dune could derail his career and artistic oddness. 
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5. Blue Velvet (1986) While Twin Peaks is where I first heard the name David Lynch, it was Blue Velvet where I first got a taste of why Lynch was held in such high regard.  The suburban paradise presented in the opening credits is immediately shattered by the discovery of a random ear, and the weirdness rabbit-hole gets deeper and deeper from that point on.  The classic look of the film stands in powerfully beautiful contrast to the extreme darkness of the narrative, and Dennis Hopper turned it all the way up to 11 for his performance in the film.  If Lost Highway serves as the best introductory film for those curious about Lynch, then Blue Velvet serves as a good midpoint to determine how much weirdness, abrasiveness and shock you can handle in a Lynch film.
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4. Mulholland Drive (2001) I really and truly do not know where to begin with this insane rollercoaster ride of a film.  The first time I watched this film, I thought I had everything figured out, every mystery solved and every bait and switch identified, but upon repeat viewings of Mullholland Drive, I’ve determined that I either had a brief moment of harmonic brilliance or I was fooling myself.  The film makes sense at its root, if really and truly dissected, but when taken at face value and in real time, it’s almost impossible not to get completely lost in the sheer immersive nature of everything thrown at you.  Naomi Watts is brilliant as the viewer guide through the film, and it’s good that she is so powerful in her lead role and guiding task, because Mullholland Drive is not afraid to get downright bonkers on more than one occasion.  While films about the trappings of Hollywood and stardom are nothing new, I’m hard pressed to think of another film that approaches these in a manner even remotely close to that of Mullholland Drive. 
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3. Wild at Heart (1990) Quite possibly the most enjoyable of all the David Lynch films, despite some downright brutal moments of celebratory violence sprinkled throughout.  The combination of Nicolas Cage and Laura Dern is nothing short of electric, and the presence of Willem Dafoe as antagonist is the perfect spark to ignite an already volatile mixture of leads.  The energy level of this film starts on ten and only continues to rise as the film progresses.  If/when I ever get the chance to program theater showings, I am putting this film on a double bill with Natural Born Killers immediately.  While I can’t say that Wild at Heart is my favorite David Lynch film, I can say without a shadow of a doubt that it’s my favorite Lynch film to gush about with other fans.
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2. Eraserhead (1977) More often than not, directors the caliber of David Lynch have stunning debut films to their name, and Lynch certainly exploded onto the scene with a gamebreaker in the form of Eraserhead.  Upon first viewing, there is enough “WTF?!” going on to confuse most people, but for those brave enough to watch the film more than once, it becomes painfully obvious that all of the madness and shocking imagery on display is a clear metaphor for Lynch’s fear of fatherhood.  The simple act of taking a fear that resonates with most humans and turning it into the equivalent of a black and white bad drug trip works perfectly, and Jack Nance’s iconic look and performance are almost recognizable enough to know without knowledge of the film.  Eraserhead is one of those films that leaves you different than you were prior to watching it.
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1. Twin Peaks : Fire Walk with Me (1992) In all honesty, was there every any doubt that Twin Peaks : Fire Walk with Me wouldn’t be in the top spot?  Of all the properties that the David Lynch name is connected to, none of them have even come remotely close to touching the sheer size of the lore and fandom that has emerged from this modern day masterpiece.  The story of the high school princess with deep, dark secrets to hide is not new territory, but the way that Lynch handles it all with Twin Peaks takes the familiar to all new realms of weirdness, including the creation of iconic places and characters like the Black Lodge, the Log Lady, the production mistake that created the infamous Bob, and the eternally iconic Laura Palmer, and oh yeah, the film’s not half bad either.  I doubt that David Lynch ever had any intention of reaching the heights of fame that Twin Peaks : Fire Walk with Me afforded him, but it would be dumb to think that he isn’t impressed with the magnitude of the world he created based on that single idea for a film.
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scariusaquarius · 4 years
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take a ride pt 3.
Mechanic! Thorin Oakenshield x Female! Reader
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A/n: Alright. This is the official end of this series, but I’ll make a sequel if people ask for it :D And I’ll do more Mechanic! Thorin fics, if anybody would like them <3
CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE (HERE)
Genre: Humor, Friendship, Romance Rated: General Warning: Swearing, Humor, Fluff
Author: dabisburntnut
Ever since the coffee shop, your heart had been racing in your chest. Just remembering Thorin’s laughter, his beautiful smile...it made you squeal every single time you remembered how happy he had been.
 It was beginning to near spring break, and the only thing that you could think of was riding in Thorin’s truck with your feet on the dash while he blared his classic rock and held your hand. It was a daydream that always made you giggle, and you rolled over in your bed. 
You had forgotten to give him your number, and he give you yours, and there were times were you were tempted to text the company Instagram page. Would it be creepy if you did? You had decided against doing it, but the silence had made you want to see him even more. 
It sucked because it had been a whole three weeks since the last time you spoke to Thorin, and you weren’t about to just show up at the shop like ‘hey, wanna go out?’ who even does that? You slapped your hands onto your face. You had to stop thinking so much about Thorin! You finally sat up, texting your manager that you were interested in picking up an extra shift for your dead Saturday. 
Elrond was understanding, sending you the okay and that he would be excited to see you, and you were quick to get dressed. Grabbing your wallet and satchel, you slid into your vehicle and made a quick pit-stop at the coffee shop. 
Your eyes were searching for Thorin, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, but he was nowhere in sight. Your stomach dropped, and you walked up to the counter sadly, ordering your usual. 
Was it normal to be so infatuated with someone you had only ever met twice? Were you weird for feeling this way? When you sat down at your booth, you hardly touched your coffee, simply staring out the window and fingering the rip of your coffee cup. Not even your little snack that you bought was touched, smelling so sweet and tempting. 
Packing up the snack, you decided that you would give it to your fellow librarian, Bilbo Baggins and left as quickly as you could. Thunder rumbled in the sky, and you hummed softly. Must everything remind you of that handsome mechanic? 
When you arrived to the library, it was just starting to rain, and you dashed inside the library as fast as you could before the downpour began. Wiping your damp face, you greeted your fellow librarian quietly. 
“Hello, Mr. Baggins.”
Bilbo Baggins perked up, his blue eyes wide and a smile crossed his face. 
“(Y/n), what a surprise. You’re usually not here on weekends.”
You smiled and set your bag down on the desk, slipping out your uneaten snack and handing it to him. 
“Yes, I know. I was just very bored today. I figured I’d just come in for today and get some extra hours in.”
Bilbo made a delighted face at the treat and hummed softly as he took a bite of the sweet. 
“Goodness, did you get this from the coffee shop just down the street? They have the most magnificent teas there, you have to try them.”
He then slid you a catalog of unmarked books, instructing you.
“It’s good that you came in. We have new shipments of crime and psychological thrillers that need to be put into the system, marked, and put away, if you can.”
You smiled politely, taking your coat off and draping it on the back of your chair. 
“That’s what I’m here for. It’s a bit quieter today. Is Elrond not here?”
You sat down in your computer chair, dragging the large box of new books to you and began to assign them barcodes, scanning each one before placing them on the cart as Bilbo replied. 
“He is in a meeting with Professor Grey from the university in the Bree district.”
You hummed deeply, saying as you continued to work. 
“I wonder what they’re meeting about. I notice that Professor Grey comes by often.”
Bilbo shrugged, taking a large sip of his tea before taking another big bite of his sweet. 
“I’m unsure, honestly.”
When you were finished with the last book, you sighed and sat back in your seat, making sure to submit the log into the system before grabbing your scanner, laptop, and the cart full of books. 
“Alright, I’m off. If you need anything, go ahead and send me a text.”
Bilbo waved you off playfully. 
“Shoo, shoo, I haven’t finished my tea yet.”
You giggled at him before stealing a sip of his tea, Bilbo gasping. 
“(Y/n)!”
You scurried off with a giggle, and Bilbo shook his head before sitting back down at his seat. A few moments later, a familiar face walked in, making Bilbo smile widely. 
“Thorin, what a surprise!”
-READER POV-
As you wheeled your cart towards the crime/psychological thriller section, you began to think of Thorin again. How was he? Was he having a good day? Was he busy with his work? You groaned to yourself, hitting your head against the handles of the cart. 
‘Come on, girl! Give it a rest...’ 
Sighing, you grabbed your laptop, logging into the cataloger program before beginning to scan the books to their designated shelves. As you worked, you gently hummed to yourself, becoming lost in your focus as you shelved the books and cataloged them all. 
The sound of a deep voice startled you, and you turned to see who had spoken to you.
“I’ve always enjoyed Dennis Lehane’s Shutter Island.”
Your mouth was dropped in awe as you watched Thorin flip through the book, his sunglasses perched atop his head. He was wearing his half-up/half down look again, his manbun looking a bit messier than usual. His blue eyes flicked over to you, and you shook your head lightly as if to shake yourself from your shock. 
“I always thought the book was very nice.”
Thorin smiled down at you before placing the book back down, saying as he picked up another book, reading the back of it. 
“Have you read much of his works?”
“Ah, no. I’m not really a crime/psychological thriller person. I’m more into (book genre).”
Thorin smiled lightly, and you asked him nervously. 
“Um, are you here for long?”
Thorin hummed lightly, answering honestly. 
“I was here to pick up a few more books, but now that I know you’re here, I guess I could stay for a while.”
Your cheeks went red, and Thorin looked as though he was mentally patting himself on the back, a proud grin on his face. You opened your mouth to speak, only to be cut off by a large clap of thunder. As it broke through the sky, you gasped and jolted, dropping your scanner and book onto your foot. The power immediately shut off, and you cursed, holding your foot before fishing your phone out as the library went completely dark. 
“Thorin, are you alright?”
“I’m fine, what of you?”
You sighed and carefully stood, turning on your flashlight. Thorin made a face as the light went right into his face, and you panicked lightly.
“Oh god, I’m so sorry!”
Thorin rubbed his eyes before smiling slightly. 
“You’re fine. Looks like we’re going to be stuck here for a while.”
You sighed and rubbed your forehead, and Thorin leaned down onto his forearms onto the cart, gazing at you softly. 
“I’ll look at the weather and see how long it’s going to last. Maintenance still hasn’t finished updating our backup generators, so we’re kinda locked in the library at the moment. The doors are all electronically locked.”
Thorin hummed deeply, asking you. 
“Do you have an food? You can’t possibly go without eating for a long while.”
“There are breakrooms on each floor of the library, so we should be able to find something.”
Thorin nodded again before it went quiet, Thorin watching you as you surfed through the weather app on your phone. 
“I’ve been thinking about you.”
Your eyes widened, and you looked over at Thorin, his eyes soft. 
“I’m sorry?”
“You’ve been on my mind for the past three weeks. I...was admittedly so distracted that I forgot to ask for your number that day at the coffee shop.”
Oh my Mahal. Thorin Durin, your hot mechanic, wanted your number? You about fainted, and you offered shyly.
“I can...give you my number right now, if you want? That way you don’t forget it...if you still want it, that is!”
You averted your gaze from his own, and Thorin chuckled softly.
“Yes, I would indeed still like your number.”
You recited your number for him, and Thorin recited it to himself a couple times before winking at you teasingly. 
“I’ll make sure to never forget that.”
“Stop, I’ll faint if you keep doing that.”
Thorin laughed lightly, and you shook your head at him, shyly smiling before sighing, looking down at your phone. Thorin moved from the cart to get a look at the text from Bilbo as well, and you said to him.
“Mr. Baggins says that there’s a power outage, so we’ll most likely be stuck here for a while.”
“That’s alright. Your crime & psychological thriller section is big enough to last me for years.”
You chuckled and reached into the cart, picking up a book as you leaned towards him a little as you became comfortable again.
“And we just got new shipments, so tack on a few more years there, Mr. Durin.”
His eyebrows shot up, a smirk on his face as he leaned in a bit more closer to you, your fragrance wafting into his nose and making his knees become slightly shaky. 
“Oh, so now we’re back to last-name basis?”
“We’ve only met twice, three times if you count this time.”
Thorin hummed, grabbing the book from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours. 
“And to think that I was getting somewhere.”
“I am not that easy of a woman to have.”
Thorin grinned at you, and you smiled back at him softly. Thorin replied gently, his other hand reaching over to shut the lid of your laptop, plunging the two of you into complete darkness. 
“Are you quite sure about that?”
“I would like to believe that I am.”
Your heart was racing, feeling his warm skin against yours, and your knees became weak as you felt his hot breath against your lips. 
“I want to kiss you, Ms. (L/n).”
You swallowed thickly and whispered. 
“I would like you to, Mr. Durin.”
Within a second, his lips were on yours, and you immediately wrapped your arms around his neck, and Thorin’s hands came to your face. He cupped your cheeks gently, sighing softly as he kissed you, and you swore that you would faint from how happy and elated you were. 
Thorin pressed you against the bookshelf, pulling back to take a deep breath before kissing you again, and you hummed softly. Thorin’s tongue brushed against your bottom lip, and you allowed him in, his tongue dominating your mouth, and Thorin’s hands rand down your sides to your hips, and you gently tugged on his hair. Thorin pulled back, saying against your lips. 
“You are a temptress...haunting my dreams for the last three weeks. All I could think about since the coffee shop was how much I wanted to see you again.”
You let out a shaky breath, and Thorin kissed you again, stealing the breath you took. 
“You were volunteering today, right?”
You replied, biting your lip as your hands came down to feel at his biceps. 
“Um, technically, yes. I’m not required to stay for a whole shift.”
“Would you do me the honors of coming home with me to have dinner then, Ms. (L/n)?”
You bit your lip, your heart racing even more, and you replied to him. 
“This isn’t just another way to get another tip from me, is it?”
Thorin’s head tilted back as he laughed, and he leaned down, brushing his nose against yours. 
“No, this is not another way to get more money from you.”
You smiled and Thorin asked you within your ear. 
“Would you like to take a ride with me?”
“Only if it comes at no additional charge.”
“For you, my services are free.”
[END]
Richard Armitage & Co. Taglist: @fizzyxcustard​ @aspookybunny​ @daisy-picking-lady​ @narnvaeron​ @thequeenoferebor @abiwim @crazytxgradstudent​@ruthoakenshield​ @sgtbarnes107 @thorinthehottytotty​ @mariannetora​ @deepestfirefun​ @onlyyoudarling
Hobbit Taglist: @underthemoon-n​ @tschrist1​ @avaria-revallier​ @cassiabaggins​
Take a Ride Taglist: @stuckupstucky​ 
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twixtandshout · 3 years
Text
Tagged by @pidgeonpostal! And not tagging anyone else because I have SOILED the original template (soiled it!!) in deference to my [brushes off skirt] mostly clean public-facing appearance.
...I’ve been making a lot of Spongebob memes lately for someone who has not seen Spongebob.
How many works do you have on AO3?
71!
What’s your total AO3 wordcount?
...306,834. Jesus.
How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?
Uh. Many! I do a lot of one-offs (and/or start long things I never finish) in many different places. My top three fandoms by fics written are RWBY (29), Undertale (25), Gravity Falls/Transcendence AU (4).
Bet you can’t tell where my hyperfixations have fallen. 
I’ve also got some Pokémon and Sonic the Hedgehog fics back on my ff.net account, or I think I still do, anyway, but let’s never go back there pls
What are your top 5 fics by kudos?
1. Sweeter Than Honey (Undertale): Taking a Completely unsurprising first place, with over 600 more kudos than the runner-up, the haphazard Underswap fic featuring a post-college self-insert I wrote just after high school! I shake my head some at how overblown and ridiculous the gap between this and all my other stuff is (c’mon, guys, I’ve written way better fics), but this is also the fic which prompted me (and at least one other person!) to start using they/them pronouns. I’ve gotten a lot of really sweet comments about how seen and appreciated it’s made people feel, so I can’t get down too far about it.
2. To Be A Hero (BNHA): I don’t count myself as part of the BNHA fandom, for a number of reasons, but for something that’s arguably the main motivation for the entire plot, Midoriya’s quirklessness is something I’ve never thought has been handled well. This fic marked the first time I (somewhat tentatively) claimed the disability label (thanks again to Sweeter Than for prompting that realization) to hold that lens over canon. It also really shot up my chart, dang! It’s the only thing here I’d consider “recent.”
3. Three-Sentence Shipping (Undertale): Self-explanatory.
4. Brothers Beyond Bonedaries (Undertale): Ah, the way-overcomplicated AU³ I got nowhere close to finishing. One of the things I really like about Undertale is the interface screw, how Toby Fox uses the medium of the video game to pull off crazy things and enhance his game, but most of the fic written for the fandom seems dedicated to explaining it away, grounding it, rather than taking it to the next step and messing with the medium of fanfiction when you keep the story going. I tried to do something cool like that here, playing with questions like narrator and authorship and breaking the fourth wall, even taking the “final boss” fight to a “totally separate” fic reached through the first by link – but, well, then I never finished it, which probably didn’t make anything less confusing for the poor folks who missed the intent.
5. Spirit and Such (Gravity Falls: Transcendence AU): A whole fic written to line out a particular image I had, which, naturally, never made it to the page. I consider it a bit of a cautionary tale for myself when it comes to writing (near-)original content; there’s a lot I look back on and cringe. I still love the characters, though – well, the important ones – and I think just stepping away from the tried-and-true Mizar formula nets it a star sticker here.
Do you respond to comments, why or why not?
>w>; I try, but a lot of the time I just don’t have anything to say? Like, oh, you liked it? Neat. There’s not much to respond to in comments like that, and then I’m weighing falling down on an ~obligation~ to respond to every message in my inbox vs annoying people with copy-paste fluff responses all down the page. Plus I know I make more of an effort to comment on things that didn’t get the attention I feel they deserve, so if I’m driving up my own comment count with nonsense, am I preventing myself from being in a position to receive more comments later? And then if I do comment, am I being too effusive or running people’s ears off explaining things they don’t actually need to know? Sometimes people just want to express interest or admiration and don’t necessarily want a whole peek and guided tour behind the curtain.
Can you tell I have anxiety? x3;
Anyway, I do respond when I can. And I keep most of the comments I’ve gotten to go back and reread. 
What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?
Hm, hmm. Lots of stuff in the TQ Nonsense series would probably qualify! I’m thinking of Unfixable, Wolfsong, and Ethanol. And there’s Bursting Through A Blood-Red Sky (I Can Live, I Can Breathe), of course, but that was always intended to have a fix-it epilogue. It’s just that I wrote it in a couple of hours day-of, stared at it, and decided I didn’t wanna just then. But now that’s As Long As You’re Still Burning Bright (I’m Still Awake), and that’s probably the best romance I’ve written, so that one worked out.
Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve ever written?
Now and then! When the urge strikes. Uhhh, I’ve got a series of Doctor Who x Undertale crossovers I actually made a whole dang verse for that never made it to print. Get a couple great comments on that every few months or so. I think the World Trigger x Undertale crossover is probably weirder, though, by virtue of WT being a very small fandom. My enthusiasm kinda sputtered out on that one.
Mostly I just daydream crossovers with whatever happens to catch my eye at any given moment. I have a lot!!!! Though odds are out on whether I manage to remember any of them once the initial thought’s passed, lol.
Have you ever received hate on a fic?
Gotten a couple eyebrow-raising comments, but I think mostly I’m just too small a writer to draw that kind of attention.
Have you ever had a fic stolen?
I don’t? think so? Think my tastes are a little niche for most people to bother ^^;
Have you ever had a fic translated?
I had someone apologize once for any language mistakes in their comment cause they had to run it through a translator! That’s not what you asked (the answer is no), but it’s very flattering to think that someone liked my fic enough to read and comment despite the language barrier.
Have you ever co-written a fic before?
Yes! :D @pidgeonpostal was gracious enough to agree to co-write Five Nights at Denny’s with me off an idea about shoes. This has fulfilled a long-held dream of mine (collabing with someone, not the shoes) and also introduced me to some lovely people.
What’s your all time favorite ship?
Who has time for just one? ;3c Honestly, I care more about the characters and how the relationship – any relationship – between them changes them than I do about ~A Ship~ as a solid, bounded noun-object. I’ve got characters I like more and less and feelings about who does and doesn’t have chemistry in which directions with whom, but finding anything that agrees with those preferences is hard, harder when you take alloromanticism into account. I’ll play in any sandbox with cool toys, especially if other folks have already built sick sandcastles there.
What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?
[kicks every single unfinished fic further under the bed] What nooo no WIPs here, everything on my account is either finished or does not exist
I’ve got a couple extra chapters of Sweeter Than floating around unposted, but 1. that fic’s a mess 2. high school Twixt and post-college Twixt are different people and trying to contort myself into three other me-shapes just cause people Like this fic is not something I’m super interested in 3. it’s headed for an emotional dip and I’d rather leave it where it is than post two chapters, stall out again, and leave folks with a bad end.
As for other fics... it’s looking more and more likely that v7 of my Yellow Brick Road AU will never actually make it out. >w>; I’ve got some really great ideas, but not enough to make me feel like I know what I’m doing, and that’s a big roadblock. Plus trying to engage with RT’s Atlas-Mantle worldbuilding in any serious capacity is... a headache. I can’t recommend the Happy Huntress Cinematic Universe enough, but it leaves some pretty big shoes to follow! And I’ve got small feet. <w<;
What are your writing strengths?
Dialogue’s fun, probably as an extension of characterization. I love tearing into what makes people tick, especially against the backdrop of their environment, the story they’re in, and the people they’re up against. Voice is a double-edged sword; I’ve been told my writing is really recognizable and individual, but on the other hand, I’ve been growing frustrated with with the limits of my narrative ability. There’s a strong rhythm I keep when I write (you might notice it here, even) but that leaves me feeling predictable and stale. I’m not sure I’m great at setting as a matter of course, but I’m pretty good at describing setpieces where the need comes up; that comes from my background in poetry, as does the fun I have with sublimating and abstracting complex imagery. And I think I bring some needed nuance to the universal. For good or ill, I don’t do what “everyone else” is doing.
What are your writing weaknesses?
Well, writing, for one thing. If I don’t know how something’s going to go and don’t have the urge to write it, it isn’t getting done, which means there’s a billion things that will never see the page and a few hundred more that are never getting finished. I lose momentum easily and have a hard time getting started, and I put way too much standing on finding a foothold with other people; as critical as I am of my work, I have high expectations for the stuff that passes muster, and it never seems to measure up. I’m also really uncreative. Yeah, I can mix up elements and extrapolate events, but coming up with things wholesale is really hard, which is why I avoid it wherever possible and steal/reskin stuff from other places instead.
What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?
Something along the lines of “Hoo boy, I am Not qualified for this but hopefully it’s decent anyway.” Maria’s Spanish lines haven’t been a big deal – I’ve used it sparingly and, as a Latin language, it should be easy for English-speaking audiences to pick up on the gist – but I’ve had a harder time with Tai’s Chinese, both because I have Even Less background there and because it is, of course, an entirely different language system. If I write it out in English or Romanized italics, am I colonizing it or changing the meaning? If I write it out in the presumed-original characters (presumed because it’s Google Translate and who knows if I’m even barking in the right forest), am I confusing or alienating my presumed-majority-English-speaking audience? Where should I put the translations? Should I put the translations? And for Frisk’s sign language, thinking back, are the brackets I used instead of quotes alienating/infantilizing? I like that different characters give the text between a different feel, but I’m not an ASL speaker – and I’m pretty sure the word is “speaker,” which would only reinforce that that demographic would rather I didn’t do that. It’s important for all these characters, I think, that they use non-English language where it makes sense; it’s part of who they are. But as a white monolingual English-speaker, I don’t think I can really weigh in.
What was the first fandom you ever wrote for?
Thaaaat’d be Pokémon, followed closely with Sonic the Hedgehog. Whether those fics are still on my ff.net account or not (pretty sure I’ve purged them, but you never know) I’ve still got a couple saved to a folder on my current laptop, ostensibly so I can look back and see how far I’ve come and more practically to allow for the possibility of furthering group cohesion through public shaming.
What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?
I still like the idea behind The Man Who Is Atlas, and Burning Bright (Still Awake) gets props for being my current fic, though it’s currently in that spot where I’m excited to get new chapters posted but also quietly marking everything up in red pen. I think Harbinger gets the crown here, at least for now.
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calumance · 4 years
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omg maybe could you write aiden be a protective big bro to logan and his sister as they get older? idk what the age gaps are but if they’re in high school together or aidens picking them up from middle school while cal and reader pick up the youngest from preschool and aiden sees logan getting picked on kinda like how was kinda picked on in preschool and aiden comes to the rescue and doesn’t tell the parents until they find out from logan and it’s so fluff 😭😭😭😭😭
Oh my gosh I got so excited to write this in Aiden’s perspective. I got so excited to establish Aiden’s personality as an adult. Oh goodness, I hope you enjoy this as much as I do!! 🥰🥰🥰❤️❤️❤️
        The final bell rang and Aiden closed his notebook before sliding it into his backpack. Today was the day they got out of school early, which meant it was the day he had to pick up his younger siblings. It was the agreement he had with his parents after he got his license and bought a car with the money he had saved up from birthdays and the part time job he works on the weekends. As Aiden walked out of the school, he checked his phone to see if either one of his parents had texted him. There was one from his dad, “Hey, I’m stuck in the studio late tonight, will you help your mom get dinner on the table and help get your siblings to bed on time? Thanks, son, love you.” Aiden sighed and dropped his phone back into his pocket as he grabbed his car keys out of the other pocket.
        When he got to Bailey’s school, he parked and made his way inside. Calum always taught him to go inside when picking up his siblings from school so they would see him right away, it lowered the chance of them getting lost or taken. When Aiden was younger, he thought it was silly, but as he got older and saw the news, he knew that it was completely rational. Bailey was ten years younger than him, which made people always look at him as if he were way too young to have a child. Which, he was, but he wasn’t too young to love his baby sister unconditionally. Aiden shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at the door to the classroom, ignoring all of the questioning looks from the parents around him.
        The school bell rang and he stood up straight, craning his neck looking for his sister. Bailey came running out, her backpack bouncing against her back. Aiden smiled as he opened his arms and allowed Bailey to crash into his chest. “Denny!” Bailey exclaimed as Aiden wrapped his arms around her. As close as Aiden and Logan were, Aiden was always going to have a soft spot for his little sister. Aiden let go of her and gripped her hand. Bailey walked next to him, a bit more of a pep in her step. “My favorite days are Thursdays because that’s the day you pick me up from school.” Bailey said quite openly.
        Aiden’s eyebrows stitched together as he looked down at her. “What about the days that mom and dad pick you up, don’t you like those days too?” Calum picks Bailey up on Monday’s and Wednesday’s, their mom picks her up on Tuesday’s and together they pick her up on Fridays. It was a schedule they kept to religiously, and have since Aiden was old enough to drive.
        Bailey shrugged and looked up at Aiden, “I mean, I guess I like Friday’s, too, because that’s when mommy and daddy pick me up, but I like Thursday’s because you always take me for ice cream.” Bailey’s eyes grew wide and she pulled on Aiden’s hand to stop him from walking, “Are we still getting ice cream?”
        Aiden laughed and ran his free hand down the back of Bailey’s hair, “Of course we are, it wouldn’t be Thursday if we didn’t.” Bailey smiled from ear to ear before squeezing Aiden’s hand and pulling him towards the car.
        When they got to Logan’s school, they both hopped out of the car and finished their ice cream. Aiden walked the few steps away from the car and tossed everything in the trash can. Together, they leaned against the car and waited for the last bell to ring. When the bell finally rang, it took a few minutes for kids to start pouring out of the doorway. Aiden kept his eyes on all of the kids until he finally saw Logan. Logan’s hands were gipping the straps of his backpack so tightly that his knuckles were white. His face showed absolute irritation, and that’s when Aiden noticed the group of kids around him getting in his face and laughing and pushing him. “Bay, get in the car.” Aiden helped Bailey into the back seat and then shut the door.
        Aiden’s blood was boiling. No one was allowed to pick on his little brother, except for him, of course. Aiden was ready to kick some twelve year old ass, but by the time he turned around, the group of kids had parted and Logan was only a few steps away from the car. Aiden crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Logan. Logan rolled his eyes and dropped his arms to his side, “You look just like dad when you do that.”
        “What to tell me what that was all about?” Aiden could feel the anger boiling over the side. Aiden was eighteen now, he could confront those kids as an adult and probably get them off Logan’s back. Logan shook his head and walked around the front of Aiden’s car to get into the passenger seat.
        The radio was loud enough that Bailey was singing in the back seat, but quiet enough that Logan and Aiden could talk to each other. “Don’t tell mom and dad,” Logan said still looking out the window. “They’ll freak out and I just want to get through middle school without being teased anymore.” Logan looked away from the window and down at his hands.
        Aiden glanced over at Logan and raised an eyebrow. “So, you are being teased. What are they teasing you about? I swear to god, Logan, I will kick some kids ass, no one picks on my little brother besides me.” Aiden readjusted his grip on the steering wheel, realizing he had some sort of angry death grip on the thing.
        Logan smirked, never realizing how much his big brother cared for him. “They tease me about the fact that I get good grades.” Hearing that, Aiden wanted to slam his foot down on the break and turn around to set some shit straight. Who the fuck cares if a kid gets good grades, why is that such a bad thing? Just as Aiden was about to start screaming, they turned down the street that lead to the house. Instead, Aiden agreed to keep it to himself.
        Following his dad’s instructions, he helped his mom get dinner on the table, and then helped get Logan and Bailey get to bed. By the time he was done getting his siblings to sleep, his mom was out cold in her bed. Aiden pulled the comforter up and over her shoulders and then kissed the side of her head. It was something that Aiden had watched Calum do almost every single night for the past eighteen years. Aiden sat at the table and pulled his homework out and continued to work on it from where he left off after dinner.
        Soon, the front door opened and Calum walked through. Aiden stood up and met his dad at the door. Calum smiled at him and threw his car keys into the bowl by the door, “Hey, how was your day?” He asked shoving his hands into his pockets.
        Aiden nodded, “It was good, everyone is asleep. Dad, can we talk about something?” Aiden rocked back and forth on his feet, shoving his hands into his pockets. Calum pulled his eyebrows together in confusion and concern and nodded towards Aiden. They walked into the living room and sat next to each other on the couch. Aiden clasped his hands together and bounced his leg nervously. “When I was picking Logan up from school, I saw that he was getting picked on. My blood just absolutely boiled, I was ready to kick some ass,” He paused feeling his hands starting to tremble. “He told me he’s getting picked on because he gets good grades. Who the,” Aiden looked up at Calum who raised his eyebrows, “Heck picks on someone for being good at school?” Aiden paused and looked at his hands again. “I promised him I wouldn’t tell you, but I just don’t know how to go about it without knocking some twelve year old butts on the ground.”
        Calum laughed and threw an arm around Aiden’s shoulder. “You handle it by being an older brother. You walk up to them, and tell them how it is. Puff your chest up a bit and tell them that maybe if they spent less time picking on kids who are good at school, then maybe they’d be good at school too.” Aiden laughed and nodded, lowering his head again. Calum looked at his son and smiled. “You’re a good kid, Aiden, and an even better older brother. Those two are lucky to have you, and so are me and your mom.”
        Aiden smiled and looked at his dad, “Thank you, I’m going to go to bed.” Calum ruffled Aiden’s hair and watched as Aiden walked down the hall to his bedroom. Calum really was lucky to have Aiden as his kid.
************
Tag list: @mantlereid @notinthesameguey @viiirg0 @wheniminouterspace @thinkofmehlgh @another-lonely-heart @limer-encia @itsmytimetoodream @babyoria @treatallwithkindness 
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derryjay · 3 years
Text
Double experience
It wasn't my first time meeting women while tending my garden, but it was my first time with two.
Becky and Susan were two curious teens that would often stop to talk about gardening in general. Both young ladies were seniors in high school and were both involved in the FFA in school. The pair would stop by my yard regularly to view my vegetable plants and see how they were progressing. They always told me the latest info on the newest diseases working their way around as well as possible cures.
Both of the leggy teens seemed timid at first but friendly. Being somewhat tall for women, they were probably ostracized by their peers due to their height. However, both girls were cute in their way. Becky was a freckled face redhead while Susan was, I assumed, a true blonde. Her alabaster skin and pale blue eyes made me feel that way. She looked almost like an albino.
Over time it seemed that their sociability with me didn't transfer to others their own age. An example of that was when they were visiting the garden one day, another teenager passed by, and they completely ignored his attempted contact. Finally, after several visits, they let me in on the fact that most of the kids in school thought they were 'weirdo lesbians,' as they put it. Since they opened that door, I offered, "You do know that there is nothing wrong with that, don't you?"
"Yeah," they mumbled in stereo before making up excuses to finish some homework and headed home. I finished my weeding for the day and went inside, hoping that I hadn't offended them.  
It was about four days later that they once again appeared as I was tending to my vegetables. The girls seemed even friendlier than usual and not at all bothered by my comment from before. It wasn't until they entered the garden and began helping me that I noticed their scant attire. Both were wearing tank tops, leaving their midsections exposed, as well as short-shorts that barely covered their pert little buttocks.
These two were not your slutty dressing type of teenagers, and I was a bit surprised until Becky spoke. "First off, we wanted to apologize for our behavior on our previous visit. We reacted to your comment as if you were teasing us as the kids do, but then after talking it over, we realized that you weren't."
Susan added, a bit quieter, "We have played a little together and do enjoy it, but we'd really like to try a guy together. We've heard our mothers talk about you over the last couple of years and were intrigued. That is why we initially started to talk to you, but after seeing your love for plants, we kinda left that idea behind."
"However, since we are both going away to college in a month, we would love for you to teach us about man-on-woman sex," Becky blurted out.
'What my little horn-dog friend is saying is would you be interested in teaching a couple of know-nothing eighteen-year-olds about copulating with the opposite sex? We know that you have helped more than a few women out with their sexual frustrations, whatever they may be. But, we also know that we're young and not all that attractive..."
"Wait," I stepped in. "You two are very attractive, but it's not about that or you being legal so much as whether I think you can handle the emotional aspect of sexual intercourse. Even the smartest of us has mistaken sex for love and ruined their life over it. Why do you think I'm still single?" We all had a good laugh at my last comment before I added, "I want you ladies to think about this for a few days while I do the same, then we'll reconvene here Saturday morning. Does that sound fair?"
They both nodded their heads affirmatively before we went back to tending the garden as they thought things over. Then, with the weeds pulled and the veggies harvested, I handed them their take for helping, as usual, and they left for the evening. Becky turned back and smiled before saying, "We'll see you Saturday, about ten a.m.?"
"That's perfect!" I replied while watching those long legs disappear up the street. I, too, thought about the ramifications of having sex with a couple of teenage girls and the possible emotional baggage that it would bring. Even with them being of legal age, I was concerned that I'd have to tape the sessions to protect myself if there was blowback. But, of course, I would get their consent and, it would be nice for a later review. I mean, who would ever believe that I had two pretty teenage girls at the same time.
At thirty-five, I was twice their age, which wouldn't look good if things went awry. This would be a tough decision, but not one for tonight.
I took care of myself that night to ease myself into sleep. There was something to be said for a good orgasm to bring on a deep and restful sleep. The following morning, I thought through things with a clearer head. I decided that the taping was a bad idea even with their consent. If I were going to do this, I would have to trust them, and they trust me.
The week went by, and I found myself awake at six a.m. Saturday morning with some serious wood. Rather than pleasure myself, I headed for some coffee while slipping on some loose shorts sans underwear. With my coffee in hand, I headed for the greenhouse to do a little housekeeping. After planting season, it became a bit of a junkyard, and it was time to do some cleanup.  
Raising plants from seed and then cleaning up the mess took a lot of time and effort but kept the stress monster off of my back. There was just something so relaxing and revitalizing about the whole process. Of course, the weed pulling was the best for stress reduction. Yanking those stubborn and annoying suckers from the ground released the pressures of the workday in waves.
I'd finished throwing away the cracking and busted pots along with the assorted trash. After sweeping up, I headed to get some hot soapy water for scrubbing the dirty pots. There was quite a stack, and I knew that it would take a couple of hours. I heard some voices as I emerged from the basement with a five-gallon bucket of hot water laden with soap and a touch of bleach.
It was only seven-thirty, so I assumed that it was a couple of walkers passing by. Then, coming from the backyard, I noticed someone in the greenhouse through the frosted panels. "Hello there," I offered as I neared the sliding doors.
"Oh, hi Dennis!" I heard in cheerful stereo from my two teenage helpers.
"What are you two doing up and out so early on a Saturday?" I questioned as my eyes roamed their skimpy clothing.
"Well, we thought things over and talked about it all like you suggested," Susan replied.
"And?" I inquired.
"We understand why you wanted us to think about things. You're worried that you'll be accused of taking advantage of us or worse. So, we figured that we should tape our experience using all three of our phones. That way, we all have a copy and can add our oral consent at the beginning," Becky added.
"You're correct about part of it, but the other part is that you two are entrusting me with your first time, and that is a monumental obligation from my perspective. It's not that I haven't taken another's virginity before. But, still, at the time, I was of similar age to the one I deflowered. Plus, I thought I was in love."
"We did consider that too, but I honestly don't think that will be a problem since we'll be leaving the area in a month," Susan stated.
"Although, we may want to do it over and over until then if it's really good," Becky added with a sly little smile before asking. "So, when can we start?"
"Well, I was going to wash some pots, but I think spending time with the two of you in bed sounds much more exciting. So why don't we head inside now?"
Becky sprinted toward the back door with Susan and I following close behind. Once inside, she headed up the stairs and found my bedroom. Once inside, we all paused as they took in the furnishings. The king-sized bed drew Susan's attention immediately, and she slithered across it before rolling back and forth.
Becky was still looking around when Susan implored, "Come kiss me Becky, and lick my titties," as she slipped her tank-top over her head. "You too, Dennis," she added while kicking off her flip-flops. I guess it's true what they say about the quiet ones. As Becky and I each took a pert little nipple in our mouths, Susan pushed off her short skirt and panties. Then, with her entire lithe form exposed, Susan put a hand on each of our heads, holding us tightly to her a-cup breasts.
I moved a hand down her torso, lightly drawing circles on the taut abdomen. Goose-bumps rose as I crossed the top of her pelvic mound and tickled her sparse blonde hair. Smiling to myself about her true-blonde status, I continued down her thigh. The bumps followed my fingers as they continued tracing across her inner thigh. Finally, I softly pulled her leg outward to open her flower for full display when I reached her knee.  
Becky followed my lead, but not so leisurely. As I moved my fingers delicately back up Susan's thigh, Becky was in quick pursuit and reached Susan's lips before me. As Becky's fingers traced Susan's outer labia, Susan cooed faintly. When my fingers reached Susan's sex, I too began to stimulate her outer regions.
With my digits on autopilot, I turned to face Becky. We'd been in close proximity for a few minutes now but hadn't really acknowledged each other. Then, as if sensing my stare, Becky looked at me, and we quickly moved together for a kiss as our fingers tangled at Susan's damp opening. The kiss moved from tentative to full-on face sucking rather quickly.
We simultaneously began to increase our provocation of Susan's splayed puss. My finger went for her little nub while Becky's slipped inside. Susan's cooing turned to loud sighs as she lifted her ass off the bed to spur us on. I moved up Susan's chest with Becky's lips in tow, and we licked and nibbled her neck while heading to share her mouth. With the three-way kissing in full bloom, Susan's legs began to shudder as she neared her first climax. She growled into our mouths before going rigid. As her crest passed its peak, Susan dropped to the bed and panted.  
Upon catching her breath, Susan stammered, "Oh my God. That was one of the best orgasms that I've ever had."
She kissed us both ardently as we continued to play with her leaking box. Pulling my face away, I asked, "So, what have you two done together so far?"
No longer shy now that my finger was circling her stiff clit, Susan answered, "Just what we're doing right now."
"So neither of you has gone down on the other?" I inquired.
"I tried to do it to Susan, but she was too embarrassed to let me," Becky almost whispered.
"There's no need to be shy now, Becky. You have two of your fingers buried in your best friend's pussy, and it's making her feel fantastic. Isn't it, Susan?" I asked.
"Fuck, yes!" Susan yelled between gasps for air.
"Why don't we head down to her leaking puss together and get a little taste of Susan?" I suggested.
"That sounds yummy," Becky replied as we did just that.
Kissing our way down her neck and chest, Becky and I both paused to enjoy Susan's firm nipples for a minute or two. Susan was relishing our mutual attention as she panted and moaned emphatically. Then, with them both pink and stiff, we moved down her belly while kissing and nibbling. Susan's cries softened but never stopped as we neared her drooling slit.
Becky let me take the lead as we were centimeters from Susan's sex. I paused and blew gently as Becky removed her fingers. A vibrant, "Mmmmmm," escaped Susan's lips as goosebumps rose across her pelvic flesh. I did it a few more times as I drew closer. Finally, the last breath was into her small gape left from Becky's intruding digits.
The first touch of my tongue came at the base of Susan's vaginal opening. She jumped a little as I moved up her inner labia.
"Oh, it's so warm and gentle. I could get used to... oh, fuck!" Susan shrieked as I flattened my tongue and swiped across her entire puss. Her pelvis jumped up, and her thighs attempted to squeeze shut. With the next pass, I pushed my tongue in just a little before another full swipe. Susan seemed to be enjoying her first pussy licking. Her nectar was sweet, and while I was enjoying myself thoroughly, I knew that it was time to share.
As I pulled back, Becky moved in hesitantly. I whispered in her ear, "Just enjoy her and pay attention to her sounds and movements. You'll quickly figure out what she likes best." After a few tentative licks, Becky began to devour Susan like an animal. Locking her arms around both of Susan's thighs, Becky went at her like she was starving. Susan's hands gripped Becky's hair and pulled her in even tighter as they did their dance.
I sat up and watched their entanglement and noticed how Becky began to grind her crotch into my bedspread. She was still dressed in her skirt, tank-top, and sneakers, so I moved behind her to remove them. The sneakers slipped off easily but gave away my intentions.
"Yes, please!" Becky garbled as her face barely left Susan's puss long enough to speak.
I let my hands move up her legs ever so subtly toward her inner thighs as Becky eagerly spread them. Once I reached the top of her thighs, I tickled her puss through her white cotton panties. She squirmed like a worm in your hand as I licked and nibbled my way up her legs. Upon reaching the bottom of her panties, I pressed my face into her crotch and buttocks. I let my nose dig in between her firm little cheeks as my tongue lapped at her soaked and covered crotch.
I could still hear Susan's cries of excitement even though my ears were well covered by Becky's clamping legs. Having gotten a good sample of Becky's flavor, I decided it was time to dig in and removed her skirt and undies in one quick pull. Once they were on the floor, I grabbed her feet to suck on her toes. Becky seemed very ticklish at first, but the more I licked, the more excited she seemed to get. She quickly neared climax as I began scraping them lightly with my teeth.
Becky began flopping on the bed as her orgasm seized her young body. The howls and screeches she released echoed throughout my house. As her movement eased, I slid up quickly, opening her thighs along the way. Then, nearing her buttocks, I grasped both cheeks and spread them wide. My tongue swiped upward from her quivering puss across her taint and ending at her little pink pucker.
Again the echoes filled the room as both girls were in a state of bliss. Then, wanting to give Becky a little more, I slipped first one, then two fingers into her slippery snatch. As I fingered her willing hole, my tongue flicked at her little star, intent on prying it open. Becky squeezed my head sternly as my tongue began to penetrate her anal ring. Her constrictions only made me press harder into her while adding a third finger to her loosening cunt.
Her climax hit her hard, and I held on tight as she squirmed about, causing Susan to have another also. Then, with them both a bit exhausted, I removed my face from Becky's back door and slid up the bed alongside Susan. We kissed tenderly for a while as Becky continued to pleasure her puss gingerly.
Pulling her head away momentarily, Susan asked, "So, what did you do to her, but just as important, when do we get to the actual fucking?"
"Do you dislike having Becky's tongue between your legs?" I responded in question.
"Not at all. In fact, I wish that I'd allowed her to do that when she first tried. But, I would so like to feel your hard cock filling me up over and over again."
"Well, why don't you try giving Becky a little oral, and if you can make her cum then I'll fuck you first. How's that sound?" I queried.
Whispering, Susan asked, "But what if I don't like it?"
"Well, you won't know until you try, but I'm pretty sure that you'll love it as much as she does. So, why don't you two switch positions, and I'll help you get started."
Susan's hands went to Becky's head and raised it from her sodden crotch. "Come on up here, Baby. I want to kiss you before I taste your pussy."
Becky moved up quickly as I backed away to watch two people who were obviously in love entwine. The kiss was soft and loving, and it was as if I wasn't even there. Becky slipped a thigh between Susan's as they mashed their pelvises against each other. Nothing was urgent in their lovemaking while they were face to face. Instead, it was gentle, slow, and all-encompassing.
I sat back and watched for a few minutes, just letting them do their thing. I figured that it was probably difficult for them to get together and be so placid in their lovemaking, given that they both still lived at home and had siblings to contend with. Then, at one point, they both turned to me, and Susan ordered, "Hey you! You've got a couple of hot young women playing naked in your bed. You need to be naked too."
"Yes, Ma'am," I replied like a smartass while standing and doing a slow strip for my sexy audience. I teased them by removing my t-shirt rather slowly. However, when it came to my shorts, I whipped them down quickly, exposing my pulsing hard-on to my two lovely's. Susan reached out first, but I swatted her hand away. "I believe you have something else just as enticing to attend to first."
As soon as I said that, Susan rolled Becky onto her back, pinned her hands down, and began to nibble on her small breasts. Moving from one to the other, she managed, "Join me," with a quick stare at my cock.
I moved in and took over one tit while Susan lavished the other with her mouth. It seemed from watching Susan's work that Becky liked it rough, so I, too, brought my teeth to the game. Once I got going, Susan breathed, "You take over here." I watched as she quickly moved down Becky's torso and covered her pussy with her open mouth. Up until now, Becky's eyes had been mostly closed. But when she felt a mouth on her crotch, she opened them to see Susan worshipping her vagina, and she sighed.
As Susan's tongue swirled in Becky's leaking puss, she pulled away for a second, saying, "Okay, you both were right. She is delicious!" before diving back in. I swapped back and forth between Becky's rigid nipples as her legs slowly encompassed Susan's head and back. Finally, Becky's entire body began to shiver, and her ankles crossed behind Susan's head, pressing her even harder into her open cunt.  
As she ground onto Susan's face, Becky mumbled, "Bite it... bite my clit... gaaahhhddd!"  
Her grunt/howl exploded from her like the orgasm that wrenched her body into a twisted display. Becky's pelvis turned to her left while her torso heaved to the right. Her hands grabbed my head and jerked my face to hers while her thighs consumed Susan's head. I was briefly concerned with Susan's ability to breathe before my own breath was compromised as well.
Becky's lip-lock was compelling, to say the least, as our tongues danced and twirled inside each other's mouths. With our mouths entwined, my engorged penis was resting on her hip. The pre-cum oozing from its tip coated it as our kissing intensified. My fingers continued to work her nipples as her peak seemed endless. I didn't know what Susan was doing down there, but it was working.
After another hip-bucking surge, Becky pulled her lips from mine and begged, "No more! Both of you stop. Please."
Becky spread her legs to release Susan's head as I released her nipples. Becky panted furiously while Susan again took notice of my raging hardon. Susan's mouth moved eagerly from Becky's crimson puss to my plum pecker. She lapped at the tip, and when she'd taken in all the semen on my pole, she started licking it off of Becky's hip. When that was gone, Susan pushed me onto my back and moved between my legs. Then, up on all fours, Susan took me into her mouth to lick and suck.
A few minutes into Susan's first blowjob, Becky had calmed a little and moved onto her side, facing me. Initially, she just watched as I did. But as the spectacle of her girlfriend sucking me ensued, her own excitement increased. Rolling her chest onto mine, Becky began sucking my face again while tweaking my nipples. I was starting to feel really good but didn't want to waste my load on just one of them. So, I suggested to Becky, "Why don't you join Susan, and I'll show you what a male orgasm looks like up close?"
Once they worked in tandem, I pointed out the more sensitive areas to lick, including my scrotum. With a few pointers here and there, the girls were on their way to having their faces coated in warm cum. "Alright, my little blowjob pros, you are about to see a male orgasm up close and personal. Here it comes... Yesss!"
The first ejaculation hit Susan in the back of her mouth. Pulling back quickly, the second shot went into the air before landing on my chest. I watched Becky move up and take me in her mouth for the third and fourth spurts. Then, as she backed off a little, the two of them shared the last dribbles by licking either side of my shaft as I continued to shake.
I only softened a little in the aftermath due to their constant sucking and lapping of my penis. However, by the time they were done cleaning and sucking, I was at full mast again.  
"Okay, ladies, are you ready for more?"
Becky burst out with, "Are you ready to fuck us now?"
"Only if you are ready."
"Who goes first?" Susan inquired.
"It doesn't matter to me. In fact, if neither of you is ready, then we can wait for another day."
"Oh, hell no!" Becky yelled. "We both came here to learn about sexual intercourse from you. I'd love to go first unless Susan really wants to."
"While you two decide, I'm going to grab some condoms."
"Why are you getting condoms? We are both on the pill in preparation for playing at college." Susan asked.
"It's good to hear that you lovely ladies took the initiative to protect yourselves from pregnancy. But, as you know, there are many sexually transmitted diseases out there that cause a lot of problems."
"Do you have any of them" Becky inquired.
"No, but you should have some experience with the use of condoms and should always insist on them being used whenever you're with someone new. If you want to do this again at a later date, then we'll talk about me going bareback. But, just remember that no form of birth control is one hundred percent effective."
"We know all of that, and we knew that you would remind us of that too. So why do you think we came to you in the first place?" Susan countered.
"Because I'm a hot middle-aged guy?" I joked.
"Yes, that too. But also because you treat women very well by all that we've heard and experienced so far," Becky answered with a sly little grin.
While I headed to the bathroom to grab a couple of condoms, I heard the whispers flying back and forth between my young paramours. In order to give them another minute to work out their decision, I pretended to have misplaced the willy wrappers. When at last all was quiet, I headed back in to gaze upon my two naked beauties. "So, who goes first," I queried.
Susan started, "Since we both want to go first, we decided on a contest." Becky continued, "We are going to get into a sixty-nine, and whoever cums first loses. What do you think?"
"I think that's a win, win, win. You two get to pleasure each other, and I get to watch it all."
As they settled into a side-by-side, I sat on the bedside to enjoy their mutual indulgence. My initial view was of Susan's head between Becky's legs. Her tongue glided from Becky's clit to her pucker and back again. After only thirty seconds or so, I saw Susan's eyes turn to slits and her head shiver as she stopped. Then, moving around the bed to Becky's face in Susan's crotch, I noticed Becky was fingering Susan's ass rather aggressively. I had a feeling that Becky was going to be the winner very soon.
As I was moving back around to see the look on Susan's face, I saw that she was near climax. Then out of nowhere, Becky suddenly screamed into Susan's crotch. Sly little Susan began gnawing on her Becky's clit like a piece of chewing gum. Becky convulsed wildly, and her scream continued while she soaked Susan's face.
As they parted in the afterglow of Susan's win, I offered Becky this thought, "You may have lost this round. But because of coming here today, you got your girlfriend to eat your pussy for the first time. And, she's made you cum at least twice from doing that. So, I ask you, are there any real losers today?"
"Not in the least. Feeling her tongue and teeth in and on my pussy was the best. I'll enjoy watching you take her virginity as I relish the thought of her mouth on my sex," Becky replied.
Susan moved her face to Becky's and kissed her hard before offering this, "From now on, I'll lick you whenever you ask. I love the taste of you, Becks!"  
Moving onto her back, Susan gleefully said, "Fuck me, Dennis!"
To be continued...
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elisela · 4 years
Note
I really loved “the love song of edmundo diaz”. Can you write Eddie’s funeral? It would be so beautiful coming from you.
dearly departed (we are gathered here today)
(Sorry, no one dies in this? You can also read it on AO3.)
The room is still dark when the vibration under his pillow jerks him awake; for a moment he thinks he’s back at the station, still on shift, but there’s no alarm blaring and his hip doesn’t have the dull ache it always does whenever he’s been in the bunks for awhile. Still—his phone ringing before dawn is never good, so he gropes under the pillow for it and peers blearily at the screen.
Eddie.
He’s already pushing himself out of bed by the time he answers; Eddie loves his sleep, there’s no way he’d be calling on a day off unless something was going on. He doesn’t bother with a greeting, just jabs the green answer button and starts with “S’alright, Eds?”
Christopher’s tearful voice stops him cold. “Bucky? Eddie’s dead.”
The words slam into his chest, send ice running through his veins and he looks around the room wildly for what he needs. Clothes—shit, why does he sleep naked, he’s a first responder, he ought to know better—there are sweatpants over the railing that he stumbles into and dead repeats in his head and he tells Chris just to hold on, he’ll be right there, just—
It hits him halfway down the stairs that behind Chris’ tears is someone laughing, someone that sounds suspiciously like his boyfriend, and that Chris had said Eddie, not Dad.
He’s talking about his fucking goldfish.
He sits down hard, takes a deep breath in. “Chris, baby,” he says, “I’m so sorry. I’ll be right there. Can you give your Dad the phone?”
Eddie’s laughter is right in his ear a moment later, and Buck scowls. “I’m sorry,” Eddie gasps out, “Buck—Chris; I’m sorry, it’s not funny, I know���” he doesn’t sound like he knows, Buck thinks darkly—”I’m such a bad parent, but—”
“You are a fucking asshole,” Buck says, without much heat, now that his heartbeat is returning to normal. “And not a great boyfriend, either.”
“Language,” Eddie says, which apparently sets him off again. “Chris doesn’t need to hear that.”
“Pretty sure Chris already knows that his Dad’s a dick,” Buck says. He stands back up, turns around and heads for the bathroom. “Tell him I’ll be over in half an hour and we can go out to breakfast. Plan the funeral.”
“Sounds good,” Eddie says. “I could really go for an omelet right now.”
“Make it yourself,” Buck snaps. “You’re not invited.”
“He was just floating there,” Chris says miserably, poking at the whipped cream on top of his hot chocolate. Not even the sprinkles had cheered him, which clued Buck into how deep his mourning was—Chris lived for sprinkles. “I couldn’t even save him.”
“It was just his time, buddy,” Buck says, wrapping his arm around Chris’ shoulder and pulling him close to drop a kiss on the top of his head. “But he knows you loved him.”
“Can we really give him a funeral? Dad said we had to flush him.”
“Of course we can,” Buck says. “Your Dad is an idiot.” Eddie was Chris’ first pet; of course he doesn’t just want him flushed down the toilet.
“Yeah, an idiot,” Chris says rebelliously, and Buck winks at him when he looks up questioningly, checking that he won’t get in trouble. “Do you think everyone will come? Like Denny and Harry?”
“Of course they will,” Buck says, cringing as he does. He’s going to have to make a few phone calls, trade a few favors, but he’s pretty sure he can pull it off. It’s not like it has to be big, just—
“Abuela says you need a priest,” Chris says. “And when my Mom died, it was in a big church and everyone went to Abuela’s the night before. She cooked a lot of food. Do you think she’ll cook for Eddie?”
Buck bites his tongue and smiles down at Chris. “I’m not sure, but we can definitely ask her.”
Their food comes and they dig in; over eggs benedict and waffles and a shared plate of hash browns they make plans, figure out who to invite, where to get a tiny coffin, and all the other small details. Chris’ only real concern is that Eddie won’t take it seriously, which Buck privately agrees with outwardly assures Chris that he has his Dad handled.
They’re just about ready to leave when the waitress checks on them a final time before bringing their bill, and when she asks if they need anything else, Buck smiles and says yes.
When they get back home, Chris makes a beeline for his Dad, take-out bag swinging off one arm. “We brought you breakfast,” he says, smiling up at Eddie, and Buck takes a minute to appreciate the look on Eddie’s face when he opens up the container.
“Thanks,” Eddie says, smiling. The second Chris’ back is turned, he shoots Buck a look. “You know how much I love egg-white omelets.”
“Buck says they’re healthy,” Chris says seriously, digging out another container. “And we got you fruit instead of toast!”
“Wow,” Eddie says dryly. “You shouldn’t have.”
“Oh, but we did.” Buck grins, sliding an arm around Eddie’s waist. He’d been too irritated to greet him properly earlier, but the look on Eddie’s face as he surveys the omelet he’s going to be guilted into eating is helping soothe the feeling. “Eat up, dear.”
It had taken the better part of Buck’s week to get a funeral together, but despite a healthy amount of teasing from everyone invited, they’re all standing around the Diaz backyard in nice clothing, listening to Chris talk about what a good life Eddie had led.
“You’re a good man,” Eddie whispers from his spot by Buck’s side, slipping an arm around Buck’s waist. “A bit of an overachiever, and definitely wrapped around Christopher’s finger, but a good man.”
“It was important to him,” Buck whispers back. Okay, so maybe it could have been just the three of them, but it’s not like it was a hardship to get a bundle of flowers from the farmer’s market and trade an afternoon of home repair for Abuela’s chicken en mole and elote. And Bobby had only laughed a little when Buck had sent him the website to get ordained (even Buck knew it was unreasonable to call a priest for a goldfish funeral, but Chris deserved something and that was as close as he could get)—but Maddie, his sweet sister, had simply smiled and promised to write the best eulogy possible for Eddie.
Eddie squeezes him closer and Buck reaches out a hand when Chris walks back up to them, pulling him in between them. Bobby’s back up front, reading the closing prayer, and Buck watches as Eddie wipes a tear from Christopher’s face, so tenderly that no one would be able to tell he thought this whole thing was ridiculous.
And the thing is—Buck knows it’s overkill. He knows that investing untold hours of work on a funeral for a goldfish was, at best, silly. He knows he could have comforted Chris and gone along with Eddie’s plan of ordering a pizza and everything would have been fine in the end, but—
Chris leans his face against their clasped hands and says, “I love you, Bucky,”, and it’s all worth it, every single bit.
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