#I HAVE MY FOOT IN AT LEAST THIRTY FANDOMS EVERY DAY | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hotshotsxyz · 3 years ago

Text

fill my head with you

@911christmasweek day 1: ugly sweaters, pyjamas, or fancy suits

buddie (1.4k) (read it on ao3)

I'm gifting every fic I post this week to one the wonderful people I've met in this fandom! day one is for @wrenchdiaz! happy holidays, and thank you for making the 911 fandom such a lovely place to be!

Evan Buckley hates Christmas Eve. Not Christmas - Christmas is his and Maddie’s. He loves Christmas. Christmas Eve, though, belongs to his parents, and they use it to parade him and Maddie around Pennsylvania��s richest and most irritating. At least this year Doug’s gone. It’s just him and Maddie again, and for that, he’s grateful.

As he surveys the room, Maddie sidles up next to him. She’s beautiful, dressed in a stunning green velvet dress and the sort of delicate gold jewelry that their mom never thinks is enough for this sort of party.

“You ready for this?” Maddie asks softly.

Buck frowns. Ready to be shown off, like he’s an object to display? Or ready to go back to being invisible when it’s all over. He pastes on his trademark, winning smile.

“Aren’t I always?”

Maddie’s eyes go a little sad. “I wish you wouldn’t do that,” she says.

Buck shakes his head. “I don’t know what you mean,” he says, voice deliberately neutral.

“Just… come find me when the party starts, okay?” Maddie says. “I’m going to go make sure catering has everything they need.”

Buck nods and watches her go, suppressing the sigh that threatens to escape his chest.

He’ll be fine. Christmas Eve just… isn’t his thing.

///

Not for the first time, Eddie wonders what the hell he’s doing here. He hands the keys to his truck to the valet, who looks vaguely disappointed not to be driving another Lamborghini.

Chimney lets out a whistle. “How the hell did Hen and Karen swing these tickets?” he wonders.

“And why the hell did they give them to us?” Eddie mutters.

Chim slaps his shoulder. “Lighten up, Diaz. You promised to have fun.”

Eddie did no such thing, but he keeps his mouth shut.

They step through the doors into the ballroom, and Eddie tries to keep his jaw from dropping. The party’s already in full swing, and the best word Eddie can think of to describe it is opulent. The chandeliers hanging from the thirty foot ceilings drip with crystals, outshone only by the sparkling Christmas tree in the center of the room.

“Wow,” Chimney says.

Eddie’s about to agree when he realizes that he’s not looking at the decor. Across the room is a beautiful brunette woman in a green dress, and Chimney’s clearly enamoured. Eddie smiles.

“Go talk to her,” he says, nudging him with his elbow.

Chimney frowns doubtfully at him. “Are you going to be okay on your own?”

Eddie shakes his head and laughs. “I’ll be fine. Go!”

Chim smiles brightly and hightails it across the room. And okay, sure, Eddie doesn’t actually want to be on his own at this fancy party, but Chimney deserves to meet someone. He’s spent more than enough time getting over Tatiana.

He waits long enough to watch the conversation begin to flow between Chimney and the mystery woman, then heads to the bar. He’s out of his depth, sure, but a bar’s a bar.

Eddie fiddles with his cufflinks as he waits for the bartender. They’re silver, and he rarely wears them, but for this occasion he figures they’re warranted. They were a gift from Shannon, the day Christopher was born, embossed with the image of the saint that shares his name.

It makes him want to be home, but he did promise Hen he’d at least stay an hour, and Christopher is asleep anyway, so he resolves to ignore the feeling as best as he can.

He finally catches the bartender’s attention and hesitates only a second before ordering their top shelf scotch, neat. Usually Eddie’s more of a beer kind of guy, but hell, if they’re serving Macallan 18 for free, he’s not going to turn it down.

“Good taste,” a man with a low gravelly voice says, stepping up next to Eddie at the bar.

Eddie casts an appraising glance in his direction and has to stop himself from doing a double take. The man beside him is stunning. He’s dressed in a maroon velvet coat that beautifully offsets the blue of his eyes.

“Good selection,” Eddie replies, tipping his glass towards the man.

He’s rewarded with a warm chuckle and a half smile that Eddie has a hard time tearing his gaze away from.

///

“He is so cute!” Maddie exclaims, tugging on Buck’s arm.

He follows her gaze, only to find himself looking at the most attractive man he’s ever seen. He has dark hair with even darker eyes that shine under the sparkling lights. He wears a sinfully tailored midnight blue jacket that Buck can just imagine pulling from his shoulders.

Cute isn’t the word he’d use. “Wow,” he says breathlessly.

“He’s coming over here!” Maddie says, slapping his shoulder excitedly.

Buck frowns. “He’s not-”

Maddie bites her lip and smiles softly. She’s not, Buck realizes, looking at the man he’d noticed, but rather at his similarly handsome companion who is, indeed, making his way through the crowd towards them.

“I love you, but go somewhere else, please,” Maddie says, not looking away from the man.

Buck chuckles good-naturedly. “Have fun,” he says, allowing himself to be pulled away in the currents of the crowd.

He notices, not much later, that the man in the blue jacket is now at the bar, alone. And, well, that simply won’t do.

///

The man is charming and attractive, and Eddie isn’t here to hook up, but he can’t help the way he’s drawn to the man like a planet orbiting a star.

He introduces himself as Buck, and before Eddie can return the favor launches into the cheesiest pick up line Eddie’s ever heard. It makes Eddie laugh, and when he does Buck’s expression erupts into a breathtaking smile.

It’s the kind of smile that Eddie thinks could be very dangerous.

He wants to kiss it off Buck’s face.

It gets worse though, because he’s not just funny, he’s kind and he’s smart, and when Eddie mentions Christopher he grins and tells him shyly that he loves kids.

So when Buck offers his hand and suggests that they dance, Eddie has no problem following him out of the ballroom. There’s more than one way to tango, and Eddie figures he’s had just enough liquid courage to try something new.

///

Buck pulls the handsome stranger into the hall behind the ballroom and slips his hands beneath that stunning blue jacket, just like he’s wanted to since the minute he saw it. Maybe, he thinks, sliding his fingers along the man’s waist, Christmas Eve isn’t so bad after all. He pulls the man flush against him, nosing at his jaw, and presses a kiss against his fluttering pulse point.

The man twines his fingers in Buck’s hair and tugs lightly, drawing a harsh gasp from Buck’s chest.

“You- you want to take this somewhere a little more private,” Buck pants.

“Yes,” the man says hungrily. Buck should really get his name at some point.

He pulls him farther into the manor, allowing his hands to roam as they go. Buck wants to touch this man everywhere. Thankfully, he seems amenable.

Buck sheds his jacket as they tumble into his bedroom, wrapping his fingers in the man’s lapels.

“Want this off,” Buck says, nipping at the bolt of the man’s jaw.

He shrugs his shoulders back, and the jacket hits the floor with a clink.

The man lifts his hand to cradle Buck’s jaw, impossibly gentle, and looks him in the eye.

“I’d like to kiss you now,” he says.

And well, who’s Buck to argue with that.

///

Eddie lips are a hairsbreadth from Buck’s when his phone rings. It’s on Do Not Disturb for everyone except Pepa, his abuela and his captain, none of whom would call him if it wasn’t an emergency.

“I’m sorry,” he says, stepping back and pulling the phone from his pocket. “Abuela?” he answers.

“Eddito, I’m sorry to call, but Christopher-”

“What happened? Is he okay?” Eddie cuts her off.

“He had a nightmare, and he’s asking for you.”

“I’m on my way, okay? I’ll be home in fifteen minutes.”

He hangs up the phone and turns back to Buck, who’s already holding out his jacket. “I really am sorry,” Eddie says regretfully. “But I have to go.”

Buck smiles sadly. “It’s okay,” he says. “Drive safe. I hope everything’s okay.”

///

The man practically flees the party, and it’s only when he’s gone that Buck realizes he has no name, no phone number, no way to find him again. That tracks, he thinks.

It’s stupid, to have gotten so invested, so fast. Buck doesn’t even know the man’s name. Something about him, though, felt different. Like maybe he and Buck were meant to find each other. Like fate, or the universe, maybe.

Obviously he was wrong, though, because the man is gone and Buck’s standing alone with no jacket and a rumpled tie.

He goes back to the party.

Yeah, Christmas Eve sucks.

///

Eddie dreams of blue eyes and strong hands and wakes on Christmas morning thinking of Buck. Buck and his cheesy pick up lines, Buck and his charming smile, Buck and that nervous way he ducks his head and looks up through his eyelashes, Buck.

It’s ridiculous. He doesn’t know the man. He doesn’t know where he’s from, what he does for a living - hell, he doesn’t even know his last name.

He finds himself wishing he knew more. To start, Buck’s phone number. Also, though, everything about him, from the way he takes his coffee to the make up of his dreams.

He pushes it all down, though, because it’s Christmas and he’s got a kid to make happy and a party to attend at Hen’s in the afternoon. He hears Christopher shuffling in the next room and smiles.

“Dad! It’s Christmas!”

///

Buck wakes with a massive hangover, and without a blanket. He shivers and reaches blindly for his comforter, but it must be on the floor because his bed is bare. Buck groans and pulls himself out of bed, cursing when he steps on something sharp.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, blearily blinking his eyes open.

His comforter is, inexplicably, on the other side of the room. On the ground is a small silver object, entirely unfamiliar. Buck picks it up and realizes it’s a cufflink, though not one of his. He frowns and places it on his bedside table, then gets out of bed and grabs his comforter off the floor.

Buck’s gaze falls to the cufflink again, and he wonders where it came from. He’s just about to crawl back in bed when it hits him.

His mystery man.

Buck has to find him.

He grabs the cufflink and stumbles into the hallway, practically running to Maddie’s room.

“You have to help me,” he says, barrelling through the door.

“Knock-knock, come in! Merry Christmas, Maddie. Merry Christmas to you, too, Buck,” Maddie says, grinning despite herself.

Buck rolls his eyes and smiles. “Merry Christmas, Maddie, you have to help me.”

Maddie pats the bed next to her, and Buck sits. “What’s wrong?” she asks.

“Not wrong, exactly,” Buck replies. He tells her about the man, leaving out a few of the more risque details, and shows her the cufflink. “I have to return it,” he says.

Maddie’s eyes sparkle. “Are you sure that’s all you want?”

Buck blushes. “He didn’t even tell me his name, Mads. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want to see me again. I still need to give it back, though. It’s my fault he lost it.”

Maddie smiles a little sadly and pats him on the knee. “Come on, I’ve got the guest list somewhere. We’ll find him.”

They’re lucky, in a way. The party was a charity event, so they’ve got addresses for everyone who’d purchased a ticket. They mark out every person they’re sure isn’t Buck’s mystery man, and it leaves them with a list of twenty-six families.

Buck scans the list. None of the last names scream his mystery man, but who knows. He could be a McKinney, or a Fitzpatrick.

“Go get dressed,” Maddie orders, pushing him out of her bed. “Let’s find your man.”

///

Eddie’s distracted, and he knows the others have noticed. He’s surrounded by his family, of both blood and choice, but his mind is a million miles away. Or, more accurately, about fifteen miles away, at a makeshift bar in an opulent ballroom.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Hen asks him, settling beside him on the couch.

Eddie watches Christopher, Denny and Harry as they play a game called- concerningly- Exploding Kittens on the floor. “I met someone last night,” he says softly.

“That’s a good thing, right?”

Eddie shakes his head. “Maybe? I don’t know. I haven’t really dated since Shannon, except for Ana, and we both know how that ended. Besides, I had to leave in a rush. I didn’t even get his number.”

“It’s a good thing,” Hen says decisively, patting him on the knee. “Even if it doesn’t go anywhere, you put yourself out there. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks,” Eddie sighs. “I just wish…”

“What?” Hen prompts.

“I wish I could see him again.”

“You got his name, right? Maybe we could contact the organizers and they could pass along a message.”

“Maybe,” Eddie says. He looks down. In the moment, everything with Buck had felt magical. Now, though… maybe it’s for the best. He’s not built for romance or relationships. If he doesn’t find Buck, he won’t taint the memory. The idea of never seeing him again, though - the ache of that surprises him, intense in a way that longing shouldn’t be after a single night with someone.

The doorbell rings and Hen stands. “Just think about it,” she says kindly.

A few seconds later, she opens the door and Eddie hears a familiar voice.

“-not going to be here, Maddie, it’s the last house. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Buck,” Eddie breathes, standing. He drifts towards the door without meaning to, pulled as if by a magnet.

“Hi,” a woman says. “My name’s Maddie, and this is my brother, Evan.”

“Buck,” Buck interjects.

“We’re looking for someone Buck met last night at our parents’ holiday gala? He lost a cufflink, and Buck wants to return it.”

Eddie’s brow furrows. He hadn’t even noticed the cufflink missing, but if Buck’s here… Eddie steps into the front hall.

Buck’s eyes find his immediately. His mouth drops open and his lips curl into a small smile. “Hi,” he says softly.

“Hi,” Eddie replies.

Distantly, Eddie notices Hen lead Maddie further inside, leaving him and Buck, nothing but the door’s threshold between them.

“Hi,” Buck says again.

Eddie laughs, a soft, light noise that he probably hasn’t made since before Shannon died. “You already said that,” Eddie points out.

Buck blushes a pretty pink, then sticks out his hand. “You, uh, you lost this,” he says.

Eddie takes the cufflink and tucks it in his pocket. “Thanks,” he says, ducking his head. “Do you want to come in?” he asks.

Buck bites his lip and shakes his head. “I don’t want to bother you,” he says, looking away.

Eddie realizes suddenly that, for all his bravado last night, Buck is nervous, too. Eddie reaches out and wraps his fingers around Buck’s wrist. “Please come in?” He asks, catching Buck’s gaze and holding it.

Buck smiles that brilliant grin of his, and Eddie knows he’s done the right thing. “Yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Eddie confirms. “One thing first, though?”

Buck looks nervous all over again. “What?”

“I still owe you a kiss.”

The corners of Buck’s lips tick up. “Well, we can’t have that,” he says, stepping across the threshold.

Eddie fits his free hand against Buck’s waist and pulls him close, shivering when Buck’s arms come to rest on his shoulders. He leans in slowly, giving Buck every chance back away. Buck closes the distance, and when their lips finally meet, it feels like the beginning of something. A forever kind of kiss.

And maybe it’s too early to say, but as Eddie pulls the door shut behind Buck and leads him to the rest of his family, he’s pretty sure that they’re going to live happily ever after.

The End.

#I hope you like it KJ!#911christmasweek #911fic #911 fic #911 #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie fic #fic #Abbie writes #9-1-1 #911 fox #user ceecee

94 notes · View notes

m-y-fandoms · 4 years ago

Text

COMMISSION: Joker/Akira/Ren x Reader Part 1

Thank you to the client for commissioning me! This is gonna be a long one! I love Joker and Persona 5 is my second favorite fandom after Danganronpa! Exctied to be working on this.

Around 2.6k words, SFW, SLOW BURN romance friends to lovers, gender neutral reader, anyone can enjoy it and place themselves as the reader! - Admin Myah

Shujin Academy could be silent as the grave in the earliest hours of the morning, and yet seem so deafening. It was almost guaranteed that at least thirty new rumors were spreading throughout the student body at any given time, and the overwhelmingly hostile environment that created made the air heavy. With all the teenage angst, hormones, hatred, circles of venomous malice, it was no wonder so many loners could be spotted on academy grounds. That’s just how it was at Shujin: you either had a clique, or you had no one. It was no surprise, then, that you simply kept your head down, minded your business, and got to know no one. Miraculously, though, gossip abound about you still, at least two or three preposterous examples of hearsay and stories. But hey, what could you do? That was in all actuality, pretty low for a single Shujin student. God help the students who actually did make their opinions known, express themselves through clothing and cosmetics, and dared to swim against the current.

You shuffled through the first floor, the absolute blandness of that April morning perpetuating your usual routine: arrive at Shujin, check your locker, scribble down any notes and ideas that came to you in your dreams last night to put into your next short story, and of course check for new posts in the group chat, where your only friends resided. You wouldn’t be caught dead associating with anyone here at the school, it would simply be mental and social suicide, and quite frankly, you didn’t have the constitution for that.

Peeking up for a split second to avoid any collisions, you quickly slid to the left and ducked into a nearby alcove, successfully escaping the gaze of the oncoming wall of muscle and testosterone that was Coach Kamoshida, the plague of Shujin Academy. It was the best case scenario that Kamoshida remained ignorant to one’s very existence, for even those on his good side suffered the consequences. He strode by, shoulders wide and chest puffed out, scanning the halls for girls to harass or boys to intimidate, and once the coast was clear and he was a safe distance away, his back facing you, you dipped back out of the rather dusty corridor and back into the light, immediately slipping back into an almost mechanical daily ritual. It took mere seconds: phone screen unlocked, group chat opened, notebook slipped snuggly back under armpit.

“C’mon, man!” An obnoxiously loud voice rang out above the typical tinnitus-like buzz of the hallway, and suddenly your shoulder was thrust forward, body flying to the ground with a forceful shove on the shoulder.

“Aaagh!” Your voice cracked as your knees buckled and you collided roughly with the wooden panels below, your smartphone soaring out of your grip and clinking against the floor. Thank goodness your notebook was safe, at the very least. People gasped and turned to look at the spectacle, including Kamoshida himself, who’d just reached the end of the hall.

“Sakamoto! I see you running in the halls again, I’ll write you up!” He just always had to say something, let the general student body know he was in charge. He cared far more about sounding rough and tough than making sure the student who was just steam-rolled was uninjured. He pointed directly at you and the student that had just dashed by, effectively pummeling you to the ground with a shoulder check. You looked up and just ahead of you, Ryuji Sakamoto was pivoting on one foot, ignoring Kamoshida’s threat entirely to catch his breath and look down at his victim, splayed across the floor.

Ryuji Sakamoto, now that was one of those students mentioned earlier, the kind that dyed his hair, customized his uniform, and didn’t take shit from anyone. He was a pariah, pretty much the opposite of the teacher’s pet… teacher’s pest more like. Sakamoto was the subject of many falsehoods and conjectures, and he was sure to be trouble for anyone associated…

You looked him up and down, halting your unflattering and socially-altered thoughts in their tracks. Didn’t wanna become the very thing you hated. There was no reason to judge Ryuji without first-hand proof.

“Woah! My bad, sorry dude!” He held up one hand submissively, but unfortunately, just as with Kamoshida, it seemed that you were not his main concern either. Huffing and puffing from the sprint, he looked past you to another male student who was hot on his trail, but this one looked… different.

You’d gone to Shujin Academy for all of your high-school career. It was your third and final year before graduation, and you knew of Sakamoto well enough, but this kid was a mystery… was he new here? He must’ve been. You knew at least the face of every student here in some way or another just through Shujin’s own little eternal game of telephone, and not by any choice of your own. You actively removed yourself from the local goings-on. Was it his first day here, you wondered. Why hadn’t you heard gossip about him yet, especially looking the way he did?

Beauty was a curse - much like any other feature that stood out - at Shujin Academy. If you were too pretty or handsome, you must be sexually promiscuous. On the other hand, if you were too ugly, too nerdy, too quiet, you probably picked your nose and read hentai on the train. There was no winning in this soul-crushing wasteland. Unfortunately for this new-comer, he was outrageously gorgeous.

“Gah, sorry about that…” he sighed, slowing his pace as he passed you by, plucking your phone up from the ground and offering you his hand. You took it and stood with his help. A quick tug and you were to your feet, dusting off your uniform and thanking him for his assistance. “Yeah, no problem… Ryuji’s just… a bit eager I suppose” he chuckled. “Luckily, no cracks!” He turned your phone around in his hand before placing it back into yours.

“Isn’t that the transfer student??? I heard he nearly killed a man!” One random NPC-esque shithead whispered from behind.

“Oh God, figures that freak would gravitate to the new freak…” another responded.

Ah… and there it was. Why did fate hate you so much that it chose you as Sakamoto’s door mat on this day? You truly must have been fortune’s fool.

“Yeah, good thing…” You eyed the boy before you, taking in what you could of the new student before the short exchange was over, from his face to the delicate yet thick veins protruding from his lithe hands.

He was tall and thin, and would even be considered lanky if not for the lean muscle that lined his frame. He seemed to be better off than the average teen, sporting almost no blemishes or imperfections on his smooth skin. A black, messy mop of hair that looked soft to the touch sat upon his head, falling into his eyes and over the dark frames of his distinct spectacles. These spectacles did nothing to hide the true elegance that gleamed in the eyes behind them. They were a muted, soft grey that was beautifully simple and clean. His uniform was neat and tidy - as opposed to his blonde and brash acquaintance’s - with his pristine white turtleneck gently blanketing a quite prominent Adam’s apple and his school jacket buttoned and ironed perfectly. Lower down, his plaid slacks concealed thighs that strained against the fabric and long legs that ran down into some very - yet again - flawless dress shoes. Yep, that was a brand new uniform, sure enough.

And a brand new student… he just might make a good subject, a new inspiration for your writing, an aura unmarred by the stain this place put on one’s soul. Your opinion of him was fresh, it was new, unaltered, unbiased, and he really was quite beautiful… your mind played with the thought.

“Ah… sorry about this,” he spoke, taking in the whispers all around you, “I probably just ruined your reputation, what with being seen with me an’ all,” he sighed and laughed breathily, a hint of exhaustion in his voice. He must’ve been keen to the ways of Shujin already, which was super sad in its own right. “I’m Akira by the way,” he held out a hand, and you shook it hesitantly.

“Eh, doesn’t really bother me. It’s (Y/N), nice to meet you. Sorry you’re feeling the Shujin warm welcome.” That first part was only partly true, but the last half was genuine.

“Anyway…” his voice shook you back out of your contemplative reverie, and you came back to reality to find him also looking you over. Oh right… you were new to him as well… “I gotta go, Ryuji is kind of impatient, I’ve found.”

“Hey! Am not!” Ryuji retorted, brows furrowing before he ran off. Akira’s eyes rolled playfully, before he smiled, waved, and sped off.

You nodded, and quickly pulled out your phone, rushing to the glass doors leading to the courtyard. Anything to get out of the spotlight and harsh crowd of stares, plus, you had a sparkling new idea filling up your cranium, and artistic inspiration could not be wasted. Finding one of the benches placed for student recreation, you set down your school bag and impatiently scrambled for your favorite pen, throwing open your notebook.

“Oh, shoot!” You’d gotten ahead of yourself in all the excitement. Placing the moleskin down, you picked up your phone, hands trembling just a bit, and messaged you friends before anything else. They just had to hear about this.

＊

(Y/N) 9:55 am: Guys guys guys!!!

Itsuki 9:56 am: What do you want?

Rin 9:56 am: ???

Megumi 9:57 am: Shouldn’t you be in class?

(Y/N) 9:57 am: Shut up I have a free period just listen

You know how I’ve been having writer’s block?

Rin 9:58 am: Ya

(Y/N) 9:58 am: Well I just met this new kid, and ideas just started FLOWING.

Itsuki 9:59 am: Yeah

Megumi 9:59 am: Yeah we remember nerd

Oh that’s great!

Wait what do you mean?

New kid?

Only we can have you 😭 Don’ go switching up on us. Shujin is

toxic anyway.

(Y/N) 10:01 am: No no no It’s not like we’re friends, I just met him is all

You know you’re my one and only bby 😘

Itsuki 10:01 am: New kid???

Megumi 10:01 am: 😎

Itsuki 10:02 am: Gross

Also what about me!!!!

Rin 10:02 am: Me too 😡😡😡

(Y/N) 10:03 am: You two know you’re included in that???? 🤔🙄

Anyway just listen

I think he may be good inspo for my main character!!!

I was stuck looking for a unique look or face claim or something

But he seems nice enough and he’s good looking!

Itsuki 10:05 am: You got a crush? Awww I’m telling 😏😏😏😏

(Y/N) 10:05 am: I swear it’s like we haven’t been friends for years…

You know me, PLEASE don’t be gross

Writing purposes ONLY

Megumi 10:06 am: I thought you were stuck on the CONTENT, not characters and shit

(Y/N) 10:06 am: Both!!!! But he’s perfect for the look of my protag

Itsuki 10:06 am: 😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏

Megumi 10:07 am: Well I’m happy for you

STOP

Itsuki 10:07 am: 😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏

Rin 10:07 am: 😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏

(Y/N) 10:08 am: I can see this conversation isn’t going to be productive

LMAO you’re assholes

＊

You tucked your phone into your pocket and once again picked up your notebook. Scrawling down some of the details you knew about Akria: his looks, the sound of his voice, the way he carried himself, you quickly became aware that you knew far too little… or rather

You wanted to know more.

Standing, you packed your things and set out to find him again…

Not in the creepy way! You thought to yourself, trying to justify this uncharacteristic choice of yours to actually reach out to someone in real life, to maybe… try to make… friends? You stood there, brows furrowed and a small frown on your face, pondering your options.

“Oh well, all artists must suffer for their work!” You resolved a little too promptly to try to force another encounter with the new kid. He seemed to be special, unique. He seemed to be well aware of the social hierarchy of Shujin, and have a distaste of it at least. Maybe he wouldn’t be… so bad?

Making up your mind, you spent your free period not writing of romance and rebellious characters, but searching for that fluffy-headed newfound hero to your story, however ghoulish and greasy that made you appear. You truly were becoming that “reads-hentai-on-the-train” and stalks cute boys freak your peers thought people like you were, weren’t you?

To your surprise (though maybe it shouldn’t have been surprising with the volume of Sakamoto’s voice) you soon found the gaggle of second-years, model-status beauty Ann Takamaki now added to their number, standing next to the stairs on the third floor, looking quite conspicuous to boot. Noting the suspicious air around the three, you pulled back, hiding behind the corner leading down the next hall. They seemed on edge... maybe now wasn’t the best time to make friends…?

You felt something thump in your chest. Your shoulders sank subconsciously. It felt a little disappointing, disheartening in a way you couldn’t explain. It was a bit intimidating: Ryuji the loudmouth with a temper, the hottest girl in the school, and the cute new kid. You sighed, this was why you never tried to make friends in the first place. Why had you even gotten your hopes up?

These irrational feelings of self-doubt clouded your heart, your head knowing better of course. It was hard to fight thoughts like these, especially for someone like you. On the precipice of making up your mind, deciding to give up and scrap the new novel idea altogether, you were jolted to attention by the sound of shoes scuffling and scrambling up the stairs.

Students aren’t really allowed on the rooftop during school hours unless accompanied by a teacher or given express permission, your thoughts swarmed. Maybe they didn’t know? No, there’s no way. There’s a possibility Akira didn’t know, but Ann and Ryuji had been here for two years... What were they up to?

Your nosiness was regrettably getting the better of you, and you slithered over, careful to pad your steps and tread softly. You didn’t even know what you’d do once you’d cornered the trio on the roof, didn’t know what you’d say. What was there to say? You were never too good with words, that is those not written on paper. Your heart beating out of your chest, you climbed the narrow stairwell and threw open the doors to the roof.

“Huh?” You looked around, dumbfounded. “Hello?” The rooftop area was not that large, all parts of it visible from the door.

There was no one to be found.

“What the hell?” You step forward, thinking you must have been the subject of some prank, but no, upon looking around, all three students were gone without a trace. No school bags, no lunch boxes, no uniform pieces, nothing. Akira, Ryuji, and Ann, all vanished into thin air. There were no hiding spots, none big enough for three people at least. It was dead silent, and only the door you currently guarded provided an exit off of the roof. Your mind wanted to wander to darker places, but if they’d have jumped, there surely would’ve been a commotion either during or shortly after. Frantically, you looked around, feeling like you were going crazy.

“What the fuck?” You pressed the palm of one hand to your forehead, sitting on the ground and crossing your legs.

152 notes · View notes

perfectpaperbluebirds · 3 years ago

Text

@sicktember #1

Prompt # 1: Fever

Title: Damn Nick Fury

Fandom: Avengers/MCU

To kick Sicktember off, I'm starting with some classic Avengers sickfic. This is actually part of a longer work that I posted many moons ago on AO3. Still one of my favorite whump fics that I've written.

Clint Barton breathed slowly and deeply as he drew back his bow, sighting in his next target. He was so far unnoticed by the cultists they were fighting, perched high in a tree as he was. Below, Natasha was baiting and dodging them with ease, dispatching one every now and then to keep them occupied. Clint's task was to pick them off as she did so.

Another arrow met its mark.The archer sniffled wetly as he reloaded while cold water continued to trickle down the back of his collar. He had made Fury aware a day or so ago that he had a mild cold, as was his duty as an assassin. If he wasn’t at one hundred percent, his commander needed to know. However, Fury had insisted he and Nat take this mission, since no one else was available. The soaking rain they encountered when they arrived was unexpected. However, it turned out the rain had actually made it easier to obtain the objective of this particular mission. Meanwhile though, it was making Clint thoroughly miserable. Compared to other missions it was going quickly, but the five hour stakeout leading up to the current fight had not been pleasant in the continuous downpour, even up in a tree.

Wiping his nose on his shoulder, Cint again loosed an arrow. Only five more cultists to go. Then they could loot the bunker, get the map they needed, and go home. A drip of water hit him right in the eye, and he growled to himself, inwardly cursing Fury. He had started to shiver an hour ago, though he made sure his hands were steady as ever. He couldn’t wait to take a long, hot shower and sleep for at least twelve hours. He only needed to hold out a little longer.

The tickle in his throat had gradually become a low, irritating ache. He coughed softly. The sound did little to make his throat feel better, but it did make the nearest cultist look up at him. Before the man could do anything other than widen his eyes, Clint’s arrow ended him expertly.

Hawkeye sighed wearily. Four more to go.

~~~~~~~~~~

Thirty-six hours later, Clint and Natasha were relaxing on the couch in Avengers Tower. Natasha had her legs tucked up under her and was reading a book while Clint had his head pillowed in her lap with his arm flung over his eyes. Suddenly, his breath hitched warningly. Natasha lifted her arm in a practiced way to give him room to turn and bury his face into a tissue:

"HehyYIIZSHHhoo! hihtESHHHiew!"

She looked down at him with an irritated sound. "That is the third time you've sneezed in as many minutes. I'm making zero progress in this book. You're going to be finding yourself a new pillow in a minute here. Plus I'll kill you if you get me sick."

He sniffled wetly and blew his nose before replacing his head in her lap with a weak cough. "Aww, you would ndever kill mbe, 'Tash. I'mb the only one who puts up with your crap. But I'mb sorry. I can'dt help the sneezing. It's mbaking mbe mbiserable too if that helps."

She sighed in an annoyed way, but couldn't help looking down at him fondly. "You're lucky I know you well enough to understand what you're saying. And you're also lucky that it just so happens to be true that we tolerate each other better than most, so you're safe from assassination for now."

"Blame Fury. This cold wasn't so bad until I had to sid oud id the rain for hours." He sniffled thickly again, barely turning his head away as he followed it up with a cough.

Natasha made a face, swatting his shoulder lightly. "You're gross. Cover your mouth when you cough. And I don't *have* you let you lay here, you know. You have a perfectly comfortable bed only a short elevator ride away."

" 'm cold though. And if I go ubstairs there's ndo one to mbake mbe tea." He swiped at his reddened nose with the tissue, trying to look extra pitiful.

"You're extra whiny when you're sick. Not a good look on you, Hawk." She carded her fingers once through his hair. "And you're just cold because you're a little feverish."

Instead of replying, Clint halfway sat up again and brought a tissue to his nose, breath scissoring and nostrils flaring.

Natasha groaned as Clint once more exploded into a sneezing fit:

"Gihh-ESSHHshuuu! hehKSHHHshuu!" He coughed, then sneezed again: "ERRSHHhuh! Hih'EZSHHyue! --guhhh." Clint miserably rubbed the space between his eyebrows, slowly lowering himself once again to Natasha's lap.

"Apparently my partner has managed to catch the world's sneeziest cold. How did I get so lucky?"

Once again Clint was kept from replying as Natasha's communicator began to ring. She glanced at the screen, then at Clint.

"It's Fury," she warned.

Clint quickly sat up. She answered the device, turning it so they could both see. Fury's single eye met theirs, looking as serious and commanding as ever.

"Good, you're both here. Barton… your nose looks red. How are you feeling?"

"Aboud the sabe I guess. Sneezy."

"And feverish," Natasha said with a warning look at her partner.

"How feverish?"

"Ndot very. One hundred or so," Clint mumbled.

"That's… not ideal. But I don't have any other option… if at all possible, we need you both out in the field again ASAP. We've discovered a small Hydra base, but it's a crucial one. Some of their brainiest goons are posted there, working on something big. From some communication we intercepted, it sounds like their project is almost finished. I need eyes out there immediately. Recon only for now. Think you can handle that?"

The assassins glanced at each other. "We're good to go," said Clint firmly, though the sore-sounding rasp in his voice betrayed him slightly.

"I hope so. Don't disappoint me. I expect you in the air in an hour or less." With that their director ended the call.

Barton and Romanov glanced at each other once more, this time with a weary sigh from Clint before they stood and went to get ready.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Barton! What's your situation?"Natasha's voice crackled over the com.

"Being... chased by three. Heading... to the roof… of the base," Clint gasped around labored breathing.The metal steps made a sharp clanking noise as the archer sprinted up them, nocking an arrow as he went.

"Can you handle them on your own?"

"We'll… see...," he panted, sweat rolling into his eyes. "Backup… would be nice...."

"I'll be there as soon as I can. I've got 4 of my own. Hang in there, Hawk!" The line went dead for the time being.

"I'm gonna … kill Fury…," he mumbled breathlessly as he reached the roof. He darted to the far side of the area and spun around, taking a knee and aiming his bow at the stairway he had just vacated. The sounds of the three Hydra agents sprinting up behind him were unmistakable, but he was as ready as he was going to be.

"This was supposed to be... an easy recon mission, but noooooo…. It's another... full-on assault," he continued to mumble, trying to catch his breath as the shouting on the stairs got louder.

As an extra stroke of bad luck, it was pouring rain here too. Clint flipped the water out of his eyes with a toss of his head, his hair and clothes hanging on him limply. He hadn't stopped shivering since they'd gotten off the jet. His teeth were now chattering and his fingers were blue with cold. His throat was absolutely burning now, raw and inflamed, the pain exacerbated from running. He couldn't suppress a hoarse barking cough just as the first baddie poked his head through the opening. Clint dispatched him immediately, but the two still coming up were not dissuaded.

The second goon got lucky. Clint's hand slipped on the bow a fraction, and the Hydra agent got hit in the shoulder instead of the heart. The archer knew he was in trouble now. With trembling hands, he managed to kill number three with a final arrow, but the one he had wounded, by far the biggest of them all, continued to advance menacingly.

Hand-to-hand combat was evidently imminent. On any other day Clint could have made short work of this, but this miserable, feverish cold had him operating at around fifty percent capacity and falling. Clint pulled out his knives with shaky hands and another rasping cough. When his opponent was a foot away, Clint tried to leap up to get in the first hit. Instead he slipped and staggered, and the Hydra agent's fist, with all of his weight behind it, caught him in the ribs. Clint heard a dull cracking sound as he was flooded with pain, but he couldn't pause. He spun and ducked, trying to avoid the worst of the blows while trying to get in some of his own. At least ⅓ of his opponent's swings met their target though, and in minutes Clint was battered and bruised, barely clinging to consciousness.

He knew he only had enough stamina for one more try. In a split second, while the Hydra agent was off-balance winding up for another swing, Clint leapt once more, and at last his knife met its mark.

As the baddie crumpled to the ground, so did Hawkeye, wheezing weakly, every breath agonizing. He activated his com as his vision threatened to gray out:

"Roof... clear. Good...Nat?"

"All clear down here too. Mission complete. Nice job, Hawk. Let's turn this bunker inside out and go home."

"Mmph."

"You good, Barton?" she asked, concern suddenly in her voice.

"Gonna need... medevac… Won't… make it down… stairs…."

If Natasha replied, he did not hear her. He let his head fall against the cool, wet metal and let the grayness overtake his vision.

~~~~~~~~~~

48 hours later found Clint lying on a bed in S.H.E.I.L.D. medical with broken ribs and and a confirmed case of pneumonia. He was drifting in and out of consciousness from the drugs they were giving him, but his ears perked up when he heard Natasha arguing with someone nearby.

"He's stable. Not on oxygen. Fever is controlled. He can tolerate oral meds. There's no reason he needs to stay. I promise you, he won't recover while he's here. You need to discharge him home."

The haughty-looking orderly she was speaking with huffed angrily, muttering about shortness of breath and heart rate and changing oxygen requirements.

Clint let himself drift off again to the sound of their voices, trusting his partner to deal with the situation. A cool hand on his cheek awakened him a little while later. He blearily opened his eyes to meet Natasha's, for of course it was she that had roused him.

"We're busting you out of here," she whispered with a little smile. "They're bringing a wheelchair now."

"Thangk god," Clint groaned. "And thangk *you*, 'Tash. You're a lifesaver."

"Eh, you've saved my life plenty of times too. I think we're pretty even."

It took some maneuvering to get a very breathless, battered, and achy Clint out of the bed and into the wheelchair, but they managed it with minimal damage. Once he was settled in the chair, Natasha wheeled him away to their rooms.

Inside Clint's suite, they again had to coordinate getting him from the chair to his bed. Natasha was grateful Clint's pain tolerance was high, because she knew the transfer was far rougher without the assistance of the medical staff. He didn't make a sound throughout the process however, though his face was drawn in pain. As soon as he was settled though, he let out the breath he'd been holding in a rush, which quickly became a nasty coughing fit. He had trouble catching his breath for several moments even after the fit ended. He gasped and wheezed and clutched his ribs, sweaty and reddened and miserable. Natasha could only watch helplessly, stroking his hair to try to help him relax.

"Damn Fury," he croaked weakly when he could finally speak. "This fugcking sucks. "

"Language, please. But I can't argue with you there."

"I'mb gonna kill himb for sending me od thad mission."

"I think he got his just desserts since now his best archer is out of commission for a few months. But at least it seems like the sneezy part of your cold is better."

"You h- had to s- hih- say sumbthing, dih- dn't you?" Clint croaked, gingerly bracing his ribs as his breath scissored and his red nose twitched:

"Gih'tsschh! Ghhnxt'chf! Oh Fugck. Ow! Ow ow ow...." Clint groaned, gritting his teeth, eyes squeezed shut in pain. "Not doing that again."

"Yeah, stifling is probably not wise. Poor sick guy," Natasha murmured, carding his hair with her fingers as they waited for Clint's pain to subside.

After a moment, Clint opened one eye, looking suspicious. " 'Poor sigck guy?' Who are you and what have you done with mby partner?"

Natasha smirked as she sat on the edge of his bed. "Would you prefer I call you a whiny asshole?"

"Yes. Maybe. I dunno," Clint mumbled with a weary sigh and a grimace of pain as he exhaled.

"Well too bad for you, because right now *my* partner is sick and miserable and I plan to baby him at least a little until he's feeling better."

"Guess I'mb nodt complainig," Clint mumbled, stifling a cough, which only made him clutch his ribs in pain. "Hurts whed I cough. Hurts whed I try not to cough. Fugck me."

"Language, seriously. But what can I do to help? You need water, food, drugs, anything?"

"Nodt hungry or thirsty. Too sood for drugs. I just want to sleeb, 'Tash."

"That sounds like a good plan. I'll leave you be then. But I'll be back to check on you soon." She stood up right away, fussing around and tidying up his nightstand area before moving toward the door.

" 'Tash?"

She turned expectantly.

" 'm still cold," he mumbled thickly, looking pale and weary now.

Her face softened affectionately. "Well you're still running a fever, hotshot. You're gonna feel cold."

He groaned pathetically. She moved to his side once more.

"Aww, you're shivering," she murmured, stroking his cheek.

"Told you, I'mb freezing…."

She sighed, looking at him fondly. "Is this you trying to say that you need some extra body heat in bed with you for a while?"

He looked at her pleadingly.

"Okay, okay, no more puppy eyes. I'm coming. But if you get me sick--"

"I know, I know, you'll kill mbe. I'll try ndot to share."

"That's all I ask." She kicked off her shoes and slid into bed beside him, doing her best to jostle around as little as possible. They carefully arranged themselves so that Clint was tucked against Natasha, most of his weight resting against her, while her weight was against the stack of pillows behind them. This position seemed to cause the archer the least pain, and in fact he relaxed against her right away, his breathing deepening.

" I'mb sorry I'mb so warmb. You'll probably swelter," mumbled Clint sleepily.

"It's not the first time I've slept with you when you're running a fever, and I'm sure it won't be the last. As long as you're warm enough."

"Am now," he breathed, nearly asleep.

"Then that's all that matters to me."

#sicktember2021 #sickfic #everyone is hotter with a fever #prompt 1

28 notes · View notes

blitzturtles · 3 years ago

Text

Title: Freezing

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: DCU / DC Comics

Pairing(s): JayTim w/ Batfam

Summary: “He’s in DKA.”

“He’s what?”

“Diabetic ketoacidosis. It’s-”

“I know what it is,” Jason says a little too quickly, but he doesn’t understand. Can’t wrap his head around what it means in this particular situation. “He has a pump. You got him a pump.”

Notes: For my 100th fic on Ao3, I thought I'd go back to the beginning. What got me back into writing: DC Comics and the Batfam.

Also, full credit to my wife (@sexyvanillatiger) for not only beta reading this thing, but also helping me with the information on DKA and rewriting several bits of the story to make it work.

For the record, this is an extremely unlikely scenario that most people with an insulin pump won't have to worry about. It has more to do with Tim's particular style of pump originally being one with an external catheter, as well as his being a) underdressed for the weather and b) out for far too long in said weather.

I will say that, though it is unlikely, pump failure due to freezing temperatures has happened, so please be mindful when you're out and about!

It’s three in the morning and freezing, and the last thing Jason expects is to hear Dick’s voice ring through the comm in his ear while he’s midair, between the end of one building and the beginning of the next. He’s busy, very nearly disconnects on the spot given the mood he’s in, but Dick seems to sense the impending end of the conversation.

“Wait!”

“What do you want, Nightwing?” He grinds the name out with far too much disdain. It’s not Dick’s fault that he’s in a bad mood.

“It’s Tim. He’s-”

Truth be told, Jason hears nothing after that. After ‘Tim’. Not Red Robin, not Red, not even Babybird. No, just Tim.

“Shit!” He very nearly goes careening off the side of the next building with the abrupt shift in his momentum and the loss of focus. There’s ice clinging to every other surface, which wouldn’t be a problem if he weren’t distracted. He can hear Dick’s frantic voice on the other end of the comm, but he can’t bring himself to care enough to explain.

“Where is he?” Jason demands once he’s regained his footing and has a moment to school his tone into something near neutral.

“That’s the thing. We don’t know. He-”

“What do you mean, ‘We don’t know’? What the fuc-”

“He missed his last check-in,” Dick finishes, unphased by the interruption.

“How long?” Jason asks, barely noticing how his voice shakes.

“Only twenty minutes, but-”

“But he’s working on a goddamn human trafficking ring, and it’s fucking freezing,” Jason finishes. He doesn’t need Dick to explain to him why twenty minutes is suddenly a big deal and not Tim losing track of time. “What about his tracker?”

“He turned it off after his last contact. We’re not sure why, but Oracle is working on pinning down possible locations based on his last. Look, B’s- Anyway, he doesn’t know I’m getting you involved, but you know that side of Gotham better than any of us,” at least on practical experience. Jason has spent months blending into the crowds in the past, as much as he hated every second of it.

“That’s just great, Dickie,” to hell with codenames. And to hell with his helmet. He tugs it off his head and tosses it at the nearest surface. The damn thing doesn’t so much as crack from the impact, but he can breathe again.

For a moment, he forgets that he has a secondary comm in his ear, which is why he flinches when Dick speaks again, “You also know Babybird better than any of us. I was just- hoping, I guess, that you would have a better idea once Oracle came up with her list.”

“Yeah, yeah, send it my way, will you? And his last location. Whatever files the computer has. I want all of it.”

“Done.”

Jason scoops his helmet off the ground and secures it in place again. No time to waste now. He starts shifting through the information the moment Dick sends it over. There are names that he recognizes. Places that he’s been too. Clubs that he’s spent the wee hours of the morning pretending to get plastered in, while flirting with the sort of men he’d happily put a bullet in any other time (for several of them, he had). But none of it tells him where Tim might be now, or why he thought going AWOL was some brilliant idea.

And here’s the thing, Jason’s in the mood he’s in because of this whole human trafficking bullshit. He knows Tim’s been working on it for the last few weeks, though Jason only found out about it in the last couple of days. Probably because Tim’s smart enough to know that Jason doesn’t want any of them so directly involved in that shit, least of all Tim. But there’s no stopping his-- he still doesn’t know when Tim went from ‘the’ to ‘his’-- Replacement when he gets an idea in his head.

It brings Jason no comfort to know that the temperature outside is frigid. He can feel it sink into his bones, despite the warmth of his suit. Technology can only get them so far without impacting agility, and Tim is a lot like Dick in that he likes to fly through the air, unhindered.

Dick passes Oracle’s findings over a few minutes later, when Jason’s already halfway to Tim’s last location. He’s on his bike. Going on foot would take too long, and they’ve already lost-- fuck-shit, thirty-two minutes now.

He tears through all the clubs in the area. Takes out more kneecaps than he has in months, but it doesn’t get him anywhere. The rooftops don’t help either. The advantage is lost when tracking a fellow Bat. Tim moves with purpose, and he does it without leaving a trace.

At least until Jason stumbles into an alley by sheer luck. One that could be in disarray for any reason, but he catches sight of a Batarang. It’s surface glints off the streetlight behind him. There’s no blood. No fibers stuck to it. It looks like it’s been dropped more than thrown, and he doesn’t know what to make of that, but his stomach is turning painfully.

Something is definitely wrong; he just doesn’t know what.

Dick chirps updates in his ear. Brief lines of information; none of it useful. The rest of them are having as much (or less) luck as he is, though he doesn’t immediately report his findings. It could be something; then again, it could be nothing, and they don’t need to all bunge together just to step on each others’ toes with no chance of finding Tim before someone or something gets to him.

The next three alleys look similar to the first in that they could all but in the state that they are because they’re part of the seedier night scene of Gotham, but something about them rings wrong in Jason’s head. There’s a garbage bag that’s strewn across the asphalt, like someone knocked it over rather than it having been pushed or thrown, and eerie signs of a scuffle that don’t look right either. There’s no blood and no sign of reciprocation. Only the snowy remains of a chaotic waltz littered throughout.

And that’s when he all but stumbles into a body. Curled and small with lips that are too close to blue and a face that’s ashen white.

Jason’s on his knees in an instant, calling Tim’s name-- Red? Robin? Drake, he hisses the last one in barely a whisper, but none of them yield results. Tim stays there, unmoving. His chest barely moves, but the bizarre part is how there doesn’t seem to be any injuries besides a trickle of blood that might be coming from Tim’s temple. His suit is otherwise intact, and who would leave a Bat incapacitated without finishing the job? Around here, not a single bastard.

He’s lifting Tim up before he can think to call for help. He carries him back to his bike and manages to maneuver them both onto the seat. He keeps Tim in front of him, awkward as it is, with one arm hooked around the limp body. The only saving grace in the moment is how goddamn small Tim is.

“Nightwing,” he calls as he starts the bike. “Cave, now.” He severs the connection before Dick has a chance to respond.

By the time he gets to the Cave, his heart is pounding away in his chest. Tim still hasn’t woken up. Still hasn’t so much as shifted in his unconscious state, and Jason is getting frantic. More and more terrified with each passing second, and it’s all he can do to keep one foot in front of the other when he pulls to a stop and gets Tim in his arms once again.

The face that greets him isn’t Dick’s, but Bruce’s, and Jason’s too afraid to give a shit. Too out of his depth. He can stitch wounds and even remove bullets, but he doesn’t know what’s wrong with Tim or how to fix it. He’s completely at Bruce’s mercy, and that would ordinarily piss him off, but, right now? He can feel wetness build in his eyes and his voice shakes as he looks at Bruce with desperation.

“Please,” he begs, knowing that he doesn’t have to, but unable to stop himself anyways.

Bruce doesn’t miss a beat. He’s already reaching for Tim, and it feels like someone pulling the rug from underneath Jason’s feet the moment his arms are empty again. There’s nothing keeping him steady, keeping him moving forward. At least not until Bruce glances back over his shoulder and calls,

“Jason.”

Jason scrambles forward, falling in after Bruce, and he feels all of about twelve years old again, following behind the Bat’s massive silhouette without question.

Alfred meets him in the infirmary, and the two make quick work of stripping Tim out of his suit. It would be impressive, considering the security measures, if Jason were able to take the time to appreciate anything, but he’s too wrapped up in his ever growing anxiety. The more skin that becomes visible, the more alarmed they all become. There’s no bruising, no blood. No explanation.

They start him on fluids for lack of anything else to do, and there is a minor contusion on the side of Tim’s head that indicates that he must have hit it at some point, but it's apparent to Jason-- the way it is to Bruce and Alfred-- that the trauma happened as Tim hit the ground and not as the result of someone getting the better of him.

“Oh,” Alfred breathes, and two pairs of blue eyes snap in his direction. He’s holding a strip of paper-- the results of his blood test-- with a frown etched into his features.

Bruce reaches out, and Alfred passes them over wordlessly. He moves around the infirmary in a flurry, gathering supplies with renewed purpose. For some reason, it only makes Jason’s heart beat that much harder in his chest.

“What is it?”

“He’s in DKA.”

“He’s what?”

“Diabetic ketoacidosis. It’s-”

“He does, and I did,” Bruce agrees with a grunt. It’s clear that he’s just as lost as Jason, but he doesn’t have the chance to say anything else before Alfred is calling him over, leaving Jason to stew on the information and watch from the sidelines because diabetic complications are definitely outside of his scope of practice.

He feels useless. Beyond, even, and he can’t stop looping back to the pump. That’s the whole reason Tim has it. So he can patrol without complications. He remembers the excitement when Tim first got it. All the information he had to absorb as part of being approved in the first place. He’s been stable on the damn thing for months. So why is his blood sugar through the roof?

It feels like hours until Alfred lets them know that Tim’s responding to treatment-- which includes a complicated setup of three different bags of fluids that Jason couldn’t identify for the life of him-- and beginning to improve. Jason doesn’t know how much time has actually passed, but he’s been in his head the whole of it, replaying the same questions and spiralling down the same, horrific scenarios. His cheeks itch with the feeling of dried tears, though he doesn’t know when he started crying (or when he stopped, for that matter).

He sits beside Tim diligently, despite his exhaustion, and holds his smaller hand in both of his own. It’s the only thing keeping him grounded, especially as everyone else comes and goes. Alfred never goes far, though Bruce disappears entirely to do god knows what. Dick hugs him, but he’s smart enough to keep his thoughts to himself. Damian’s about as comforting as he never is, but the worry is apparent in his eyes, even as he insists that Tim’s situation is more of a nuisance than anything else.

Cass stops by before Stephanie. A quiet presence that actually soothes Jason’s nerves, only to be followed by a quiet that sets them alight. Stephanie is rarely so subdued, but she disappears quickly, evidently unable to handle just standing there. She mutters something about finishing the job. It would concern Jason more if he weren’t already certain that none of them were going to be able to fly under Bruce’s radar for a bit.

Speaking of, Bruce announces his return by not-so-gently placing something on the little metal cart by Tim’s bed. It takes Jason a moment to recognize it as Tim’s pump, though it’s been pulled apart and now sits in multiple pieces.

“What-”

“It froze,” Bruce says before Jason can continue.

“What?” Jason repeats.

They can freeze? Is that something they knew? Why the hell hadn’t Tim taken precautions going out into sub-zero temperatures?

“Not the whole pump. This,” Bruce traces the remains of the clear tubing that typically goes from the pump to the injection point that sits under Tim’s skin. The line, itself, usually sits on Tim’s hip. “The catheter. The vial has enough insulin in it that it would have been fine, if not for this and the weather.”

“Why-?” Jason can’t finish the question. Doesn’t know what he means to ask in the first place, but Bruce doesn’t hesitate to answer,

“He didn’t know. Neither did I, for that matter. It never occurred to any of us.”

Oh.

Jesus.

Tim could have died, and not one of them would have realized why until it was too late.

“From what I can find, it’s not typically a concern,” Bruce goes on, though Jason’s only half listening. He supposes that makes sense, though, considering most people aren’t spending hours in the cold. He wonders how long Tim had been struggling. Alone and dazed and stumbling over his feet. That explains the condition of the alley. There really hadn’t been any fights. Just Tim, grabbing at anything and everything.

“If I had to guess,” and Bruce doesn’t look happy with the idea of not knowing, “He turned his tracker off in confusion.” Possibly while trying to call for help, he doesn’t say, and it makes Jason sick to think about.

“That shouldn’t fucking happen,” Jason snaps, less at Bruce and more at the universe.

“I know,” Bruce answers when the universe remains as silent as ever, “Lucius is working on it now. We’ve already discussed the possibility of adding a second, remotely activated tracker.” All of their trackers can be remotely activated, unless they’re turned off. Having a second just means that they would have a backup should anything happen to the original.

“Good,” Jason says, for lack of anything else to say. He finds some comfort in the idea, but it doesn’t exactly make him feel better now. Particularly not when Tim is without a pump entirely, which means they’re back to constant checks and needle drawn injections, both of which he knows Tim hates. Both of which interfere with Tim’s ability to patrol for any extended period of time.

“Tim will be alright,” Bruce tells him in a tone that’s entirely too gentle to be coming out of his mouth, “Alfred says his numbers are looking better.”

“Yeah,” Jason’s mouth feels dry, and he feels his eyes burning. He works his jaw a few times to try to regain control. He doesn’t need to cry a second time, not when everything’s fine now. Tim will wake up in a bit, probably feeling like shit, but he’ll be alive.

“He’s alright,” Bruce reiterates as he crouches in front of Jason and tugs him forward. Jason doesn’t resist, allows himself to be maneuvered until his head is pressed into Bruce’s shoulder.

Neither move for what seems like an eternity, but Jason finally breaks the contact and wipes as subtly as he can at his eyes while looking Tim over. “He’s going to hate using needles again.”

“He should have a new pump before the end of the day tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Jason breathes, “He’ll- thanks.”

It doesn’t fix the current problem with the cold, but there are measures they can take against that. Measures that Tim won’t like, but it will be better for him to have his pump so that he doesn’t have to draw up his insulin, which, from what Jason understands, is less accurate than the pump anyways.

Bruce hums his response before opening his mouth to add, “You should go get washed up. Or changed, at least.”

Says the man still wearing his giant Bat suit, but Jason doesn’t feel like starting an argument for no reason when he’s still on edge. “You gonna stay here?”

“Of course. I’ll be here until you get back.”

“Okay,” thank you.

“Take your time,” you’re welcome.

______

By the time Jason showers, changes into some of the clothes kept in the dresser of his old room, and makes it back down to the Cave, Tim is still out, though there’s finally some color in his cheeks. A nice little dusting of pink that makes him look alive, and his lips are slowly beginning to regain some color, too.

“Alfred just came by,” Bruce says when he sees Jason, “He says that Tim should wake up soon.”

“Good,” Jason says, voicing the most subdued version of what’s going on in his head.

After too long, or maybe too short of a pause, Bruce says, “I need to get to work on a few things. Will you be alright?”

Jason has to brush away his immediate irritation (of course Bruce needs to do shit while another one of his kids is recovering from a near death experience; what else would he be doing?) and remind himself that Bruce has spent the better part of the last forty minutes sitting with Tim. That might as well be a lifetime in Bat years. Jason rarely sees Bruce sit still that long without a computer screen reflecting in his eyes.

“Yeah, fine.”

“Call me if you need me.”

“Will do, B,” he probably wouldn’t, but word would get to Bruce eventually.

______

The first time Tim opens his eyes, Jason’s excitement and relief are crushed almost immediately. Tim’s far from his usual self. He’s more out of it than Jason’s ever seen him, with his head lolling back and eyes flickering. What comes out of his mouth is mostly babbled nonsense in between groans.

Jason calls for Alfred immediately, and he’s just this side of his anxiety getting the better of him when Alfred reassures him that the state that Tim is in is to be expected after what his body went through. Besides, his carbon dioxide levels are still low and his blood sugar hasn’t come down very far yet. It’s going to take time for Tim to fully recover, but it’s a lot for Jason to take in all at once.

“Turn ‘ff the lights,” Tim grumbles, startling Jason from his thoughts.

“What?”

“Fuckin’ lights, turn ‘em off.”

Under any other circumstances, the uncharacteristically grumpy demand would have Jason laughing. Right now, it just makes his chest ache.

Alfred dims the lights before speaking, “He may be a bit grouchy.”

Jason lets out a small snort, “Thanks, Alf.”

Alfred offers him a small smile. Evidently pleased that he’s managed to lighten Jason’s mood, even if only a little bit.

“Stop,” Tim groans, causing the two to turn back toward him.

“Sorry,” Jason mutters at the same time that Alfred says, “Apologies, Master Tim.”

Tim huffs at both of them before seemingly drifting off once more.

______

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll call you next time,” Jason grumbles at Bruce’s retreating back. The man is being even more stoic over not being told about Tim’s wake-up, which, to be fair, hadn’t been that remarkable, beyond the amount of stress that it had caused Jason. Besides, if Bruce weren’t so damned busy with whatever it is he’s doing, he might have known that Tim had woken up briefly.

Bruce says nothing as the door closes behind him, apparently aware that Jason is more irritable than usual and unwilling to get into a fight over it.

Jason huffs and sits back in his seat. Part of him wishes Bruce would start something. He’s getting antsy sitting in the Cave this long. Hell, he’s just tired of sitting, but there’s only so much pacing he can do.

“You should be nice,” Tim croaks from his spot in bed, effectively startling the shit out of Jason in the process.

“That was nice, and fuck you,” Jason answers easily, but his heart is bounding away in his chest.

“For which part?”

“All of it, Replacement,” the part where Tim scared the shit out of him and the part where he has the audacity to comment on Jason’s shitty people skills first upon waking up after nearly dying.

“Ouch, I’m back to the Replacement, huh?”

Jason snorts, “You’re damn right. Only a Replacement would pull something like that.”

Tim winces, “Sorry.”

Oh. That’s not fair. The sad look in Tim’s eyes and the pained expression. That’s just plain cheating. “It’s okay,” Jason sighs, “I’m just glad we found you in time.” He doesn’t mention the part where he had been the one to find Tim. Unresponsive and blue in the face. Looking more dead than alive.

“Who?”

“Dickiebird, obviously.” Blue enough.

Tim huffs a small, would-be laugh. It quickly turns into a cough and a groan. “Feels like I got hit by a train.”

“You kinda look like it, too, but I hear that’s just your face.”

Tim blinks at him, slow and owlish, but the joke seems to register after a moment and he shoots Jason a nasty look. “You can leave whenever you want.”

“You’d like that.”

“I really would.”

“Too bad.”

“What did I ever do to deserve you?”

“Something fucking stellar: me.”

Tim snorts, but his expression sobers after a moment, “I’m sorry. Really. I- I didn’t know what was happening. I still- did my blood sugar drop?”

“No, the opposite actually.”

“Wait, what?” Tim’s frown deepens and his brows come together, “But-”

“The insulin in the outside part of your pump froze.”

Tim’s hand suddenly reaches for where the pump typically sits. A frantic effort in a tangle of IV tubing that comes up empty. “Where-?”

“Bruce took it. He says you’ll have another one by tomorrow, but I think that one’s pretty shot. He took it apart.”

“Oh,” Tim deflates slightly.

“It almost killed you, Tim.”

“I know,” Tim breathes out. “I know, it’s stupid. Just… Sucks, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Jason answers, for lack of anything else to say. He reaches for one of Tim’s hands and squeezes scarred fingers with his own, calloused pads. “No more patrolling when it’s this cold, I guess.”

“I guess,” Tim echoes, a sign that he doesn’t actually want to agree, but knows that Jason’s right.

Jason squeezes his hand again. This time he gets a gentle squeeze back, which is something of a reassurance. “At least not alone,” he offers after a moment of hesitation. He’s not sure he should give Tim that hope, but he wouldn’t mind company every so often, and the human trafficking shit is something Jason works with on the regular. He can always put aside his more… lethal habits for a bit. There’s nothing stopping him from hunting down names in the future and taking care of business when Tim’s not looking. It’s not as if Tim doesn’t already know what Jason gets up to in his spare time.

“You- really?”

“Really. I’ve worked with a team before.”

“Doesn’t mean that you’d want to now,” Tim points out with a frown.

“It’s you,” it’s different. Maybe Jason will learn how to say half the things he means aloud, but he finds he doesn’t usually have to. Not with Tim, the little deductive prodigy that he is.

“Okay,” Tim smiles at him. A weak, shaky thing, but it’s there, and Jason smiles back.

______

Bruce steps into the infirmary with that usual, severe expression on his face that doesn’t give much away. He’s holding a small box with absolutely no markings on it, and he passes it to Tim wordlessly.

“What’s this?” Tim asks with his brows knitted together, but he doesn’t actually expect an answer. Instead, he opens the box up carefully and finds a new pump sitting inside.

“Freezing won’t be an issue,” Bruce explains before Tim can ask about the lack of a visible catheter. “It’s a single unit. No external catheter, and there’s a warming component that automatically runs under certain conditions to keep the insulin at the ideal temperature.”

“Oh,” Tim breathes, eyes widening as he processes the words. “You-”

“Lucius helped,” Bruce answers with a half shrug and eyes that stay focused on the thing in Tim’s hands rather than the wonder in his son’s eyes.

“Thank you.”

The corners of Bruce’s mouth tug upward before he can stop them, “We just want you safe.”

“Still, thank you.”

Bruce is quiet for a moment, before he says, “Anytime, Tim.”

#dc comics #jaytim #jason todd #tim drake #dick grayson #batfam #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #batfamily #dcu #blitzwrites #blitz

42 notes · View notes

gffa · 4 years ago

Text

Do I have about thirty more STAR WARS fics I wanted to write recs for before I posted this? Of course I do. Do I have probably at least triple that amount waiting in my pile of fic to read that I know I’ll enjoy, but I must force myself to get this post out before it drags on any longer? Yes again. Is this what happens every single time I do a set of recs for this fandom? Invariably. It’s not my fault that there’s been so much incredible fic posted lately, fic that appeals right straight to my fannish heart and is really legitimately good, especially when the prequels part of the fandom has been on absolute fire lately.The Clone Wars may have ended and it may be a quiet time in Star Wars canon right now, but fandom has really been bringing it and making me cry in all the right ways. Here, have some fic to cry over and coo happily over and all the range of emotions in between, because a lot of us could really use that right now. STAR WARS FIC RECS: TIME TRAVEL RECS: ✦ the kind that was burned first by loosingletters, obi-wan/anakin & luke & leia & cast, time travel, 10k Five times somebody wondered about Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker and his children because they don’t bother to inform anyone of the fact that they time traveled and one person who didn’t. PREQUELS RECS: ✦ Churning Meteorites by AutumnChild22 (HonestlyHelen), obi-wan & ahsoka (& anakin & padme), 3.1k Ahsoka Tano was learning too many things in one day — how loud Anakin Skywalker could scream, and how many tears Obi-Wan Kenobi could cry when he thought he was finally alone. — post Mustafar. ✦ get home by curseofmen, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, 18.6k wip After a mission goes wrong and Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker goes missing, it is up to Obi-Wan Kenobi and Ahsoka Tano to bring him home. ✦ Asylum by Spongyllama, obi-wan & anakin & padme & ahsoka & cast, 181.6k Anakin, taken hostage by the Sith. Grievous, captured by the Republic. When Padmé refuses Dooku’s offer of prisoner exchange, Anakin appears to be lost for good. One year later, a mysterious Jedi-killer called Vader appears. ✦ Evolving Roles by Independence1776, obi-wan & kanan, 2.8k A sixteen-year-old Kanan gets stranded in Anchorhead and runs into Obi-Wan. ✦ 團圓 | To Gather [In a Circle] by virdant, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & qui-gon & yoda & dooku & cast, 1.8k The first meal that Obi-Wan learns to make is hotpot. It is the first meal that Obi-Wan learns to make: the warmth of his friends, his family, and the warmth of a full belly assuring him that all is well. It is the strongest memory he carries with him. ✦ 找碴 | to find fault with, to pick a fight by virdant, obi-wan & anakin, 1.5k Obi-Wan and Anakin; Morning tea and discussions. ✦ Liberosis by Be_Right_Back, anakin & mace & yoda & jedi & cast, 2.2k The war is over, the Sith are gone, and there is now Anakin Skywalker’s secret marriage to deal with. Love is a wonderful thing, some truths are hard to face, and letting go is the destiny of all Jedi. The Council and Anakin clash. It doesn’t go as terribly as it could have. ✦ what baking can do by katierosefun, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, 1.6k the time Anakin, Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka all bake a cake. Anakin’s oddly good at baking. Obi-Wan is tired. And Ahsoka just wants them to stop arguing for two seconds so they can actually bake the cake in peace. ✦ The Search for Commander Nibbles by SailorSol, obi-wan & cody & boil & waxer, 1.6k “What did you do this time, Waxer?” Boil didn’t bother looking up from his datapad. “Remember when you said we couldn’t keep that tooka kitten on Ordus Prime?” Waxer asked, and Boil could hear him shuffling from foot to foot. It was a nervous habit he’d had since their cadet days. ✦ The Daylight in Mourning by nadiavandyne, obi-wan & luminara & quinlan & rael & nim, 1.5k Quinlan bickers with his friends, accidentally looks into the past, and thinks up a plan. or, A Jedi is never truly gone. ✦ but we had to carry you by katierosefun, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, 2k War is hard. Ahsoka and Obi-Wan find Anakin in the hanger. ✦ Joyride by Peach_Bitters (Starf), obi-wan & anakin, read the tags, 4.8k Anakin takes a Temple speeder out for a spin one night and this doesn’t go over well with Obi-Wan. ✦ 熬夜 | To Stay Up All Night by virdant, obi-wan & bant & quinlan & cody, 1.7k Nights are long, and Obi-Wan has visions, has dreams, has memories of darkness. But companionship and food: they make the nights easier to endure as he waits for dawn. ✦ 貼心 | consideration by virdant, obi-wan & quinlan & anakin & bant & luminara & aayla & garen & cast, 1.3k Obi-Wan returns to the temple after Naboo, with no master, a new padawan, and no appetite. Quinlan shows up: with friends, to make dumplings, to cook, and to eat. ✦ i’ve had a lifetime to be alone by sweetredbeansoup, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & bo-katan & cast, 2k Ahsoka really had missed Anakin, Obi-Wan, and the 501st, and frankly, they had missed her too. But that problem can be easily solved—with hugs. Lots and lots of hugs. ✦ wonder by katierosefun, obi-wan & anakin, 2.4k Anakin’s sick, and still-getting-used-to-having-an-apprentice-Obi-Wan-Kenobi handles it. Tries to handle it ✦ Always Too Slow by Pandora151, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, death fic, 1.1k Anakin needed his help, and Obi-Wan would help him, because that was his responsibility—his promise. He would always help Anakin, no matter what. ✦ Whiskey and Rye by anemoia, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, ~1k Obi-Wan is away on a diplomatic mission, and tries some of the liquors available to him. Anakin does not appreciate it. Ahsoka is amused. ✦ The lilting witchery, the unrest (Of wingèd dreams, is in our breast) by blackkat, mace/ponds (potentially implied) & razor, 1.2k They’re supposed to be spacer tales. ✦ For the Future of the Order by thetorontokid, obi-wan & qui-gon & cast, 3.9k There are important lessons to be found in the Jedi Temple crèche. ✦ let the hurricane set in motion by blackkat, kit/jango & boba, 1.7k Jango probably should have expected something like this, but he’d been so angry. ✦ unsaid by katierosefun, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, 2.8k Obi-Wan collapses from fever at the end of a battle. Poor man is stressed and worried. Anakin is also stressed and worried. They don’t know how to communicate. ✦ 喜碗 | joy, dishes by virdant, obi-wan & quinlan & cast, ~1k Quinlan likes dishwashing duty. Likes to wash the dishes barehanded. He likes to touch them, feel the imprints of the Jedi who’ve just eaten. He whispers what he learns to Obi-Wan, who always stands, shoulder-to-shoulder with him, when Quinlan volunteers for dishwashing duty again and again. ✦ Today’s Lesson by Wordsyoucantaste, anakin & mace & kanan & cast, 3.9k In which Mace and Caleb find themselves working with Anakin to catch a thief. ✦ Roll Over by mangobilorian, wolffe & feral & plo, 2.8k Wolffe learns his greatest weaknesses are Dathomirians, Plo Koon, and snuggles. ✦ and now after it all by katierosefun, obi-wan & ahsoka (& anakin), 2.1k a speeder accident forces Ahsoka to call Obi-Wan for help while Anakin’s away on a mission ✦ Room to Grow by KCKenobi, obi-wan & anakin & bant, 1.7k In the early days of his apprenticeship, Anakin gets caught playing dress-up in his master’s closet. Obi-Wan finds that perhaps, something broken inside him is beginning to heal. ✦ A Moment and a Memory by KCKenobi, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, 1.5k Obi-Wan finds an old hologram. He and Anakin reflect that maybe some people are just meant to find each other - even if they aren’t meant to stay. ✦ Welcome Home by anemoia, obi-wan & anakin & cast, 2.5k wip A misunderstanding between a Obi-Wan and Anakin boils over into a fight where feelings are left unsaid… for a little while that is. ✦ there you are (you’re there with open arms) by curseofmen, obi-wan & ahsoka, ~1k Ahsoka and Obi-Wan find each other again after the world has fallen to pieces ✦ Tete-A-Tete In The Underworld by Suecue, obi-wan/asajj, 3.3k It’s never a dull moment for a certain Jedi Knight, and a certain femme fatale bounty hunter as they drink up. ✦ Hide ‘n Seek by mangobilorian, plo & ahsoka & mace & cast, 2.9k Or, Plo talks to Ahsoka about boundaries, and Mace wonders about the danger level of toddler Togrutas. ✦ everything I know by loosingletters, obi-wan & anakin & oc jedi, 1.5k It was tradition for Initiates to challenge a Knight or a Master to debate them to pass their Introduction to Diplomacy I course. Anakin didn’t mind it, but he’d prefer it if all these kids would stop running up to Obi-Wan when he’s practicing ‘sabers with his Master. ✦ when the war is over by curseofmen, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, 2.9k Ahsoka doesn’t get them and it’s enough to make her lungs fill up with the ashes of the bridges she burned down. She was the one to walk away, but still—they’re everything she’s ever known. Is it so wrong to want them back for herself? Even when it might be selfish? ✦ not my homeland anymore by katierosefun, obi-wan & anakin, 1.7k Three times Obi-Wan and Anakin were each other’s home, and three times their homes were crumbling apart. ✦ No Rest for the Weary by Peach_Bitters (Starf), obi-wan & anakin & cast, 9.9k wip Needing a break from life at the Jedi Temple, Obi-Wan Kenobi and his apprentice, Anakin Skywalker, visit a Jedi AgriCorps settlement on the Midrim planet of Helia. They must deal with new friends, new enemies and new adventures, all while attempting to navigate their sometimes tumultuous relationship as Master and Padawan. ✦ A Million Little Times by KCKenobi, obi-wan/satine & anakin/padme, 4k The silence stretched on, crackling in his ears like radio static. If she asked, he would go. But she wasn’t asking. ✦ Dragons in a Heart by elizabeth66, obi-wan & anakin & bant, 1.1k Anakin had only been at the temple for a few weeks. Everything was so new, and cold, and loud. He didn’t have all the possessions that had cluttered his room back on Tatooine. He had one thing, though. Some knight had given Master Obi Wan a small stuffed toy to give to Anakin, saying that even though he was old, kids still loved toys. Vader can’t control the memories of a better time. OBI-WAN/ANAKIN RECS: ✦ Take my soul (keep it warm) by Tomicaleto, obi-wan/anakin, 2.8k A mission makes Anakin and Obi-Wan travel to where the Jedi were born, looking for the first temple. The planet of Ahch-To is mostly ocean, making them take a non-traditional trasportation method, an old boat, to move around the place. ✦ Conceal Me What I Am by Himboskywalker, obi-wan/anakin & padme & ahsoka & palpatine & cast, NSFW, omegaverse, senator!obi-wan, 65.3k wip Separatist Propaganda is turning the Republic against the Jedi Order and the Senate sees no choice but to join in a political alliance to fight dissent on a unified front.An alliance is proposed through an arranged marriage,between a Jedi Knight and Republican Senator. ✦ Needing/Getting by chapstickaddict, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka & luke & leia, 59.7k wip Anakin is a paranoid, over-protective hot mess doing his best to raise his weird pack the way Padmé would have wanted. How the hell is he supposed to do that when his kids and not-apprentice make him haul a half-dead Jedi Master home like a lost pet? ✦ lessons in ethics by luckee, obi-wan/anakin, nsfw, modern au, d/s, 8.9k wip Anakin didn’t expect to get anything out of robbing the brownstone on Irving Street beyond a few hundred dollars from whatever he managed to pawn. He certainly didn’t expect to get caught by the whisky-drinking, soft sweater-wearing ethics professor who lived there. ✦ Flashing Lights by des_nuages_de_paris, obi-wan/anakin & satine & padme/sabe & mace & cast, NSFW, modern au, photogropher!au, model!au, 13.9k wip “Trust me.” Obi-wan turned to him. “It’s better than photoshopping it out. It gives him an edge. The scar, the hair, the brows…” He looked back over at Anakin, feeling his stomach flip. “It makes him look tough. Not enough male models can be pretty and tough.” “So I’m pretty?” Anakin grinned. ✦ Gold Collar by JSwander, obi-wan/anakin & cast, NSFW, 18.1k wip The Clone Wars have ended, Palpatine is no more. High General Obi-Wan Kenobi meets a remarkable slave of the Hutts during a diplomatic mission to Tattooine. ✦ Prompted - Chapter 9: Obi-Wan Discovers He’s Got a Daddy Kink, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, daddy kink, 3.6k brat!Anakin / daddy!Obi-Wan (Ready Stance AU, undercover mission, kink discovery) ✦ Prompted - Chapter 10: A New Hope, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 5.8k smuggler!Anakin / rebel!Obi-Wan (Anakin never left Tatooine AU) ✦ Cross-Wired by Himboskywalker, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 4.3k In the midst of battle Anakin’s prosthesis takes damage and with no backup arm,it’s a problem that needs immediate fixing.But crushed durasteel and fritzed wires equals all sorts of curious nerve responses while his master tries to disconnect the neural receptors. ✦ hilt by luckee, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 5.5k Anakin can’t have Obi-Wan’s cock to help him explore his sexuality. So he borrows his lightsaber. ✦ Exposure Therapy by septemberist, obi-wana/anakin/padme, NSFW, mild bondage, d/s, 10.1k Anakin struggles to overcome jealousy in his relationship with Padmé and Obi-Wan. They decide to help him in an unconventional fashion. ✦ Dedicated by Spongyllama, obi-wan/anakin & padme, NSFW, 12.8k Anakin is the most Force-sensitive person in the galaxy, and also the most oblivious. Obi-Wan cannot believe this is the person he had to fall for. On second thought, no — he could not have made a better choice. ✦ If You Could Love the Flame by HelloAmHere, obi-wan/anakin/padme & cast, 40k And Anakin knows suddenly and irrevocably that they will always be this: his two royals, his two diplomats, his two myths come to life. ✦ In Pursuit of Cold Water by JSwander, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka & rex & cody & palpatine & qui-gon & shmi & cast, modern au, mer!anakin, 19.2k wip Obi-Wan resolves to rescue a very stubborn merman from captivity and back to the ocean. ✦ Big Jedi Mullet by whohatessand, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 2.6k In the middle of The Clone Wars, Obi-Wan decides he wants to grow his hair back out much to Anakin’s unfortunate luck. How will Anakin ever stay focused again with those luscious locks? ✦ Never Give Up on Hope by rescueme, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka & cast, nsfw, omegaverse, 11k wip As the Clone Wars draw to an end, the omega Anakin Skywalker and his alpha Obi-Wan Kenobi are successfully hiding their secret relationship from the Jedi Council and those closest to them, including Anakin’s padawan Ahsoka Tano. But their safety is thrown in flux when Anakin realizes something that will change the future of the galaxy, and their fates as Jedi, forever. ✦ Edge of the Galaxy by Autaria, obi-wan/anakin & cast, modern au, fantasy au, 47.9k Anakin Skywalker finds the stranger known as Ben passed out in a bush, with no recollections of who he was and how he got there. He offers him a place to stay, nurses him back to health and feeds him - he’s doing this because after all, he’d want someone to do the same for him if he was passed out in a bush, and definitely not because he finds Ben handsome. ✦ A fool at heart by pink_vinyl, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, omegaverse, 25k Anakin always kept his secrets close to himself, knowing the consequences of his actions to be too disastrous to let anyone know. He had kept one so close to himself that he could have almost forgotten it even existed, until one mission came and tore it all away from his hands. ✦ Patience is a virtue by AlexanderTheGreatest, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, sith!obi-wan, sith!anakin, 5.1k Obi-Wan is trying to train his apprentice in the ways of the dark side. However, when Anakin can’t wait for training to end, Obi-Wan decides to teach him a lesson on patience. ✦ Cultured Passions by Glare, obi-wan/anakin & mace & cast, NSFW, omegaverse, 7.6k wip In order to bring down a smuggling ring known for trafficking Force-Sensitive omega children, Alpha Jedi Knight Obi-Wan finds himself embroiled in a deep cover assignment among a primal cult who serve as the trafficker’s primary clients. However, as his status within the cult grows and he gets closer and closer to the man at the center of it all, he is forced to make his most difficult decision yet: blow his cover and ruin years of work, or work together with the young, fiery, eerily-familiar omega that the Master has chosen to be his mate. ✦ In the Lower Levels by ranianke, obi-wan/anakin (implied) & anakin/others, NSFW, 1.1k He felt it as an itch that started in the hindquarters of his brain; it spread until it became a need to move, to do, to be that couldn’t be satisfied by saber practice or meditation. On those nights, Anakin became a hunter. ORIGINAL TRILOGY RECS: ✦ addicted to a certain kind of sadness by ambiguously, r2-d2 & anakin & cast, 1.1k Nothing good ever happens on Tatooine. ✦ Novel Notions by Phosphorescent, obi-wan & luke & leia, 1.9k “I thought you’d enjoy reading about Master Obwain Kibonek and how the Jedi used to be portrayed in pop culture.” “Thanks,” Luke said dryly, eyeing the cover again. The man’s abs glistened in the sunlight as though oiled, and his hair… no one in real life had hair that perfect, no more than anyone had naturally kohled eyes. “I think.” FULL DETAILS + RECS HERE

#obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #padme amidala #ahsoka tano #obikin #obianidala #fic recs #star wars fic recs

527 notes · View notes

writers-blogck · 4 years ago

Text

Creeper in the Snow ( Karasuno x Manager!Reader )

Warning(s): Weird old man lol. Is this good, probably not. This is more of a crackfic than anything in my head. But here it is! Title: Creeper in the Snow Pairing: Karasuno x Manager!Reader Fandom: Haikyuu! Word Count: 2.047

The cold cloud escaped your lips with every breath you took. Snow still lay on the ground from that night's storm. The roads were cleared though the sidewalks still had the inch or so of snow that hadn't melted at all with the rising sun. Your shoes would be soaked by the time you got to the gym but by then you could switch into your indoor shoes. All you had to do was get there and open up the gym before any of the team got there.

You were in charge of getting the gym set up before the team got there, or at least starting the process. It was normal for one of the boys to arrive at six-thirty to see the doors already open, net material brought out (you were too small to set it up by yourself without one of he poles falling on you), and freshly cleaned balls. On certain occasions, you went even earlier to set everything up for the boys. You were a second-year, though you got mistaken for a first-year often. Screw you chubby face!

This meant that it was your second year managing for the team and it would be a lie to say you hadn't gotten attached to your little family. So, what was the harm in doing something special every now and again? On Valentine's Day, you had made everyone chocolates and put cute hearts everywhere in the gym. Christmas, you went all out. Lights, a tiny tree (with gifts included), and anything you thought could make practice a bit more special. You would only be in high school together for so long, you wanted to make the most of it!

Today wasn't a special day, perhaps, but you were still out in the chilly weather at the ungodly hour of six a.m. on a Saturday. Why you may ask? Well, thank you for asking disembodied voice! You decided to be nice and get to the gym before the others to turn the heat on. This way, when they finally did arrive, they would enter a warm gym instead of what would feel like the icecream fridge at Ukai's store. Weren't you just an amazing manager? Kiyoko had early lessons on the weekends and Yachi lived farther away than you.

It took one small metro ride and a twenty-minute walk to get to the school, but you didn't mind. You normally liked the time by yourself, it gave you time to think. Most days you would have one of your earbuds in to listen to music or some podcast but today, your phone and headphones were tucked away in your schoolbag. Today was not going to be a relaxing trip, not in the slightest.

Everything had been fine until you stepped off ar your stop, one you normally left alone. All of the other passengers had other stops to get to, you were the only regular passenger that got off this stop. It was hard to keep your stomach was sinking when you noticed a man in his late thirties get off at the same station. At first, you didn't think anything of it but when you noticed the man had his phone out, your anxiety began to swell. Was he following you? Perhaps he worked in the same area. You were just being ridiculous.

As you went over the practice plans for the day, you noticed that even after five minutes of leaving the station, the man was still following you. You thought about the phone stuffed deep in your bag, hidden by your binders and pens that you had casually tossed in that morning. Should you call someone? Who would be up this early? You didn't want to wake someone up just because you were scared. You often worried over Hinata when he got hit by one of the volleyballs and ended up being called a worrywart. You overreacted to the tiniest little thing, this was just something like that.

Or so you wanted to believe.

As you saw the gym approaching, you shoved your numb fingers in to fish out the keys. The man had slowed down his pace but you still saw glimpses of him when you turned corners. You were ready to just be inside the gym and be able to lock yourself inside. The others could knock when they arrived, they would understand if you told them what happened, right? You were so close to your paradise when a loud cough startled you enough to drop the keys in the soft snow beneath.

"Ah, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." It was the man with a friendly look on his face. Everything about him screamed of a normal man. He probably was a father or some upstanding businessman. He wasn't like the creeps the metros warned girls about.

"It's okay..."

"I didn't know you were going to Karasuno or I might have walked with you. I'm here for a teacher's meeting? I've come from out of state and I'm not sure where I'm supposed to go. You go here, right? I was hoping that you could help me find my way to the library."

See, you were overreacting. He was just some lost teacher, that wasn't so bad. You could almost hear Tanaka and Nishinoya's voices teasing you about you being a scardey cat. You spent most of your time with the chaotic boys due to being in the same grade as them which led the three of you to form a strong connection. They always made fun of you for being so jumpy like Asahi. Maybe they were right, you were too skittish.

"Oh, well, all you have to do is-"

"I was hoping you could show me where the library was, I'm not good at remembering things. I used to be able to when I was a youngin but I can't seem to remember things as well anymore." He joked, taking a small step in your direction. Instinctively you took a step back of your own, hitting the locked doors of the gym. You could feel the hint of cold metal even through your clothes.

"My team will be arriving soon so I don't know if I have time-"

"Here, let me get that for you!" The older man kept interrupting you anytime you tried to object to his 'friendliness'. He bent down to grab the keys you dropped and just as you heard the click of him phone taking a photo, everything bubbled over. It all happened so fast! You could hardly tell what had even happened until it was all over and you could look back once everything calmed down.

The first thing that happened was the sound of a collective cacophony of male yelling. The creep had been shoved face-first into the cold snow with a foot pushing into his left hand with no care of how much force they were using. The phone he had been holding lay a few inches away before being picked up by someone else. You blinked owlishly as you finally looked up, taking in the entire chaotic situation around you.

Five boys were standing there, each with a unique expression on their face. Tanaka stood out the most as he had been the culprit who pushed the man into the snow. His foot didn't leave the creep's hand as he stared down at him with a snarl. There was that well-known Tanaka glare. He was one of the team members that was the most (outwardly) protective. If Noya had been there, they would be a deadly duo. No one could win against the two guard dogs of Karasuno! Still, your red-headed kouhai seemed to be taking the place of the rolling thunder warrior. He was just as bouncy, though he was staying a few inches behind Tanaka.

Daichi had been the one to grab the phone, the terrifying dad look on his face. Suga's arms wrapped around you, pulling you away from the mass of bodies that were piling up and the chaos that was growing. The last one who had stayed silent from the sidelines was Asahi, a worried look in his eyes. Of course, all of the upperclassmen would be some of the first ones to arrive, that was normal. It was surprising to see Tanaka and Hinata so early and so awake. How many times had Tanaka stumbled in three minutes before practice started, jacket on backward, and a wild look in his eyes?

"You think you can get away with being a pervert to our precious manager, huh?! Delete those picture, you creep!" Tanaka's voice echoed across the empty schoolyard, the only other witnesses of the event being the birds high in the trees. All you could do was stand in confusion as the boys figured everything out. Tanaka was one to overreact but Daichi always had a level head. Seeing him with such a rage-filled look in his eyes was scary. Sure, the guy had made you feel uncomfortable but Tanaka didn't have to be so aggressive.

"I-Please..." The older man's cheek was becoming a bright red as the snow from his fall was sliding off slowly. His hand had to be going numb since he wasn't wearing any type of glove and Tanaka refused to move his foot. They had spoke about pictures....what had he taken a picture of? It was too early for you to put two and two together but the boys had seen it with their own eyes. The guy had been taking a photo of under your skirt as he 'helped you' with the keys.

"Don't try it!" Hinata bounced up, head peeking over Tanaka's shoulder as if the upperclassmen was a shield for him. It would have been funny if you weren't so confused about what was going on.

"He was just trying to get directions," You murmured to Sugawara, watching Asahi grab the keys and begin to open up the gym. It felt as if the boys were split into two different groups: the ones that were dealing with you and then the ones dealing with the old man. Sugawara and Asahi ushered you inside, leaving the other three to finish up what they were doing. Before the steel door shut you off from the outside, you heard the distinct sound of shattering glass as something was tossed to the ground.

Then they were gone, the door blocking out any noises that may come from outside.

How had that all happened in less than ten minutes? The clock read 6:45, fifteen minutes until the practice was supposed to start. You would have normally been here for nearly a half-an-hour before any of the boys showed up. You were thankful for whatever reason brought the boys here earlier than normal. What would have happened if they hadn't shown up? What had even happened to begin with?!

"Are you alright?" Sugawara's hands were hovering over you like a worried mother as he brushed off any stray snow that may have gotten on you. They were right to call Suga the team's mom, he was the best at making sure everyone was okay. He knew exactly what to say at the right moment and always was there to lend a shoulder to lean on when you needed some help.

"Yeah...He was just asking for some directions, he said that he had a meeting in the library today."

"There isn't a meeting today, is there?" Asahi spoke up, more to himself than anything. Suga shot a glare in his direction causing Asahi to quickly change his tone.

"Don't worry about it. Let's get it warmed up in here!" Asahi offered his kind smile, his hand resting on your smaller shoulder.

"I was planning on getting here early to do that but then that guy distracted me..."

"No worries, they say the cold can do the body some good." Suga glanced over his shoulder to flash a comforting look before going back to turning on the heat. Even though the room was filled with the chill of winter, you felt warm with the knowledge that you would always have your team to keep you safe.

258 notes · View notes

fireladybuckley · 4 years ago

Text

A Thousand Knives of Ice

Fandom: 9-1-1 Pairing: Evan Buckley (Buck) x Eddie Diaz (Buddie) Prompt: Falling through the ice Word Count: 10,661 Summary: While on a roadtrip through the Canadian Rockies with Eddie and Christopher, Buck attempts to rescue a child with disastrous consequences for his own safety, leaving Eddie to take charge and nurse him back to health. Rating: PG Author’s note: I had an absolute blast writing this! Please let me know in the replies or reblogs if you liked it! It’s my first Buddie fic, but will most assuredly not be my last. :D

“You know, I think I’m actually getting used to the cold,” Buck grinned as he hopped out of the SUV, pulling a knitted toque onto his head, a few curls of hair sticking out the front. “Maybe they’ll make me an honourary Canadian soon.”

Eddie, who had just gotten out of the vehicle on the other side, rolled his eyes and smiled indulgently at Buck’s enthusiasm. Less than two weeks ago at the beginning of their month-long trip, Buck had sworn he’d never be warm again and complained incessantly about the cold.

“That’s because it’s like 2 Celsius,” Eddie laughed, slamming his door and moving around to the back of the SUV. “It’s unseasonably warm for this time of year.”

“What’s that in Fahrenheit again?” Buck asked, squinting through the sun and watching a raven fly past them, cawing in its deep, croaking voice.

“35 or 36,” Eddie replied, pulling open the trunk and watching as Buck bounced on the balls of his feet, clearly itching to go and explore.

Eddie, Buck and Christopher had been on this road trip for about ten days, driving from Alaska, down through the Canadian Rockies. Eventually they would head back down into the USA, following the mountains down through Utah and back home to LA. It had been a blast so far, and Eddie was never sure who was more excited every time they stopped somewhere new: Buck, or Christopher. Buck hadn’t done much travelling when he was younger and Christopher was obsessed with mountains after doing a project on them in school the previous year, so it had seemed the perfect trip to take. Christopher had really wanted to see the mountains in winter, so Eddie had pulled him out of school a couple of weeks early before Thanksgiving break. Eddie knew he really shouldn’t miss so much school, but after everything Christopher had gone through last year or so with moving to California, losing his mom, the tsunami, and everything else, Eddie thought he deserved a special break. Buck had agreed, and so they’d appealed to Bobby to let them go and flew to Anchorage, where they rented an SUV and began to drive.

“What’s this place called?” Eddie asked as he dug around in the trunk, pulling out the sled and Christopher’s winter jacket. He’d lost track of all the places they had stopped in the last few days, first around Jasper and now near Banff, Alberta.

“Lake Minnewanka,” Buck read off the nearby sign, pointing at it. “Ooo, they have boat tours.”

“Probably only in the summer though,” Eddie pointed out. “Pretty hard to boat when the lake is frozen.”

“Ah. Right.” Buck seemed disappointed, and Eddie was unable to resist giving him a quick hug as he came around to his side of the SUV.

“Sorry Buck,” Eddie chuckled, patting his shoulder. “I promise, we’ll come back someday in the summer.”

Buck laughed and pulled on his jacket as Eddie moved past him to get Christopher ready. Buck was looking around eagerly, the sight of the large dock in the distance drawing his attention. He was aching to explore again, but he reigned himself in as he listened to Eddie talking to Christopher.

“Ready to go down to the docks, bud?” Eddie was asking Christopher, who grinned at him but shook his head.

“I gotta pee first, Dad,” he said, holding up an empty Gatorade bottle. Eddie laughed and helped Christopher get out of the SUV, looking over and seeing that Buck was still staring longingly down at the lake.

“Go ahead and look around,” Eddie told him, steadying Christopher as he stood for the first time in a couple of hours. “We’ll be a little while.”

“You sure?” Buck asked, reaching out and ruffling Christopher’s hair fondly, prompting a giggle from him.

“Yeah, go on. We’ll meet you down there in a few.”

“Okay! See you soon,” Buck said, leaning over and giving Eddie a quick kiss on the cheek. Buck stepped back and watched Eddie slowly lead Christopher towards the bathrooms and then began to walk down a long hill towards the docks, face turned upwards, letting the sun soak into his skin. Considering it was still very much colder here than it ever was in LA, Buck was finally not feeling too cold and he smiled as he walked, thinking he could get used to this. It was a nice change not to feel sweaty every time he went outside, though he thought he would never get used to the kind of cold they had experienced when they’d landed in Alaska, which had been in the -30s.

Buck slowed his walk as he stepped onto the docks, looking around. The large lake, which curved out of sight in the distance, was surrounded by multiple mountains and the view was breathtaking. He had seen photos of this place in the summer, when the water was turquoise with glacial dust, but now the ice made the dark blue water beneath seem cold and limitless, and in places there were streams of bubbles that had frozen into white, oblong spheres beneath the surface. Making a mental note to point these out to Christopher, Buck continued up one fork of the large T shaped dock, barely even noticing other people around until he heard a scream behind him.

Buck whipped around at the sound, instantly on edge and alert, scanning the small assortment of people scattered around. Another scream brought his focus to a small family, a woman and a young boy on the dock, looking out over the lake in horror. Buck followed their gaze and his eyes locked on a flash of pink, which he realized a moment later was a woolen toque, not unlike the one he was wearing himself. Adrenaline pumping through him, Buck was already running towards them as the mother screamed again.

“Help! Someone help! She fell through!” The mother was clearly panicking, unsure of what to do as she was torn between jumping out onto the ice herself and staying with her younger son.

“Stay with him,” Buck ordered as he skidded to a stop beside her and looked over to see the girl floundering in the water about thirty feet away, desperately trying to grab hold of the ice and screaming. Buck lowered his foot over the edge of the dock and found, after putting some pressure down, that the ice was solid, at least this close to the dock. Carefully, he stepped completely off the dock, arms out for balance.

“What’s her name?” He asked the mother as he unzipped his coat and pulled it off, intending to use it as something the girl could grab onto.

“Molly, she’s Molly,” the woman sobbed, clinging to her younger son. “Please save her! I can’t swim!”

“I’ll get her, don’t worry,” Buck told her reassuringly, already edging away from the dock, trying to be careful but also acutely aware that the girl was quickly freezing in the water.

About fifteen feet from the dock, Buck felt like the ice was thinning and looked down to see spiderwebs of cracks starting to splinter away from his feet. A wave of fear shot through him and he cautiously lowered himself down to the surface of the ice, remembering from a training video long ago that it was the best way to spread his weight and not break the ice.

“Molly, just hang on, I’m coming!” Buck called to the girl, sliding closer to her on his belly, ignoring the chill of the ice quickly sinking through his shirt. The girl was still screaming and crying, trying to hold on to the edge of the ice she’d fallen through but kept losing her grip. As Buck got closer he estimated she was maybe seven years old and quite small; if he could get a good grip on her he should be able to pull her out.

Once he was about six feet away from her, he could feel the ice moving under his weight and slowed to a stop, worried that if he went any further it would collapse under him. Sucking in a sharp breath as some water that had slopped over the edge of the ice from her flailing soaked into his shirt and against his skin, Buck did his best to ignore the sharp stabs of the cold and tossed his jacket towards the girl, holding on to the opposite sleeve.

The edge of the other sleeve fell just short of the hole and Buck swore, creeping closer as slow as he dared, feeling his heart hammering in his chest as he knew the girl was in severe danger of hypothermia the longer he took. He crept a good six inches closer, then tried to toss the jacket again, letting out a breath of relief as the other sleeve hit the water this time.

“Grab hold of the sleeve, Molly!” he called to the girl. “I’ll pull you up!”

“I c-can’t!” Molly cried, trying to grab the sleeve, but Buck could see she was losing control of her movements, her muscles no doubt completely seizing from the cold.

Steeling himself and thinking he was probably going to regret this, Buck began to edge closer, focusing entirely on the ice around him and the little girl’s face, every sound in the background fading, even the mother’s screams of fear. Finally, he was only a couple of feet away and he reached out his hand, gritting his teeth as the frigid water splashed onto him, soaking his arm, splashing his face.

“Come on, Molly! Grab my hand!” he shouted to her, trying to stay as far back as he could while still holding his arm out. “You can do it!”

Buck was about to call to her again, encourage her, but when he reached a little more, trying to move his hand closer to her without actually moving closer to her, he felt the ice crack below his chest. Buck immediately froze, trying to decide if he should try to back up again, but he knew intrinsically that it was too late. He knew a single moment of panic in his mind, as he heard and felt the ice under him crack again, vaguely aware that Eddie’s voice in the distance was calling his name, before the ice completely gave way under him and he was plunged into the dark, icy depths.

Buck’s whole body was submerged before he even had a chance to realize the ice was gone and every skin cell was screaming simultaneously in agony from the cold. It felt like being stabbed by a thousand knives, like being consumed by fire and ice at once and Buck momentarily couldn’t think or move, his body rigid with shock as all of his muscles seized up.

* * *

Eddie had just gotten to the docks with Christopher when he’d seen Buck lower himself to the surface of the ice many feet from the dock and realized something bad was happening. He’d told Christopher to stay where he was and bolted across the dock past a few other people to where the mother was crouching, holding her other child and sobbing.

“You! Call 9-1-1! And please watch my kid!” Eddie ordered, spinning around and pointing at the person he’d just passed, who was watching everything proceed with a look of horror on her face, then pointing towards where Christopher sat in his sled at the edge of the lake. She started as Eddie pointed at her, surprised to be addressed, but she nodded and immediately dug for her phone in her purse, moving towards Christopher as Eddie continued to the edge of the dock nearest the hole in the ice.

Eddie called to Buck multiple times, trying to get his attention, but Buck seemed laser-focused on the little girl thrashing in the water and Eddie realized he wasn’t hearing him. Adrenaline pumping through him now, Eddie looked around wildly and on the other side of the docks saw a coil of rope hanging on a mooring post where he assumed a boat was usually tied in the summer. Eddie sprinted towards it, nearly wiping out on a slick patch of ice as he tried to stop too quickly. The rope was frozen to the post, but with a few good pulls Eddie was able to get it free. He hoisted it over his shoulder and sprinted back towards the other side of the dock, hoping beyond hope that he’d get back and get the rope out before the worst happened.

Unfortunately, Eddie has just come to a stop beside the mother when the ice gave way. Eddie screamed Buck’s name, watching, horror-struck, as Buck’s form disappeared under the surface of the water with a splash. Fear and panic gripped Eddie’s heart as he waited, terrified, seeing no sign of Buck except his green wool hat floating to the surface.

* * *

Something slammed into Buck’s shoulder as he floated there, suspended a couple of feet under the water, still in shock. The impact startled him enough that he was suddenly able to move again, and he forced his body to pump his arms so that he could right himself. After a moment of furiously swiping his arms, his head finally broke the surface and the sound of his coughs and gasps for air reverberated around them.

Eddie nearly cried with relief when Buck’s head appeared above the water, and he frantically began unwinding the rope, unsticking it from itself where it was frozen in several places, desperately trying to move as fast as possible.

Buck, meanwhile, realized that the thing that had impacted his shoulder was the little girl’s frantically kicking legs. He was only a few feet from her now and though his entire body still felt like it was being stabbed while simultaneously on fire, he tried his best to fall back into firefighting mode and channel his adrenaline into helping her. Her movements were quickly weakening and he swam the distance between them, grabbing her around the waist and holding her tight to his chest.

“I-I’ve g-got you,” he told her, trying to sound confident even though his voice was shaking as he shivered violently. She clung to him, sobbing and shaking like a leaf, as he struggled to swim sideways towards the side of the ice, every stroke more difficult as the cold quickly ate away at his strength.

At the edge of the ice, Buck grabbed hold of it, testing how strong it was. It would definitely not hold his weight, but it seemed strong enough to hold hers. Desperately kicking in an attempt to keep his blood flowing and to keep them afloat, Buck extricated the girl from around his neck.

“I’m g-going to push you up onto the ice. You need t-to crawl to your m-mom as soon as you’re up th-there, okay?” Buck told her firmly, trying to convey how important it was that she do as he was asking, despite his shaking voice. She was clearly still terrified but she nodded through her trembles, and he smiled at her, trying to reassure her.

“You’re r-really brave. You’ve g-got th-this!” he told her, maneuvering so he was behind her and she was facing the ice, facing the docks. He took as deep of a breath as he could manage with his tight chest muscles, steadied his grip on her waist and hoisted her as hard as he could. She didn’t raise up nearly as high as he’d expected her to, his muscles starting to seize up considerably from the cold, and she floundered awkwardly on the ice, her ribs stuck on the edge. He pushed again, as hard as he could, and felt her move upwards and forward this time. The momentum of pushing her so hard forced him back down, though, and he choked on the icy water as his head was submerged again. The frigidity of the water over his head gave him an instant, piercing headache and he struggled to get back to the surface, shuddering as the icy water streamed from his hair down his face and neck. The next moments were a confusing mess of flailing limbs and splashing water. Molly accidentally kicked Buck square in the nose at one point as she tried to propel herself forward and Buck noted in vague surprise that his face was so numb he’d barely felt the impact, though seconds later felt oddly warm blood join the water pouring down his face as he rose above the surface again, coughing and spluttering.

Finally, through joint effort, Molly was completely out of the water. Buck grabbed hold of her feet and gave one last push as hard as he could, the momentum shoving him backwards. She slid forward on the ice as Buck fell back into the water, his head submerging below the surface yet again.

* * *

Eddie was practically vibrating with adrenaline and panic as he watched Buck trying to save the girl, frantically uncoiling the rope. He finally managed to unwind it all and ran over to stand beside the mom as Buck tried valiantly to lift the girl onto the ice. Eddie watched helplessly as Buck had to keeping pushing her upwards, forcing himself back under the water several times in his attempts. Eddie called Buck’s name again, but Buck didn’t hear him.

Quickly and expertly, Eddie tied a large loop in the rope, knotting it tightly. He slid the loop around his shoulders to make sure it was large enough that Buck could get it over his own and pulled it off, satisfied that it would be the right size. He urged the mom and her son to move away and planted himself firmly on the dock, knowing he’d get better traction here than on the ice, as much as he desperately wanted to rush forward onto the ice and save them.

“BUCK!” Eddie yelled in fear and dismay, watching as Buck managed to get the girl up onto the ice, but then disappeared below the surface yet again. Shaking himself, Eddie wound up and threw the loop towards the girl, who gave a little yelp of fright as it landed right in front of her face.

“Sorry! Grab the rope, sweetheart!” Eddie called, trying to focus on the girl while also watching the water, waiting for Buck to resurface. Molly managed to get an arm through the loop and held on as tight as she could as Eddie began pulling her in. She was light, even with her sodden winter clothing, and she slid quickly across the ice towards them as he pulled.

Within moments she was right beside the docks and Eddie reached down to pick her up, looking out at the water at the same time. The cold water from her jacket stung his hands as he set her down beside her mother, fear gripping him. Buck had been under too long. Eddie was just starting to think he might have passed out and was about to leap onto the ice without another though when Buck’s head finally reappeared, and Eddie could hear him gasping and coughing. Both relief and intense worry set his body alight as he turned to the mother and tried to instruct her as fast as he could.

“Get her to your car and get all of her wet clothes off. Wrap her in a blanket or warm, dry clothes but don’t warm her up too fast or she could go into cardiac arrest. The paramedics should be here really soon.”

The woman nodded, clutching her sobbing daughter to her side. She picked Molly up and began to run along the dock and towards the parking lot, her son trailing behind her. Eddie spared a momentary glance to make sure Christopher was still sitting where he’d left him, the woman with the cell phone beside him, then turned back to the ice.

“Buck! BUCK! Can you hear me?” Eddie yelled as he gathered up the rope and began to wind it again so he could throw it out to Buck, who was just barely clinging to the edge of the ice and looked like death, even from this distance.

* * *

It had been very hard, that last time, to get himself back to the surface. Buck had been in the water for at least seven minutes by then and his muscles were so stiff he could barely move. The sensation of a million knives stabbing his skin had slowly been replaced by a numbness so complete he felt like he was barely in his own body anymore. He’d stopped shivering and struggled to find which way was up. He swallowed some water as he ran out of breath just as he’d finally broke the surface, coughing violently and choking on the water, awkwardly trying to keep himself afloat and keep his head above water. He tried to hold on to the edge of the ice, but he couldn’t feel his hands and everything was so slippery that he kept losing his grip, forced to clumsily tread water with his rapidly stiffening limbs.

It was several moments before Buck realized he could hear Eddie’s voice calling to him and looked around, finally seeing Eddie’s form on the docks a good way away. Buck’s brain seemed to be lagging behind, processing things slowly, but he eventually managed to focus on Eddie as he clung to the edge of the ice, forcing himself to kick every so often to stop himself completely sinking under the water again. Buck attempted to heave himself upwards, but he had used so much of his energy getting the girl out that he had none left to hoist himself.

“I’m going to throw you the rope!” Eddie shouted, worriedly watching as Buck clumsily tried to hold onto the ice but kept slipping off, everything too slicked with water to hold his grip. “Put it under your arms!”

Buck tried to call back to him but felt like he couldn’t get enough air to speak, so he gave a weak thumbs up, letting out a soft cry as he lost his grip on the ice once more and fell back, spluttering as a wave of frigid water splashed over his head.

Eddie bit his lip in worry and determination and launched the rope with a practiced swing. It unfurled beautifully in the air, but stopped many feet short of the hole on the ice. Swearing, Eddie pulled it back as fast as he could, winding as he went, realizing he was going to have to step onto the ice for the rope to get close enough. The girl had gotten much closer to him before he’d thrown it the first time.

Buck was rapidly losing control of his muscles as he tried to keep himself afloat. His arms and legs were so stiff it took all of his effort to move them, all of his brain power to remind himself to kick to keep his head above water. The only thing that kept pulling his attention was the feeling of the blood still pouring out of his nose. He was too numb to feel the pain, but his blood felt sickeningly hot as it trickled out of his nose, dripping onto his lips and chin. He tried to keep wiping it away, but the stark contrast of the scarlet blood on his pale fingers made his stomach churn.

Eddie could see that Buck was having difficulty holding on and felt his hands shaking as he finished reeling in the rope. As he adjusted his grip to throw again, he could see Buck slowly tipping backwards as he fruitlessly tried to grip the ice, and Eddie worried that he was starting to black out.

“Kick, Buck!” Eddie shouted, winding up to throw the rope again. “You can do this!”

Relieved as Buck clearly heard him and sluggishly righted himself in the water, Eddie stepped onto the ice and crept a few feet forward, stopping only when he was sure there was enough rope to reach. He planted his feet as firmly as he could, swung, and released the rope. Thankfully, this time the rope landed right in front of Buck on the edge of the ice.

“Grab it! Under your arms!” Eddie yelled, trying to encourage Buck, who looked absolutely bedraggled and exhausted. Eddie’s heart broke for him as Buck tried valiantly to grab at the rope and missed several times before his stiff fingers finally caught on the thick cord.

Buck tried as hard as he could to be fast, but his muscles were so stiff he could barely lift the rope once he got a grip on it. He couldn’t feel his fingers or his hands at all, so maneuvering the rope was difficult. He managed to get it around his neck and under one of his armpits, but he was having trouble bending his other arm enough to thread it up through the loop. He could hear Eddie shouting encouragement at him, noticed the tone to the words becoming more frantic the longer it took him to move.

Finally, after another minute or so, Buck managed to get both arms through the loop and settled it under his armpits. Eddie immediately began to pull until he felt resistance, as Buck’s chest bumped up against the ice. Buck reached out slowly, achingly, trying to pull himself up, not having a lot of luck. Some of the ice broke under the weight of his arms and he cried out as a fresh wave washed over him.

“Come on Buck, kick! You can do this,” Eddie called to him, his voice cracking slightly with emotion as he watched Buck struggle to the new edge. “I love you, I’m right here, you can do this!”

Buck looked up at Eddie through the haze of pain and exhaustion, trying to draw strength from his words. He could see that Eddie, the man he loved, was clearly scared out of his mind and worried for him, and he knew that somewhere, Christopher was probably scared too. The thought of the two of them filled him with metaphorical warmth, and he felt a last wave of strength and determination wash over him.

As Eddie yelled “Pull, Buck!” and tugged on the rope, Buck let out a shout of determination, pain, and anguish and heaved himself upwards as hard as he could, clinging to the rope, using every ounce of his remaining energy. He heard Eddie let out a whoop of relief as Buck managed to get his elbows out of the water and prop himself on the surface of the ice, which mercifully held him this time. Eddie dug his heels in and began to pull, hard, nearly slipping on the ice himself but just managing to stay upright.

“Kick! Kick as much as you can, Buck!” Eddie yelled, his muscles straining as he pulled.

After an enormous amount of effort on both of their parts, Buck’s upper body finally left the water and he splayed out on the ice on his belly, drops of crimson blood hitting the surface under his face. Eddie kept pulling, taking a few steps backwards as he did so until he was at the dock’s edge. He hopped back up onto the wooden surface so he would have better traction and then began to pull Buck in as fast as he could. Buck was too weak to help, too weak to do much of anything but attempt to hold on to the rope as he was dragged forward, leaving a wide swath of water shining on the surface of the ice behind him. It felt like hours were passing as he moved across the surface a few inches at a time, and eventually he felt so weak that his head drooped, resting on his outstretched arm.

“Buck!” Eddie cried when he saw Buck’s head loll, thinking he had passed out, but then Buck moved his legs on his own and he realized he was still conscious. Still, spurred on by the fright, Eddie pulled as hard as he could, sweat pouring down his face from the effort, and finally Buck was within reach.

Someone he hadn’t noticed nearby rushed forward and helped him pull Buck up onto the dock and Eddie hit his knees on the wood, pulling Buck into his lap, barely feeling the shock of the cold water soaking into his pants. Eddie was unable to stop himself touching Buck’s face, pushing his sopping hair out of his eyes, putting his hand around Buck’s head and tilting it towards his, his hands shaking with relief. Buck moaned, taking fast, shallow breaths, mostly limp in Eddie’s arms, his eyes firmly closed as he stirred feebly.

“Buck, Buck! Stay with me,” Eddie pleaded, as Buck’s eyes refused to open and he moaned softly again, once again scared that he had lost consciousness. As though through sheer force of will, Buck’s eyelids fluttered weakly and then slowly opened, and his gaze met Eddie’s.

“Eddie,” Buck murmured, his voice so soft and breathless Eddie barely heard it. It wasn’t a question, more like an acknowledgement and Eddie felt tears well in his eyes at how broken Buck sounded. Eddie stroked Buck’s cheek and leaned down, pressing a kiss to his frozen lips, so thankful to be holding him again that he momentarily forgot everything else. He hadn’t realized just how scared he’d been until this moment, holding Buck in his arms.

Eddie had almost lost Buck so many times already; in the fire truck explosion, in the tsunami; hell he’d almost gotten taken out by a driverless, flaming car careening down a hill when they’d gone to Texas. Almost losing him again had terrified Eddie so thoroughly that his hands now shook uncontrollably as he stroked Buck’s hair, whispering to him that he was okay, that he had him, that he would be just fine. Buck’s eyes slowly closed again and his head rested heavily on Eddie’s chest, still regularly letting out small gasps for air, clearly unable to take a proper breath.

After a moment, Eddie shook himself; Buck needed care right now, not emotions. Swallowing the lump in his throat and blinking back the tears in his eyes, Eddie got to work. First, he reached down and began tugging Buck’s sodden forest-green sweater off of him, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. Buck moaned as his bare skin was exposed to the air, and Eddie shushed him gently, reassuringly. Eddie quickly stripped off his own jacket and button-up t-shirt, leaving him in just a tank top. He quickly used his t-shirt to dry off as much of Buck’s skin as he could, feeling horrible for him, his skin icy cold everywhere Eddie touched. Once he was as dry as Eddie could get him with the t-shirt, he carefully sat Buck up, drying his back as much as possible as well.

Buck groaned as Eddie sat him up, feeling all his stiff muscles resisting the movement, but he did his best to help stay upright as he felt Eddie pulling his arm into a jacket sleeve. It was a weird sensation; he could see Eddie pulling the fabric over his arms, but he could barely feel anything. His skin felt like cold stone, unresponsive to touch. He could kind of feel the weight of the jacket once it was properly settled on him, but couldn’t really feel the touch of the fabric on his skin.

“Come on, Buck, we have to get you up,” Eddie said encouragingly, bending over in front of Buck and reaching for him. Buck whimpered involuntarily as he clung to Eddie’s arms and Eddie all but picked him up, Buck’s muscles screaming in protest. He nearly fell over as soon as he was standing, his knees buckling instantly under his weight.

Buck was breathing fast and shallow and felt dizzy as hell as he teetered on the spot; the only reason he didn’t collapse was because Eddie was holding onto him. Eddie wrapped his arm around Buck’s waist and pulled Buck’s arm up behind his neck, supporting the vast majority of Buck’s weight as his legs refused to do the job. With a lot of encouragement Buck was able to shuffle forwards, and Eddie half-carried, half-dragged him slowly along the dock. He glanced back only once, vaguely noting that Buck’s jacket was laying on the ice, then looking away, focusing instead on where he could see Christopher still sitting on his sled, the woman he’d had call 9-1-1 still standing on the shore beside him.

It took many long minutes to get Buck even close to the edge of the dock; the farther they moved, the more heavily Buck leaned on Eddie, what little strength he had very quickly leaving him. Eddie shivered slightly in the cold breeze and felt instantly guilty; if he was cold in his mostly dry tank top, how the hell did Buck feel? Eddie’s head and heart suddenly lifted as he heard sirens approaching, and a moment later, an ambulance pulled into view at the top of the hill and parked, killing the sirens.

“Eddie,” Buck muttered, speaking to the ground because he could barely lift his head, his speech slurred. “Need to stop. Can’t feel my legs.”

“Just a few more steps,” Eddie told him, tightening his grip on Buck’s waist and pulling him along. They were almost to the end of the dock, and there was a bench on the shore that Eddie could sit Buck down on for a moment, just until the paramedics got down there. Eddie saw the mother waving at the medics and they went over to her car first, where he could just barely see a small figure wrapped in a blanket.

Buck groaned but did his best to obey, shuffling forward like an old man, his grip on Eddie getting looser instead of tighter as his energy waned and he came dangerously close to collapsing. They had barely made it to the bench when Buck stumbled and began to fall. Eddie managed to steer Buck to the side and he collapsed on the bench instead of the ground, Eddie losing his footing as well and nearly falling again.

“Dad!” Christopher shouted at him as he righted himself, and Eddie realized he’d be so focused on Buck he hadn’t heard his kid calling to him. “Is Buck okay?”

“Yeah, mijo, he’s okay.” Eddie made sure that Buck was securely lying on the bench before turning to the woman whom he’d asked to watch Christopher.

“Thank you so much, I really appreciate you watching him,” he told her gratefully, the stress and mounting worry evident in his voice. She smiled grimly at him with a nod, then looked over at Buck.

“Is he okay?” she asked, in a very different tone than Christopher, and Eddie knew she thought he’d been sugar coating it for his kid.

“He will be, he just needs to warm up and get a lot of rest,” Eddie said, running a damp hand through his hair. “Can I ask you one more favour?”

“Of course.”

“Can you go up there and tell the medics they need to come down here too? In case the mom forgets.” Eddie didn’t blame her if she did; if it was Christopher who had fallen in the water, he would have been laser-focused on him too.

“Absolutely,” she agreed, nodding. She started to turn away, then looked back at him with a smile. “Tell your husband he’s a hero, when he’s feeling better.”

Eddie found himself smiling at this, feeling his heart swell as he thought of Buck. The brave idiot had scared the shit out of him once again, but Eddie swore it only made him love him more.

“Not husband yet,” he said, looking over at Buck, who was still lying where he’d fallen on the bench, “but don’t worry, I plan on telling him the second he’s coherent.”

The woman smiled and turned to make her way up the hill, and Eddie pulled Christopher’s sled closer to the bench, sinking down onto it beside Buck. He gently pulled Buck onto his lap, half-sitting him up so he could lean on Eddie’s chest, holding him close as they waited. Buck gave a very soft gasp followed by a moan and turned his face towards Eddie’s chest, he soaked hair leaving a wet spot on Eddie’s tank top.

“Did Buck save that girl?” Christopher asked, pointing in the direction of the water, and then the parking lot.

“Yeah, he did,” Eddie told him, squeezing Buck to acknowledge him. Buck, while still conscious, had his eyes closed, and Eddie got the impression he wasn’t really hearing them. Eddie slipped his fingers down to Buck’s throat and surreptitiously took his pulse as he explained to Christopher a sanitized version of what had happened.

Buck’s pulse was slow, slower than he’d expected, and Eddie swore inwardly, worried that he’d progressed beyond light hypothermia into moderate, which was much more problematic. Eddie looked around to see if the woman had reached the medics yet, and was pleased to see the two paramedics already leading a stretcher down the hill, the woman standing at the top and watching their progress. She saw Eddie looking and waved, and he waved back, beyond grateful for her help.

The medics got to them quickly and Eddie briefed them on what had happened. Buck seemed to have stopped making any effort to sit up or move by that point, so Eddie helped the medics lift him onto the stretcher. Once he was settled they strapped him in and Eddie gave his cold cheek another stroke before they started to push the stretcher up the hill. Eddie nearly went with them without a second thought, remembering at the last moment that he still had to get Christopher back up the hill too.

Eddie said some words of reassurance to his son, who was upset at seeing Buck being wheeled away on a stretcher, though he wasn’t even sure what he had said as he started to pull Christopher’s sled, following the medics up the hill. He, too, was upset at seeing Buck being wheeled away, the nightmare of the fire truck explosion and Buck’s crushed leg flickering in his mind as he walked, and it was hard for him to think of anything else.

When they got to the top of the hill, Eddie saw the medics were checking Buck’s vitals and so hurried over to their SUV.

“Are you okay to wait here, mijo?” Eddie asked, lifting Christopher up and placing him gently into the backseat. “I want to go and make sure Buck’s okay.”

“Yes Dad,” Christopher said softly. “Tell him I love him.”

“I will.” Eddie kissed Christopher’s forehead, made sure the engine was running and the heat was on so he wouldn’t get cold, then closed the door and headed back over to the ambulance.

Buck seemed slightly more coherent, his eyes heavy-lidded but open and trying to speak to the medics, though his words were still slurred and his voice very quiet. He was visibly relieved when Eddie came into his line of vision and let out a small sigh, looking plaintively up at Eddie.

“I thought you left,” Buck whispered, weakly reaching for Eddie’s hand. Eddie, feeling his heart break even more and guilt kick at his insides, pulled Buck’s hand to his face, kissed the back of it gently, then wrapped both of his hands around it.

“Of course not,” Eddie told him firmly. “Never. I just had to get Christopher into the car. He says he loves you, by the way.”

“Love him too,” Buck mumbled, his eyes drifting closed for a moment before he forced them open again. “He okay?”

Eddie shook his head, exhaling in both exasperation and a soft, disbelieving laugh. Even in this state; so cold he could barely move or speak, blood still dripping sluggishly from his nose, icy hair plastered to his head, all Buck could think about was other people.

“He’s fine, Buck. He’s just worried about you. I am too.”

The medics spoke up at that point, telling Eddie that Buck was stable but that he should get checked out anyway, and asking if they wanted transport to the hospital.

“What about Molly?” Buck asked, his voice breaking as he attempted to speak. Neither medic heard him properly, so Eddie repeated his question for him.

“We advised the mother to take her to hospital.”

Buck and Eddie both looked over at the car next to the ambulance. The mother was sitting sideways in the passenger seat with the door open, her daughter sitting in her lap, wrapped in a blanket. The mother was obviously still extremely distraught, still crying, her hands shaking as she clutched her daughter closely.

“Take her instead,” Buck said immediately, his voice a little louder this time, a little more firm. Seeing the mother so scared and upset seemed to give him some strength, and Eddie squeezed his hand.

“Buck, you need to go to the hospital,” Eddie told him, though he could already tell by the look in Buck’s eyes that Buck would literally argue this until he passed out from exhaustion if he had to. Sighing, Eddie rubbed his eyes, feeling a distinct pain in his head behind them as the medics reiterated to Buck that he needed to go to the hospital.

“My boyfriend is a medic,” Buck insisted, trying to sit up, clumsily pulling at the strap over his chest. “He can take care of me.”

Eddie sighed again, but knew there was no point arguing. Plus, he had to agree with Buck’s assessment of the mother of the girl.

“Look, he’s right,” Eddie said, gesturing to the car beside them. “She’s in no fit state to drive. Take the girl, I can bring Buck to the hospital myself.”

“I don’t need the hospital,” Buck told him, but since he spoke so quietly it was easy for Eddie to pretend he hadn’t heard. The paramedics looked at each other a bit uneasily.

“Are you sure? He should really get checked out as soon as possible.”

“I’ll bring him straight to the hospital,” Eddie promised, ignoring Buck’s wordless noise of protest. The medics had Buck sign a form declining care, and one of the medics began to unstrap him as the other approached the mother.

Eddie suddenly felt the enormity of all of this slam into him at once as he watched the paramedic undoing Buck’s leg straps and felt unbearably exhausted, actually having to shift his weight to stop himself falling over. Seeing Buck on this stretcher like this, blood on his face, his hair plastered to his head, paler than Eddie had ever seen before; it was suddenly more than Eddie could handle. Goosebumps erupted on his bare arms as a cold breeze ruffled his hair and made the water on his shirt feel even colder, but Eddie refused to let his feelings get the better of him and took a few deep breaths, looking away from Buck for a moment and shoving away his weakness into a dark corner of his mind. Buck needed him to be strong, capable Eddie right now and that’s what he was going to get.

Eddie helped Buck sit up and then carefully held him tight as he stood, his legs still as weak and wobbly as before, but at least they didn’t have the daunting hill stretching before them this time. It was easy enough for Eddie to lead Buck to the SUV, and once he was settled in the front seat, Eddie quickly dug through their suitcase in the back until he found a dry sweater for Buck, tossing the wet one in a corner of the trunk. He helped Buck take off his jacket and get the sweater on, as it would warm him better than the jacket, pulling the coat back on himself before hurrying over to the driver’s seat.

“I don’t need to go to the hospital,” Buck said almost immediately as Eddie got into the vehicle and closed his door, tossing the key hub into the dash tray. Eddie reached over past Buck and pulled his seatbelt down, buckling him in, ignoring the look Buck was giving him.

“You’re going to the hospital,” Eddie said, pulling out of the parking space and driving off.

“Eddie, I’m fine,” Buck said in a pleading tone, his voice cracking. “Please… I really don’t want to go.”

Buck tone was one of desperation and Eddie glanced over at him for a moment as he waited to turn onto the highway. Buck looked very upset, and Eddie could only imagine what he was going through as all the memories of hospital visits in the past rushed through his head. Eddie didn’t blame him for not wanting to add another one, especially in another country. Especially when they were on vacation. But still, Eddie was worried about him.

“Buck, you were in that water for a long time,” Eddie said, unable to banish the uncertainty from his voice, shaking his head as he pulled out onto the highway and began to accelerate back towards the townsite.

“And you’ll take care of me. Right?” Eddie glanced sideways to see Buck give him a ghost of a smile and sighed as he felt his will crumbling, rolling his eyes at his own weakness. He was quiet for a while, going over Buck’s symptoms in his mind, well aware that Buck was still looking at him.

“Fine,” Eddie relented, and sensed rather than saw Buck sag with relief. “But with a caveat,” Eddie continued immediately. “If you feel worse or get any new symptoms you have to tell me, and it will be up to my discretion whether we get you checked out or not. Got it?”

“Okay,” Buck agreed in a small, breathy voice, leaning back against the seat, clearly exhausted. Now that they were on the highway at a stable speed, Eddie let go of the steering wheel with one hand and reached for Buck’s, wrapping his warm fingers around Buck’s frigid ones. Buck made a soft noise that Eddie wasn’t entirely sure was happy or sleepy, but either way, Eddie held Buck’s hand until they had to turn off the highway about twenty minutes later. Their hotel was thankfully very close to the turnoff, and Eddie parked, darted in to check in, and then came back out.

Eddie realized Buck had fallen asleep in the front seat and Eddie hopped back into the driver’s seat, reaching across to take Buck’s wrist. Eddie settled two fingers over his pulse point and counted, satisfied that the rate was higher than it had been before, which hopefully meant he was stabilizing. After watching Buck sleep for a moment with a small smile on his face, Eddie decided to take Christopher up to the room first, not having the heart to disturb the poor guy just yet.

Fifteen minutes later, Eddie had brought Christopher and all the luggage up to the room and came back for Buck, who was still sleeping peacefully in the warm SUV. Eddie opened Buck’s door and slipped a hand up to Buck’s neck, gently stroking there before moving upwards and stroking his cheek gently instead, trying not to startle him. He noticed that Buck had started shivering again and was glad; it meant he was slowly getting warmer.

“Buck, come on,” Eddie said in a gentle, quiet voice as Buck stirred, slowly opening his eyes and blinking sluggishly at Eddie. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

Buck was very sleepy and still weak, so Eddie took his sweet time helping Buck out of the car and into the building, into the elevator and down the hall a short ways to their room, attracting a curious glance or two from the couple of people they passed.

Without telling Buck, Eddie had upgraded their basic room to a King Deluxe suite, so there was a separate master bedroom with a king sized bed and a wonderful ensuite bathroom, with a double bed in the living room for Christopher. Buck looked around in faint surprise as Eddie led him into the room, smiling weakly as Christopher cheered their arrival and waved. Christopher immediately got up and padded over to them, wrapping his arms around Buck’s middle as Buck steadied himself on the wall so he didn’t fall over onto him.

“Glad you’re okay, Buck,” Christopher said into Buck’s sweater, and Buck smiled, weakly rubbing his back, his hands trembling.

“Thanks b-buddy. I’m g-glad too.”

Eddie got Christopher settled in front of the TV again with a snack and led an exhausted, shuddering Buck into their bedroom, closing the door behind them.

“We need to warm you gradually,” Eddie said, as he noticed Buck looking longingly over at the large jacuzzi tub. “No hot bath until you’re at a stable temperature for a while.”

Buck sank sadly down onto the bed, hoping he would at least be allowed to sleep if he wasn’t allowed to have a bath or go in the hot tub. His shivers were unending and Buck stared down at his shaking hands, his eyes slowly closing even as he sat there.

Eddie came over with a warm, wet cloth and took Buck’s face in one hand, gently dabbing at the drying blood on Buck’s skin with the cloth until it was clean, his touch as light as possible to avoid hurting him. Buck let out a soft noise of distress and pressed his cheek into Eddie’s hand.

“Come on, let’s get those wet clothes off of you,�� Eddie said placatingly, giving Buck’s cheek a stroke before tossing aside the cloth and helping Buck take off his soaked boots, socks, pants and boxers. As much as Eddie wanted to comfort Buck, getting him warm was more important.

Eddie helped Buck into a pair of warm, dry underwear, and then pulled back the blanket on the bed. Confused, Buck was too weak to protest as Eddie gently pulled Buck’s shirt off, Buck immediately crossing his arms over his pecs in an attempt to feel warmer.

“What are you-” Buck started, watching with growing confusion as Eddie peeled his own t-shirt off, leaving him bare chested.

“Body heat is the best way to gradually warm someone,” Eddie explained, flashing a brilliant smile at Buck that would have made him weak in the knees had he not already been weak in the knees. “Come on. We have an hour until Christopher’s movie is over.”

Buck smiled faintly as Eddie helped him lie down, his body feeling extremely heavy the moment he was horizontal. He was absolutely exhausted, and his eyes were already closed by the time Eddie joined him in bed and pulled the blanket over them.

Eddie let out a loud, involuntary gasp as he pulled Buck close, Buck’s chilled skin pressing against Eddie’s warm chest, the chill shocking him more than he’d expected. Buck let out a very small laugh at the sound of his gasp, and Eddie felt Buck relax in his arms as he snuggled up against Eddie’s front.

Within a few minutes, Buck began to shiver harder. Buck whimpered and Eddie held him even closer as he shook, his whole body twitching. Eddie had been expecting this, but clearly Buck hadn’t, if the way he curled up tightly against Eddie’s chest was any indication.

“W-why n-now?” Buck asked, shivering so violently he could barely speak, his teeth chattering and his hands trembling as he reached up to push his hair off of his forehead.

“Because before you were too hypothermic to even shiver,” Eddie explained, leaning forward and kissing Buck on the forehead, reaching up to stroke his hair. “I know it feels shitty, but I promise it’s a good thing. It means you’re warming up.”

Buck let out a small groan and ducked his head, resting it on Eddie’s arm, letting out a long, shaky breath. Eddie pulled Buck to his chest and held him close as he trembled, as he let out small gasps and moans as the shivers wracked his body. Eddie’s heart felt like it physically hurt as he listened to Buck’s ragged breathing, his weak gasps and whimpers as the convulsions continued. Eddie wished nothing more than to be able to take away the horrible feeling from him, to be able to protect Buck from everything in the world.

“You’re a hero, you know that?” Eddie murmured after a while into Buck’s damp hair, kissing the top of his head. “You saved that little girl.”

“You w-would’ve d-done the s-same,” Buck replied shakily in a muffled voice, his head still tucked down against the crook of Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie shrugged.

“Yeah, but I didn’t. You did.”

“O-only because you w-weren’t th-there f-first,” Buck protested, and Eddie laughed softly, kissing Buck’s forehead again.

“Just take the compliment, Buck,” Eddie said in quiet exasperation, shaking his head. “You’re a damn hero.”

Buck didn’t say anything else, but Eddie felt him smile against his bicep. Eddie kept up a slow, gentle stroking of Buck’s back to comfort him and within a few moments, Eddie felt Buck’s weight press more heavily into him. He continued to shiver, but not as intensely, and Eddie could tell that he’d fallen asleep. Knowing that he’d likely be out for a while, Eddie gently extricated himself, gave Buck a quick kiss and covered him with the blanket, tucking it all around him so he was nice and snug.

Eddie pulled a long-sleeved shirt on and headed out into the living room so Christopher didn’t feel abandoned, watching the rest of the movie with him and playing a round of Kids’ Trivial Pursuit with him. A couple of hours later, Christopher was cheering his victory against Eddie when Eddie heard Buck’s soft voice calling. Eddie laughed, ruffling Christopher’s hair, and hurried off to check on Buck while Christopher reset the game.

“How are you doing, Buck?” Eddie asked, coming into the room to see Buck propped up on the pillows, looking somewhat more alert than he had.

“S-still c-cold,” Buck shivered, pulling the blanket up to his bare shoulders. “B-but I’m h-hungry and don’t want to l-lie here anymore.”

Eddie smiled and came over to Buck’s side of the bed, sitting down and taking Buck’s hand, sliding his fingers over Buck’s pulse once more. Buck looked at him with a bit of a sad, vulnerable expression on his face, which melted Eddie’s heart and made it hard to concentrate. He was pleased to feel that Buck’s heart rate had increased again and felt stronger than it did before.

“Come on. Let’s get you some food,” Eddie said once he was done, shifting to take Buck’s hand and pull him into a standing position, realizing belatedly that he was still mostly naked.

“I sh-should probably p-put some c-clothes on,” Buck said, crossing his arms over his chest again to try and keep warm as the cool air of the room wafted over his skin. “D-don’t want to scar C-christopher.”

“Right,” laughed Eddie, rifling through their suitcases and finding Buck some sweatpants, a t-shirt and a hoodie and helping him get dressed. Once he was dressed and standing unsteadily by the bed, Eddie took his hand to lead him out into the other room.

“Wait,” Buck said, as Eddie started to pull him forward. Eddie stopped, turning back to him curiously. “I… I didn’t get to say anything b-back there, but I h-heard what you said.”

“What do you mean?” Eddie asked, though he thought he knew. Back when he was trying to pull Buck in, when he was trying to encourage him, he’d been shouting all kinds of things, not even really aware of what he’d been saying, though he suspected he knew what he’d said.

“You… you said you love me.” Buck said quietly, biting his lower lip a little, suddenly bashful. “Did… did you mean that? O-or was it just because you were afraid I w-was dying?”

Eddie looked down at him for a moment, thoughtful, then reached up with both of his hands and took Buck’s face gently in them. Eddie leaned in as Buck’s eyes fluttered closed and pressed his lips to Buck’s, stroking Buck’s cheeks with his thumbs as he kissed him. Eddie felt Buck melt into his embrace and smiled into the kiss, slowly pulling away many moments later and looking down as Buck’s eyes opened to meet his.

“I love you,” Eddie said simply with a light shrug, smiling and taking Buck’s hand once more. Buck seemed momentarily stunned, but then his face lit up, his grin nearly as bright as it usually was despite his continued shivering.

“I love you too.”

* * *

A few days later, Buck was enthusiastically ready to leave the hotel once again. He had slept a lot over the last few days, and he hadn’t stopped shivering until well into the night the day of the incident. Eddie had extended their stay by a few days so Buck could rest, and he’d been alternating between sleeping in the king-sized bed with Eddie or napping on the couch, often with Christopher snuggled up beside him, watching (or sleeping through) a movie. They played board games several times, as Buck could sit, wrapped in a blanket, and be perfectly comfortable. Eddie had taken a quick trip to a nearby grocery store for snacks and had been ordering meals so that Buck didn’t overtax himself going out, which was nice the first two days but was starting to irk him by the third, as he was starting to feel a little suffocated.

The only major downside to his recovery had been discovering how sensitive his skin was after being so cold for so long, especially his fingers. When Eddie had finally cleared him to have a nice warm bath, Buck had yelped as he sank into the water and submerged his hands; they felt like they were burning, the same sensation as having a hot shower with a sunburn. This meant the hot tub was out of the question and Buck had sulked about that for a while, wanting nothing more than to submerge himself in hot, bubbly water.

Thankfully, the sensitivity had subsided over the last few days and now they were, finally, heading out for a day’s sightseeing. Their first trip was to a nearby hot springs, on Buck’s insistence that he was better. It was snowing and the effect was magical as they watched the snow melt as it hit the steamy barrier floating up from the springs pool. Christopher was mesmerized and Buck was mostly just pleased that he was able to soak without (much) pain, finally feeling like his old self again.

The only obvious sign that anything had happened was the purple bruises under either of his eyes from when the girl had kicked him in the nose. Eddie had insisted that they weren’t as obvious as they felt, but Buck still felt self conscious about them, trying to avoid looking people in the eyes when he met them. It also made kissing Eddie a little more difficult; Eddie’s nose had accidentally bumped his despite Eddie being as careful as possible just that morning and the sudden pain had taken Buck’s breath away.

Buck and Eddie followed behind Christopher as he led them up and down the town’s main street, going in and out of gift shops, buying souvenirs and fudge, getting an ice cream from a famous ice cream shop, even though it was cold outside. Eddie pulled Buck into an outdoor supplies shop and bought him a comfortable new jacket and a teal knitted toque like the one he’d lost, getting both Christopher and himself the same hat to match, upon Christopher’s excited request.

They stopped to have lunch at a cute little pub with great Irish food and were just stepping away from the door when something collided with Buck’s leg. Buck looked down in surprise to see a young girl, who threw her arms around his waist. He looked around, confused, until he saw the girl’s mother approaching with her small son in tow, and realized this must be the girl he’d pulled from the water.

“Hi Molly,” Buck said, smiling, patting her on the back as she clung to him. She said nothing, but her grip on his waist tightened as he said her name.

“I’m so sorry we didn’t get to thank you the other day,” the mother said to him as she came level with them. “Thank you so much. I can’t even begin to repay you for what you did, you nearly died for a little girl you’ve never even met.”

“It’s alright, ma’am,” Buck said, feeling his face flush as he felt rather than saw both Christopher and Eddie watching them.

“We’re firefighters,” Buck said, gesturing to Eddie and himself. “It’s what we do, I didn’t think anything of it.”

“Cool!” The little boy behind his mother poked his head around her side to stare at Buck and Eddie. “I wanna be a firefighter when I grow up!”

Eddie grinned and high fived the little boy, who seemed star struck to meet two real-life firefighters. They spoke with the mother and her kids for several minutes, until Christopher started to shift uncomfortably, feeling cold from standing in one place for too long.

“Well, we won’t take any more of your time,” the woman, Eleanor, said. “Thank you, again. Both of you. If there’s anything I can ever do to help you in any way, please, don’t hesitate to call.”

Eleanor pressed a business card into Buck’s hand so he would have her phone number and peeled Molly from Buck’s side, where she still was, refusing to let go.

“Thank you,” Molly said in a tiny voice, looking up at him, before dashing back towards her mother and hiding behind her, suddenly shy. Buck laughed, then waved as they walked away, Molly looking back him several times and giving him a small wave before they disappeared around the corner.

“Told you,” Eddie said, taking Buck’s hand as they walked slowly in the opposite direction back towards their car. “You’re a hero.”

Buck felt himself blushing again as he tried to wave off Eddie’s words, but as Christopher cheered in agreement and Eddie pulled him over to give him a kiss, Buck had to admit it felt pretty good to know that he’d saved that girl and he was no worse for wear besides the bruises on his face.

“Fine, fine,” Buck said gruffly after Eddie had pulled away from the kiss as Christopher let out an “ewwww!” and they all laughed.

They got back to the car and Buck helped Christopher into the back seat, buckling him up before closing the door. Buck turned around to see a squirrel bounding across the sidewalk right near him and watched, wrapping his arms around his chest as he shivered a bit in the cold air, even though he was in his snug new jacket.

“I thought you were an honourary Canadian?” Eddie teased, coming around the side of the car to see what he was looking at.

“I was, until I spent twelve minutes in a freezing lake,” Buck lamented, and Eddie made a noise somewhere between concern and a laugh. “I will never complain about being too warm in LA ever again.”

Eddie actually laughed then, and clapped Buck on the back. They both jumped into the SUV, Buck behind the steering wheel this time as Christopher excitedly asked where they were headed now. They’d had quite the misadventure here but they were ready to continue on their journey as a family, just the three of them.

* * *

Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know what you thought!

If you would like to be added to (or removed from) my tag list for any fandom in particular, or all of my fics in general, please send me a message or an ask! <3

Tag list: @outside-the-government @littlecarowrites @star-trekkin-across-theuniverse @stormsnevercometostay @southernbellestatues @mad-girl-without-a-box @reading-in-moonlight

77 notes · View notes

alia-turin-fanfiction · 3 years ago

Text

Title: The Ghost on the Shore

Rating: Mature

Fandom: The Silmarillion

Additional Tags: Loss, Memory Loss, ghost - Freeform, Haunting, Death, Sorrow, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Summary: A human walks trough the beach, looking for shells and accidentally fins a ghost everyone on her village has been talking about. She ends up hearing the ghost' story, his grief and regrets, his memories about the family he has lost and the sacrifices he had made.

She walked down the shore, picking shells and digging through the cold sands, trying to find the largest. The wedding was just a week from now and she could barely find the shells she needed to make the decorations and the jewellery. Her eyes turned west, the sun was almost through and darkness would come soon. She had to go back, but that was when a song caught her ear. She looked around, but there was no one, yet the song rose with the waves and disappeared in the wind. She started walking in the direction of the song but with every step she doubted that was even real. Perhaps there was a strange echo at night, but she knew that was not true. That was an actual voice, the most enchanting voice she had ever heard in her life.

Time passed and she found herself at the furthest point of the beach she had ever been. It would take her an hour to get back home and the sun was gone now. Stupid girl, following the unknow. Then she saw it. A shape, maybe a man walking towards her. He was wearing robes that one time might have been blue, but now they were bleached from the sun and salt, mud and old sand was covering them, the fabric torn to ribbons in some places. She knew what that was. The old fishermen talked about it. The shore ghost, he could summon storms with his voice and drive sailors mad. She stepped back but she tripped on her own foot, as all the shells she had collected fell in the sand. She panicked. Damned be the shells, if that ghost could call the storm, what was he to do with her? In panic she started picking the shells, as fast as she could, she might not pick all of them, but as many as she could and then she should run. Run as fast as possible, in the night, in the darkness, until she reached her home.

“I had a brother once.” a strange voice spoke and she froze. Her eyes traced the sand to the man’s feet, he had no shoes, the skin was dry. She lifted her eyes, her teeth grinding in fear. She expected to see a terror, maybe a torn face, visible bones, gore and blood. Old fishermen said the ghost died in a storm, a ship mast hit his face and killed him, and now he wanted to do that to everyone. There was no mast nearby, but she was sure he could find something.

His face was not gore, however. Long black hairs reached way past his shoulders, his lips were cracked the same way she saw sailors’ lips cracked if they spent too much time in the wind. His cheeks were hollow, she could see the outlines of his skull, but it was still covered in porcelain skin. Long dark circles surrounded his eyes as if he had not slept for days.

“Yes.” he continued talking as he knelt, her heart was beating so fast, this ghost was going to kill her and she felt paralized. Was that his way? Was that how he did it? “He was fair, my brother. Fairer than most, at least on the outside. His heart...never mind his heart. It’s gone now, like all of them.”

She was so scared that only now she noticed that he was an elf, not human, but he was the strangest elf she had seen. Their kind sometimes came to the village to trade, but he was taller than almost any elf she had seen, his eyes were shining like gems, as unnatural as elves eyes were to her, his were completely different. Grey, cold and shining like stars.

Maglor reached for his forehead and rubbed his temples. These headaches were terrible, he would wake up and his head would be pulsing, splitting his skull in half. If he were a braver man he would smash his head in a stone and be done with it, but he could not face what came after. No, he was where he was supposed to be.

Something in front of him moved, and just now he realized he was not alone. His eyes fell on a human female, lying in the sand looking at him with terror in her eyes. He did not remember how he came to where he was. He looked behind himself. The cave where he slept was nearby, but he did not recall walking here and even seeing anyone. He was close to the human, he must have bumped into her or something but he could not recall.

“Who are you?” he got up, patting the sand of his robes. Not that it really mattered, more sand will just get stuck to him tomorrow.

The woman crawled back, shells falling from her grip, she was trying to get as far as possible from him. Maglor reached for her, offering her his hand, but then she screamed and started crawling backwards faster.

“Wait.” She made a step toward her trying to stop her, but it was too late. She hit her head on a rock behind her.

He had not done fire in a while. He was surprised he remembered how to do it. The darkness and coldness were part of him now so he did not need the light. Besides, he hated looking at the fire. Every time the flames danced he would see Maitimo, mad and broken. His eyes were fixed on the human, she was starting to awaken. Her hands reached for her head, where she had hit the stone. Slowly her gaze fixed on her and then a scream followed. The cave echoed, carrying her voice in the darkness.

“Don’t kill me, please.” she cried, trying to push herself further from him, but instead her back hit the cold stone walls.

“Kill you?” Maglor scratched his hollow cheek. “If I wanted you dead I could have left you on the sand. You would have bled to death or the wolves would get you.”

“Where am I?” His words did not seem to calm her, her body was still tense, her eyes looking around, trying to find escape. Funny, her hair reminded him somehow of Celegorm’s.

“In a cave.” Maglor answered, trying not to dwell on his dead brother’s looks. “You hit your head, I took you in.” That did not seem to calm the human. She was young, he had lost the ability to tell their age, there was a period when they all looked as if they could be sixteen or thirty. “What is your name?” she hesitated, but her eyes finally focused on him, not on everything else around. “If you want to leave, you can, but it’s dark outside and you humans have terrible sight.”

“Elean.” she finally responded. “My name is Elean. Are you a ghost?”

“A ghost?” Maglor was about to deny it but then he thought about it. He was a ghost. A shell of what he used to be, he wasn’t dead however, but he was not alive either. “Something like it.”

“The fishermen say you can call a storm.” her body relaxed a bit but she was still trying to keep away from him.

He winced. These days he could barely walk or sing, if he could call a storm that would make for good entertainment, his father might even be proud of him for once. If his father was alive and not an ashen pile or a prisoner of his own darkness.

“I’m afraid I posses no such power.” silence followed, but he could not stop thinking about how he found her. For the life of him he could nor recall how he ran into that human. It wasn’t uncommon for him to find himself wandering and forgetting how he got there, but usually he just thought he walked the sands and sang and his mind wandered. She was the first human he had seen in years and it wasn’t that he randomly saw her. He was kneeling in front of her as if he had been talking to her. “How...did you find me?'' He wasn’t sure that was the right question, but he had no idea what the right question was. He had no idea what anything was.

“I was picking shells and I heard a song...I followed the song and I saw you.” she responded slowly as if she was talking to a child unsure if her words made sense. “Then you came to me and you spoke of your brother.”

“My brother?” something in Maglor’s chest shrank. He did not remember that. How could he mention his brothers and not even remember that? “What did I say?” he asked. His voice betrayed his own fear and confusion. “What did I say?!” she shouted and she pulled back again, the fear returning.

“You...said he was fair. Fairer than most. On the outside.” her voice was shaking, her eyes frantically looking for an exit again.

He wasn’t surprised at his words, but he could not remember saying them. Why would he talk about Celegorm to a human he had just met.

“What else did I say?” his voice was calmer, but there was still that strange feeling in his chest. He did not remember any of that.

“Nothing...you said he was gone. That they were all gone.” her shoulders sank again, more relaxed. “Who are they?”

Maglor ignored the question, he had other things to worry about. His life was not worth anything for all he cared, but his mind. That was the last thing he had left. What if he was forgetting other things? Not just how he got from here to there, but what if he was forgetting who he was...what if he forgets Maitimo and Kurvo...all of them, his father, his mother. No, he could not forget them, if he forgets them, who will sing about their sacrifice, who will remember them as they truly were not as the stories made them to be?

“I was a king once.” he finally spoke, he could see in her eyes that she did not buy that. “No. I was a son of a king, then a brother of a king, then a king and then I was just me. I watched my brother burn.” his eyes stopped on the fire. He didn’t really see Amrod burn, he didn’t even know that had happened, not until Maedhros had told him. “My father set him on fire. He didn’t know.” Maglor bit his lip, the cracked skin broke under his teeth and he could taste his blood. “Then my father died and my brother was captured.”

He would never forgive himself for these years. The moment he became a king, the moment he dared take Maedhros’ place. He was broken, but in his head he thought he could do better. He would be a greater king than the great Feanor, he would be kinder than his father, more patient, he would listen rather than act...it was all rotten. His brothers barely listened to him and only when he agreed with them they did as they were told. His cousins did not want to hear about his rights and he sank. Every day was worse than the previous until Maitimo was back. Maglor did not cry when he left his wife and he did not cry when Amrod died, but that day, next to his brother’s sickbed he cried. Not of sadness, he was happy Maedhros was back, and he was happy the burden would be taken off him, but of shame. He had been too worried to be better than his father, he needed to prove he was a son of Feanor and better than the man, better than his brothers and he never even tried to save Maitimo. His brother bled and suffered and struggled and Maglor did nothing.

“My brother came back and did what I should have done. Took the crown off and gave it to someone who would wear it with pride.” years passed, friends and kin died, but it did not matter. He was with his family and his family, despite who they were and what they did was his family. Maedhros - proud and strong, with his ghostly nightmares haunting his own fortress. Celegorm, handsome and strong like any woman’s dream with the poison dripping off his heart. Caranthir, avoiding all of them, scheming away, Curufin, the copy of their father, his words and deeds making everything rot and despair and Amras, poor Amras who lost half of himself on these cursed ships.

“I had six brothers.” he continued talking, the human was looking at him with interest now. “They were great, cursed, but they were all I had. One by one they died. One in an accident, three as they were butchering our own kin, one trying to save our last hope and…”

He should have died. When Maedhros threw himself in the fire, he should have followed. He should have thrown himself in the sea and died there, but he could not. He was a coward.

“You are not a ghost.” the woman finally said.

“I am. A ghost of what I used to be, a ghost of what I was supposed to be. The ghost of my brothers’ memories and deeds, my father’s ambitions, my mother’s disappointment. I’m a ghost. But I also bleed.” Maglor licked his lips as if to illustrate his point.

In the morning Elean woke up, the elf was gone and she could see the light coming from the entrance of the cave. Her heart was heavy for that creature she found or more found her. He wasn’t a ghost, just a mad starved elf, living alone. She walked out trying to remember every stone, every dune so she can find her way back tomorrow. She would bring him food and maybe blankets.

#the simarillion #maglor #makalaure #tolkien #ghost #my writing

7 notes · View notes

beautifultypewriter · 4 years ago

Text

Just a Bit Panicked ~ Arthur Shelby

Requested: Yes / by @fandom-puff

Warnings: Pregnant reader, mentions of childbirth (including a woman’s water breaking), language

Word Count: 1,902 (Wow this got a bit out of hand. Sorry!)

Pairing: Arthur Shelby x fem!reader

Summary: Tired of being at home all alone, a very pregnant reader decides to follow her husband to work. Arthur is less than thrilled and just a bit panicked, especially when Reader’s water breaks.

A/N: I loved writing this. Honestly, I had such a great time with it. Thank you so much for sending this to me. Also it gets ridiculously fluffy at the end, so sorry about that.

You kept your gaze trained on the book in front of you, “You do not need to glance at me every thirty seconds, Arthur.”

Your husband grumbled from across the room, “I wouldn’t need to glance at you at all if you had stayed in bed today.” You rolled your eyes as you closed the book you had been reading, glaring over at Arthur. He had enough sense not to look directly at you as you crossed your arms over your chest, resting them on your nine-month pregnant belly. You could see his eyes shifting all around the room and you shook your head. Arthur sighed as he leaned back in his chair, still not looking at you, “Just sayin’ love, you should be resting.” He pressed his hand against his cheek as he stared at the floorboards.

You scoffed, “And I already told you that I am sick of laying in bed all day and I am sick of being alone while you’re off at work or the Garrison or wherever else you go!” You flung your hands up, narrowing your eyes at him.

He cleared his throat, eyeing you briefly before turning back to his work, “Those are the only two places I go when I’m not home.” Rolling your eyes, you snorted, mumbling about how that wasn’t really the point you were trying to make. Silence fell over the two of you as Arthur went back to work, continuing to glance up at you every so often. The only thing that had changed was that when he glanced up at you, he was met with your glare instead of the peaceful image of you reading. You had completely abandoned your book in favor of trying to get your husband to relax and to leave you alone for five minutes. You winced as a cramp formed in your lower belly. The dull ache in your lower back that had woken you up that morning was gone now, it had been for at least half an hour, but it was apparently just making room for cramps. You sighed in relief as the minor pain subsided and you went back to staring at Arthur.

He was going over some of the books and anyone else would have walked past, saying he looked the same as he always did, but you could see that he didn’t. You could see the nerves in the way his eyes darted quickly back and forth, and you could see the tension in his jaw. You started to feel a bit bad about causing him so much stress, but that feeling was quickly chased away by another cramp. You winced as you rubbed at your bump, trying to find some relief. Arthur looked up at you just as the cramp passed, “What’s it? What’s wrong?” He jumped up from his chair, successfully knocking it over and drawing the attention of everyone in the betting shop.

You smiled at everyone before you turned to Arthur, “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it, my love.” With some difficulty, you started to push yourself up from your chair, “I’ll make you a cup of tea, so you can relax.”

Arthur moved over to you, trying to get you to sit back down, “Oh no, you don’t. I’ll make you a cup o’ tea.” You swatted his hands away, but they only moved to you again as Arthur muttered about how you should be resting. You tried to pull away from him, but he followed your every move.

As the two of you fought gently, John started laughing, “Oi, Arthur! Just let her make your tea.” He turned back to his own desk, still chuckling quietly, “Panicking for nothin’ mate.” You gave Arthur a smug smile as he glared at his younger brother, his hands still holding onto your arms.

You winced as another cramp formed, this one a bit more painful than the previous ones had been. Leaning forward slightly, you patted Arthur’s arm, “Everything is completely,” there was a splashing sound and you looked down to see a puddle covering your shoes, “fine, oh.” Arthur tensed as he looked down, his eyes widening as he looked back to your face. You tried to smile at him, but another cramp was coming on and you were doubling over. Arthur swayed slightly, his breathing becoming heavier and his grip on your arm loosening.

Finn, who had been sat on one of the other desks, crinkled his nose, “Ew, Y/N, why’d ya pee on the floor?” John howled with laughter as he banged a fist on his own desk. Arthur growled and reached for the closest thing, a pen, and threw it across the room at John. The younger Shelby dodged the projectile easily before he jumped up from his seat and came to stand next to you, still chuckling, and supported you as Arthur swayed again. John slapped his older brother’s cheek, successfully pulling him from whatever stupor he had found himself in.

Arthur slapped his brother’s hand away as he held you up, trying to walk you towards the door, “We’ll get ya home, love and then everything will be okay,” he turned his head, “Pol!” Turning back to you, he nodded, “Yep, everything is gonna be fine, we just need,” he turned towards the back again, “Polly!”

John, who had been helping Arthur walk you to the door, stopped suddenly, “Arthur, your house is too far. You should just stay here.” He started to pull you back towards the door to Polly’s, but Arthur wouldn’t budge.

“We have a plan, John boy, and the plan is home.” He pointed to the door with a nod of his head before he tried pulling you back to the front, but John kept a firm grip on your arm. The two started arguing over your head as you braced yourself against another cramp, bending over as best you could in an attempt to alleviate even some of the pain. You whimpered as the two men continued their argument, hands flying over your head and their voices rising. You stood straight up again as Esme stormed over, shoving her husband to the side.

She took hold of your arm and looked Arthur dead in the eye, “She’s not gonna make it home. Forget the plan, she’s havin’ the baby here.” She didn’t wait for a response before she turned to Finn, “Go and fetch your Aunt Pol. Tell her that Y/N’s havin’ the baby now.”

The young boy nodded as he jumped down from the desk and rushed towards the front door, “What’s the fuss? Babies just come from the belly button,” he paused and turned back to you all, “don’t they?”

John stared at his younger brother, his eyebrows raised, “The fuck?” Esme used her free hand to slap the back of John’s head before she started to lead you to Pol’s. You leaned into her, grateful that she was there to take charge, otherwise you might still be the rope in a game of tug of war with Arthur and John.

She turned back to Finn, “Just fetch your aunt, Finn.” She turned to glare at her husband, “John will explain it all to you when you get back.” She smirked at him as he groaned.

“Fuckin’ hell, Esme.”

After Esme helped you into the bed in Arthur’s old room, she shooed the man from the room. He stood his ground, his shoulders tense, and his bottom lip between his teeth. She waved him away again. Arthur’s eyes shifted between you and his sister-in-law as he backed up to the door, “Y/N…” He was wringing his hands together, his steps slow and a bit uneven.

You smiled, or at least you tried to, “Go on, I’ll be fine.” Arthur sighed as he rubbed his palms along the legs of his trousers, his shoulders shrugging up as he stared at you.

Esme pushed his chest, “Go. You Shelbys get into a lot of nonsense, but even you can’t handle this.” She gave him one last shove before she closed the door on him. You laughed quietly at the shocked look on his face before it was just the door you could see. Esme rushed over to you, pressing your belly with her hand, and helping you move into a more comfortable position.

The door burst open and Polly rushed in, pushing the door closed as she came over to you, a gentle smile on her face, “Ready, Y/N?”

After hours of pain, pushing, and if you’re being honest, a fair amount of cursing, you were propped up in the bed, a brand-new baby in your arms. Esme was next to you, wiping the sweat from your brow as she looked down at you and your daughter. You had tears rolling down your cheeks as you smiled down at the babe, fixing her blankets, and running your fingers over her skin. Polly smiled at you from her spot across the room, “I’ll get Arthur.” You nodded, not taking your eyes from your daughter for a single second. Polly moved towards the door, turning back to you as she laid her hand on the handle, “You did good, Y/N.” You nodded to her, giving her a quick smile before your attention was once again on the little thing in your arms.

Polly pulled open the door, ready to step into the hall and make her way down the stairs, but she took a startled step back. Arthur was in the doorway, wringing his hands together again. She smiled at him before she stepped aside, “Ready to meet your daughter?” Arthur took a shaky breath as he stepped into the room, his gaze immediately finding you. Esme smiled at him as she stepped around the bed and moved into the hall behind Polly. The door fell shut with a quiet click and then it was just the three of you.

Arthur stood about five feet from the bed, tears in his eyes as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Readjusting your grip on the bundle in your arms, you motioned Arthur over. He took shaky steps, stopping at your bedside and smiling down at you. You giggled, “It’s okay. We’re okay.” Arthur let out a watery laugh as he nodded.

Slowly he reached out and moved the blanket away from her face, “Our daughter, eh?” You nodded, watching him as he gently placed his hand on her head before pulling away, “She’s beautiful, Y/N.” He looked to you, wiping the tears from his eyes, and taking another shaky breath. You slid over in the bed and Arthur wasted no time in sitting down next to you. Moving your upper body, you positioned yourself so that Arthur could see your baby easier. His arm moved around your shoulders as his one leg shifted to rest on the bed, next to yours. You cuddled into his side, both of you staring down at the sleeping baby.

You heard him sniffle and you laughed, “All that panic for nothing, huh?”

Arthur shook his head, though he didn’t look at you, “I wasn’t panicking.” You snorted, turning to look at him. He was staring with wide eyes, eyes full of love, down at the little girl that the two of you had created. Then he turned to you, a red tint to his cheeks, “Maybe a bit.”

#arthur shelby x reader #arthur shelby imagine #peaky blinders imagine

175 notes · View notes

vannahfanfics · 3 years ago

Text

The Blessings of Wisteria Blossoms

Category: Friendship Fluff

Fandoms: My Hero Academia, Naruto

Characters: Momo Yaoyorozu, Sakura Haruno

Additional Tags: Crossover

Hello, everyone! Here is the last story I did for the @quirknojutsuzine. I had a lot of fun writing about two of the best girls ever!

“Ahhh~” Momo hummed in contentment as she eased her sore body down onto the wooden bench. Her aching limbs welcomed the reprieve, the pulsing pain they’d been assaulting Momo with for the last thirty minutes dimming in intensity now that they’d gotten the rest they’d wanted. Her hands cupped a ceramic mug of steaming hot black tea sweetened with cream and honey. As she sipped the brew, its warmth spread through her weary skin and bones, making her hum once more.

As Momo enjoyed her tea, her black eyes began to wander to the area surrounding the teahouse. It was an isolated venue, nestled in the forest paths between training grounds—making it a popular spot for young ninjas-in-training such as herself. It was merely more than a wooden shack hugging the dirt road, with a few small benches and tea tables scattered in the grassy front, but Momo thought that it was cute and quaint. It had well-tended flowerboxes nestled against the siding, bursting with brilliant aromatic blooms of white and baby-blue. Several windchimes hung from the porch, filling the breeze with melodic tinkling. One of the windows was open to allow the scent of freshly-baked pastries to drift out into the road and entice passersby.

A quaint place indeed, but Momo’s favorite thing about the place was the wisteria trees. The massive curling trees towered over the teahouse to drape it in their long plumes of blossoms. To Momo, it always looked like a purple rain descended from the sky as the delicate flowers showered the area and filled the air with their sweet aroma. She loved to breathe it in, appreciating how the flowery fragrance complimented the robust tea leaves bobbing in the ceramic cup. Ino had told her once that wisterias symbolized both longevity and the act of expanding consciousness. Momo thought it ironic that the wisterias lined the training grounds’ path as if blessing the young ninja with both long, fruitful lives and neverending knowledge.

As Momo sipped at her tea and watched the plumules of wisteria blossoms wave in the breeze, a cheerful voice floated from further down the path. Momo turned to see a pink-haired girl waving jovially as she bobbed up the first road.

“Well, hello there, Sakura,” Momo smiled politely as the kunoichi joined her at the bench.

“Hey, Momo! Coming back from afternoon training?” the girl asked as she motioned to sit beside Momo. Momo graciously scooted over so that Sakura would have ample room on the bench, and the girl gratefully sat down and rested her hands on her lap.

“That’s right! Are you heading there yourself?”

“Yeah, but I’m just going to check on Naruto to make sure that he’s not pushing himself too hard,” the girl sighed, throwing up her arms and shaking her head. “He’s always been like that, working himself ragged. If I don’t check on him every now and again, he’ll pass out in the woods and die one of these days!”

As Sakura griped about her reckless teammate, Momo had to chuckle. The words were harsh, but Sakura’s tone was warm, belying the respect and fondness she held for her teammate. When the pink-haired girl looked at Momo quizzically, Momo smiled empathetically.

“I understand. Shoto is the same way. I had to go to his house the other day and hand-feed him soba because he’d burned his arms to a crisp trying to master a new jutsu,” she tutted and patted her cheek as she recalled it. Of course, Momo was more than happy to help Shoto in his time of need, but it had been undermined by the intense worry she felt beholding his arms swathed in bandages and leaking burn cream from the seams. Not to mention how inherently embarrassing feeding someone was—Momo’s cheeks flushed as she remembered spooning cold soba into Shoto’s mouth, and she hastily changed the topic of conversation. “Not just our teammates, either! Izuku’s constantly breaking his bones trying to pull off grander and grander stunts, and even Katsuki tore up his hands with his explosion jutsu the other day…”

“Now that you think about it, why are all the village boys so reckless?” Sakura groaned, gripping the edge of the bench as she tipped back her head and sighed heavily. “Really, without us girls, they’d probably live half their lives in a hospital ward! I swear.”

“Speaking of, isn’t Lee back in the hospital again?”

“Yes!” Sakura exclaimed in exasperation. “He broke his foot racing Naruto up a mountain! The dumbass tripped, fell, and tumbled all the way back down to the base. It’s a wonder he didn’t end up worse off! He’s lucky Hinata and Mina were nearby; they were able to splinter his foot until the medical team could arrive.”

Momo laughed airily as she held her hand to her cheek, feeling a bead of sweat roll down and catch against her fingertips. Now that she and Sakura conversed about it, the village boys really were forces of nature who landed themselves in all sorts of predicaments—and the girls were always there to mediate the aftermath.

“It’s a wonder we’re able to get any of our own training in since we’re so busy babysitting all these knuckleheads,” Sakura snorted with a wry smile. Her gaze softened as she looked out into the trees, at the purple wisterias mingling with the emerald oak leaves. “They sure do keep things interesting, though.”

“Oh, most definitely,” Momo agreed. “It’s heartening, too, to see the lengths they go to get stronger. I constantly find myself inspired. Maybe we ought to be a little more reckless.”

Sakura rolled her head to give Momo a sardonic scowl.

“What? Do you think those bozos would know how to take care of us? They can’t even take care of themselves.”

A second of silence descended between them. Then, they both burst into fits of giggles. Their little chuckles rose to flutter through the purple blossoms, dancing through them like bubbles until they drifted up to fade into the sky. Slowly, their laughter dwindled until they were both reclining back on the bench and smiling warmly as they considered the impetuous young boys they had the pleasure—or displeasure?—of calling friends.

“Well,” Sakura hummed as she slapped her legs and then pushed herself up off the bench, “I’d better make sure Naruto’s not dead.”

“Yes, I had better be off, too. I’m going to check on Shoto.” Momo, who had finished her tea, stood as well.

“Ugh, they really wouldn’t know what to do without us, would they?” Sakura smiled with a shake of her head.

“No, but we’re stuck with them, so we might as well help them out where they need it.”

“You’re right. See you later, Momo!” Sakura said with a wave of farewell before she started down the path once more. Momo watched her go, then returned the teacup to the owner. As she started off in the opposite direction, she paused in front of the wisteria blooms as they waved like curtains in the wind. Smiling, she plucked off a few tendrils of the buds and tucked them close to her chest as she started down the path again.

I’ll stop by Ino’s flower shop and snag a lovely vase on the way to Shoto’s, she decided with a bright smile. He could use some blessings of longevity, I think. She chuckled to herself, already anticipating that the hapless Shoto would have no idea why Momo would bring him some wisteria blossoms. She sighed into the wind and looked up at the sky as she walked along.

Sure, they were reckless boys, but Momo was glad that she and her friends could look after them. Together, supporting one another, they could all climb heights that no one ever thought possible. If they could physically survive the ordeal, at least!

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

#my hero academia #naruto #yaoyorozu momo #momo yaoyorozu #haruno sakura #sakura haruno #mha #boku no hero academia #bnha

4 notes · View notes

wouldpollyapprove · 5 years ago

Text

Edge of London: Part Two

Summary: A friend of Billy’s from the poor side of town, Y/n had never met his family until she was forced to bring him home after he got high. A spark is ignited between her and his brother, Sean, but she is hesitant to let it grow as she will never be enough for a man who runs the city.

Sean Wallace x Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Mention of alcohol

A/n: I am so happy with the amount of requests I have for Gangs of London. I honestly thought no one would care enough to want to read any fics about it. This part is a little short, but I promise the next one will be longer.

Part One / Part Two / Part Three

Masterlist

Sitting in the passenger seat, opposite his brother, Billy was starting to question whether he had made the right decision or not. On their way to the pub Y/n worked at, he knew Sean would eat her alive and he wasn’t sure if he could watch that happened. It wasn’t that he feared his brother’s intentions, they might have been the softest he’d had in ages, he feared Y/n wouldn’t know how to handle him.

Y/n wasn’t rough around the edges like his brother. She was soft and sweet, not one to start up conversations with people she didn’t know. Though, her problem was more with people she already knew, who had high expectations, than those she knew nothing about. Billy wasn’t shy about talking about his family and so Y/n knew that he came from money. At first, she was nervous to be around him, believing she wasn’t good enough to even be in the same room as him. But Billy wasn’t stuck up and didn’t throw money around everywhere he went. It didn’t take long for her to grow more comfortable around him, he acted more like an average person than she had expected

Warming up to his brother would take much longer.

Everyone knew who Sean was once he walked into the room. Like their father, Sean threw his weight around, wishing everything to bend to at his will. In every sense, he was the man that ran London. Too sure of himself, Sean wasn’t prepared for the rejection he would soon be faced with.

Parking the car, the pair walked to up to the pub. At least thirty minutes before happy hour, there were few people littered around the room, leaving many of the booths open for occupants. Billy led the way, heading straight to his usual booth. It was right next to the bar and when things were slow, Y/n would usually sit and chat with him.

“This is a nice place,” Sean commented after a quick glance around the place. For once, he wasn’t wearing a boring suit, dressed more comfortably in a plain t-shirt and denim trousers. “Had no idea it was here.”

Billy shrugged, whilst waving down a bartender. “Don’t know why you would. You never step foot in this side of town.” The bartender, Julie was her name if he could remember right, waltzed up to the table with a smile. Flashing her a smile, he asked, “Is Y/n here yet?”

Julie nodded, “Yeah, I assume you want me to fetch her for ya?”

“Please.” With that, Julie disappeared and Billy turned to his brother. “Don’t expect her to like you.”

Sean shook his head with a grin. “Come on, Bill, she’ll love me.” Billy rolled his eyes. “I know she’s your friend and I respect that, just give me a chance.”

“Alright,” he muttered before he caught sight of Y/n walking towards them. “Y/n!”

Excited from the thrill of a small rush, she jumped in front of her friend, not seeing the man that sat opposite of him. “Bill! Didn’t think I’d see you here after the other day.” She stuffed her hands in her apron pocket.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, memories still hazy from the other night. “Well, we wanted to get out of the house.” Billy gestured to his brother. Y/n smiled at Sean, surprise in her eyes. “Thought we’d come visit you.”

“Fun, fun. I assume you want the usual?” she asked her friend. Once he nodded, Y/n gave her attention to Sean. “And what about you?”

“Whiskey, straight. Please,” he answered with a smile.

Y/n nodded and was on her way to get their drinks. It felt odd to see Sean during the day, outside of his house. Even worse when she remembered how eager she was to escape his house and hide in the comfort of her car. Though she didn’t know him except for what came from his brother’s lips, his ego could be felt from ten feet away. There was no way she would sit with the pair if things got slow. She knew what would be talked about: business, money, and expensive cars. She’d dealt with enough rich men to know what topics were always on their minds.

Not even ten minutes later, with drinks in her hand, she went back to the table. “Here you go.” She placed the drinks in front of their owners. When the men’s hands were wrapped around the cold glasses, she swatted Billy’s shoulder, signaling for him to scoot over. As much as she didn’t want to sit with them, it was better to rest her feet while she still could.

“Yeah, just take my seat, why don’t you?” Billy teased, making room for her.

“Oh, whatever. You’re not dead so quiet complaining. Did you get a lecture or are you too good for that?” She glanced between the two brothers.

“He’s too old for those,” Sean said, lips turned up in a teasing grin.

Y/n nodded, “Right…” Glancing around the room, she had no clue what else to say. With Billy they could talk about anything. Fish, movies, fucking rats dressed in period clothes. Their conversations were always weird, but that’s how their friendship was. To them, it was normal. With Sean in the mix, she knew neither her nor Billy felt comfortable discussing anything they would alone.

Before Sean could start up a conversation, Y/n slide out of the booth when a large group of men walked through the pub doors. As time went by, she made little appearances without a tray of bears or a couple of glasses in hand. Any hope that a conversation could be made with her was drained like a bucket full of holes. Perhaps it was a bad idea to come to her work when it would be nothing but busy.

Billy and Sean tried to entertain themselves, but there was little they could talk about. The two never had much in common, each living in a different world. All that was on the table was childhood stories that they could barely tell without sulking over their dead father. They were about to give up, pay for their drinks, and go back out the way they came.

Though he wasn’t close to the victory he was after, there was no way Sean Wallace was going to simply give up. An idea, rather adventurous, came to mind.

“I’ll meet you at the car,” he waved his brother off and headed to the bar. Y/n was in the middle of stirring an old fashion when he approached. “Y/n, I have a question for you.”

Meeting his gaze, her lips formed an ‘o’, signaling for him to continue.

“We’re hosting a charity gala next week, since you’re a friend of Billy’s, I thought perhaps you’d like to come.”

What was she to say to that? She’d never been to any gala, the close thing were school dances, but those weren’t the same. They were a place for teens to blow off steam and do things away from the watchful eyes of their parents. Galas, on the other hand, were of serious nature. There were no tears, no drunken stumbling after being broken up with during a slow dance, no shame in not dancing at all. It was meant for adults, not immature children.

But that wasn’t the point.

The point was that Billy’s brother was asking her to go and she saw no way out of it. “Um, yeah, um…” she struggled for words. “Just let me know when.”

He smiled at the tiny victory. Better to have something than nothing at all. “I’ll have Billy tell you the details.”

All Y/n could do was watch him, a sweet smile on his face, as he turned to the door. She knew not to expect much from the man, he was just like the rest. But something told her to have a little hope, it wouldn’t kill her. Sean Wallace may not have been what she wanted, but how was she to know if he wasn’t what she needed.

Only time would tell her that.

*~~*~~*

Let me know if you would like to be added to either the series taglist or permanent taglist.

Permanent Taglist: @amirahiddleston @haphazardhufflepuff @woahitslucyylu @mzcrazy2 @lovemissyhoneybee @multi-fandom-iimagines @tarafaithe @jenepleurepasbaby @fernweh-fangirl @the-anxious-youth @theshelbyclan @wtfdanness @chloeforde @futuristicslimemongerbanana @lucillethings @nemesis729 @sirkekselord @princesscornbread @i-volunteer-for-finnick

Series Taglist: none

#gangs of london fic #gangs of london oneshot #gangs of london imagines #gangs of london imagine #gangs of london #sean wallace #sean wallace imagine #sean wallace imagines #sean wallace x reader #sean wallace fic

165 notes · View notes

pressedinthepages · 4 years ago

Text

Epiphany

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Geralt/Eskel

Rating: T

Masterlist

a/n: Reader Request: [Hi *waves shyly*. I have a request for you if you're up for it. How about Geralt/Eskel where Eskel gets jealous when someone flirts with Geralt? We all know book!Geralt and game! Geralt give off a 'hoe on main' vibe. Eskel hates it and Geralt needs to make it up to him? Thanks for sharing your work, it honestly makes my day every single time ❤️] I'm softe. also, I love hoe on main geralt of rivia.

Also thanks to @sometimesiwrite for being a soundboard and friend :)

(There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Warnings: language, pining, GWENT, jealousy, confessions

Eskel and Geralt meet up just before winter and run an errand.

The fire is warm on the unscarred side of Eskel’s face. He breathes in deeply, the scent of smoke and ale tickling his senses. He’s been in Ard Carraigh for a few days now, waiting dutifully for Geralt to get here so that they can continue up to Kaer Morhen together. There’s still plenty of time for them to be able to safely travel up the mountain, but Eskel has found himself arriving earlier and earlier with each passing year. The door to the tavern swings open and Eskel glances up, his lip turning up slightly at what he finds.

Geralt, black hood up and dripping with rainwater, pushes the door closed behind him. He walks straight to the barkeep and orders an ale and stew before turning to where Eskel sits. Eskel’s heart blooms when their eyes finally meet, and Geralt smirks a bit as he walks to sit at the table.

“You’re early.” Geralt’s low voice crawls over Eskel’s skin. Geralt undoes the knot on his cloak, letting it fall from his shoulders to drape over the back of his chair. His silver hair shines in the light from the fire, curled and damp from the downpour outside.

Eskel takes a sip from his cup as the barkeep brings Geralt’s food and drink over. “Could say the same to you, Wolf.”

Geralt shrugs before tucking in to his supper. “Need a new horse, figured I’d pick one up while we were here.”

Eskel tilts his head, “Something happen to Roach? You’re not one to let your mount get into trouble.”

Geralt shakes his head, slurping noisily from his spoon. “Nah, she’s alright. She’s old, though. She deserves to rest, I figured I’ll bring her to Kaer Morhen and let her retire there with Vesemir.”

As if Eskel’s heart could melt any further. He watches Geralt as he lifts his bowl to his lips and his throat bobs as he drinks the remainder of the broth. Geralt’s tongue swipes over his lips as he returns the now-empty bowl to the table, and Eskel is sweating inside.

“You got a room here?” Geralt asks, sliding an extra coin to the girl who picks up his bowl.

Eskel nods, downing the rest of his ale. “Mhm, only got one bed though.”

Geralt hums before rising to his feet. “Well, come on. I know I’m exhausted, and you look like shit.”

Eskel huffs out a laugh as he stands as well. “Well, at least I don’t look like a drowned old rat.”

Geralt bumps their shoulders as they move to the stairs. Eskel opens up the door to their room and kicks his boots off by the door. Geralt has a routine, they all do. Eskel sits in one of the chairs and sets the fireplace alight with a gentle flick of his fingers, ready to discreetly watch Geralt get comfortable.

His swords go next to the bed and his boots go next to Eskel’s at the door. Geralt drapes his cloak over the back of the other chair in the room so it has a chance to dry, and his gloves go in the seat. He unties a little pouch from his belt and tosses it onto the bed where it lands with a light thunk. Eskel’s eyes follow Geralt’s fingers as they pull and undo the shiny buckles and ties. His shirt is unbuttoned as he pulls the armor off, revealing the dark thatch of hair on his chest. Geralt tucks the heavy pieces next to his boots by the door, and Eskel swallows thickly at the sight of his leather-clad backside in those damned pants.

Geralt stands and turns back to Eskel, his hands at the buttons of his trousers. “You gonna just sit there and watch, or you gonna help?”

Eskel’s eyes dart to his face and he flushes when he sees the smirk on his lips. Dammit, caught. Well, if nothing else, Eskel has always been good at thinking on his feet. “Seem to be doing just fine from where I’m sitting. I usually have to pay for a show like this.”

Geralt rolls his eyes and divests himself of his trousers, folding them over the back of the chair as well. “Come on, Eskel. Get in the bed.”

“You sure you don’t want to stretch out? Every time that we do this, I end up hanging on for dear life off the edge of the bed while you stretch out and snore to the Gods.”

Geralt hums as he turns to the mattress. Eskel walks up next to him and cups the back of his neck, pulling him close and resting their foreheads together. Geralt’s eyes close and Eskel just listens to the sound of their heartbeats intertwining after almost a year apart. He feels Geralt’s hand on his shoulder, his warmth seeping through the thin fabric of his shirt. “I’ve missed you, Geralt,” Eskel whispers.

“Missed you too, Eskel.” Geralt’s voice is barely audible as his nose brushes against Eskel’s. They part reluctantly and Geralt sits at the foot of the bed. Eskel slips out of his own trousers before climbing in as well. Geralt reaches for the little pouch and loosens it, flipping the contents into his hand.

“Up for a game of Gwent?”

Eskel laughs, a true laugh that is so rare on the Path. Eskel leans over in search of his pack and pulls out a pouch of his own. “You’re on.”

***

Eskel wakes to a fully dressed Geralt looming over him at the edge of the bed. “Awake yet, Princess?”

Eskel groans as he runs his hand down his face, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He peers out of the window and sees the sun just barely erupting from the horizon. “Why are you up so early?”

Geralt picks up Eskel’s trousers and throws them, landing squarely in Eskel’s lap. “Need a horse. Then we can leave for Kaer Morhen.”

Eskel chuckles with a shake of his head before swinging his legs out of the bed. The floor is cold under his feet as he slides his legs into his trousers, his boots following soon after. “I’ll meet you downstairs, let me grab my stuff.”

Geralt nods and shoulders out of the door, leaving Eskel alone in the room. He gathers his things and throws his swords over his back, leaving his armor in his pack for the moment. Eskel yawns with finality and follows in Geralt’s wake down the stairs. As he reaches the bottom he sees Geralt toss him something and his hand instinctively reaches up to catch it. His fingers squish the soft pastry and the sweet smell of honey tickles his nose.

“Mmm,” Eskel hums with a smile, “a sweet bun. Thanks, Wolf.”

Geralt nods as he leads the way out of the inn. Eskel stops by the little stables at the rear to set his pack with Scorpion, trying desperately not to wake Lil’ Bleater where she slumbers between the stallion’s feet. Soon enough he trails along behind Geralt as they approach a large barn at the edge of town.

A handsome young man smiles at them as they approach. He looks to be about thirty, with a mop of dark brown hair that flops around in the breeze. He looks strong, his shoulders wide and his hips sturdy.

“Well met, Witchers,” the man calls as they walk up. His voice is low and rich as he introduces himself as Davold. Eskel hangs back, letting Geralt do the talking. As he observes, he notices the man dragging his eyes slowly down and back up Geralt’s body. The scent of lust in the air spikes and Eskel shifts a bit, glancing around minutely.

“Why don’t we head inside and take a look at these horses?” Davold gestures to Geralt and allows him to go inside first. Eskel sighs and follows along. Geralt walks along the stalls, listening intently as Davold tells him about each of the horses and their personalities. Eskel listens as well, hearing each and every bawdy flirtation that spills from Davold’s lips, as well as the laughter and the pick up in heartrate in Geralt’s chest.

Something burns in Eskel as he stands in front of a tall bay mare, something low and sour that boils in his blood. He huffs and holds his hand out flat to let the horse sniff at him. She snuffles against his hand for a moment before she butts against his chest.

“Oh no, not her,” Davold strolls over, Geralt at his heels. “She’s been nothing but trouble.”

Eskel looks back at the horse as he strokes down her nose, her ears perked up in curiosity and her body relaxed. “Doesn’t look like trouble to me.”

Geralt walks up next to Eskel and extends his hand as well, but he has a chunk of apple in his palm. The mare leans down and takes the apple gently before sniffing up his arm, looking for another treat. She looks him right in the eye before butting him in the chest as well, pulling a deep chuckle from Eskel.

“Good find, Eskel,” Geralt murmurs, scritching up the side of the horse’s neck. “We’ll take her.”

A deal is struck and before Eskel knows it they are leaving the stables with the new Roach in tow, Davold scowling in the background. The two of them return to the inn to collect the other horses and as they enter the stables, Eskel can’t help the sigh of relief that falls from his chest.

“Something wrong?” Geralt asks as he carries his saddle to New Roach. Eskel grits his teeth as he throws a blanket over Scorpion’s back.

“No, I just-” Eskel thinks over his words, “That Davold was really trying for you, huh?”

Geralt pokes his head around and gives Eskel a look that can only be described as several question marks in sequence. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh come on, you can’t tell me you didn’t notice it.” Eskel rolls his eyes as he sets the saddle on Scorpion’s back. “He could barely keep it in his pants.”

“Hmm.”

Eskel does up the straps and secures his pack neatly across Scorpion. As he ties everything down, his mind wanders. I could never be enough for him, he deserves someone who could really be there for him, not someone like me.

“It doesn’t matter if I noticed or not,” Geralt rumbles from somewhere behind him. “I wouldn’t have been interested. Got someone else in mind.”

Eskel hums as his mind spins in wheels, a delicate spiral that will leave him curled up and alone for a good few days once they get to the keep. He can feel himself receding into his mind, setting up walls and barriers for any and all who come knocking.

And suddenly Geralt’s hand is on his shoulder, and he’s turning around, and Geralt is in his space, his face impossibly close, and he smells so good, and his mouth is right there…

And then Geralt kisses him. Geralt kisses Eskel, and the world comes to a halt. Geralt’s hands fall to Eskel’s waist and squeeze him, and Eskel reaches his hands up to cup Geralt’s face. He is so warm beneath Eskel’s fingers, and his lips taste like honey and hay and every drop of happiness that Eskel has ever felt.

Geralt pulls back first, his golden eyes searching Eskel’s. “I-I have loved you for so long.”

Eskel’s chest feels full to burst and he doesn’t trust his words at all, so he just pulls Geralt back to him. It’s all tongue and teeth and desperation and Eskel wouldn’t change it for the world. His fingers trail up into Geralt’s hair and the moan that falls from his chest would make a priestess blush. Eskel leans back only far enough for a breath, resting their foreheads together once more.

“You let me pine after you for decades, Geralt,” Eskel whispers, painfully aware of how vulnerable he sounds.

“I didn’t know. I figured you just thought of us as friends, but-” Geralt’s voice is so low and husky that Eskel can feel it in his skin, “-but I’ve figured it out. It took a while, but I figured it out.”

Eskel smiles and presses their lips together again, ignoring how his scar stretches with the movement. “I hope you plan on making it up to me.”

Geralt smiles, big and rare and just for him, “Gladly.”

#gereskel #geralt/eskel #fluff #its loving time bby

25 notes · View notes

bigskydreaming · 4 years ago

Note

what are your favorite and least favorite tropes in fanfiction regarding dick grayson?

Most of these I feel are probably a given with me given that I am apparently physically incapable of being subtle and am donating my body to science upon my demise so that this phenomenon may be studied. For Science.

(But also like, the funny thing about me is as much as I rant about a few specific topics its only so frequent because there’s actually only a few specific things I gripe about its just that they’re eeeeeeeeeeverywhere.)

Thus, in no particular order, my least favorite Dick Grayson tropes in fanon and in canon because I can’t read apparently OR AT LEAST I CHOOSE NOT TO FOR THE PURPOSES OF THIS EXERCISE, JEEZ, LEAVE ME ALONE....

1) Police officer Dick Grayson

2) Dick hated Jason pre-death and/or judges and is incapable of understanding or empathizing with Jason post-his return

3) Police officer Dick Grayson

4) Dick’s loved ones and friends all making jokes and insults out of the nickname he keeps in memory of his parents and Dick being all like lol this is fine, this isn’t debilitating to my self-esteem at all hahaha oh man that was a good one, I AM a Dickface, you nailed it!

5) Police officer Dick Grayson

6) Dick’s loved ones and friends all punching Dick every time he puts a foot out of place and then everyone both in-universe and in-comments being like NO PROBLEMS DETECTED, and also WOW, CHILL OUT DG, TEMPER MUCH?

7) Police officer Dick Grayson

8) Dick fired Tim and callously kicked him out of his home and the city UMM METHINKS THE FUCK NOT

9) Police officer Dick Grayson

10) Only addressing conflicts between Bruce and Dick when using the framing device “when you think about it though isn’t it still like at least half Dick’s fault that Bruce fired him and kicked him out of his home and hit him and guilt-tripped him into doing what he wanted.”

11) Bonus round - sub Dick Grayson. Like, I barely ever read smut in this fandom because I’m like ‘mmm, no thx and also hard pass’ to rape and incest as fetish or porn, and its like....hard enough to find any mature content with Dick that doesn’t overlap with at least one of those so I just kinda stopped looking ages ago, but even just when glancing my eyes past tags while browsing, I just DON’T GET THIS. I tend to be a variety is the spice of life kinda guy and thus usually can make a case for any character going any which way in any number of things, but this is the one character where I’m like, I do not see any angle in which he has a submissive bone in his body. Yeah he has control freak tendencies and there’s that trope about people who spend most of their time in charge wanting to give up control and let go at times, buuuuuut that only actually works with people who don’t fully WANT to be in charge or control to begin with, not people like Dick whose control freak tendencies IMO are directly born of how rarely he gets to be in control of even his own personal life in the first place. Just doesn’t compute for me.

And in no particular order, top ten most favorite Dick Grayson takes in canon and fanon, with these weirdly just being the direct inverse of things I hate because I mentioned the Not Subtle thing and also the Not Actually As Picky As I Often Come Across As, right?

1) Anything other than police officer Dick Grayson

2) Dick and Jason being bros who get along and confide in each other about the stuff they can’t/won’t share with anyone else because they understand each other in ways most others never will, and also also them having Secret History as Brothers BECAUSE THEY ARE BROTHERS WITH HISTORY BUT I FUCKIN’ DIGRESS

3) A Tim who respects and appreciates Dick’s contributions to his life and happiness and the amount of time and effort Dick has put into being there for him often at his own personal expense, even if there have been like one or two times in the grand scheme of thirty years of comic book content when Dick wasn’t able to put Tim first because he felt he had to put someone with directly competing needs to Tim’s first in this particular time and place instead, just like he had so often before put Tim’s needs ahead of others who had competing needs at the time

4) A Bruce who acknowledges his fuck-ups with Dick and actually apologizes instead of just being like “I am going to look at you solemnly with my Apologetic Eyes but its on you to read the Apology clearly present in my Apologetic Eyes cuz that’s the only one you’ll ever get as I am a genius and a renowned playboy but I do not do the words good except for when I am being genius-y and renowedly playboy-y and not Apologetic.” And who also puts in actual work to actually fix things with Dick when he fucks up in that over-the-top-I GOTTA BE THE BEST THERE EVER WAS, POK-E-MON!! kinda over-achieving way in which he does everything in life.

5) An extended Batfamily and hero community who actually ACT like Dick is someone they respect and appreciate and are in awe of for his position and accomplishments in the hero community and the fact that he’s been out there risking his life day in and day out for people almost as long as any other hero out there, and who has in fact been doing this for a FAR greater percentage of his lifetime than any other hero, period. Rather than an extended Batfamily and hero community who just SAY that Dick is respected and appreciated by everyone and this is why actually they resent him and think he’s over-rated, with no actual sign or evidence of Respect, Appreciation and/or Awe on display anywhere at any time ever.

6) A Dick Grayson who is allowed by the narrative to be as hyper-competent and intelligent and multi-skilled as any member of the Batfamily, without feeling a need for qualifiers about him being second best or a good acrobat but not as good at the detective stuff as the others, etc, etc. Noooooope. Nerp. Nuh-uh. Someday I will rise from my death-bed amid my death-throes one last time just long enough to gasp out “The Batfamily’s entire high concept is that they are a family of literal Mary Sues and thus all of them are every bit as intelligent and hyper-competent as the plot demands and its stupid to try and rank them and telling when Dick somehow always ends up ranked bottom last despite being the kid whose very existence as a hyper-competent little genius troll boy is what jumpstarted the kid hero trend in universe in the first place, which is the kind of thing that could ONLY happen if he was impressing and making second-guessers of nay-sayers left and right BUT I FUCKING DIGRESS, GOOD NIGHT NEW YORK, AND SCENE!” At which point I will expire, my work here done.

7) A Dick Grayson who is allowed to get mad and yell when people DO FUCKED UP THINGS LIKE HIT HIM AND BLAME HIM FOR SHIT THAT ISN’T HIS FAULT without this being viewed as a “flaw” and him Being Dick Grayson Badly. Extra points for a Dick Grayson who is allowed to stay centered in his own traumas and tragedies without everyone else around him somehow making it out to be that they’re MORE victimized by the things he is most directly the victim of.

8) A Dick Grayson who eats more than just sugary cereal because he was literally raised from birth even pre-Bruce as a world class athlete and show me one single person that description matches who doesn’t know how to actually keep to a nutritious diet. Yes, by all means have him eat the occasional sugary snack as a treat, that’s fine, but when the take is that this is all he exists on or would be the only thing he exists on if not for the intercession of Actual Adults being like eat your veggies, Dickie, like.....mmmm, but whatcha doin’, fic?

9) A Dick Grayson who doesn’t actually even HAVE to get mad and lose his temper when people do fucked up things like hit him and blame him for shit that isn’t his fault or do nothing but mock and insult him and make him feel bad, because there’s actually other friends and family present who make a point to be like WHOA, HOW ABOUT I SHUT THIS SHIT DOWN LIKE AN INTELLECTUAL, BECAUSE THIS SHIT IS NOT OKAY? I’m just saying, how is it that every single fic and their grandma posits the existence of a swear jar because Alfred will not tolerate uncouth language in his domain, but it coooooooompletely flies over everyone’s head that Alfred of all people would be okay with people casually disrespecting his eldest grandson for the sake of a yawn-worthy punchline every single time someone opens their mouth to say “Dickhead” without even any kind of “Swear jar!” follow-up, let alone a “I don’t know who gave you the idea it was alright to disrespect Master Dick’s memories of his parents, young sirs, but I assure you most assuredly...‘TWAS NOT I.”

10) The existence of literally any other plot for Dick Grayson than one involving or relying on brainwashing. Like, just spitballing here but maybe people would have less trouble acknowledging and remembering the hyper-competence and skilled and genius qualities of the first Batkid if he was able to more often put those things on display instead of just running around 24/7 either brainwashed or brandishing pom-poms in enthusiastic commemoration of the hyper-competence and genius of everyone BUT him.

11) Bonus round - literally any other career choice besides being a cop.

41 notes · View notes

schmokschmok · 4 years ago

Text

a series of events

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Relationship: Mikaele Salesa, Gertrude Robinson & Michael Shelley, Tim Stoker & Sasha James

Characters: Mikaele Salesa, Getrude Robinson, Michael Shelley, Tim Stoker, Sasha James

Wordcount: 5,314

Freeform:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Missing Scene

Canon Compliant

Vignettes

Summary:

It's not a tragedy. It's not a comedy either. It's a series of unfortunate events and their rather anticlimactic end.

aka What do Mikaele, Gertrude and Tim have in common? A gun!

Contains spoilers up until MAG 115

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28205352

CN: Guns (discussed), Murder (mentioned & idiomatic) Entities alluded to: Buried, Corruption, Flesh, Slaughter, Stranger

Exposition

It starts with a plain looking flintlock pistol and a few percussion weapons. After he had copied Jürgen’s client list, he had studied every last name on it relentlessly until he found one that he was sure enough he could sell to without having Jürgen with him. Then he tracked down a lass in Sunderland who liquidated a relatively sumptuous collection of antique weapons.

Now he’s standing in front of a door belonging to a block of flats which doesn’t look in the slightest like a home for antiques. Mikaele’s used to much too big houses, creaking with old age and looming over him like the head of a giant monster sleeping underneath the earth. He knows brass doorknockers and intercommunication systems at iron gates separating the wide-spreading garden area from the street. A simple intercom at the door and several flights of stairs towards one of half a dozen identical looking doors is unfamiliar territory and sends a rush of adrenaline through his whole body.

After drawing a final breath to brace himself, he rings the bell and waits for the steady thrum of the buzzer inviting him into the whitewashed house with its light grey louvred blinds. His feet hit tiles and then stair after stair until he’s in front of a door with inlaid glass. The sight through is blocked by what seems to be a curtain made from Nottingham lace.

Drawing another breath, he raps his knuckles curtly against the wood of the door and takes a step back. While he listens to shuffling footsteps coming closer, he swallows drily and plasters a sly grin on his face, even though he doesn’t feel like it. He has seen Jürgen interact with dozens of people over the years and had a fair share of interactions with tedious clients himself, so he knows that confidence is the first step to success. If he thinks he can make a deal, then he can make a deal. It’s easy, he tells himself.

The door swings open and a woman in her thirties studies him with tired eyes. She says: “Mr Salesa, I suppose?”

He nods, accompanied by verbal confirmation and greeting, and extends his hand for her to shake, and it only takes an imploring look upon his hand until she grabs hold of it and welcomes him into her small flat.

“It’s in the backroom,” she says as soon as the door clicks shut behind him. “Found them while cleaning out my Da’s cellar but hadn’t had the chance to get them looked at. What with all the funeral preparations, you know?”

Mikaele doesn’t because he never had to take care of such thing, but he makes a non-committal sound at the back of his throat and offers his condolences because it’s the polite thing to do. She thanks him in a detached voice, as one does faced with superficial, sympathetic words.

“It’s a whole chest of them,” she continues while opening the door to a small pantry which is filled to the brim with shelves displaying tinned and pickled food. The floor area is covered with cardboard boxes, two wooden chests and a few rolled up carpets. She gestures towards the chest on the left and steps back to make room for him. He thanks her.

“I don’t know if they’re worth anything at all,” she says, leaning against the doorframe and watching him step closer until the fingers of his outstretched hand touch the copper key of the chest, and sink to his knees. A part of him wants to explain to her that she’s setting herself up to get stitched up like a kipper. But it’s not his problem, is it? Actually, it’s rather his fortune.

Mikaele opens the lid and takes a look at the percussion weapons, eight of them in total. Six percussion rifles and two guns. And right on top of them lies a flintlock gun with a wooden handle. He’s not interested in that, so he takes it out and lays it down next to him on the floor with great caution.

“So, you’re taking them?” She asks and he can hear her shifting her weight from foot to foot. “I’ve got two other potential buyers. But if you want them, you can have them.”

He doesn’t know why she’s so eager to get rid of them and uneasiness settles into his midriff, constricting his breathing in an almost imperceptible way. So, he tells her that he can’t decide without taking a proper look at them. And then he asks her about deeds of ownership.

“Everything I’ve got is in that chest. If they don’t have a deed of ownership, then I haven’t either,” she replies while he takes one percussion gun out of the chest, examining the caplock mechanism and pulling back the hammer, only to be greeted by the strenuous sound of a screw being used for the first time after a long period of inactivity.

Cautiously taking out one musket after the other, splayed around him like sunbeams, the bottom of the chest reveals nine deeds of ownership and even a documentation of the last purchase agreement.

This is too good to be true, Mikaele thinks. But what he says is that he is going to buy them and that he can guarantee her an adequate payment, he can’t, however, say anything about the price just now. He must test if they work, he apologises, then he promises that if they’re usable he’s going to pay her even more. Even though it doesn’t make a difference for his potential buyer. Mikaele will get the same amount either way. But she seems like she could use the money, and this is his first buy all on his own. He can be a little generous, he can be a little accommodating.

“I don’t care,” she says, levity coming back to her and lifting her shoulders as if up until now she had been pressed down by a weight he hadn’t noticed. “I just want them gone. So, if you could take them with you today, that would be appreciated.”

After taking out the documents, he nods absent-mindedly and places the weapons back inside the chest. When he turns towards the flintlock pistol, he asks where he should put it.

“You can have it,” she rushes to say, involuntarily taking a step back and raising her hands in a display of defensiveness, palms spread wide open. He tells her that he doesn’t necessarily want it, but she dismisses his objections. “I don’t want it.” He opens his mouth again. “Look, take it as an eight plus one deal, okay? I don’t want them. Not any of them.”

He nods as if he understands what she’s trying to say. He doesn’t, but does it make any difference?

Together they lift the now locked chest after and they carry it down the stairs, through the small front yard and into Mikaele’s waiting car. As she steps back from the boot, he thanks her for her generosity and extends once again his hand to meet hers.

“Thank you,” she says as if she hadn’t singlehandedly conferred the possibility for his career beyond horror and threats on his life bound in leather. So, he thanks her, too, and as he drives away, he can feel the uneasiness melt from his ribcage into a small puddle of contentment right above his abdomen.

This is the start of something new.

Rising Action

It hadn’t been the start of something new, Mikaele realises when he sees the now familiar chest again. It had been a continuation of misfortune and horrible, sleepless nights. At least until Jürgen’s list began to seek him out to sell him the objects Jürgen wouldn’t take.

It’s a mule chest made of oak, a warm reddish colour and with a beautiful patina spread over the copper of the escutcheon, handles and applications that speaks of a long history of utilisation. Nice to look at with its octagon panelling and its visible age rings and veins of the wood.

But Mikaele knows there’s something inside besides the eighteenth century’s weaponry he held for the first time over twenty years ago. Something that, if it would live in a book, would be in Jürgen’s métier.

Despite his knowledge of the danger that lurks inside this chest, Mikaele had sold it multiple times to all kinds of different people. He thought, a meat grinder, an antique syringe, a wooden crate, a wooden chest – when it comes down to it, it’s all the same.

Slowly, word spreads. Especially in a social circle as small as the one Mikaele operates in. People talk and its hard to bring something to a market that has learned by now that the thing will get them killed. (Of course, there are always the outliers, the unpredictable variables of heedless rich men who think they can withstand temptation, only to fail. Mikaele, however, is not a heedless man and if he knows one thing, it’s that dead men can’t spend money anymore.)

So, he almost got restless at the prospect of owning a chest filled with death impossible to market again, when he remembers the small business card in his middle desk drawer that reads in small capital letters The Magnus Institute.

He calls.

Mr Bouchard welcomes his offer with the generosity of a Lukas and asks him to drop off the chest as quickly as convenient. So, he gets into his car roughly two days later and takes the trip to the institute himself as the loss of Cook is still somewhat thrumming beneath his skin. (He gives the others a few days off, tells Leigh to stock up on supplies, so they can set sails as soon as he gets back.)

When he gets out of the car in the parking lot of the institute, he realises belatedly that he has no chance of transporting the chest all on his own, so he locks up the door and heads up to the institute, a certain spring in his step and something akin to giddiness in his soul.

“Rosie,” he greets the woman sitting at the desk in front of Mr Bouchard’s office and she offers him salutations with a smile as wide as the Thames. “Mr Bouchard awaits me. A delivery for Artefacts that I could not possibly carry alone.”

She tells him that Mr Bouchard is in a meeting with a Lukas, and she says it with a wink and a smile, and even though Mikaele doesn’t quite make heads or tails of her words, he understands that she can’t ring him up until he gets out of his call, so he asks: “Would you mind calling Artefacts to send a helping hand?”

Telephone handset already in hand, her manicured fingers dial a three-digit number, and she waits patiently for the other person to pick up.

Meanwhile, Mikaele studies the stone tiles that could almost look like marble, and the dark, oiled wood that forms the intricate details of the desk she’s sitting at. The surface is covered in paper and sticky notes and handwritten reminders and dates, almost contrary to the planner lying next to her keyboard that is colour-coded and in a minimalistic beauty that Mikaele wants to envy but finds to be incredibly annoying.

Although Mikaele’s clearly occupied studying her surroundings like the engaged columns that bestow texture upon the too white walls, ending in abstract art nouveau capitals that could be worthy of note but only exert tristesse in their colourlessness. It’s a shame, Mikaele thinks, that this is what Jonah Magnus chose to express the prestigiousness of the institute with.

Suddenly, someone’s standing too close to him; entirely unexpected in his line of vision. He startles, ripping his gaze off the columns, and is met with an expressionless look of a woman. She narrows her eyes when he takes a step back to bring distance between them and apologises in a stern voice that doesn’t speak of remorse.

“Oh, don’t be,” he replies, interlacing his fingers behind his back.

From the other side of her desk, Rosie informs him that someone from Artefacts will soon be with them and if he would mind waiting for a bit. He shakes his head in answer, but his attention lays on the gaunt woman before him. She’s one part tenuous and two parts careworn wrapped in white hair and wrinkly skin only broken by thread veins and purposeful inexpressiveness.

She introduces herself as Gertrude Robinson, the head archivist of the Magnus Institute, and asks him for the cause of his visitation. So, without his own volition he tells of the chest and its malevolent contents. He tells of violence and strife and death. And when he’s done, all he can do is blink at her in owlish perturbation.

Adversatively, her gaze is unwavering, examining the parts of his being that he himself is not entirely aware of. With a blink of her eye, he feels like he can breathe again, but her carefully worded question, if he had anything else to say to her, tries to gently pry words from his mouth that he hadn’t previously known existed. He swallows them all down, phoneme for lexeme for root, almost choking on the pre- and inter- and suffixes.

He says: “Beware of the splinters. And always wear gloves.”

Though he thought she’d be displeased, her eyes glow in satisfaction and the smile tugging at the corner of her lips makes uneasiness rear its ugly head like he’s still a twenty-something in the middle of Jürgen’s library.

Climax

Michael’s standing in the doorway even though she has told him a hundred times not to lurk. He’s crossing his arms in front of his chest and the look on his face can only be described as discontent.

“I told you,” she says, weariness settling into her bones, “that it’s an act of utmost discourtesy to earwig my recordings of a statement.”

He doesn’t say anything, just shifts his weight and leans against the doorframe like a scallywag assessing the possibilities to wreak havoc. With a sigh coming from the depths of her soul, she attempts to find chagrin between fatigue and impuissance, but she comes home empty handed.

“I know,” she concedes, “this is of personal interest to you. And I can assure you, I won’t keep you in the dark in regard to research. However, I find myself in the unfortunate position of putting the development of the case before your personal interest. Which, ultimately, should lead to your satisfaction, too.” She interrupts herself in hope that he says at least something. He doesn’t. “Emma is currently tracking down Mikaele Salesa and should return with him and his extensive knowledge of the artefact as soon as possible. A research assistant is accompanying her, for her own safety and the insurance that Mr Salesa will come back.”

Michael narrows his eyes, still rigid and tensed up, every fibre of his body tight-drawn.

She has never seen him like this, without his languid smile and crinkling eyes, without the casual ‘swagger’ of his step and his restless fingers in search of something to hold on to. This is the first time she has ever seen his face in severity and earnest, almost distorted in its unfamiliarity.

“Michael,” she says after a while and she can’t keep every notion of defeat out of her voice. Three words sit on her tongue, heavy and strange, a combination of egoistical self-sorrow and wrong-worded sentiment. An attempt of retaliation, of connecting broken pieces and lost connections.

But her mouth remains empty, her teeth blocking the path separating herself from vulnerability and violability.

It's nothing personal, she thinks to herself, Michael's as good as they come. But here inside the walls of the institute every word is a weapon shock-sensitive and ready to explode. (The shock comes in many forms, most prevalently and most dangerously in the shape of grey-green eyes and blasé smiles that turn benign concerns into malignant worries. The shock comes in bursts, circling into waves that drown out every other thought.)

So, she breathes around three words that Michael deserves and that she would willingly give if he were anyone else, anyone unknown.

Time goes by in little droplets of apprehensiveness, pulling together into a flow of disquietness. But Michael’s not moving, just staring at her demandingly, his jaw locked and his knuckles turning white.

For a moment, she must avert her eyes, cannot take his open display of discontent anymore, and her gaze falls upon the wooden chest, neatly tucked into the corner of her office. A feeling of I can��t believe an unimpressive thing like you could do such harm, but deep down in her core she knows it not to be true. She has had enough artefacts in her hands, only separated from her skin by a thin layer of latex, to know that nothing ever seems as ill-natured and pernicious as it truly is.

Her eyes snap back to him, and she needs him to break the silence. (Needs him to spare a smile to reinforce something resembling normalcy. Although she Knows it to be true that Michael can’t do anything about this situation. He’s bound to the laws of physic, too, and he can’t tilt the world back into its normal position. And Gertrude shouldn’t expect him to do it if she herself can’t do anything about the world.)

“Michael,” she says again, breath catching at the edges of a four-letter word still sitting discomfortably in her throat. “Sometimes the right thing to do and the easy thing to do are two different things.” He continues to stare, vulnerability brought by wholeheartedness. “And the right thing is concentrating on your work so that Emma can do hers.”

Softly, Michael says that they were his friends. His shoulders dropping, weighted down by the acknowledgement of defeat. The start of a sentence escapes his lips, but he struggles to force it out completely, and interrupts himself. He draws a shaky breath. Voice trembling, he tries again and states that one of them did this, and she feels like he should make an all-encompassing gesture, drawing in not only shaky breaths but all the weak-kneed wrongfulness of this place.

He doesn’t know, she thinks, he doesn’t know a thing.

“Sometimes,” she says and lays her hand flat atop the desk to stop them from pushing her upright, “bad things happen. And we must deal gently with them.”

A broken-up sentence that he is just, that he is. But he can’t go on and he swallows the fire in his chest, chokes on the flames and sobs up a few sparks. He says that he’s so, so very angry. And the taste that his words leave in her mouth reminds Gertrude of bonfires and sun storms and the sound of cracking wood. (It reminds her of her adolescence, of nights spend only illuminated by the moon and the flames licking into the sky.)

She nods and presses the palms of her hands on the wooden surface with as much strength as she can conjure. She says: “Anger is a dangerous place. You must tread softly, or it swallows you whole.”

They fall back into silence, the quiet thrum of the air condition a white noise for his grief.

Then his arms fall down, and he tries to smile at her but it's a vain attempt at best. (She knows how his smile looks by heart. And this is only the caricature version of Michael himself.)

Michael's as good as they come, so she settles on: “Trust me, Michael.” And she can see that he does.

Falling Action

In the end, Gertrude is alone in the Archives and she’s buried beneath statements and rituals and eyes that follow every step she takes. Maybe she’s growing paranoid in the wake of a catastrophe she can’t even fanthom the momentousness of. Maybe she’s in her right to collect explosives like wrinkles on her skin. However, she’s still in need of more, more, more. (More certitudes, more dependability, more apologia.)

So, she starts a little fire. Nothing major, just a small one. On the other side of a room that contains a wooden chest that has brought so much grief upon the institute.

Nobody’s in danger of getting hurt, she reasons, every artefact destroyed is a blessing bestowed upon humanity. She only needs them to clear the room, to lose sight of a few things like maybe a Gorilla Skin or a wooden chest full of weaponry.

And the impossible thing is that it worked. Or semi-worked at least because the Gorilla Skin is not in the institute, has never been, and Gertrude’s not any closer to finding it, but she’s got a hold onto the chest, offered by Sonja in an attempt to safe what can be saved.

Time runs out, the Unknowing comes closer, creeps into every waking thought and tries to strangle her into submission. But Gertrude’s not done. She’s almost entirely alone and her hands may be shaking like aspen leaf, but she’s not done.

Shoulders squared and cardigan wrapped around her thin frame, she walks into Research and politely requests help moving an artefact into the Archives. A young man she has seen a few times in the hallways offers his help and she assures him that there will be a sack barrow in Artefacts when he asks if she needs more than one pair of helping hands.

“That will do,” he says light-heartedly and opens the door for her to step through in front of him. It’s a nice gesture and Gertrude enjoys Tim’s joviality as long as it lasts.

They walk in silence for a moment, their footsteps being the only noise they produce. They echo inside Gertrude’s ribcage and for a moment she thinks fondly of Gerry who’s just waiting for her to get started on their trip to the other temples of the beholding. (She won’t think of it as a capital B, she’s been resisting for so long, she won’t cave now. The pressure to give in and paint her dreams with atrocity is big and strong and all-consuming. Just a flick of her tongue and an almost imperceptible strain on her queries and the knowledge of the world would lie at her feet, waiting for her to be crowned and bestowed a gift that she had always declined politely.)

“Tim Stoker.” The research assistant breaks their silence and her train of thought. Blinking through her dusty glasses, she turns towards him without a falter in his steps. “Pleasant to finally make your acquaintance, Miss Robinson.”

Meeting her stern gaze with a friendly one of his, he smiles at her with something more akin to geniality than politeness. (All of a sudden, she’s standing in front of Michael who laughs with an edge of nervousness shortly before she sends him off to find the door. Unexpectedly, she sees Emma in the way he drags his left foot a little more than his right. Without intention, she sees Eric and Fiona in the freckle-constellations on his bare arms.)

She must avert her eyes, forcibly shaking off the images of trust and anger and disappointment dressed in faces she had known so dearly. So, she attempts to focus on their differences, on his height and cadence and the way that he says her name with distant respect like she’s worthy of note.

“Originally, I applied for a position in the Archives,” Tim says at this moment and Gertrude is present again, emerging victorious from the fight with her demons. (Victorious for now.) “But there hasn’t been an opening in quite some time.”

Nodding in thought, she tells him that the Archives is crewed with only her since 2011 and that she doesn’t intend on changing the way that she works. (Gerry’s not employed by the institute, so it’s safe to be in his company for now.)

“Not going to lie, I’m a bit disappointed at that prospect,” Tim retorts without showing any sign of frustration or letdown. And this is the thing that tips Gertrude off, makes suspicion rise in her gut like the tide after moonrise. Tim Stoker is a strange man with unclear affiliations who explicitly applied to be part of the Archives, part of Gertrude’s team. And who, upon dismissal, took work up in the institute anyways. As if he’d like to keep close, take an eyeful of the progress she’s making.

She studies him again, out of the corner of her eye this time, and asks what persuaded him to apply to the Archives in the first place, carefully keeping the compulsion out of her voice, and he says: “I’ve been working in publishing for a long time but in college I used to work as a research assistant in an archive. I guess it’s work I liked doing.”

The lie slips from his skull directly into the hollowness of her chest, and she can feel the draw of the eye to dig deep into the hidden space behind his heart. But she swallows it down, like she always has, like she always will. Pushes it into a corner not to be touched ever again. (It’s going to rear its ugly head time and time again, but hope is a frail thing with sturdy bones and Gertrude is hell-bent on keeping it alive.)

She tells him that she thinks he would be perfectly suited for the Archives, and she apologises that she can’t offer him a position. But he waves his hand dismissively, laughter in his voice and a quick pip on his tongue: “There will be other times.” But she sure hopes there will not.

Denouement

Upon entering the storage room, Tim tells her that he doesn’t believe her, that Sasha James is a liar, but he laughs right with her, holding the door open so she can come inside, too.

“I’m not lying,” she replies, breath still caught in her throat. “Jon really did! I saw it with my own two eyes!”

Tim, however, is not listening anymore. He’s mesmerized by an oak chest in the far corner of the room. A curse falls from his lips into the dusty air of the room and it only takes him a few bee-lining steps until he’s right in front of the thing.

“What’s that?” Sasha asks, following him until she’s standing right beside him. Shrugging his shoulders, he tells her that its from Artefacts and Gertrude Robinson asked him to bring it down here for a time being. (A time being that is long over since Artefacts has been renovated and Gertrude Robinson went missing.)

He kneels down to examine the chest because he distinctly remembers Gertrude telling him to not dwell on the contents for too long. Cautiously, he reaches for the escutcheon of the lid, tinged green and matted by disuse.

Sasha catches his hand mid-air. “Should you be touching it?” The levity of their prior conversation is forgotten, a tension hangs in the air between them, filled only by the muted footsteps of Martin and Jon in the hallways. “If it’s an artefact, it could be dangerous.”

Mischievously grinning, he asks her if she’s as thorough and careful in her daily life as she is with the looming possibility of spooky encounters.

Even though her aim is pretty good, he dodges the jab with a laugh he’s sure causes her to smile at least a little. He tells her to live a little, be great and beyond.

“If you had seen the artefacts we were dealing with,” she says, “you wouldn’t be as careless. You’ve read the statements. You’ve worked in Research.”

He sighs and a constricted look settles on his face, almost mirroring the flood of memories knocking him down, only simmered down to something he can actually display within the boundaries of his flesh. She’s right and he knows it, but he can’t bring himself to voice it out loud, so he settles on the one thing he always knew best: Deflection.

Making a pained sound at the back of his throat, he laments his choice of occupation without acknowledging the true intent of it. He tells her that, when Jon had asked him to move down into the Archives with him and Sasha, he hadn’t thought about it twice, had deemed working with his friends favourable to Research where Conrad works, of all people. He had thought, so he says, that working inside of an archive again would feel like home for an anthropology major like him. Field work may be wonderful, he continues, but he loved working nose burrowed in books.

More quietly, he admits that he misses publishing. Misses reading into the late hours of the night, entranced by academic works filled with hypotheses and argumentation. Misses tweaking phrases and correcting spelling, omitting thoughts only worthy of footnotes to force papers into their linear trickle of thoughts. Misses communicating with people beyond horrifying experiences and lived nightmares.

“This really is an awful lot like Research,” Sasha agrees, still eying the chest just like he is. “Artefacts is much the same, really. Just with the additional splash of weariness of life.”

In as much confidence as they can find in an open room, too close to their colleagues, Tim says that the Magnus Institute is the worst academic facility he has ever seen. That if he has to see Sasha staple documents together one more time, he’s going to pull his hair out and quit.

“I don’t understand your problem,” Sasha replies dismissively. “What the hell is wrong with stapling. It’s fun!”

He stares at her incredulously. Then he tries to explain to her why stapling sensitive documents that they are supposed to keep safe and away from harm is most decidedly the opposite of their job description.

“I think you’re overthinking this.”

Pointing at his face, still on his knees in front of her which means that he has to strain his neck to be able to look at her, he asks if he’s even apt to overthink. And once again she tries to shove at him. This time, though, she succeeds but she doesn’t reckon him trying to hold on to her legs to keep himself steady and upright, which only leads to them falling into a heap on the floor.

Laughing and a bit out of breath, she shoves at him again, trying to free herself to get standing again.

When she manages to upright herself again, she says: “You should stop being quite as overdramatic.” He points at his face once more and mouths Who? Me? at her, feigning a look of innocence. “And you should call Artefacts, so they can come and collect their cursed chest or whatever.” Still pointing at himself, he mouths again Who? Me? This time, however, with fake indignation plastered over his face.

“Yes you, yes you, yes you,” Sasha singsongs, shoving at him for the last time, pressing him into the floor, before she finally gets up and starts to head for the door. “And because of your blatant neglect of your duties,” she’s gesturing towards the chest over her shoulder which, admittedly, looks rather silly, “and your implication– no, your malicious defamation of one Sasha James, I’m going to leave you to rummage through these boxes all on your own.”

She leaves the storage room, and he can hear the echo of her footsteps, while he loudly mourns her absence and begs for her to come back. The laughter, however, that rings out of the hallway, makes it absolutely clear that he has no choice but to suffer on his own.

(If he’s nice enough, and Tim’s confident that he is, then Martin may have mercy with him and join him on their combined quest to conquer the Archives.)

#the magnus archives #tim stoker #gertrude robinson #mikaele salesa #michael shelley #sasha james #fanfiction #schmok writes #missing scene #never posted this here #time to AHHH about tma finale

6 notes · View notes

fizzypunks · 4 years ago

Text

its a date but its not a date

fandom: My Hero Academia/ Boku No Hero Academia word count: 3.8k/oneshot rating: t summary: hizashi takes shouta to a little festival and insists its not a date... just pure fluff bc <3

ship: Aizawa Shouta/ Hizashi Yamada | Erasermic

note: this reads better in AO3 because it keeps formatting for italics, which tumblr does not!

AO3

___

Yamada Hizashi wasn’t a timid person – it wasn’t even a quirk thing, it was just his nature, and it was something he was proud of. Sure, he’d been called loud and obnoxious, and some have been less than kind about his quirk when it’s gotten out of control. His quirk control wasn’t great for a very long time, but none of what he’d been called or heard had really changed the way he carries himself, and that includes his extroverted nature.

He was, however, a panicked person, when it came to matters of interest .

Love.

Whatever .

And, because love was the one thing that made him think twice about what he says, what he does or doesn’t do, that has landed him in the exact predicament that he’s facing right now.

Hizashi tapped his pen against his essay, the half filled pages of his stationary blurring together into a mass of lines and half-assed penmanship. He’d been staring at it for the past five minutes, when he’d given up on trying to ignore his annoying problem.

Shouta .

It’s been getting harder to ignore the stupid pull of something he’s recently identified as yearning that comes every time he thinks of his best friend. Stronger than any hurricane gale, it pulls in every thought he has until there are no more to be had. Just Shouta, and his messy hair, and the eyes he thinks are pretty despite always being so blood-shot.

Hizashi groans, faintly feeling heat spill across his cheeks. “God, why must I be so fucked?”

It’s not like he’s even asking him out on a date – no, he’s not bold enough to do that in their last year and semester of school– there’s no need for distractions like that right now, whatever outcome may or may not come from it…. no, he’s just asking to take Shouta to the Autumn festival at the park, because Shouta should do something fun and get out of his room and not explode from stress.

The poor guy has been spending all his time studying and stressing and sleeping even less , so of course Hizashi would want to help his friend out and get him to relax.

Yeah, that’s what it was – one friend asking another friend out because stress is bad.

That doesn’t change the nervous skip in his heart right now, as he sits at his desk and thinks about…

Hizashi groans again, tipping back in his chair and hooking his foot against the back of his desk so that he’s less likely to tumble. Theoretically, at least.

Why does it feel so significant right now? He’d asked Shouta to do countless things with him! He’d gotten him to agree to go to the movies a bunch of times, and to a party or two, and, most recently, he’d even been able to rope him into going to a karaoke club! He didn’t sing, they left earlier than he’d planned, but Shouta had fun!

Hizashi narrowed his eyes at the white ceiling and the ceiling fan that whirled past his vision, playing with the very edge of the wooden panel that kept him from tumbling onto his carpet.

This wasn’t supposed to mean anything, but somehow it did.

It felt like a declaration, no matter how he phrased it in his head, and he doesn’t understand the logic behind it.

Fine. Whatever! I’ll just ask, and be blunt, and do it right before I leave so there’s no room for thinking, and it’ll be okay!

Something like, “Hey, Shouta, let’s go to this festival! It’ll be so much fun! PLUS, I think you’ll look cute sharing cocoa with me!”

Hizashi’s eyes widened, his foot slipped in that one moment of lost focus, and he fell –

“ Fuck!”

It was a little too loud, bordering on quirk use, but he had other problems to think about beside that .

He rubbed the back of his head.

“Man…”

If he can’t even imagine it the right way… how was he supposed to actually ask? It would be pretty stupid to try when he knew he could act a little too carelessly and, potentially, damage the good friendship they had going on.It was probably better left un-asked.

Unsaid, un-asked, and out of mind.

It was most certainly not out of mind, that is clear.

Shouta is sitting across from him, half-mast eyes scanning the copy of his English text book in a way that looked a lot more performative than informative. Their booth was tucked more toward the back of the cafe, and it would normally be a bit more secluded and quiet, but midterms brought students from the woodwork and into any coffee-scented establishment, which their happened to be.

What great luck.

All around them was the sound of machines grinding coffee, books being shifted around, and light conversation in between bouts of half-silences – and a heavy vale of constant movement that proved to be less than ideal for studying, despite all the students trying to do just that .

It was to be expected this time of year, but it was still enough to bother Shouta. He concentrated better with silence, and he happened to be struggling a lot more on English than he does on his other subjects.

Hizashi, thankfully, understood the material enough for the both of them and then some, and already finished his homework – the papers in front of him were notes, ready to be explained the moment Shouta needed it, with hand-writing that was still pretty bad but…

For Shouta, he’d made an effort. The result was somewhat-legible scribbles lining the papers, and when he referenced it, Shouta didn’t have to ask too many questions about, “what is this right here?”

“I’m not going to pass.”

Hizashi turned his eyes to Shouta, like he hadn’t been trying to find a reason to look at him longer. He was wearing a big, thick red scarf, which his hair was somewhat tucked into. He didn’t look up, he just kept his eyes on his text book. His irises weren’t moving on the page.

“Oh man, don’t say that! How’d you think you’re gonna pass if you don’t believe in yourself?”

“It’s because I don’t believe in myself.”

Hizashi grabbed his warm cocoa and took a sip, if only to busy his hands with something . “Shouta! I don’t like this type of negativity!”

“Well, you’ve chosen the wrong friendship then.”

“Or, maybe, the right one!”

Shouta looked up, and Hizashi held his gaze. His eyes had been given a break over the past few days of written work, so the redness that often lined them was almost completely gone.

His skin looked soft too…

His hair, it was fluffy and cute, also..

“Hizashi?”

He’d been staring and not talking and he leaned back into his seat like a magnet to metal. He started laughing, holding his drink up to his face. “Well, maybe I can cheer you up! What are friends for, right? And maybe it will turn that attitude around, ya think?”

“You’re not making any sense?”

Hizashi hated that it was true but there’s no going back now – his mouth was ten steps ahead of him anyway, and not even he could stop it.

He smiled widely at Shouta. “I mean, maybe I’m here to make sure you don’t stress yourself out so much! You always do so much but never check yourself, and I’m here to fix that!”

Shouta huffed, head bobbing just a bit. Then he smirked and Hizashi had to concentrate on his breathing. “And how do you propose you’d do that?”

Oh, it was so easy – this was the opportunity the gods gave him after seeing him fall on his ass just a few days before.

Hizashi leaned forward, and set his elbows down on his notes, a hot cocoa between them. “One word. Festival .”

Shouta’s eyebrows quirked down just a bit, and he tilted his head to the side, his hair tilting with him. “Festival?”

“What do ya say? The park next to my neighborhood has one this weekend, and it’s free, and there’s food, and I really wanna go!”

Hizashi grew pink at the admission, fought against the urge to cover his mouth, but Shouta didn’t comment.

Then, a little surprisingly, instead of arguing or finding reasons why it wasn’t logical to take time away from studies so close to exams, he gave him a smile.

A small, intentional, Shouta smile. “Sure.”

Hizashi tried to not sound over-enthused – just nodded his head and almost squeezed his cup too hard. “Yes! I finally got you to agree to do something!”

“You always get me to do things.”

“Yes, and I did it again!”

Shouta rolled his eyes, and turned his attention back down to the English he’d never really understand.

Hizashi was certain he looked fine. He wasn’t sure if it was great , but it was probably fine, and whatever.

Beside, had many other things to worry about, that were a lot more important than whether or not his shirt matched his shoes. Like, for one, how he still couldn’t quite shake the feeling of significance .

It was back, that nagging intrusion into his thoughts that insisted that something was supposed to be different this time. As he looked over his outfit in his body mirror, pulling over his heavy, long jacket, he had to remind himself that there was nothing different about today. Even if he really, in his heart, wanted there to be something different.

Huh.

So maybe the difference was the amount of yearning – Hizashi sighed, thinking about his feelings last year and comparing them to now.

He huffed, a huge sigh finally making itself known.

Yeah, the feelings he had now were bigger and grander than they’d been last year and they threatened to take over his life if he let them…

Hizashi sighed, rubbed his hands over his face, and pushed his hair back only to reveal his pink, flustered expression to its fullest.

“Sweet lord, have mercy on me! I am an idiot with a crush!”

He collapsed onto his bed and waited out the last of the thirty minutes before Shouta was going to arrive at his door.

Shouta knocked, and Hizashi was already ready – his heart doing flips like he’d never experienced, but oddly enough, it didn’t feel bad. It felt exciting, and loving, and when he opened the door to the crisp autumn air, it felt like home .

Stop that!

Shouta, for all his questionable outfits, looked nice . And he always looked nice, but now he was wearing black boots, and brown khakis that somehow sort of matched Hizashi’s own, and a black tee underneath a black jacket.

He never went anywhere in the cold without a scarf, either, and today was no exception. A red variety was ceremoniously draped around his neck, loose enough to not be covering his face.

Hizashi tried not to beam, but felt the shape his eyes took at the other and knew it wasn’t working. “Ready?!” He asked, a little too loud.

“Yes… you said it was close, right? At the park?”

Hizashi nodded, stepping out and slipping his hand into a pocket to make sure he had his keys and wallet. Confirming quickly, he shut the door behind him, again, with a little too much enthusiasm.

He was buzzing . Some type of energy that he normally had built up in him, that he normally kept pretty good reins on, was taking over –

He was so excited, but, even more – he was just happy .

He looked to Shouta, and smiled, and then led the way down his steps and onto the quiet street. The sky was clear, save for some cloud further down on the horizon. The trees were starting to make themselves barren, and the smell of wood burning fires started to break out as soon as the sun hit its peak.

The neighborhood, secluded and at peace, was quiet, and Shouta walked beside him in comfort.

Hizashi never struggled to say anything, and now is no different – except it is, when he thinks he’ll say something dumb like “hey i like you so much, you make my world right, also I love you. ”

He can’t say that.

But he really, really wants to.

He’s wanted to for years, and he’s almost said it more than once, and now he’s let the silence build around them…

Shouta often takes mercy on him, and so he did it again this time. Their pace was slow and there was a little bit of space between them, and he sighs. “This is really nice.”

Hizashi smiles, keeps his eyes on the road as it winds forward. “I’m glad you think so! We’ve stressed so much, it’s a good weekend getaway, don’t you think?”

Shouta laughs – it’s more of a chuckle, but it’s a laugh where Shouta is concerned. “Yeah, you’re right. I needed this, a lot, I think…”

They reach the corner, looking for cars that weren’t coming. The crest of trees a few blocks ahead could be seen above rooftops, and that’s where Hizashi fixes his gaze. “Me too,” he says softly, and leaves it at that because he’s always on the verge of too many words.

“You seem really… energized.”

Hizashi fumbles with his hands, pretending to warm them up and not like he’s nervous. “When am I not!”

Shouta hums, and it’s so deep and close that it makes Hizashi wish he could just…

But then Shouta reaches out, and grabs at the hands Hizashi is cradling in front of him, blunt and to the point. He takes Hizashi’s left hand and slots their fingers together in his right, and Hizashi knows he can feel the clamminess…

He looks back, sputtering, his heart erratic, “Shou – wha– I’m –”

Does he know this is messing with me?

And Shouta, in that calm, stupid way he always carries himself, smiles. “Maybe that’s what I’m here for.”

He squeezes their hands, and Hizashi must look confused because Shouta laughs.

“You always try to bring me up, so I think I can help bring you calm… You seem nervous, so,” he looked at their hands, swung them just a bit for emphasis. “Calm.”

Hizashi feels every bit of himself crumble, falls away like a cliff against a storm, and smiles because it’s all he can do. He blushes and he can feel how it spreads, and he doesn’t say anything because every sentence ends in I love you .

The festival was a pleasant and home-y affair, and after they’d gotten there, they’d learned that it was quite bigger than either of them anticipated. Though it was still a neighborhood one, hosted by the local families and park itself, it was still filled to every corner.

They’d gotten there during the peak of the sun, but it quickly descended as they wove in and out of the scattered foot traffic. The air was crisper where the lake sat in the center of the park, and the trees casted half shadows around the food and merchant vendors.

They were walking around for less than an hour before the lanterns and torches were starting to light around them.

Shouta still held Hizashi’s hand, and once he’d accepted the lovely fact, he’d loosened up enough to feel like his mouth wasn’t going to get him into trouble.

“Wow! Shou! Look!” He pointed out, across the deep blue lake, to the hovering lights that surrounded it.

Shouta hummed warmly. “It looks very nice.”

Hizashi was still smiling, still enamored by the lights as they floated out across his vision – the way the cool air from the dipping sun brushed against his skin and somehow made all the warmth in him that much warmer.

He quickly cast his eyes down to Shouta, and found him looking at him.

Hizashi’s ears burned and he looked away really fast, heart thumping deep in the cage of his chest.

Oh don’t you dare say it. Don’t you DARE.

“Um…” He said softly, intentionally because otherwise his quirk might get the best of him – he didn’t know if he was embarrassed by his enthusiasm, or by the way Shouta was watching him, but it all went away when Shouta tugged them along the side of the lake.

It’s a few more moments before Hizashi gathers up the right words to say – the ones that aren’t gushy and filled with emotions he’s certain Shouta wouldn’t reflect.

“So!” He starts, looking around now that they were near the cluster of food stands. The air was filled with burning wood, meat, sauce, alive with the sound of simmering and laughter. “Want food? My treat! We can’t walk away without trying everything at least once!”

“I didn’t know you were rich enough to do that.”

Hizashi chuckled. “I’m serious, though. Whatever you want!”

Hizashi ignored the eyes tilted his way, right before leading off to Hizashi’s right. Hizashi turns around enough to look at the little stand and it’s cloth menu.

It was a takoyaki shop, with different bao, and there was no line.

Hizashi smiled, and it was his turn to tug Shouta forward. He couldn’t really look at him, not just yet any way, but he could hear the light lilt in his voice when he ordered from the kind eyed older man at the register. Hizashi made his order quickly, and paid, and they walked away with various stacks of food.

It wasn’t even a question where they’d go, and they found a spot under a tree to sit with their food.

The grass was cut, and the little hill they sat on overlooked a great deal of the sprawling festival that surrounded them. Up here, the voices that surrounded them, the chatter, the laughter that Hizashi was not interested in, was duller – muted, and when Shouta hummed in hungry appreciation at his bao, it made his heart ache all the more.

He snuck a look to his right, graced by the mercy of Shouta closing his eyes. He’d just taken a bite, had unravelled most of his scarf to do so, and was now enjoying it for all it’s worth.

Hizashi’s eyes softened at the sight.

God.

And Shouta opened his eyes, in his direction like he just knew.

Hizashi looked down and took his bao. “This looks good! I should eat like this more.”

“You should take me to more festivals, too.”

Hizashi choked a bit – he recovered fast, and cast a glance toward Shouta. “Sure thing!”

This feeling...

Maybe this is what he had been feeling – the lead up to whatever moment this was. The way Shouta really took the time to look at him, not through him. Like he was paying attention.

Maybe…

Hizashi held his oversized bao in both hands and looked forward. It suddenly didn’t feel like such a bad idea to speak. To say whatever it was that he was going to say, because for Shouta, it would always be okay…

Didn’t make him feel any more at ease, not with the stupid thought in his head that maybe he was misreading whatever today was. Who knows, maybe Shouta always paid attention to him like this? And sure, the hands thing… that was new, but maybe Shouta just really likes holding hands but he needs to be comfortable with the person, and now after three years he’s finally comfortable with Hizashi?

If you’re gonna say something…

“Hey,” he started.

Say it now.

“I’m having a really good time.”

He doesn’t take his wide, blown-out eyes from the festival. It was dark enough that every lantern stood out like little stars, and the breeze was so nice…

“If you want… we can, um, do this again. I’ll find another festival, but I can’t guarantee it’ll be free this time, but I’ll try! And I’ll see if I can sneak in some home made food too so we can spend more money on like, cute stuff from the merchants. I saw this plush down there, actually, and it was a cat , so maybe –”

No, Hizashi wasn’t a timid person – but, still , it was probably for the best that Shouta was the first one to move. He grabbed Hizashi’s hand, urging it away from the bao so that he could hold it again.

He’d pulled his attention to the forefront, and his eyes to finally meet his, and he realized that Shouta had moved so much closer…

The dark of his eyes was so close, and he was smiling …

“You talk a lot when you’re nervous.”

There wasn’t a way to hide the flush, so Hizashi looked down, feeling too open. “I’m sorry…”

He couldn’t see his eyes, but he could see his smile. “I like it, though.”

“What about if I say I like you... Will you still like it?”

Please…!

Shouta didn’t leave him any time to doubt.

“It makes it a lot easier… for me to say I like you, too… yeah, I’d like it…”

Hizashi’s entire body was fireworks – explosions and exclamations and that same buzzing energy that gripped him every time he thought of Shouta. He grinned, and looked up to see Shouta was just as embarrassed and flustered as he was.

He’d normally have to look away, but he assumed he had permission now, and…

God you’re so pretty…

His eyes, his eyelashes, the way his eyes bend against his smile and how he’d never seen him smile like this before…

Hizashi abandoned the bao in his lap and pushed away the hair that framed his face, slowly, not sure if it was too much to hold his face –

“I’m – I’m sorry, can I?”

Shouta nodded. “And you can kiss me too, in case you weren’t sure…”

That was all the reason he needed.

He’d had so many reasons, so many countless reasons he loved him...

He cupped his jaw, still acutely aware of the way Shouta was still holding on to his hand in the grass –

It was cold, that was true, but right now he was warm with nerves and excitement and love , and he leaned in –

His breath, so warm –

His lips, so soft –

And neither of them were particularly experienced or daring, so after a few seconds when he finally parted their lips just a bit, they pulled away, just enough to speak.

“Mmm, you taste like bao,” he said, and then wished someone was there in his brain to stop whatever dumb shit was trying to get out.

Shouta just laughed. “So do you.”

The rest of their night was spent on that hill, kissing and talking and, eventually, finishing their food. When they finally left, Hizashi found that plush cat at the vendor near the entrance of the park and gave it to Shouta. Shouta blushed, and Hizashi glowed with comfortable warmth, glad that he can now get cute things for his boyfriend.

#erasermic #yamada hizashi #aizawa shouta #aizawa #writing #oneshot #mha #bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #long post #xpost #prompted for fluff and autumn...#my discord server is so nice ahhh #fluff

18 notes · View notes