#I'm an ao3 newbie

[angelfacemjj]

HOW THE FUCK DO I ADD ORIGINAL TAGS ON AOFUCKING3 I ALREADY DID THE COMMA AND THE ENTER METHODS AND IT STILL AIN'T WORKING

[paperbackribs]

werewolf steve, werebat eddie (ch2)

🦇🧥🦇

Eddie’s knee bounces in the stationary van parked outside the Harrington house; he stares down at the open Dungeons and Dragons Monster Manual clutched between his arms, flipping between the werewolf and the dire wolf. A drawing of the former has it standing upright, muscled and snarling with outstretched claws; his eyes are drawn to chaotic evil.

He knows that Steve isn’t evil. He does. The man who had spent hours next to Eddie at his hospital bedside showed an honour and trustworthiness that had drawn Eddie in even before he’d recognised it.

No, the caring guy he’s come to know is about as far from an alignment that lacks compassion and kills for sport as someone could get. That Steve is capable of wielding a nail-bat against the monsters of the Upside Down only lends an appealingly chaotic feel to the man Eddie had begun to think of as a rogue knight.

Sighing, he flips to the other page held open by his spare hand: dire wolf. Unaligned and a beast advantaged by its pack, this seems like Steve’s speed. Resembling his transformed self more acutely with its simple, albeit large wolf appearance. His finger stops on the bloodied maw, but the idea of it is still terrifying.

Reluctantly, he turns to the page he’s now memorised by heart. Man-shaped, this monster growls with open fangs too; sharp tapered ears are fixed on a figure draped in an aristocratic overcoat and cape. Finger trembling, he traces undead and lawful evil before pausing over bat polymorph as one of the vampire’s characteristics.

A loud bang smacks against the side of the van and Eddie jumps high enough to hit his head on the Chevrolet’s roof. “Ow, Christ!” He hisses, rubbing the sore spot and glaring at Dustin grinning at him through the closed window.

“Come on,” he shouts, “Everyone’s here!”

Eddie scowls, leaving behind the manual to tumble out of the van. Dustin immediately starts pushing him from behind and Eddie whacks at him with his hands, “Lay off, man. I’m coming, okay.”

Dustin hums doubtfully, “Yeah, but I watched you sit in the van for the last ten minutes and that was only after I noticed you’d arrived. Who knows how long it was going to take you?”

He quickly opens the front door before Dustin pushes him right smack into it, but the younger boy continues shoving at Eddie until he stumbles into Steve’s living room. In a similar configuration to yesterday’s intervention, the party sits, lounges, or stands about the room, quietly talking.

On the couch, Robin sits cross-legged with Steve who’s flipping through a magazine. Eddie’s relieved to see that all four limbs are human-shaped, and mouth only curved into a soft pout as he contemplates the article in front of him.

Everyone pauses to look over at their loud entrance. Steve glances up and, meeting his calm expression, Eddie almost blushes at how uncoordinated he must have looked falling through the door. He averts his gaze to El who approaches him with an outstretched palm, “Are you ready?”

Eddie sighs but takes her hand; she leads him to the open floor and they sit across from each other, “Yeah, we might as well do this. So, you’re going to force the bat out or something?”

“There’s no guarantee that you can shift,” Lucas leans back against the wall next to Will with casually folded arms. “You could be a normal human with bat scars and that’s it.”

“Or I could be a vampire of the night,” Eddie counters darkly. “I’ve been craving meat lately.”

Max rolls her eyes, “You have not, you big liar. I saw you scoffing down Honey Crunch on your front porch only two days ago.”

“Yeah, well, I was high. Maybe weed mellows out the beast.”

Eddie’s gaze flies to Steve when he snorts, but Steve looks away, concentrating on the magazine that Eddie suddenly suspects he’s not actually reading.

The thought that he’s avoiding Eddie stirs a familiar sense of guilt, giving rise to the niggle that he’d tried to forget after the wolf left yesterday, further punctuated by Robin’s distinct stink-eye. Even amidst the fear that had gripped him, he’d been able to see a sad, dejected version of Steve in the down-turned tail and slow trudge away.

“I'm going to take you into the void,” El says, holding out both her hands over her knees and Eddie takes them at her urging. “When I visit Steve there, he is able to feel the wolf and communicate with him.”

“I sort of see him next to me, if it helps,” Steve finally pipes up, watching Eddie warily like he’s expecting him to reject the advice, but Eddie only nods grimly. He’s going to need all the tips he can get he suspects. “Do I let it possess me or something?”

Steve frowns, a hint of reproach about him, “My wolf doesn’t posses me, he is me. Just like I’m him.” He shakes his head at Eddie’s confusion, “If you have a bat or a vampire or, I don’t know, maybe you’ll have a wolf too, then just reach out to him. He wants to be a part of you and you’ll both figure it out from there.”

Eddie looks into the steady gaze of Steve’s hazel eyes and feels it like a hand over his own: Steve has done this before, and successfully. He just needs to trust in the rogue knight one more time. “Okay,” he says, closing his eyes and following El’s lead.

🐺🐺🐺

Steve throws his Fine Gardening magazine onto the coffee table and leans against Robin’s shoulder, she presses back. “Does it usually take this long with me,” he murmurs, trying to keep quiet for the two sitting silently in the middle of the room. Both El and Eddie have their eyes closed and hands clasped with the other. Max had turned the television to a snowy channel to help channel El’s concentration with the static sound.

She hums a negative, “But then, you two only did it to play around and see if there was more you could learn about yourself. This is Eddie trying to find out whether he even has another version to turn into.”

She grabs his arm suddenly, “Wait.” Steve blinks, unsure of what he’d seen other than to describe it as a pulse around Eddie. A long beat passes before the trick of the eye flickers again, so quickly that Steve can’t be sure of what he’s seeing.

In one rapid swoop, the air around Eddie contracts, pulling abruptly inwards until Eddie the human disappears to be replaced with a bat standing unsteadily in front of El. He blinks wide eyes, faltering on tiny feet before stumbling over to land on his back.

Eddie squawks in what Steve thinks is shock before frantically flapping his extended wings and tossing over to push up into the air, erratically darting around the suddenly panicking humans.

With one wing beating harder than the other, he drunkenly tilts and rolls into Mike’s long hair. Shrieking, Mike pulls Eddie out and flings him away even while crying out, “Shit! Sorry, Eddie! Sorry!”

Eddie cries out himself and flutters, gaining his momentum only to slam into the wall with a thump next to Dustin who leaps forward trying to catch him, but Eddie desperately twists before leaping higher, aiming for the peak of the ceiling.

“Catch him,” Will yells as Lucas runs out of the room.

“I’m trying,” Dustin shrieks in a tone that matches the high screeches of Eddie above them.

Robin shrugs off her boxy jacket, “Wait, I’ve got this.” She advances on Eddie as he zig zags against the wall again, but he must see her as a large threatening animal because he chitters wildly before smacking his wings at her face. Robin yelps and falls, only narrowly avoiding hitting her head on the ground by Max urgently jumping underneath to stop her rapid descent.

Lucas skids into the living room, triumphantly holding aloft the large pool skimmer usually stored in the garden shed. “Steve,” he yells before throwing it across the room.

Steve deftly catches the long handle in the air and, with a twist of his wrist, scoops Eddie mid-flight. Quickly flipping the pole, he entangles his small body in the net.

Panting or, in Mike’s case, holding down his hair, the group silently gather around the squirming bat version of Eddie as he shrieks and tries to bite his way out of the thin rope.

Steve thinks of his first fumbling and panicked steps: the distinct difference between having two legs extended to four, not even at the right height, let alone the terror of suddenly having a completely different way of looking and feeling the world had been indescribable. There are still scratches in the wooden floorboards from how hard he had dug his claws in to stop his legs from skidding in all directions.

“Back up, guys,” he says softly, keeping his tone low and soothing. “Hey, Eddie, hey,” he shushes, positioning the net against his torso so he can roll Eddie out of the mesh without letting him escape. Everyone steps back or sits in a chair, and Steve brings Eddie higher up to his chest so he can meet the eyes of the little guy.

Although his thinking or way of interpreting his surroundings may be a little different, Steve is always aware of the world as he would be as a human, and he can see that it’s the same for Eddie. The big wet eyes of his bat form aren’t that different from his human ones, Steve thinks, a little amused even while worried at how hard Eddie is panting.

“It’s okay,” Steve says, “You’re okay, you’re with friends, and this isn’t permanent. You’re just a bat for a little bit, Eddie, and you’ll be human in no time. Okay? You’re okay.” He keeps repeating reassuring nonsense, keeping his fingers firmly wrapped around squirming wings and resting Eddie against his heart.

As a wolf, Steve likes to lay his head over Robin’s heart, likes the proof that she is alive and well under him, and often finds himself calming under her steady thump, thump, thump.

Under his fingers, he can feel the frantic thrumming of Eddie’s heart start to calm too.

“That’s good,” he croons softly, stroking his thumb over the soft down of Eddie’s head. He takes stock of the little body in front of him: over Eddie’s nose the bridge is one long stripe of white, the rest of him covered in a deep brown while the ruff of his neck is almost golden, his ears are tapered as is the long tip of his pink tongue.

They all watch while Steve successfully calms Eddie as if he is a baby cradled to him. “Do you think that’s a were thing?” Asks Lucas, peering at Eddie as his breathing slows down, he blinks back up at him.

“I don’t know,” Will says thoughtfully, “Steve is pretty soothing to have around.” El nods while Mike shoots his friend a look of betrayal.

Steve rolls his eyes, “He was just scared. Look, now he’s had a moment to chill he’s with us again.” And, sure enough, little Eddie’s eyes are drooping as Steve continues to lightly pat him, clearly relaxing into the comforting gesture. He loosens his hold, still keeping a firm grip but not so tightly in fear of Eddie struggling again.

Max snorts as she peers down, “Oh yeah, there’s the big bad metalhead everyone fears.”

Eddie’s closing eyes snap open with a glare and he squeaks at her. Unfortunately, Steve thinks, the cuteness of it all only supports Max’s teasing. Robin meets his eyes over the kids’ heads and silently laughs in agreement.

“Okay,” Steve orders, “I think the lot of us in the same room may be too much for him right now. You guys skedaddle and we’ll let you know when he’s back to rights.”

Dustin looks doubtful, “What can you do that we can’t?”

Robin snorts, “Uh, Dusty-bun, Steve is literally the expert in this room when it comes to were-changes. You can’t research your way out of this one.”

Dustin grumps, “I could. If we didn’t have Steve, I could absolutely be the one to help him get back to normal.” He turns to the backpack shoved against the table. “Here,” he says, pulling out two books with photos of bats across the covers. Steve peers further into the bag and can see back-ups that apparently didn’t pass muster. “These are the books I brought on bats. If he starts craving blood, let me know — I have more on vampires when he needs them.”

Max takes them from his hands while Lucas steers Dustin towards the front door, where they’d left their bikes outside. Mike mutters a mocking noise that sounds like skedaddle and, with that, the room falls silent once more.

Robin and Steve look over at Max as she falls back onto the couch with El quickly following behind. She stares back belligerently, “What? Mom dropped me off and Eddie was our ride back.” El crosses her arms with a serene smile.

Steve sighs, “Okay, but we’re not doing anything exciting and you guys are making dinner.” The girls readily agree, heating leftovers from Steve’s fridge and serving the four of them as they sit in the living room, eating while watching a Bewitched marathon. At Steve’s instruction, Robin had brought down his blue hoodie with its tunnel-like pocket over his belly.

Little Eddie had curled up inside of it and Steve keeps one hand over him to provide what he hopes feels like shelter and comfort; under it, he can feel the heat of his small body and the steady rhythm of his breathing.

“You look like you’re pregnant,” Robin acerbically observes from the other end of the couch, feet crossed into her lap for the lotus position.

“Does that mean that I can finally eat butterscotch ice cream without you making that face?” He counters with a bitchy expression back.

“What face?” She protests even as she makes The Face. Max rises her brow to Steve, “Why does she look like that?”

“That summer at Scoops maybe put her off some flavours for life,” he shares. El ignores them all in favour of watching Samantha wiggling her nose to float Darrin out of a tree.

“If I have to smell USS Butterscotch one more time, I’m going to puke — lack of pregnancy be damned,” Robin warns.

The commercials blares once Samantha finishes rescuing her husband, and El moves to peek inside the hoodie, tentatively extending a finger and gasping when Eddie’s little bat foot comes out to grip it. “He feels so soft.”

Steve snickers at Robin and he thinks he feels what’s supposed to be a bat bite through the cotton in retaliation, but it’s hard to tell with the lack of sharp fangs behind it. He sobers for the younger members of the room, “Yeah, but he can’t stay this way forever. Can you sense anything from him, El?”

She closes her eyes while continuing to hold Eddie’s foot, “He is not upset like earlier, but I don’t think he is ready to come back to being human-Eddie yet either.”

Steve looks worriedly down at the bump over his stomach, “Is he okay? I ran around a lot at first too, but once I figured out what was happening I tried to turn human again as soon as possible.”

“Yeah, but you also didn’t know that it was possible to turn back to human,” Robin points out. “He could be chilling ‘cause he knows that everything is going to be okay.”

El hums, “No, I do not think that’s it.” She shrugs, gently untangling Eddie’s clawed toes to lean back into Max who shifts an arm and drapes it over El’s shoulders comfortingly. “But he is not willing to share either. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Robin reassures her as she peeks into the other end of the pocket, smirking as she waggles a playful finger at him. Steve can see the wide, wet eyes of Eddie peeking out at her in curiosity. “Maybe he knows that he’s cuter as a bat than as a stinky human boy.”

Eddie glares and snaps his small teeth in the air before sullenly turning, curling up and facing the other way. Once again, a small hidden lump in the hoodie. Steve sighs, “We’ll give him the night and, if he’s not back tomorrow, maybe you can look for him in the void, El? Ask him what’s going on or guide him back to being human again. Whatever it is that he needs since it’s not working for him right now.”

He glances at the stairs, “Do you guys want to stay over? You can sleep in one of the spare rooms?”

“I call third bedroom,” Robin calls, standing up decisively, “Second bedroom has a weird smell.” She points her finger at Steve’s opening mouth, “I don’t care if you can’t smell anything, which, weird. Since you’re the one with the super nose these days.”

She grimaces and says more quietly, “I don’t think I can bunk up tonight, all the screaming got me…” She waggles her hand around her ears and Steve nods, knowing that she needs some quiet time after a lot of stimulation.

Max smirks and takes El by the hand, “That’s cool, we can’t smell whatever weirdo smell your nose is picking up. Night guys.” The girls wave before heading upstairs and Steve shuts off the television.

Picking his way through the house he double checks that the windows and doors are locked before turning off the lights and heading to bed. Lying down, he snuggles little Eddie to him, the small body already curled on top of his chest and asleep.

If you enjoyed anything of this I hope you'll consider leaving a comment over on Ao3 - it would make my day! 💖🦇🐺💖

[vanmarkus]

a'ight, with the mudslide fic's first draft done and the grave fic out of the way, I feel like I can finally dive into the 12 fics on my reading list!!

[optiwashere]

I just wanted to reach out and thank you for all the fic you’ve been writing - especially the Asheera/Shadowheart ones. As a genderfluid person dating a trans woman, it’s been so, so refreshing for us to be able to send each other these fics and see parts of our relationship written so honestly and affectionately 💜

Anon, I'm nearly crying over my coffee here and I have a meeting to be at soon! This is so amazing to read. Genuinely thank you for sharing this with me, it means more than you can possibly know to hear something like this 💜 It sounds like you two have a great relationship, and I hope you two make each other very happy for a very long time.

Asheera and Shadowheart are my lady loves, and I'm so excited to share more of their stories with everyone. Especially you two! I hope you'll continue to enjoy them more often than not.

[liesmyth]

how do you find all these great books? do you watch booktubers or something? everything youve recced ive read and loved!

ty!!! I'm a book nerd so this is very flattering

I'm on goodreads and it can be useful for help finding new books, based on 1) previous ones I liked and 2) reviews from people I follow whose tastes align with mine. The downside is that GR pushes very hard for some authors I know I don't vibe with and the reviews can be very inflated; I pretty much only look at the summary + reviews from people I follow + 2-stars reviews from people who didn't like the book (I find them way more useful than 5 stars reviews full of reaction gifs and just squee)

Not to make it obvious that I go to FFA but... FFA. It's an anon-only comm on dreamwidth (and like all anon communities an occasional haven of wank BUT!) the regular book thread is a goldmine source of quality book recs

Other word-of-mouth online hangouts! ONTD @ livejournal has a weekly new book releases post and their comment section doesn't 100% align with my tastes but when it does it's great. The myanonamouse forums too. Very, very occasionally reddit.

[vettelsvee]

THE "JOURNALIST" | Max Verstappen

f1 masterlist | wattpad | ao3 | instagram

max verstappen x journalist student!reader

summary: y/n is "scared" to interview max, and max is sick of journalists, especially newbies. however the sex appeal between them is more than obvious.

word count: 992

warnings: none of it really! just sexual tension between y/n and max. use of y/n

you can send your one shots requests here! feedback, as well as comments and reblogs, are truly appreciated!

You were in the broadcast booth ready to report the results of the latest Formula 1 qualifying session. With your notebook and microphone in hand, you were poised to inform the audience about the exciting session results.

"Welcome back to our live broadcast from Silverstone!" you exclaimed cheerfully as you looked into the camera. "I think we should start discussing the results of the qualifying session for tomorrow's Sunday race as soon as possible."

With great enthusiasm and ensuring you had your notes in hand to avoid any mistakes, you began to list the names of the drivers and their positions on the starting grid:

"In first position, with an impressive fast lap, we have Lewis Hamilton, who has once again demonstrated his incredible skills on the track. In second place we have Max Verstappen, who is hot on the heels of the British in the championship standings. And in third position, but no less important, we have Charles Leclerc, whose improvement this season has been phenomenal, something he is quite proud of, as his partner exclusively shared with us."

You continued to read out the names of the drivers and their respective positions. However, you couldn't help but let your mind wander to Max Verstappen, the Dutch driver who she found quite attractive and, at the same time, respected due to his evident disdain towards the media.

"And in the last position, we have our dear Checo Pérez, who is having a fantastic season with Red Bull Racing but, due to an engine failure, was eliminated in Q3. It will undoubtedly be very exciting to see how these men fight for the podium in tomorrow's race!"

You continued to describe the results and the performance the drivers had shown in the qualifying session, highlighting their achievements and the challenges they would face the following day.

When it came time to talk about Max Verstappen, your voice tone changed slightly:

"As for Verstappen, the prodigal son of this new era in the world of motorsport, he has once again demonstrated his incredible talent," you said with as much seriousness as she could muster, "although it was not enough to surpass Hamilton this time."

You tried to stay focused on your speech despite the glances Verstappen was casting from the paddock while responding to other journalists. Without a doubt, Verstappen commanded a lot of respect from you: the fact that he disregarded the work of his future colleagues in the profession caused your considerable disdain, and at times, he could be quite disrespectful. You didn't want to imagine how he would treat you, being just a newbie.

Although it must be noted that you found yourself quite attracted to him.

After finally finishing the live broadcast and interviewing several drivers, with whom she had felt quite comfortable despite her nerves, it was your turn to face Max Verstappen.

"Hello, Max," you greeted the Dutchman. "First of all, I want to congratulate you on your second position in the qualifying."

"It's not the one my team and I were looking for."

You tried to ignore his response, moving on to a different but related question:

"Even though your result isn't what you desired, how do you feel about being in that position?" despite your fear, you dared to continue with the question, "Do you think you'll be able to beat Lewis?"

"I'm here to win," Max replied flippantly, "not to settle for second place."

"I understand, Max," you said, changing the subject, "with the aim of overtaking Hamilton, could you tell us what strategies both you and Red Bull Racing have in mind?"

You didn't need to see the poker face Max had directed at you to know you had overstepped by asking about strategies.

"I don't think that's any of your business."

Without even looking at you or saying goodbye, he turned around seemingly intending to leave the scene.

But Max Verstappen wasn't one to let anyone get the better of him, not even a mere student who didn't know how she was going to earn her degree because, without a doubt, she didn't know how to do her job properly.

"And what about you," he addressed you directly, shocking you in that moment. "What strategy would you propose to me to win the race?"

You had endured situations of underestimation in other newsrooms where you had interned, with quite nasty comments that had made you feel pretty bad. However, the sarcasm from the blue-eyed driver only drew her more to him.

"Maybe he's an asshole," you thought to yourself, "but he's a pretty hot asshole."

"Well…" you began. "Maybe instead of doing good broadcasts or getting top marks, I'll fuck one of you and, besides, gain fame."

Verstappen let out a sardonic laugh as he approached you. There was no doubt that he had not only surprised, but also pleased by what you had said.

"Really?" Max answered, a little excited, "Who would you take right now?"

"You seem like a complete asshole," you told him, "but I have to admit that I find it extremely difficult to ignore you."

"Why's that? Do you like what you see?"

The tension between both of you was more than evident.

You knew you couldn't continue this conversation, at least not in front of journalists, team bosses, and other people.

"If you want to set aside our personal relationship," the driver whispered to you as he lightly brushed your arm, "and get to know me better, prepare a good strategy for tonight."

"Verstappen," you replied, looking him directly in the eyes. "If you win tomorrow's race, don't hesitate to invite me to the private party you're going to throw, and I'll give you a night to make you feel special."

"Alright, Miss I-don't-know-your-name. A victory for one night."

If Max felt motivated to come in first tomorrow to beat Hamilton, now he felt even more so knowing he could have a girl begging for him.

[thisisapaige]

Earth Angel (Tattoo Shop AU where Cas is running from his angel siblings and gets artist Dean to do his warding tattoo)

Solitudes (Season 12 casefic where Cas gets to see how Dean reacts to his death)

Flare (Soulmate AU where Cas is someone who can see the colour of souls and works as a matchmaker. This one lives in my head rent free as someone who usually doesn't enjoy soulmate AUs)

the little angel (stay all day in the sun) (as the author puts it: Little Mermaid but make it Stanford Era)

People are always like what are the fandom classic fics well sure ok there’s a sort by kudos feature on ao3 for that but what i wanna know is what are the hidden gems the painfully underappreciated the ones that slipped through somehow or the diamonds in the rough who need encouragement to shine where’s the feature for that

[ronwestbreeze]

take a bow

pairing: geto suguru x non-sorcerer!reader warnings: gore and maybe a little bit of angst summary: you smell like coffee...and geto can't seem to shake it. word count: 6.7k author's note: hiiii ;) as you can tell there will be about five parts to this mini series. nothing more and nothing less. i'm kind of excited for this and i've been really wanting to write for my husband so, i hope ya'll enjoy it! and i will not be doing a taglist for this one. sorry guys!

part 2 | read on AO3

There was a cute customer today.

And you were also sure you hadn’t seen him around before. Then again, you moved to this village two weeks ago, and you weren’t too familiar with the regulars yet. Perhaps he was just one you hadn’t seen until now.

You leaned over the front counter a bit, trying to get a better look at him as he moved down one of the aisles to the far left of the store.

He wore what looked like a school uniform, his dark hair tied up with a few strands framing one side of his face. Even though he was further away from you, you could see he was on the younger side, maybe around your age. Possibly older.

You hadn’t met many boys in your life—attractive ones especially—mostly because you were sheltered for half of your childhood and didn’t go outside. So when you did happen to stumble upon a few of them, you were left wondering what to do or say around them. They were almost alien to you.

It was the same with people in general your age. While you weren’t bad at socializing, you still adapted the best way you knew how.

“You’re being creepy.” Your co-worker, Tohru, said passively while scrolling through her phone. A very busy activity she had been at for an hour now.

“I’m not.” You cleared your throat, quickly looking away from the otherwise oblivious customer. “But you can’t deny that he’s pretty cute.”

Tohru drew her eyes from her phone and glanced toward the newcomer who was now in the snack section. Now it was her turn to lean over the counter, a look of interest inching onto her usual bored mask.

“Damn.”

“Told ya.”

“He’s definitely new. No guy that fine lives in a boring ass town like this.”

You hummed, “I wouldn’t exactly call this town boring—but you’ve been here longer than me so I suppose you have the better judgment over that.” Carefully, you snuck another peek at the customer who was studying the back of a bag of chips. “And if he’s that fine, no doubt someone already bagged him.”

“Ugh,” Tohru grumbled with a defeated expression on her face, “you’re probably right. The hotter ones are always taken.”

“Or they end up being a douchebag.” You added with a snort as you organized the stack of gums on the counter.

“Amen to that.”

“Newbie!”

You jumped with a yelp at the loud voice filling the otherwise quiet store. Glancing over your shoulder, you found your manager, a very old and impatient man, stomping over with a toothpick dangling from his mouth, “Are you pullin’ one on me, kid?!”

After getting over your short shock, you furrow your brows, “Um, pulling what, sir?”

“Where the hell is the leftover food from last week?! I told you to save it in the back storage!”

You gave a sheepish smile and rubbed the back of your neck, “Oh yeah, some of it went bad so I had to throw it out.”

“We don’t even do anything with them anyway,” Tohru grumbled under her breath which you tried not to acknowledge.

He eats all the leftovers. Despite his shop advertisement promising to send any leftover food to orphanages and charities.

“Look, newbie, I’ve been real lenient because you’re new. And I get it, you're in a tough spot but I ain’t pityin’ you no more! I have no problem tossin’ you the curb, you hear me?”

Your face burned in embarrassment, especially when his loud ass voice carried throughout the store. No doubt the hot guy heard every word by now. “Yessir.”

The old man huffed, “Good. Now stop messin’ around and help the damn customer! Poor boy’s been waiting for you to notice him!”

God, please don’t be him. Please let it be another boy who's been waiting for a while.

You chanced a glance over your shoulder, only to shrivel up when you found the hot customer standing at the counter, watching your interaction with a small absent frown.

Fuck.

“Someone’s gonna be on dishes tonight.” Tohru sang with a snicker as she disappeared in the back along with your manager.

With your face on fire, you went toward the cash register. You cleared your throat and gestured to the pack of cigarettes and the bag of chips, “Will that be all for you today?”

He seemed to have been lost in thought as it took a beat for him to reply, “Sorry, yes, that’s it.”

You nodded, trying not to look him in the eyes. God, even his voice was attractive.

After giving him the price, you began bagging his items while he fished into his pockets to grab his wallet.

You still had yet to look at him.

The last thing you wanted was to get chewed out by your bum boss in front of a guy that you’d possibly never see again. Before you had been dying to have a quick conversation with him, just to keep looking at him for a little longer. Now all you wanted to do was get him out of the store as soon as possible and hide away in a hole, never to be found again.

“Is he always like that?”

You placed his cigarettes in the bag before you realized he was talking to you. Which only made your cheeks even hotter.

“Uh, yeah, he’s usually getting high in the back, or napping.” You shrugged, glancing up at him every now and then, only to find him directly staring at you. Fuck, you were awful at this. “Only ever out front when the shop closes. He’s always the first out the door before anyone else.”

“Mmm,” By then you looked up to find him not too happy about that piece of information. “And he gives you a hard time to add onto that. Don’t you want to quit?”

At that, you smile, “It would be easy, wouldn’t it? I don’t know if you already heard—probably the whole block had heard him—but I’m not really in the best situation to be quitting a job just cuz I hate my bum ass boss.”

This time he looked sheepish, “Yeah, I wanted to pretend that I didn’t hear him, but I guess there’s no point in that. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” You chuckled before handing him his bag. “It’s life, you know? I just have to brave it out until I have a stable income of money. Then maybe I can consider the option of kicking myself to the curb from this trash can of a place.”

The male stared at you curiously, the disinterest that he had worn before was now long gone. He searched your face—for what, you didn’t know.

And then he smiled, “You seem to have it all figured out.”

It was infectious, his smile. Even though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I wouldn’t say all that.” You returned the smile, anyway, hoping it appeared real enough for the both of you. “But I think it’s going to work out for me in the long run. That I can say.”

The male chuckled as he walked toward the store entrance, “I wish you luck then.”

He waved with another smile which took you off guard a bit. You didn’t have much of a chance to respond back to his wave, nor tell him to enjoy his time in town before he was already long gone.

It was now just you and your blushing face.

The back door opened, “Aw, you didn’t even get his number, did you?”

You glanced over your shoulder to find Tohru pouting at you. You grinned sheepishly, “Oops, guess I didn’t.”

“Tsk, tsk,” Tohru sighed, “You really need to learn how to flirt.”

The rest of the day was pretty uneventful. Regulars came and went. Your manager was passed out in the back. Tohru’s shift ended sometime before you and booked it out the front door before you had the chance to say goodbye.

Essentially, you had the shop all to yourself. And it was unfortunately horribly boring.

Later in the day is when fewer and fewer customers start coming in. Apparently, many of the people in the village were too cautious about going out once the sun started setting. There were a few rumors here and there, about mysterious deaths all over the village. You weren’t exactly sure how much truth there was to those rumors, all you could do was clock in and clock out and go straight home.

Just because you doubted the stories didn’t mean you weren’t going to be stupid.

You wondered if that hot guy knew about the rumors. It probably would’ve been neighborly to try and warn him.

The sky was filled with oranges and purples as the sun was slinking behind one of the mountains. The evening glow made the shop look almost ominous, especially with the indoor lights off.

You should probably turn those on by now. They would’ve been on throughout the whole day like regular shops but your boss was such a cheap stake with the light bill you had to keep it off until evening fell and you practically couldn’t see in the dark.

Just as you stepped away to turn the shop lights on, the bell above the door rang. You glanced toward the clock and grinned.

You moved back to the front counter and grinned at the familiar newcomers. Two young girls, who looked no older than five, stood at the entrance. “Right on time! Looks like someone’s excited for today’s batch.”

The brown-haired girl—you knew as Mimiko—with the stuffed doll approached the counter first. Standing on her tippy toes enough for her chin to rest on top of the counter, “Do you have any more rice balls?”

“You bet.” You gestured toward the two chairs next to the counter. “Why don’t you guys take a seat over there and I’ll go get the food. It’s a real treat this time.”

“Okay.” Mimiko nodded before grabbing her sister’s hand to drag her over toward the chairs.

“Thank you!” The blonde-haired, Nanako, called.

You sent her an adoring smile, “Of course, hon!”

You moved to the back, passing your knocked-out manager, as you grabbed the box of food in your locker and brought it back to the front counter. Mimiko and Nanako got up from their chairs and bounced over to get a better look, “I actually got these rice balls from this place in the city during the weekend. It’s way better than the crap here.”

“Really?” Nanako looked into the box, her eyes widening, “Wow! Those look really good!”

“Anything for my best customers.” You winked and allowed them to grab what they wanted from the box.

Both girls giggled as they grabbed rice balls and ramen from the box. You smiled and patted both their heads before allowing them to sit back down in the chairs and eat.

You hadn’t known the twins for very long. Actually, you met them on your first day at the store two weeks ago. They had been attempting to steal a few snacks when you discovered them. You couldn’t shake the way they were looking at you when you found them. Scared yet desperate for some food. Mimiko had been clutching her stuffed doll tightly in her hands as if she were about to tear its head off at that moment.

They were expecting you to berate them and kick them out of the store. Maybe your manager or Tohru would’ve done that, but you just couldn’t find it in you to turn them away. They were obviously hungry, so what else could you do but feed them?

So you took the leftover food from the storage and gave it to them. They were pretty tight-lipped about their home situation so you didn’t push. But it was pretty clear that they didn’t have a lot to eat, wherever they lived.

“Let’s make a deal.” You had said to them that day. “You guys come back at around five o’clock every day and I will feed you some stuff we don’t need. Hell, I’ll probably even cook and bring it over every now and then. As long as the two of you eat.”

They looked hesitant. The brown-haired girl—she told you her name was Mimiko—spoke first, “Will you really do that for us?”

You smiled softly at her, “Of course. You guys are hungry, right? Why wouldn’t I want to feed you?”

Her twin, Nanako spoke next, eyes cast down, “Most of the people here are scared of us. Because we’re different. So they ignore us whenever we do ask for food.”

You frowned, your heart breaking at the time. Of course, you had some questions about why a bunch of adults would turn a blind eye to two little girls who looked no older than five. You seethed at the thought that the only one willing to help them was a barely surviving sixteen-year-old, who couldn’t even make minimum wage.

Instead of crying for them—which you were definitely close to doing—you patted their heads, “Well, I’m not scared of you. And I don’t care if you’re different. Come back tomorrow and there will be food for you guys. Okay?”

The two girls were stunned at your kindness like it was foreign to them. But they both nodded, hints of a smile making its way to their lips. “Okay!”

“But you also have to promise not to steal anymore so you don’t get in trouble.” Mimiko pouted but you attempted a stern look. “I’m serious, girls. And we’re going to pinky promise on it.”

You held out your pinky. Reluctantly, the two girls took it. Giggling when they fought to cover your own pinky with their little ones.

After your pinky promise, Nanako’s nose scrunched, “You smell like coffee.”

You laughed and cleaned up the trash from their meal, “I get that a lot.”

And since then, the twins have kept coming back every day, after five o’clock. Sometimes you wonder where they went before that. Did they go to school? Did they have any parents taking care of them? Did they even have a home?

You supposed none of that was any of your business in the end. But sometimes you couldn’t help but worry.

If you had a big enough space that wasn’t one small box, then you’d take the girls home with you in a heartbeat.

Once Mimiko was finished with her rice ball, she walked over to you as you were counting through the cash in the register from today’s productivity. “Can I help?”

“Sure,” You hummed trying to find something for her to do. “Do you think you could stack those new packets of gum for me and place them in this small box?” You handed the little box which she took instantly. “Go get your sister to help if she wants, okay?”

Mimiko nodded and took the gum packets and the box back to her sister who was just finishing up her rice ball. You made a mental note to buy some coloring books for them in case they got bored. Sometimes they like to stay a little bit longer after they finish eating, to keep you company. And you enjoyed their presence. It was better than staring at the ceiling for hours on end, waiting for a customer to enter even though you knew they wouldn’t come. And then got done with their little task quite fast. Yeah, you definitely need to get those coloring books.

Thankfully, just in time as you heard your manager shift in the back, the two girls made their leave. Waving goodbye to you with the promise of returning tomorrow.

Sometime later your manager came from the back and left the shop, grumbling about you closing up.

And another hour after that, you leave the shop. Hoping to see the twins again. And maybe—even though it was probably impossible—you hoped to see that hot customer again.

It was delusional, you knew this.

But it didn’t hurt to hope.

“Ugh, why are you eating that shit?” Tohru made a look of disgust at your bag of coffee beans. “Now the whole place is gonna smell.”

That was what you were greeted with upon entering the shop the next morning, “Good morning to you too, Ru. And don’t you think it’s a lot better than cigarettes and booze?”

Surprisingly, it was pretty crowded which was a first for you ever since you started working at the shop. Of course, it was a bunch of older people—middle-aged to elderly—but it was busy, nonetheless.

You went around the counter as an older woman locked Tohru into a conversation, “Did you hear what happened to that little boy? Oh, what an awful thing, I can only imagine what his parents must be feeling right now.”

“It’s that demon terrorizing our home again.” An elderly woman standing in line shivered

A man huffed, “I tell you exactly what’s causing all of this. Those no good—”

You didn’t bother to stay and hear the rest as you made your way to the back to throw your bag into one of the lockers. It was the same old thing. A horrible incident happens at night—a few people die—and people are going on and on about the town being haunted. Something about some demon going on a killing spree in the dead of night. To be honest, you thought it was some sick weirdo having the time of his life and the people haven’t realized it yet.

“Gotta buy some new locks.” You mumbled to yourself as you shrugged off your jacket.

“How was your night?” You glanced over your shoulder to find your manager sitting in the office, the door wide open as he smoked.

“Good, sir!” You offered a friendly smile as you closed your locker. “My mattress was uncomfortable but all in all, I can’t necessarily complain! And what about you, sir? How was your night?”

He grunted but never gave a response, which wasn’t unusual. He never offered to talk about himself, even on his good days.

You nodded, took your bag of coffee beans, and joined Tohru back at the front.

“—This is the fifth incident this week! When will enough be enough?!” This was an older man scowling this time. Next to him was a woman—whom you had to guess was his wife—trying to push him out of the shop as he began his rant. “We need to hunt those monsters down! How many more have to die?!”

You watched the couple leave with a small frown, “Wow, it’s never been this bad before.”

Tohru sighed tiredly, “Yeah, they’re pretty fired up this time around. I wonder how much of this is gonna mess with my precious sleep schedule.”

You hummed, noticing the usual dark bags under her eyes.

“Hi.”

A bag of chips was placed on the counter. Both you and Tohru looked up to find the hot customer from yesterday standing at the counter with a friendly smile sent your way.

Your face both burned with being taken off guard and the fact that he was addressing you directly, “Oh—Hi! Welcome back!” Quickly, you manned the second register while Tohru sent you a side glare. You returned his smile, “To be honest, I didn’t think you were still here.”

“Really?” He raised a brow as you checked his item out. “How come?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed but the town’s kind of haunted.” You chuckled as you stuffed his chips into a grocery bag, giving him a sheepish smile, “Scares the tourists away. I should’ve probably warned you about it yesterday, sorry about that.”

He chuckled as you handed him his bag. This time he wasn’t wearing the black top he had on yesterday. The baggy pants were the same, just this time around he wore a white button-up. “Fortunately, I’m not afraid of many scary stories, but I appreciate the warning.”

“How brave of you.” You chuckled, ignoring the subtle glances Tohru kept sending you while attending to her own customer. “I can’t necessarily say the same for myself.”

“Don’t you live here?” His eyes twinkled as he tilted his head, “I’d say you’re a lot braver than me, you know. Tonight’s my last night here.”

You shook your head, ignoring how your chest fell slightly in disappointment at the new piece of information, “Then many would say you’re one of the lucky ones.”

“Oh yeah?” He hummed, his eyes never wavering from yours. Wow, he really loved making eye contact. You couldn’t figure out if that made him even hotter or a bit intimidating. And he was so nonchalant about it too, hand in pocket, stance somewhat relaxed. “What would you say? You count yourself unlucky then?”

The bell above the door rang, “Welcome in!” You called the new customer before replying to him. “Well, to be honest with you, I feel like I’m the luckiest girl alive. It’s not so bad here, you know, despite the obvious flaws of the shop and this town. I’m just grateful to at least have a job and a roof over my head. It’s not perfect but it’s everything I need right now.”

He was observing you again. Tohru was far too distracted with the other customers to notice and make fun of your bashful facial expressions. Or how you were practically malfunctioning on the spot from the way he kept looking at you.

“You know,” He leaned on the counter with a smile turning into somewhat of a smirk, “I’ve never met someone as optimistic as you. I almost think you’re unreal.”

“Don’t we all,” Tohru commented as she made her way to the back. “Your turn to man the front counter, newbie. The last customer nearly made me pop a vein.”

“Sure thing, Ru!” You called, trying to ignore how hot your face was at the moment.

Of course, the hot customer saw this and gave a soft laugh, “I didn’t mean to sound like I’m making fun of you, I promise. It’s endearing. You wouldn’t have a hard time finding someone to marry, that’s for sure.”

Steam was probably coming out of your ears at this point.

“I-I-uh, thanks?” You searched the store to try and distract yourself and prevent further embarrassment. Only when you didn’t find anything, you smile sheepishly, “I-uh, I think it’s a little too soon to be thinking about marriage—uh but thanks for the compliment?”

You watched as his nose twitched, raising a brow, “You smell like coffee. Like a lot.”

“Yeah,” You gulped with a nervous smile, “I get that a lot.”

Another laugh left his lips. He was far too amused now. Meanie. “I’ll see you around.”

With that, he left the store. The bell rang in his wake. You watched him go through the window. He waved to you as he passed. And you waved back.

Once he was finally out of your sight and you out of his, you groaned and dropped your head onto the counter, “I’m such a loser.”

The back door opened and Tohru poked her head out, shaking her head disapprovingly, “Yeah, you can’t handle all that man.”

“Shut up, Ru.”

You were the exception, not the rule, Geto Suguru realized a block away from the store.

He’d never really met anyone like you. It was so rare. Pure. So unheard of in this world.

But it didn’t change how the world was. A bright light like that would be snuffed, almost instantly. You would become exhausted at some point, smiling so genuinely like that.

It would make your fall much harder. Much, much worse.

More curses wreaking havoc through villages. More curses to swallow down, leaving the bitter taste of vomit in his wake.

You, Geto decided, were just like everyone else in the end.

Applause.

Applause.

Applause.

Applause.

He wondered if he would ever stop hearing them clap.

Around the late afternoon, your manager sent you out to pick up a delivery of chips that apparently couldn’t make it. Something about a mix-up with the trucks—you weren’t entirely clear on the details. But your boss was pissed about it and you were left with driving to the city to retrieve the box of chips. The only thing you didn’t like about it was the fact that the drive to the city took almost two hours.

You just hoped you’d make it back in time to meet up with the twins.

So half your day was spent rushing through the city, trying to track down that missing shipment of chips, bringing it back to your car which was almost towed because you happened to park in the wrong place, and then driving back to the village while the sun was beginning to set.

The drive back wasn’t as bad as the drive to the city. But you arrived back at the shop twenty minutes past five. Which wasn’t too bad but you were still late, nonetheless.

“Sorry, I’m late!” You called as you entered the store from the back with the box still in your hands. “I got coloring books this time, hope you guys like to draw!” You brought the box to the front, expecting to find the twins.

Only you stop and find Tohru and your manager there instead. Tohru stared at you in confusion, “Who are you talking to?”

You blushed in embarrassment, “Um, sorry, I thought you were…” Quickly, your mind raced. “Did you guys happen to see two girls walk in at around five—that’s what the coloring books were for, yeah, yeah, that makes sense.”

“Two girls?” Tohru frowned, appearing even more confused. “Did you hit your head or something?”

Just as you were about to quickly explain what you meant, your manager blew out another puff of smoke, “She means those unlucky twins.” At this, you furrowed your brows, opening your mouth to ask what he meant, only for him to continue as if you had already asked the question. “Those two have been poisoning our town ever since they killed their parents. It’s about time they get what they deserve.”

Your eyes widened, heart, falling to your feet, “W-What does…what happened to them? What do you mean get what they deserve?”

“Oh yeah,” Tohru said while hoisting herself up to sit on the counter, “now that you mention it, there were two girls that came in here. They didn’t stay for long, some of the villagers barged in and took them. I think they mentioned taking her to the old temple or something like that, I don’t know, I had a headache and they were all being annoying. They went on about them being the cause of all the deaths happening in town—whatever that meant—”

The box fell from your hands onto the floor, spilling the bag of chips. Your heart thundered with panic and disbelief, “You…You just let them take them?” Surprisingly, your voice wasn’t quivering like the rest of your body. Instead, it was full and firm with distraught. “They didn’t even do anything! They’re children! They’re—oh my god, they’re just babies!”

Tohru rolled her eyes as if you were the one being dramatic and unreasonable, “Dude, relax, they’re probably not going to do anything that bad to them. Maybe send them off to another village. Look, who cares? At least there won’t be any more deaths—hey, where are you going?”

You ignored her, threw off your work apron, and jumped over the counter. “This isn’t right! None of this is fucking right!”

“Hey, you still need to clean your mess up—hey!” Tohru’s voice became further and further away as you bolted out of the shop and ran through the street, heading further into the village.

Tohru had mentioned something about an old temple. You quickly searched your mind until you remembered there was a temple on one of the hills. You always passed it whenever you went jogging on your days off. Yes, you knew exactly where they were.

Running wouldn’t get you there fast enough, you soon realized. So you thought quickly. In front of a flower shop, you spotted a bicycle sitting at the front. Quietly apologizing to whomever this belonged to, you took the bike, got on, and pedaled your way up the hill.

In your haste, the world was silent to you.

All you could think about was those poor girls. All you were worried about was saving them before the townsfolk did something that no one could possibly come back from.

The world was silent to you.

You didn’t see the people running by in terror, even when you nearly ran into an older man who had dashed out into the street in a fit of panic. You didn’t see the smoke in the part of the village you biked through. You didn’t see the blue flames consuming the houses and the people around you until there was nothing but burnt ash left.

This chaos was nothing but white noise.

The world was silent to you.

You ignored the large shape flying over you, spewing the blue flames onto another part of the village.

All you cared about were those girls. Mimiko and Nanako.

You should’ve brought them back to your home. You should’ve taken them in. You should’ve pressed for more information about them. You should’ve known that they didn’t have anyone taking care of them.

You should’ve known. You should’ve done more.

“My god,” You gasped, fear tearing at your heart as the temple finally came into view. “have I failed them?” There were no flames consuming the temple. Strangely enough, it was the only place that wasn’t on fire.

When you were close enough, you jumped off the bike and dashed for the entrance. You slammed into the double doors, attempting to pull it open. Only they were locked and wouldn’t budge.

You backed up, not willing to give up. Not willing to let those two die for this fucked up town. And with all your might, you kicked the doors open, causing them to slam against the walls inside the temple.

“Mimiko! Nanako!” You called as you entered, searching around for the two girls.

Smoke filled your nose and caused you to cough just as small voices responded back to you. Calling your name with childlike desperation. It sounded like it was coming from above you. Like there was a second floor.

The stairs were on your right. You dashed for them, skipping two steps at a time until you made it to the second floor. Until you made it into the first room you spotted. Until you found them both locked in a cage together. Beaten and bruised and scared out of their minds. Until you found the two bodies lying in a puddle of scarlet right in front of the cage.

You didn’t rush toward the cage right away. Struck frozen at the sight of the blood. At the sight of the two bodies. It made the once quiet world around suddenly become loud.

There were screams outside of the temple. There was smoke, so much smoke.

Then there was the blood.

Blood.

Blood.

Blood.

There was a small call of your name, snapping you out of your frozen shock. The two girls were pressed against the cages, Nanako reaching through the bars for you…

“I’m coming, it’s okay.” You said, finally snapping out of your shock before rushing over toward the cage. You ignored how your shoes were stained with scarlet as you walked through the puddle.

You tried at the cage for a bit until you roughly yanked it open, breaking the lock that kept it closed. Both girls ran out of the cage and hugged your waist, nearly knocking you over. Their sniffles were muffled in your sweater as you ran your hand through their hair in an attempt to comfort them.

“It’s okay, I’m gonna get you out of here.” You promised while glancing over your shoulder at the bodies. “Nanako. Mimiko. What happened to them?”

Mimiko buried her face further into your waist while Nanako spoke, “Everyone thought we were the ones behind the deaths so they took us and tried to make the man kill us. But he didn’t, he saved us!”

You nodded as you both listened and led them out of the horrific room. The three of you went down the steps. Just from looking through the wide open doorway of the temple, you saw the flames hitting the village had gotten so much worse. What had caused this, you had no clue, nor did you have time to stop and wonder where it all had come from.

Mimiko tightened her hold on your hand, forcing you to stop, dozens of steps away from the front door, “The man told us to stay put and that he would take us away from here.”

On your right, Nanako nodded, “He said the curses won’t hurt us and that we’re special.”

You let go of their hands and turned to face them, your back to the entrance. Carefully you knelt down in front of them, “Okay, slow down. Before I even think about touching the curses part, I just need to know what man are you guys talking about. There wasn’t a third body in that room.”

“They mean me.”

At the sudden voice, you spun around to find standing at the entrance a male. A familiar one at that.

The same male who had bought chips from your store. The same male who had that gentle smile on his face—similar to the one he wore now but colder. The same male who had laughed at your fumbling and embarrassment just a few hours earlier.

“You.” Was the whisper that fell from your lips.

He stepped forward and instinctively pushed the girls behind you protectively. His brows raised at this and he chuckled.

“Mimiko. Nanako.” His voice was slow, silky, and calculated. “It’s time to go. Those people won’t hurt you anymore. Just as I promised.”

You watched him warily but the girls after a beat started toward him, surprising you. Mimiko was the one who stopped while Nanako went to the male’s side and grabbed his hand. She looked at you and then the male. She then grabbed your hand and tried tugging you forward, “Can’t she come with us?”

Something flickered across his face and instantly disappeared in the next second as he smiled, “Why don’t you two wait for me while I talk to the nice lady?”

You didn’t let go of her hand right away, “Mimiko.”

She looked at you and smiled reassuringly despite one of her eyes being swollen shut, “It’s okay. He’s a nice man. He saved us, remember?”

With that, she followed her sister out of the temple. The male didn’t move from the doorway. The blue flames were menacing in the night, his shadow tall. The heat was just as overwhelming as the smoke.

“Who the hell are you?” You finally muttered.

He started walking toward in slow leisurely steps, “A sorcerer.”

Instinctively, you wanted to back away as he got closer. But you stood firm, “And you were the one that killed those two people upstairs?”

“Yes.” He was now in front of you with very little space left between the two of you. The obvious question was at the tip of your tongue but you never voiced it. Yet he replied anyway, “I’ve decided it’s time I’ve stopped serving non-sorcerers. All they’ve done is create more problems for people like me. I figured I cut the problem down from the roots. For all of us.”

There was no smile on his face now. No traces of the friendly face, of the sheepish boy you met back at the shop. Just someone else entirely.

He leaned forward, staring at you with that same look he had back at the shop. Like he was trying to see right through you. Accusatory. Blame.

“What good are you to me?”

You glared now, clenching your hands into tight fists, “It sounds like you’ve already made up your mind. I don’t see a point in proving a damn thing to you.”

He stared at you for a moment longer and then smirked. “Too bad you’re human.” He turned and walked back to the entrance. “I would’ve liked you a lot. I do like you a lot. But if my new world is going to be without non-sorcerers…”

The curse flew past Geto and into the temple. It was large enough to cause irreparable damage to the temple. It was deadly enough to crush any target in sight. Even your screams were swallowed whole in seconds. That’s how efficient it was. That’s how easy it all became.

Geto didn’t look back at your body. Nor did he watch you get killed by his curse. Instead, he continued out of the temple with a few more curses following him at his tail.

“There are no exceptions.” He muttered to himself.

Applause.

Applause.

Applause.

Applause.

He wondered if he would ever forget that coffee smell.

Applause.

Applause.

Applause.

Applause.

Hours later, once the flames had long settled, you sat up in the rubble. Some of the most severe wounds were nearly done healing. But the only pain you felt was the tight twists in your stomach.

You were starving.

Applause.

Applause.

Applause.

Applause.

Your sweater had been burned off and your skirt was ripped as you dragged yourself away from the ruins of the temple. Saliva dripping from your mouth that you tried to ignore.

For a while, you kept going. Pushing yourself through what used to be a lively village. But now it was filled with ruins and dead bodies alike.

You kept your composure thought. Especially when you pass fallen body parts, scattered along the streets.

Applause.

Applause.

Applause.

Applause.

Eventually, you made it to the store, just on the outskirts of the village. The same one you worked at. The one place that had your coffee beans.

The bell above your head rang as you lugged your way over to the aisle where you knew the coffee beans were. Ignoring the calls of your name—which was just background noise to you.

You were hungry. Really, really hungry.

Just as you found the coffee beans, you grabbed one of the bags and tore it open.

“You know you’ve been fired, right?”

For some reason, your hand never reached into the bag to grab a mouthful of beans and tossed it in your mouth. Instead, you just stared down into it, saliva dripping from your mouth as Tohru continued her taunt.

“Boss’ pretty pissed with you taking off like that. And now I’ve gotta miss my concert because of you.” In the corner of your eye, she sneered, “I hope it was all worth it.”

Applause.

Applause.

Applause.

Applause.

“Risking your job for a bunch of girls you don’t even know. What did you even try to do?”

Applause.

Applause.

Applause.

Applause.

“Hmm, judging how quiet everything is, my guess is they probably finished the job.” Tohru sighed and leaned against the shelf, “Well, at least I can get better sleep.”

The bag of coffee beans fell from your grasp and spilled onto the floor.

Tohru gasped, looking down at the mess, “Hey! You fucking idiot! How many more messes are you going to leave for me to clean?! Ugh, you’re such a brat—hey, what the hell is wrong with your eyes?”

Applause.

Applause.

Applause.

Applause.

Fuck it.

Applause.

Applause.

Applause.

Applause.

The next morning, the shopkeeper was found dead in his office. Half of his face was gone, along with a gaping hole in his chest, where his heart should’ve been.

The girl was behind the front counter. Missing a leg, her organs spilling out of her abdomen. Blood everywhere.

It was a horrid sight.

At least, that’s what you heard.

Applause.

Applause.

Applause.

Applause.

You wiped the blood from your mouth.

“I’m done lying to myself.” You mumbled. A giggle left your lips. “What the hell is the point?”

Applause.

Applause.

Applause.

Applause.

With that, you took your final bow.

“Things will be different this time.”

[lottielovelace]

công chúa

(ghost x könig's-sister!reader)

summary: You're just a student trying to make through med school with your sanity intact. That last thing you needed was to be kidnapped to serve as a hostage for a half-brother you've never met.

At least the special forces operative here to help is cute.

originally posted on ao3 (wordcount: 3.8k)

Rating: T

Relationships: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader, Kate Laswell x her wife (I call her Jean), König & Reader <- PLATONIC

Ao3 Tags: meet cute! in a prison camp / First Meetings / tries to follow canon characterization / less so canon events/timeline / so some things (like the villains) are VERY vague / Past Suicide Attempt / Undercover Simon "Ghost" Riley / Unmasked Simon "Ghost" Riley / (Temporarily) / reader has a name & backstory but I tried to make it unobtrusive

this is a part of a series

Author's note: I do write this story with a specific OC (check the series masterpost if you want a full breakdown of her) in mind just so characterization is consistent, but I tried to make it possible for you to replace her with whoever you imagine. I do have to explicitly mention details unique to the OC (most obvious example here being her ethnicity and name [Elise Veidt]), but for the most part I'll try to keep things open ended (ex: using "your hair" instead of "your dark hair").

Also, as I mentioned, the OC's ethnicity (half-Vietnamese) is pretty plot relevant this chapter, but if that disrupts your reading flow, feel free to mentally replace it with whatever makes sense for your own personal read-through. I'm not used to writing in second person, so the verb tenses are kinda screwy.

Also this is in the tags but TW: DISCUSSION OF A PAST SUICIDE ATTEMPT (character has for the most part fully recovered)

công chúa:

People could be so fucking stupid sometimes. Bold and stupid. Newbies especially. New recruits—or in this case, new criminal organizations—always think they’ll be special. The exception to the rule.

Take for example, this new group who had the bloody brilliant idea of trying to control special forces (and a handful of top PMCs) by kidnapping anyone ransom-worthy they could get their grubby little hands on. Which meant a lot of missing parents, kid siblings, and SOs.

Ghost couldn’t tell if they actually thought that would work or if this was just some distraction. Perhaps an intimidation ploy or a small part of some greater plan. Either way, in reality, all they ended up with was a whole bunch of pissed-off—and very well trained—soldiers, many of whom were willing to do anything to get their loved ones back. Even allying with their greatest rivals. Ghost didn’t predict to end up working with KorTac of all bedfellows, but even their lads weren’t safe. 

In the past month, he'd had to bear witness to his comrades and competitors getting wrecked, worried sick over their nearest and dearest. Laswell might’ve single-handedly revived the tobacco industry and he’d never seen Johnny so torn up.

Ghost himself had been spared any grief. He would’ve liked to pretend that it was because his mask had protected his identity so well, but the reality was much simpler and bleaker. He had nobody to take. Tommy and Joseph and Beth and Mum were all already six feet under. Nothing would ever change that.

That being said, the mask wasn’t useless.

The hostagers had done extensive research into all their personal lives. They needed to in order to find out who they could kidnap and how. They had become intimately familiar with every combatant their cobbled alliance could send—with one glaring exception.

They certainly knew about Ghost, but not even they knew Ghost’s face—at least according to the dossier smuggled to the Task Force.

After that was discovered, going undercover was less of a choice and more of a duty.

----------

“Jean?”

The woman’s head jerked up at the whispered sound of her name. Finding no one in front of her, she swiveled. Her eyes landed on an idle balaclava-ed guard.

“Don’t look at me,” the guard commanded. He followed his own advice, keeping his gaze trained on the horizon. His voice was low and rough. Familiar.

Jean Laswell hazarded one last glance at him. She squinted, trying to place where she'd seen him before.

A stifled gasp rang out as her eyes widened in recognition.

“Ghost?”

“Keep your voice down, I’m undercover.”

Jean tried to keep her body language innocuous, eyes now glued to her own clasped hands. The last thing she wanted was to blow Ghost's cover.

“It’s good to see your face— or er, hear your voice.” Pleasantries aside, she went straight to the first question on her mind, the one that had plagued her sleepless nights. “How’s Kate?”

"Smoking like a chimney, but otherwise holding up. She misses you."

"Are you here to…"

"Not yet. KorTac and the team are planning a mutual offensive, but we need more intel before exfil becomes viable. Intel I was tasked with collecting."

His tone didn't reassure her.

"But…"

"I ran into a little roadblock. I was supposed to receive, memorize, and orally deliver crucial information about the compound’s layout and security flaws. We’d had some limited online communication with our informant, but couldn’t get anything sensitive past the security systems. So I volunteered to get it directly. Unfortunately, we didn’t know that our informant only speaks Vietnamese, Cantonese, and some very broken Russian. The dictionary he’d been previously using isn’t complex enough for the level of detail we need. Our shared Russian skills aren’t much better. I can’t leave until I have the intel memorized and I can’t memorize it until we find a translator."

"Could you leave and come back with a translator? A digital one maybe if you can't get anyone else past the guards?"

Ghost shook his head, “They know that we're trying to infiltrate them. They’re very strict about what technology gets in and out. Besides, my cover is only so good. I should be able to get a believable excuse to leave camp, but the scrutiny required for re-entry would compromise it.”

Jean pursed her lips in thought, running over the possibilities. She paused, half thinking out loud.

“I think the princess speaks Vietnamese.”

“Princess?” Ghost’s eyes widened beneath his mask. Shit, no one told him they'd taken someone so high profile. That significantly complicated security procedure. “I thought all their targets were lowkey.”

“No, no, she’s not royalty. She’s a med student. It’s just a nickname,” Jean hastily corrected with an embarrassed laugh. “We have a lot of those here. We get kinda bored.”

Ghost silently thought back on his own POW experiences.

“Things could be a whole lot worse than boredom.”

“The perks of being a hostage," Jean responded dryly. "Need us in one piece.”

“So where’s this ‘princess’ of yours?”

“There,” Jean pointed at the upper level of the compound's eastern turret. “You can see where the nickname comes from. She’s in solitary, but she has a window that we talk to her through during yard time.”

“What'd she do?” Unless the hostage takers were worse than he thought, they wouldn’t put someone in solitary for shits and giggles.

“She’s… a special case."

“Who’s she tied to?”

“That’s the thing. We don’t know. Not even she knows.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I know I’m here because of Kate. Ritchie’s here because of his uncle. Troy because of his brother. Eileen… could be her nephew, but it’s probably Soap. But Elise—that’s her name, Elise Veidt. Do you know any Veidts in Special Forces or KorTac?”

“Not to my knowledge, no. Could it be her boyfriend?”

Jean shook her head, “No. The common theory is an uncle or half sibling. Both her parents were civilians, but her father had family and an ex-wife on the other side of the Atlantic. She has no idea where they are now or if they’re even still alive, but it seems the most likely—if not the only—possibility. Plus she was single when she was discovered.”

Ghost's brow furrowed.

“Discovered? What do you mean by that?”

“There was… an incident. It ended with her being taken into custody.”

Ghost wanted to press for more detail, but Jean flashed him a look that stopped him in his tracks. She was married to Laswell, and that doesn't happen without being able to hold her own in an argument.

“It’s not my story to tell." Her tone was measured, but Ghost could tell this was non-negotiable to her. “She’s a good kid. Just got in a bit of a rough patch. Along the way she had her blood tested and it must’ve pinged… something. Next thing she knows, she’s getting transferred. They refuse to tell her where. When she resists, she gets knocked out and wakes up here.”

“That still doesn’t explain the isolation.”

“We think that whoever she’s related to, it must be someone important. Or someone very dangerous. Someone they’re scared to anger.”

“Then why did they kidnap her if they’re so bloody afraid of pissing the bugger off?”

“Taking her was probably a calculated risk. Returning her damaged a death sentence. They wanted to make sure she doesn’t get hurt, either by her own hand or someone else’s.”

----------

Ghost cautiously approached the cell door. According to the directory, this was “Detainee #934287: VEIDT, Elisabeth.” He peered through the grate, careful not to get too close to the opening—he knew firsthand how solitary confinement could warp the mind and liked having both his eyes intact.

From what he could see, the cell had a tiny cot, stripped of its sheets on the left. On the right was a wash basin and bucket. In between was a small window—just large enough to stick your face out of. It wasn’t the worst cell Ghost had seen, but it wasn’t homey either. It also appeared to be empty.

“What the—” he muttered under his breath.

The low rumble of his voice almost made you jump from your position, sitting leaned against the door. The window was your only connection to the outside world, but it also made your cell freezing so you tried to stay as far away from it as possible when there was no one outside to talk to. You paused, confused then intrigued. You didn’t think they had a British guard. Slowly, you got up.

He was closer than you assumed. Right up against the door, you almost had to suppress the urge to jump again. You silently mourned the fact that such a pretty pair of eyes were wasted on some terrorist dipshit.

Still, you were bored enough that anything seemed intriguing.

“You’re new.”

“You’re Elise, right?”

Your lips quirked with all the cockiness of someone who knew they couldn’t be touched.

“Shouldn’t they have already debriefed you on that?”

“The only person who’s briefed me on you was Jean.”

Your eyes narrowed. You may have only been able to communicate through a tiny window, but you trusted Jean. You knew her. She wouldn't rat on you, not without a fight.

“What did you do to her?”

“Nothing,” his voice grew even gentler. Soft in a way that commanded you to hang on every word. “I’m here to help.”

Attractive voice and eyelashes aside, you were still unimpressed.

“Really?”

“I'm on a reconnaissance mission for Special Forces. I was supposed to memorize this file. I wasn’t told it was going in Vietnamese.”

You perked up at this. Finally, things were making a little sense.

“I speak Vietnamese.”

“So I’ve heard.”

You took one last look at him, trying to figure out if this was a trick or some sick game. Then again, if it was, what would they even do? Your captors didn’t seem allowed to punish you physically, and mentally there wasn’t much more they could do. Fuck it, you had nothing to lose.

You reached out your hand, “Gimme.”

He slipped you a folded up piece of paper. You unfolded it to reveal an annotated set of blueprints.

“Pen or pencil?” For all you know, he could be picky about that sort of stuff.

The man stood up to dig for something in his vest. You quietly realized that he’d been bending down to look you in the eye. This man, whoever he was, was tall.

He passed you a pen. You noticed that while his hands were gloved, a whisper of a tattoo peeked out as his sleeve rode up. It looked like it could be the bottom of a skull. Or a very small picket fence. Probably the former.

You figured he'd turn away and leave you to your work, but he doesn’t.

“Are you going to…”

“No,” he responded firmly. “If either of us get caught, at least two of us are screwed. I know I can get myself out of it, but our informant can’t. I won’t have his blood on your or my hands. So I’m going to keep watch.”

It’s slightly awkward with him just standing there, but you did your best to lay the blueprint flat against the wall and start scribbling away. Still, you couldn't help but let your eyes flit to him, now with his back to you, standing guard.

“Where are you from?”

“Hmm?”

“Your accent, where’s it from?”

“Shouldn’t you be focusing on your work?”

“I could do this with both hands tied behind my back."

He made a doubtful noise.

You let a cheeky smile grace your lips, “Pen in my mouth, paper on the floor. Handwriting might be chicken scratch, but it’d still be legible.”

If you could see his face, you would’ve noticed his eyebrows raise as he tried to picture it. You on your knees, leaned forward with your ass in the air, hands bound, tongue twisted around the p—

“So, the accent? Where?”

“That’s classified.”

You tilted your head in thought, “It’s Northern, right? British, not Scottish. You don’t sound like Eileen.”

He bristled, quiet in a way that tells you you’re on the money.

“Look, how about this. For every question you answer truthfully, I’ll do the same. I won’t ask you anything I know you can’t tell me, not even your name. I just... wouldn’t mind a little conversation. They’re kinda in short supply here.”

A beat passed.

“Manchester.”

“I knew it!”

He made another noise. You think it was a laugh. You think it sounds beautiful.

“My turn. How do you know Vietnamese?”

“My mother. She immigrated from the South when she was young. Judging from some of his vocabulary, I’d guess your informant is from the North, but the dialects aren’t all that different, especially in script. What food do you miss the most?”

“Anything that isn’t an ORP.”

“An ORP?”

“Operational ration pack.”

If your hands were free, you would’ve crossed them.

“That’s a cop out.”

“Fine,” he relented. “I could go for a Nando’s takeaway.”

“What sort of food is that?”

“Chicken. Flame grilled with this Peri-Peri sauce and—”

He groaned. It’s a noise you want to hear again.

Mimicked him in commiseration. The plates the guards slid through your food slot were pitiful, to say the least.

He starts to ask you something but seems to stop himself.

“What?” you asked.

“It’s… I shouldn’t.”

You were many things, but you weren't a coward.

“I can always choose not to answer. Hit me.”

His voice was still hesitant as he asked, “What did you get arrested for?”

You were worried that the question would be gross or embarrassing, not utterly nonsensical.

“Arrested?”

“Jean said they found you because you were taken into custody.”

“Oh,” your cheeks flushed. “It wasn’t that type of custody. I was 5150-ed. Or more accurately 5250-ed.”

“Pardon?”

“I tried to kill myself. I failed.”

The man froze. He turned around, trying to get a glimpse of you—and any wounds—through the grate.

“Do you need medical attention?”

“No,” you reassured. “I stole some valium and then drank myself silly. I was found in time and they got me help before any irrevocable damage happened. If they hadn’t spotted the note they would’ve just written me off as some foolish party animal, pumped my stomach, and let me be on my merry way.”

You haphazardly glanced at him, expecting him to be stone cold. A proper soldier. To your surprise his eyes, those stupidly beautiful eyes, are trained on you with more care than you've seen in the last three months combined.

“Were you a user… before?”

You shake your head but your eyes remain locked. You couldn't bear to break contact.

“No. Too busy with school. But then my mom died and suddenly everything was… too much. Going to med school and becoming a doctor was what she wanted. The loans, the sleepless nights, the blood, sweat, and tears. It was all for her. Not me. I wanted to make her proud. Happy. And now that will never happen. Without her, I didn’t really see the point of continuing to put myself through hell. I tried to drop out, but the program wouldn’t let me. So I figured might as well cut out all stress in my life instead.”

“Are you planning to try again?”

“No,” the answer is honest. “I’m not giving these bastards the satisfaction. Plus I need to find whoever put me in this situation in the first place and give them a piece of my mind.” You turned back to the blueprints, gently trying to shift the tone back to the comfortable rapport you had earlier. You missed it and you need him to stop looking at you like that or you might do something stupid. “That was like three extra questions. It's my turn now. Any hobbies?”

“Hobbies?”

The very word sounded foreign on his tongue.

“You know. Do you have a secret passion for knitting or something?”

“Embroidery, actually. And that’s no secret.”

“So, anything you do outside of… espionage or whatever your job is?”

“I dunno. Football. Tattoos.”

“Giving or receiving?”

“The latter, though I have been curious to learn it.”

“Got a steady hand?”

He smiled, thinking about something you know he won’t tell you.

“You could say that.”

“Anything else?”

He paused for a moment. You can tell there’s something on his mind. He just hasn’t resolved whether you’re worth it to tell to.

“There’s a bare knuckle boxing club I like to go to when I’m on leave.”

You haven’t seen him in combat, but there’s something in the coiled posture of his stance that tells you he knows how to handle himself.

“I bet you kick their asses."

He says nothing, but you swear he almost preens.

"Could you teach me?"

His lips quirked.

"How serious are you being?"

"Pretty decently. They got me this time. I won't let that happen again. Not without a fight."

"If you're ever in Town, visit Stuart’s and ask for Simon. Might be able to give you a few pointers."

You look up at him, grinning.

"Simon, eh?"

He smiled. His gaze was still intense, but its stifling mixture of pity and worry was replaced by something warmer that made your chest flutter.

"Can't promise I'll be there, but the lady at the desk should be able to tell you when I'll be back."

You folded the blueprints, neatly passing them through the cell bars.

"Well, Simon. Here's your translation. Give them hell."

----------

Chaos. Complete and other chaos.

Smoke and bombs and bullets. You agonized over whether or not to look out the window. The unknown of what was happening was almost scarier than the reality. In the few furtive glances you spared, you caught the bodies. So many bodies. The only relief was that all of the dead seemed to be guards.

You thought back on Simon, dressed in the guard’s garb. These are probably his people. He must’ve gotten out and they must’ve gotten the intel. By now he’s probably on his next recon mission. You were able to learn a little about military structure from what the other hostages told you about their families. If his specialty was infiltration they probably weren't going to waste him on a direct assault like this.

Manchester. Stuart's. Simon.

You didn't need to see him before then. You just needed him to stay alive, wherever he was.

The cacophony slowly grew closer. You didn't know whether that was a good or bad thing.

A loud buzz rang out as the power grid malfunctioned and the hallway outside your cell was plunged into darkness.

Something was happening and all you could do was sit back and listen.

There were screams. Some seemed to be of pure joy, others of painful death. Many you couldn’t tell apart.

There were gunshots. Often followed by gurgles and the sickening sound of someone falling to the ground. There were footsteps. Heavy ones. Slowly drawing nearer.

Someone jostled the cell door. You froze, holding your breath. Maybe they wouldn't even notice you.

The darkness outside your cell moved. A single blue eye peered through the grate, surrounded by black.

"Stay back," the eye commanded. You were all too happy to oblige him.

There was a quick bang and the cell door swung open, revealing a man. A large man.

He bent down to enter the cell before standing up to his full height. Clad in black with a mask you'd expect on a cartoon executioner, he unfolded like an eldritch piece of origami. He just seemed to keep on going.

“Are you Elisabeth?” Hearing it again, you realized his voice was accented. Up close, his demeanor transformed. He seemed... nervous. Incredibly so, barely even able to get the words out.

“Yes,” your voice is almost as hesitant as his.

“I— I am— Ah—” his feet shuffled about anxiously. Any bravado he had from battle has melted away, leaving him almost curled against the wall. You catch sight of a patch on his left side. Red. White. Red. The Austrian flag.

“Sprechen Sie Deutsch?” ( Do you speak German? ) you asked. Maybe talking would be easier in his native language.

The man perked up, surprised but excited.

“Ja! Du auch?” ( Yes! Do you? )

You nod, “Mein Vater war Österreicher.” ( My father was Austrian. )

You knew this was a possibility. Even with the covered face and the giant height difference. Still, his next words caught you off guard.

“Ich weiß. Ich bin dein Halbbruder.” ( I know, I’m your half-brother. )

----------

The tall man, your brother, escorts you out. He promises to tell you everything and more once you’re away from this wretched place wo die Wände haben Ohren ( where the walls have ears ).

After being cooped up for so long, your legs protest the walk, but you pushed through. You were a free woman and you would never take that for granted again.

The exhaustion was worth it to step into the daylight with your own two feet.

Once your eyes adjusted, you realized that two portable camps had been set up on the perimeter. As predicted, there was no sign of Simon. You did see a couple familiar faces though, along with a plethora of heavily-armed strangers (including a man wearing a skeleton mask of all things!). Eileen was deep in conversation with a mohawk-ed man, but she threw you a warm smile as she spotted you heading to the other wolf-emblemed camp.

"Are you alright?" a voice called out at you. It was British: Northern, but rougher and gruffer than Simon's had ever been. Still, you allowed yourself to revel in the fantasy for a moment before you had to face the speaker and ruin the illusion.

You didn't know who you were expecting when you turned around, but it certainly wasn't the skull-masked man.

Up close he was even more striking. You could just barely make out his shaded eyes, alone in a void of black and white. He was shorter than your brother, but still tall by any measure. Even at that size he managed to sneak up on you two.

Your heart was racing. You didn't know why.

"Ye—yes," you managed to stammer out.

Your brother noticed your distress. It seems to give him a confidence to act that he couldn't summon for himself.

He wrapped a protective arm around you and began to lead you away.

“She’s with KorTac,” he said, like that explained everything.

During your confinement, you had plenty of time to think about what you would say to whoever got you into this mess by joining the military. You had dreams of really digging in and tearing them a new one. All of those dreams flew out the window now.

It wasn’t like you couldn’t or were afraid to antagonize someone as big as your brother. But, seeing him… you didn’t want to do that, or anything that could hurt him.

You wanted to talk to him. To get to know him. To—silly as it was—protect him.

After all, he was about the only family you had left.

[littlespoonevan]

I watched the first three seasons of 911 back when that was all that had aired and just didn’t keep watching after the break between seasons for whatever reason. I also didn’t really get buddie, I just thought it was a beautiful friendship. I’m now on a rewatch and just got to the end of season 4 and boy am I all in, Buck’s reaction to Eddie getting shot and the aftermath really made me get it. Anyway, I was wondering if you have any fic recs for a buddie newbie? I’m probably gonna speed through the rest of the show in a few days and need something else to occupy me hahah

hey bud, welcome back to the world of 911!! 🥰 okay so i have some previous fic recs that i've posted here and i also have 489 bookmarks on ao3 which you can have a scroll through here (i only ever bookmark something for rereading or reccing purposes so can confirm i've read and loved them all)

but i'll do my best to make a somewhat cohesive list below of some of my personal faves. i have no doubt i'll probably leave some out accidentally but they'll definitely be in my bookmarks so 100% check those out too!! ❤️

The Nearness of You by allisonRW96 / @homerforsure

Eddie reassured himself that he could do this. Other teams coming in were probably going to be staying at the same hotel in the same double rooms and it was very possible that none of them were going to be having sex. Or even lying awake at night thinking about it. Or: Buck and Eddie go on a work trip.

Leave the Light On (I'll Be Coming Home) by HMSLusitania / @hmslusitania

“We’re here for our grandson,” Helena says. “Chris is still sleeping,” Buck says. “I meant, we’re here to take him back to Texas,” Helena clarifies. “Yeah,” Buck says. He’s too tired, way too tired to be tactful. “Over my dead body.” -- An accident on a call leaves Buck with custody of Chris after Eddie is... missing presumed. While they navigate their new family circumstances -- and fight to stay together, despite Eddie's parents' best efforts -- a John Doe wakes up in a coma ward with no memory of his own life beyond the knowledge he has a son named Christopher and, somehow, he needs to get home.

To Build a Home We Deconstruct Our Rituals by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels /@letmetellyouaboutmyfeels

After the shooting, Eddie realizes he needs to put some things in place. Like who will get his assets if he dies. Who will speak for him if he ends up in a coma. What might happen if his family contests Buck's guardianship. Luckily, he's got a simple easy-peasy solution that won't result in insanity, catastrophe, or heartbreak: Marry Buck.

standing on the brink of emptiness by woodchoc_magnum / @woodchoc-magnum

In which Eddie is struggling in the aftermath of being shot, learning how to take care of himself and realising he's in love with Buck; and Buck is dating Taylor, taking care of Eddie and Christopher and trying to figure out why he's so goddamn confused about everything.

across our great divide (a glorious sunrise) by catchingpapermoons 

“We’re working on it,” Maddie explains, shooting Chimney a look. He nods seriously. “In couples therapy.” “Huh,” Eddie says, and then he thinks about it. "Do you think Buck and I would benefit from couples therapy?" — or, Eddie gets Buck to come to couples therapy with him.

darling, the future's better than yesterday by rarakiplin (gmontys)

Eddie, ten years younger, in this awful 2010, blinks up at him. He's still sitting slumped on the curb, and for a second Buck thinks he might tell him to fuck off, but then his eyes fall shut and there’s something — aching and painfully vulnerable in the bend of his mouth, the faint tension in his brow. “My…um, girlfriend, I guess. She’s pregnant.” “Holy shit,” Buck says. - or, buck deals with some wonky dimensional/time travel and then breaks up with his girlfriend. eddie, obviously, is involved.

i'm here (i’m yours for the taking) by farfromthstars / @buckactuallys

“Everyone!” Around forty heads turn, and Buck shifts on his feet uncomfortably at the attention. “This is my old friend Buck and his husband, Eddie.” “Uh,” Buck makes, turning to Eddie with wide eyes. Eddie's looking just as stunned. “Connor, I think you got–” He cuts himself off when Eddie wraps an arm around his waist. ~ at the winter wedding of an old friend, buck and eddie pretend to be married to each other. the plan has no weaknesses, obviously, not even mistletoe or anyone’s secret feelings… they call it the season of giving i'm here, i'm yours for the taking

Your Fingerprints Smeared on My Heart (Lead Me Back to You) by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels

In 1880, Evan Buckley of the arriviste set is sent out west to oversee his family's railroad and recover from a broken heart - and meets Eddie Diaz, cowboy. When fate tears them apart, they make a promise: find each other again. In 2018, Buck walks into his fire station in Los Angeles - and meets Eddie Diaz, new recruit.

no kingdom to come by waywardrenegades

Family, FaceTime, guilt trips, phone calls, church, heart healthy meals, and learning how to let yourself be happy. Whatever that looks like. or; when his father experiences a health scare, Eddie flies to El Paso.

when i was shipwrecked (i thought of you) by catchingpapermoons 

Buck walks toward Jee-Yun’s room, still talking, and Christopher trails after him, asking excited questions in response, and Eddie’s smile grows. He wants this forever. Everything, every part of it; Buck, Christopher, and him—that’s all he needs. And— Oh. Oh no. He shuts his eyes for a moment, inhaling sharply. He’s looking at Buck, and feeling something strictly not platonic at all. or: Eddie needs to learn how to let himself feel, and one step at a time, he learns how to do just that. (And he falls in love with Buck along the way.)

i don't swim and you're not in love by hattalove / @hattalove

She turns to Eddie and says something else, but Buck is busy fighting the headrush he gets at the sound of Ana Flores calling Eddie and Christopher 'the boys'. Like they belong to her already. God, what’s wrong with him? What is this? or, eddie cooks, chris domesticates a slug, and buck tries to figure out why he hates his best friend's girlfriend. to everyone's immense shock and surprise, it goes badly.

everything's coming up milhouse by hammersmiths / @bucktommys

LAFD Updates (@L*A*F*D_Metro) LAFD Alert: Red-level traffic on Gardiner Road this morning. If you are trying to get into the city centre consider taking Westerley Lane. buck 🔥🔥 (@firebuck) so true bestie or, Eddie mans the LAFD Twitter account. Buck tries to be supportive.

said i couldn't stay, but it's different now by hattalove

“I think,” he says, watching Karen pull Hen out onto the dance floor, their eyes never leaving each other’s, “I think I’m just—sad.” Maybe. That feels like a close enough word to describe this gaping maw right in the center of his chest. It’s only really there sometimes, taking little bites out of him, easy enough to ignore, but today is worse. “About being single at a wedding,” Eddie says, not a question. Buck shrugs. “Sounds stupid when you put it that way.” or, the one with the four weddings (feat. a drunk karen wilson, shania twain, a single cheerio, and some confessions over cubed fruit).

cause i'm tired of sleeping alone by rarakiplin (gmontys)

Buck goes on dates now. Not often, and never with the same girl twice in a row, but he goes on dates. And the thing is — the thing is, Eddie can’t be mad about that, because he goes on dates too. - or, five (ish) times eddie and buck go on dates with other people, and one time they go on a date with each other

so far from being free by allisonRW96

"That’s Daniel. He was our brother. Buck doesn’t know what to do with the past tense. He never had a brother. He’s always had a brother. He gained one and lost one in the same breath and it feels impossible. But even if Buck was capable of doubting Maddie, the truth of her confession is evident in the way it throws every facet of his childhood into sudden perfect clarity. That yawning, arctic absence. The unnamable fear. The impenetrable target of his parents’ approval that he was never, ever going to be able to hit. That they didn’t want him to hit. He has a brother. A dead brother who has haunted Buck’s steps for his entire life."

don't let the tide come and wash us away by writerforlife

Buck develops a relationship with the ocean, avoids talking about the day Eddie was shot, realizes he might be in love, and drives. Order may vary. (a fic for the "Buck is going to break all the way down in season 6" truthers)

dance, for all that we've been through by catchingpapermoons 

The Los Angeles Ballet’s 2022-2023 season ends with a bang with their fresh take on a ballet staple, Swan Lake. Artistic Director Bobby Nash is in his eighth season with the Los Angeles Ballet, and it has flourished under his direction. However, his associate, Eddie Diaz, is the one whose reimagining of the choreography has caught our attention... (or, Eddie Diaz moves to L.A. to restart his dance career, and ends up choreographing a show, finding a family, and falling in love. Not necessarily in that order.)

I'll Scrawl it on Every Wall I See by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels

When Eddie joins the 118, he and Buck don't exactly hit it off on the right foot. Or continue to walk on the right foot. In fact they kind of can't stand each other. Good thing they each have a beloved anonymous pen pal to share their daily woes with, someone completely unlike their insufferable coworker. Or, in which Buck and Eddie love each other before they know each other, and know each other before they love each other. When Eddie joins the 118, he and Buck don't exactly hit it off on the right foot. Or continue to walk on the right foot. In fact they kind of can't stand each other. Good thing they each have a beloved anonymous pen pal to share their daily woes with, someone completely unlike their insufferable coworker. Or, in which Buck and Eddie love each other before they know each other, and know each other before they love each other.

never felt this way before (yes i swear) by withoutthetiger

It’s the summer of 2022, when Buck no longer wants to be called Evan, and it only occurs to his parents to mind. It’s after the pandemic – or so they say – and before whatever hell will befall the world next, when Buck can’t wait to join the LAFD in September, and he doesn’t know if he’ll ever meet someone as gently strong and fiercely protective as his big sister. It’s the summer he goes with his family to the One Eighteen Ranch & Lodge. *** A Dirty Dancing AU, set in Texas in 2022, featuring a whole lot of familiar faces in a not so familiar place.

Fragile lines (and wasted time) by Mellaithwen / @mellaithwen

“Hey Buck,” Christopher says a little shyly, before reaching out to grab Buck’s foot through the hospital blankets—shaking it in the same way he’s woken his father up on many a bleary-eyed morning. The familiarity of the gesture makes Eddie’s head spin. But of course, there’s no response from the comatose man on the bed. “I thought you said he was sleeping,” Chris mumbles, angrily swiping at his cheeks, and Eddie’s already broken heart shatters all over again for whatever hope his son had just lost when his expectations were so cruelly dashed. . While Buck sleeps, and dreams in the aftermath of the lightning strike, Eddie tries desperately to hold himself together.

Don't Take the Money by HMSLusitania

“You know, being stuck here isn’t actually the end of the world,” Chimney says, coming up to the table and picking up one of the smoke detectors. “It just feels like it, Buck. Trust me, I know.” “I’m pretty sure it might actually be the end of the world,” Buck says. “Considering this is the sixth time I’ve lived this day.” Chimney stares at him for a beat and then his eyebrows lift. “Wait, are you like – dude, are you in Groundhog Day?” OR The post-lawsuit time-loop AU literally no one asked for.

keep your eyes on the road by iriswests / @fcntasmas

Buck used to speed through yellow lights; now they’re his favorite part of the drive. -- or; a glimpse into buck and eddie’s developing relationship, told through ten moments stopped at a traffic light

Hot Ghost Problems by ebjameston

The ghost would prefer to go by Buck, if Eddie wouldn’t mind. +++ [Eddie is the newest firefighter at the 118. Buck is the ghost haunting the 118. Unfortunately for both of them, Eddie's also a witch and needs to put Buck's spirit to rest, because that's what witches do. Turns out, Buck's spirit? Super not interested in being put to rest. Very interested, however, in flirting with Firefighter Diaz, who is just trying to survive his candidate year. (Also turns out, Buck? Super not dead.)

as lucky as us by hammersmiths

One of the first things Ravi learned when joining the 118 was to, under no circumstances, think too hard about Buck and Eddie’s relationship. But brother, they could try make his job easier. “I mean, I get it,” Buck’s saying, overhead, and Ravi’s knee-deep in literal human crap and even he can smell that shit from a mile away. “You and Tommy have a lot in common.” or, Ravi continually suffers as a third-wheel.

[muiitoloko]

Hi can you do a Frank x reader slowburn, where the reader is newbie lower rank that got assigned to be with him. She’s clumsy and a nervous wreck around him (but that’s because she admires him and wants to do her best). At first, frank gets annoyed with the reader because how can someone be that level of rank and then is quite the opposite of a “soldier” traits stuff. The vibe is kinda “The Devil Wears Prada” but meets “Top Gun”…I need it to be like really really slowburn and it can be a series if you want….

ps I need a scene where suddenly you see why the reader is at that level of ranking and that’s where frank slowly respects her (action scene where there’s some type of trouble happened or just like her showing her shooting skills)

thats all! i really like your works especially the series ones <33333

Title: Beneath the Uniform.

Summary: Stripped of her rank, a soldier fights to prove she is more than her demotion, forging an unlikely bond with a lieutenant general hardened by years of command.

Pairing: Frank Benson × Fem! Reader.

Warnings: Anguish, rejection, mention of fighting, mention of shooting.

Author's Notes: I'm glad you like my story and hope this new story pleases you too.

First and Second part here.

Also read on Ao3

Frank Benson stood up from his desk, his imposing figure casting a long shadow across the room. His hazel eyes, sharp and discerning, locked onto you as you entered his office. You snapped to attention, your body rigid with the formality drilled into you over the years. But despite your best efforts, Frank could see your hands trembling slightly as you saluted him. The telltale sign of nerves, of insecurity, and it irked him.

"At ease, Private," Frank said, his baritone voice carrying a tone of disdain. He watched as you lowered your hand, trying to steady yourself, but the slight quiver in your movements didn’t escape his notice. His eyes narrowed slightly as he took in your appearance—neat, tidy, but still a shadow of the officer you once were. To him, you were just another reminder of how the army had softened, allowing anyone to slip through the cracks and land a position they didn’t deserve.

He didn’t know the specifics of why you were assigned to him, nor did he particularly care to find out. All he knew was that you were a demoted captain now reduced to a private, and that spoke volumes in itself. To Frank, it was an insult—assigning a soldier with such a tarnished record to him, a Lieutenant General with decades of experience and a spotless service record. The army, he thought bitterly, was clearly lowering its standards.

You stood there, trying to hold your composure under his scrutinizing gaze. The silence in the room was suffocating, broken only by the faint ticking of a clock on the wall. Frank finally broke the silence, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

"Do you know why you're here?" he asked, his tone flat, giving nothing away.

You swallowed hard, trying to find your voice. "Sir, I—"

He cut you off with a wave of his hand, the gesture dismissive. "You're here because someone up the chain of command decided that I needed an assistant. And for some inexplicable reason, they thought you'd be a suitable choice."

His words stung, and you fought the urge to shrink under his gaze. "Sir, I was—"

"Spare me the details," Frank interrupted, his voice edged with impatience. "Frankly, I don’t care about the reasons behind your demotion or whatever sob story they’ve attached to your file. What matters to me is competence, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let a former captain, now a lowly private, mess up my operations."

You bit back the retort that threatened to spill out, knowing it would only make things worse. You had been reassigned to Frank after your previous posting became untenable due to your demotion. The brass had decided that placing you under Frank’s command would give you a chance to "redeem" yourself, though you doubted Frank saw it that way. To him, it was likely more of a punishment—dealing with you was probably the last thing he wanted.

"You’ve been assigned to assist me in operational planning and logistics," Frank continued, his voice dripping with skepticism. "You’ll handle the paperwork, the briefings, and whatever else I deem necessary. And you will do it without complaint, without hesitation, and without any more mistakes. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," you replied, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

Frank gave a curt nod, his expression unyielding. "Good. Now, get out of my sight and familiarize yourself with the files on your desk. I expect you to be up to speed by tomorrow morning."

You saluted him again, your movements stiff but controlled, and quickly turned to leave. As you walked out of his office, you could feel his eyes boring into your back, the weight of his disdain heavy on your shoulders. You knew that earning his respect would be an uphill battle, one that would require you to prove your worth every single day.

You sighed as you closed the office door behind you, the cold metal clicking shut with a finality that seemed to echo in your chest. To think that you had admired this man so much—Lieutenant General Frank Benson, a name spoken with respect and reverence throughout the British Army. He was a legend in his own right, having won numerous honors over the years, his reputation built on a foundation of unyielding discipline, sharp intellect, and tactical brilliance. But now, after that first interaction, the admiration you once held felt tainted, replaced by a gnawing sense of disappointment.

As you walked down the corridor, you forced yourself to greet the other soldiers you passed, maintaining the decorum expected of you. Each step sent a dull throb of pain through your leg, a stark reminder of the injury you sustained in Afghanistan. The wound, though mostly healed, had left its mark—a lingering ache that flared up when you pushed yourself too hard, like this morning during training. You had been determined to prove to yourself that you could still keep up, that your demotion hadn’t broken you, but the price for that determination was now an uncomfortable limp that you tried your best to conceal.

You straightened your back, willing yourself to walk normally as you passed a group of officers. The last thing you needed was for anyone to notice your discomfort, to see any more signs of weakness. In the military, perception was everything, and you had already given Frank Benson enough reasons to doubt you. The thought of him, his sharp hazel eyes piercing through you with disdain, made your stomach churn.

Lieutenant General Benson had been someone you once looked up to—a figure of authority who represented everything you had aspired to be in your career. But now, all you could think about was the way he had dismissed you, his baritone voice dripping with disapproval, his every word a reminder of your fall from grace. The admiration you had for him felt like a distant memory, replaced by a growing resentment that you struggled to keep in check.

But you couldn’t afford to dwell on that. You had work to do, and no amount of pity or self-doubt would change the fact that you were now just another private under Benson’s command. The files waiting for you on his desk were the first of many tasks that would come your way, and you knew you had to tackle them with the same determination that had once earned you your rank.

As you approached the end of the corridor, you felt the pain in your leg intensify, a sharp reminder of your limits. You paused for a moment, leaning against the wall to catch your breath, cursing yourself for pushing too hard. The injury was a direct result of your decision in Afghanistan, the moment that had changed everything. The moment you chose to save that young girl, defying orders, knowing full well the consequences it could bring. It was a decision that had cost you your rank, your career, and now, it seemed, the respect of a man you had once idolized.

You closed your eyes for a brief moment, pushing the memories aside. Now wasn’t the time to reflect on the past; you needed to focus on the present. Taking a deep breath, you pushed off the wall and continued walking, this time with a more measured pace, determined not to let the pain slow you down any further.

The truth was, as much as Benson’s disdain stung, it also fueled a fire within you. A fire that refused to let you be defined by your demotion, by your injury, or by the scorn of a man who knew nothing of the choices you had made. You had been a captain once, and while you no longer wore the rank, the experience and knowledge you gained from that position were still with you. You would prove to Benson, and to yourself, that you were still capable, still worthy of the uniform you wore.

By the time you reached your new desk, tucked away in a corner of the operations office, you had steeled yourself for the long night ahead. The files Benson had mentioned were neatly stacked, their contents waiting for your attention. You pulled out the first folder, flipping it open and scanning the contents, your mind already beginning to compartmentalize the tasks at hand.

But as you worked, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, the sense that Benson’s eyes were still on you, scrutinizing your every move. You knew that gaining his respect would be an uphill battle, but it was a battle you were determined to fight. You had come too far, faced too much, to let one man’s judgment define your future.

With that thought, you buried yourself in the work, your focus sharp despite the throbbing pain in your leg. You knew this was just the beginning, the first step in a long journey of redemption. But you had faced worse, and you had no intention of letting Lieutenant General Frank Benson—or anyone else—stand in your way.

The days that followed your reassignment to Lieutenant General Frank Benson’s command were a blur of long hours, late nights, and an overwhelming sense of inadequacy. The mountain of files on your desk never seemed to shrink, no matter how many hours you poured into them. You often found yourself stumbling over military jargon that had once rolled off your tongue with ease, your confidence still shaken by the demotion.

Frank Benson was a constant presence in your life, even when he wasn’t in the room. His hazel eyes, sharp and piercing, seemed to haunt your every move. You could almost feel his disapproving gaze whenever you fumbled with a report or misplaced a document. His voice, low and authoritative, echoed in your mind, a reminder that any mistake you made would only confirm his already low opinion of you.

Despite your best efforts, it seemed that everything you did managed to draw his ire. There was the time you accidentally spilled coffee on a crucial operations report, earning a withering glare that made your heart drop to your stomach. Or the day you showed up five minutes late to a briefing, breathless and apologetic, only to be met with a scathing remark about your lack of discipline.

"Private, if you can’t manage to arrive on time, perhaps you should consider a career more suited to your...relaxed attitude," Frank had said, his voice dripping with disdain. You had stood there, cheeks burning with embarrassment, trying to explain that you had been caught in a meeting with another officer, but Frank had already turned his attention to the next item on the agenda, dismissing you with a wave of his hand.

Your attempts to lighten the tension with humor were met with even harsher criticism. It had become something of a defense mechanism—whenever you felt the pressure mounting, you’d crack a joke, hoping to defuse the situation. But Frank Benson was not a man who appreciated levity, especially not from someone he already considered unworthy of wearing the uniform.

One particularly tense afternoon, as you were reviewing logistics for an upcoming operation, you had made an offhand comment about how the army should consider investing in self-filing paperwork. The room had been silent for a beat too long, and you had realized your mistake as soon as Frank’s hazel eyes locked onto you.

"Private, this is the British Army, not a comedy club," Frank had said coldly, his voice sending a chill down your spine. "If you’re unable to take your responsibilities seriously, then perhaps you should reconsider your place here."

You had stammered an apology, feeling the weight of his disapproval like a physical force. It was clear that your attempts at humor were only making things worse, but you couldn’t seem to stop yourself. It was as if the more you tried to fit into Frank’s rigid expectations, the more you felt the need to rebel against them, even in small ways.

The tension between you and Frank reached its peak during a critical mission briefing. The room was filled with high-ranking officers, all waiting for the Lieutenant General to lead the discussion. You had been tasked with preparing the briefing materials, a responsibility that you took very seriously, knowing that any mistake would be magnified tenfold in Frank’s eyes.

As you began to distribute the briefing folders, you noticed too late that one of the key reports was missing. Panic seized you as you frantically searched through the papers, your heart racing as you realized that you must have left the document on your desk.

"Private," Frank’s baritone voice cut through the room, silencing all conversation. "Is there a reason why this briefing is being delayed?"

You looked up, meeting his steely gaze, your throat dry. "Sir, I—"

"Speak up," Frank demanded, his tone brooking no excuses.

"I...I seem to have left one of the reports on my desk, sir," you admitted, your voice trembling with the effort to keep your composure.

Frank’s expression darkened, and you could see the anger simmering just beneath the surface. "You ‘seem to have left it’?" he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. "Private, do you understand the gravity of this situation? This is not some inconsequential task that you can fumble through with your usual lack of attention. This is a mission briefing, and your incompetence is unacceptable."

You stood there, frozen in place, the weight of the room’s attention pressing down on you. Frank’s words cut deep, each one a reminder of how far you had fallen. You had once been a captain, respected and trusted to lead, but now, in Frank’s eyes, you were nothing more than a liability—a soldier who couldn’t be trusted to perform even the most basic tasks.

Frank didn't mince words as he stood there, towering over you with his imposing figure, his hazel eyes gleaming with barely concealed disdain. "What could I possibly expect from someone like you?" he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "A demoted captain, now reduced to a mere private. Tell me, how does it feel to fall from such heights, hmm? To go from leading men to barely being able to carry out the simplest of tasks?"

You stiffened, every muscle in your body tensing as you fought to keep your composure. The room seemed to close in around you, the walls pressing in as Frank continued his verbal assault. His words cut deep, each one a deliberate strike designed to wound.

"I can't even fathom how you managed to get into the army in the first place," Frank continued, his tone mocking. "Perhaps your dear old daddy, the Colonel, had to pull a few strings, eh? A little nepotism here, a favor there. After all, it's the only explanation for how someone as incompetent as you could have ever worn the rank of captain."

The mention of your father, a respected officer with decades of service, sent a jolt of anger through you. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the humiliation mixing with a growing fury that you struggled to contain. But Frank wasn't finished; he leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a cruel whisper.

"How disappointed he must be now," Frank mused, his eyes gleaming with malice. "To have a daughter who couldn't even hold onto her rank. Demoted from captain to private. What a disgrace. Daddy's little disappointment."

You clenched your fists, the urge to lash out nearly overwhelming. You could feel the sting of angry tears threatening to spill over, but you forced them back, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you break. You stared at the floor, your vision blurring as you struggled to keep your emotions in check. The humiliation was almost unbearable, the weight of Frank's words pressing down on you like a physical force.

But you remained silent, biting down on your lip to stop the words that were on the tip of your tongue. You knew that if you said what you truly wanted to, it would only make things worse. So you swallowed the anger, the pain, and the humiliation, forcing yourself to remain still as Frank continued his tirade.

"Go get that file," he ordered sharply, his voice slicing through the air like a whip. "And when you're done with that, I want you out of my sight. Your punishment for this disgraceful display is to do push-ups until the sun goes down. Maybe that'll knock some sense into you."

You mumbled a barely audible "Yes, sir," your voice trembling with the effort to keep your emotions in check. Frank didn't even acknowledge your response; he simply waved over another soldier who had been standing at attention nearby.

"Make sure she does every single one," Frank instructed coldly, his eyes never leaving yours. "And if she slacks off, you make her start over. I won't tolerate laziness, especially not from someone who should know better."

The soldier nodded, a mixture of pity and discomfort in his eyes as he glanced at you. But Frank's gaze was unyielding, his expression hard and unfeeling. You could feel the weight of his judgment pressing down on you, the humiliation of being reduced to this... nothing.

Without another word, you turned on your heel and marched out of the room, the soldier following closely behind. The moment you were out of sight, the tears you had been holding back finally spilled over, hot and angry against your cheeks. You wiped them away furiously, trying to pull yourself together as you made your way to retrieve the file.

The pain in your chest was almost unbearable, a raw ache that made it difficult to breathe. Frank's words echoed in your mind, each one a dagger that twisted deeper with every step you took. You had once been proud of your accomplishments, proud to wear the uniform and serve your country. But now, all of that seemed so distant, so out of reach.

By the time you returned with the file, the sun was already beginning to dip low in the sky. You handed it over without a word, your hands trembling slightly as you fought to maintain your composure. Frank barely glanced at you as he took the file, his focus already elsewhere. You were dismissed without so much as a nod, as if you were nothing more than an inconvenience.

The soldier led you outside, to a spot where the setting sun cast long shadows across the ground. He glanced at you, his expression conflicted, but he said nothing as you dropped to the ground and began your push-ups.

Each movement sent a jolt of pain through your arms and shoulders, but you welcomed it. The physical pain was a distraction, something you could focus on instead of the crushing humiliation that weighed on your heart. You pushed yourself harder, gritting your teeth as the minutes turned into hours, the sun sinking lower and lower in the sky.

You would do better. You promised yourself that much as the sweat dripped down your face, mingling with the dirt on the ground beneath you. Damn Frank Benson would eat his words. He didn’t know you, didn’t know the lengths you’d gone to earn your rank, and he certainly didn’t know the fire burning inside you now. You had never needed your father’s influence to get where you were. Every stripe, every promotion, was earned through your own blood, sweat, and determination. You had fought, sacrificed, and clawed your way to the top, and you wouldn’t let some pompous old man march over everything you’d built. You wouldn’t let him break you.

Your arms screamed in protest, muscles burning from the relentless push-ups, but the pain was welcome—no, it was necessary. It grounded you, gave you something tangible to focus on as the anger inside you surged. The anger fueled your strength, pushing you beyond your limits. You had no intention of stopping, not even as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, dark shadows across the ground.

The soldier who had been tasked with watching you shifted uncomfortably as the darkness settled in. “Private, that’s enough,” he said, his voice laced with a mix of concern and discomfort. But you didn’t even acknowledge his words, continuing with the push-ups, your body moving on pure determination and fury.

“Private, I said that’s enough!” the soldier repeated, his tone more urgent this time. But still, you didn’t listen. You wouldn’t stop, not until you had pushed every ounce of strength from your body. The physical pain was a small price to pay to silence the gnawing humiliation that had taken root in your heart.

Inside the building, Frank Benson stood by the window, his imposing figure backlit by the dim glow of the interior lights. His hazel eyes were narrowed as he watched you through the glass, his expression unreadable. He had expected you to give up, to fall in line like so many before you. But as the minutes turned into hours, he found himself unable to look away. There you were, still going, still pushing yourself beyond what any normal soldier would have endured. It was both infuriating and oddly impressive.

The room around him was silent, the last meeting of the day having just ended. But Frank remained at the window, watching you, his thoughts churning with a mixture of disdain and something else he couldn’t quite place. He had seen soldiers break under less, yet here you were, defying every expectation he had of you.

He didn’t hear the footsteps approaching until the person was standing beside him, their presence unmistakable. Frank didn’t need to look to know who it was. The familiar scent of polished leather and the subtle creak of a well-worn uniform told him everything he needed to know.

“Lieutenant General,” came the low, even voice of Colonel [Your Last Name]. Frank could feel the man’s eyes on him, probing, questioning, though his tone remained deceptively casual. “I’ve been hearing a lot of hubbub about you insulting me during a meeting today.”

Frank kept his gaze on the window, watching as you continued with the push-ups, your form unwavering even as the night closed in. He didn’t deny the accusation. “I was scolding your daughter,” he replied, his voice as calm and composed as ever. There was no point in lying, not when the truth was as plain as day.

The Colonel hummed, a low, thoughtful sound as he turned his attention to the window as well, watching you with an inscrutable expression. The two older men stood in silence for a long moment, the only sound in the room the distant hum of the building’s ventilation system.

“She’s got your stubbornness,” Frank said finally, breaking the silence. There was no malice in his tone this time, just a grudging acknowledgment of the trait he recognized. He had seen plenty of soldiers break under pressure, but you—despite your many flaws—hadn’t buckled. Not yet, at least.

The Colonel’s lips curled into a thin, humorless smile. “Stubbornness isn’t always a virtue, Lieutenant General,” he replied, his tone cold and measured. “Sometimes, it’s just a symptom of not knowing when to quit.”

Frank could hear the disdain in the Colonel’s voice, the unspoken criticism aimed not just at you but at Frank himself for recognizing it as something worthy of note. The Colonel’s eyes remained fixed on you, but there was no warmth, no pride, only a clinical assessment of a soldier—no, of a daughter—who had failed to meet his expectations.

“She’s a disappointment,” the Colonel continued, his voice devoid of emotion. “Always has been.”

Frank’s brow furrowed slightly at the harshness of the statement, but he said nothing, letting the Colonel speak. The Colonel’s next words, however, revealed more than just disappointment; they unveiled a deep-seated resentment.

“I never wanted her,” the Colonel said, his voice as cold as steel. “I wanted a son, someone who could carry on the family name, follow in my footsteps with pride. But instead, I got her. A daughter who thinks she can play soldier, who dares to believe she could ever live up to the standards set by the men in this family.”

Frank finally tore his gaze from the window, turning to look at the Colonel with a mixture of curiosity and something darker—a hint of disapproval, perhaps. It wasn’t unusual for parents to have expectations for their children, but the bitterness in the Colonel’s voice went beyond that. It was as if he had never seen you as a person in your own right, only as a failed attempt at continuing his legacy.

“She’s not a son, true,” Frank said carefully, his voice measured. “But she’s still a soldier.”

The Colonel’s eyes narrowed, his expression hardening. “She’s not fit to wear the uniform,” he snapped. “Her demotion was well-deserved. I tried to steer her away from this path, tried to save her from this humiliation, but she was too damned stubborn to listen. And now look at her—reduced to nothing more than a private, barely able to keep up with her duties.”

Frank could feel the intensity of the Colonel’s disdain, and for the first time, he wondered how much of your struggle was due to the weight of your father’s expectations. It wasn’t just the army you were trying to prove yourself to—it was him, the man who had never wanted you to succeed in the first place.

Outside, you continued your push-ups, your body trembling with exhaustion but your resolve unbroken. You had no idea that your father was watching you, judging you with every fiber of his being. To you, this was just another obstacle to overcome, another test of your strength and determination.

“She doesn’t belong here,” the Colonel said, his voice filled with finality. “She never did. But she insisted on this path, and now she’s paying the price. She’s weak, Lieutenant General. Weak and delusional, thinking she could ever be anything more than a failure.”

Frank didn’t respond immediately, his mind racing as he considered the Colonel’s words. He had seen weakness in you, certainly—seen the way you struggled under the weight of your mistakes, seen the way your hands trembled when faced with his scrutiny. But he had also seen something else, something that the Colonel was either blind to or unwilling to acknowledge: a flicker of defiance, of determination that refused to be snuffed out, no matter how many times you were knocked down.

“She saved a life,” Frank said quietly, almost to himself. “That’s more than some soldiers ever do.”

The Colonel’s gaze snapped to Frank, his eyes flashing with anger. “She disobeyed orders,” he retorted sharply. “She put her own misguided sense of morality above the mission, above the lives of her comrades. That’s not bravery, Lieutenant General. That’s stupidity.”

Frank met the Colonel’s gaze head-on, his expression unreadable. “And yet, she’s still here,” he pointed out. “Still pushing herself, still trying to prove something.”

The Colonel scoffed, dismissing Frank’s observation with a wave of his hand. “She’s a fool, and you’re wasting your time if you think she’ll ever amount to anything. She’ll never be more than a private, and that’s only because I won’t let her tarnish this family’s name any further by leaving in disgrace.”

Frank said nothing, his thoughts hidden behind a mask of calm professionalism. But as he turned back to the window, watching you push yourself to the brink of collapse, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the Colonel was wrong about you. There was something in you, something that refused to be broken, no matter how much pressure was applied.

He wouldn’t tell the Colonel that, though. It wasn’t his place to interfere in family matters, and he had no desire to provoke the man any further. But as he watched you finally collapse onto the ground, your body spent from the hours of grueling push-ups, Frank couldn’t help but feel a twinge of... what? Sympathy? Respect? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that you had earned a measure of his attention, whether you realized it or not.

“Keep an eye on her, Lieutenant General,” the Colonel said, his tone dismissive as he turned to leave the room. “And don’t hesitate to come to me if she steps out of line. I won’t tolerate any more failures from her.”

Frank gave a curt nod, his expression neutral. “Of course, Colonel.”

With that, the Colonel left the room, his footsteps echoing down the hallway until they faded into silence. Frank remained by the window for a moment longer, watching as you finally pulled yourself to your feet, your body swaying with exhaustion but your head held high.

You had a long way to go, that much was clear. But Frank found himself wondering just how far you could go, how much you could achieve, if only you could find the strength to break free from the shadow of your father’s expectations.

Perhaps it was time to push you in a different direction—one that would force you to confront your own limitations, your own fears, and in doing so, perhaps discover a strength you didn’t even know you had.

The road ahead wouldn’t be easy, but Frank Benson had never been one to shy away from a challenge. And neither, it seemed, were you.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue over the barracks as you moved with quiet efficiency, collecting the last of the briefing materials for Lieutenant General Frank Benson. The days since that humiliating encounter had been long and grueling, but they had forged a steely resolve within you. Gone was the nervousness that once gripped you in his presence; gone, too, was the inclination to crack jokes in a vain attempt to lighten the atmosphere. You had learned quickly—adapted to the harsh realities of your situation.

You now anticipated Frank’s requests, moving almost in tandem with his thoughts. If he wanted a report, it was on his desk before he asked. If he needed transport, you were already waiting by the vehicle. Your efficiency and discipline had grown, honed by a determination to prove yourself—if not to your father, then at least to yourself.

This morning, you stood at attention outside Frank’s office, waiting for him to emerge. The crisp morning air was filled with the distant sounds of soldiers drilling, the rhythmic cadence of their movements a constant reminder of the world you were trying to reclaim a place in.

When the door opened, you straightened your posture, meeting Frank’s hazel eyes with a calm, composed expression. His gaze lingered on you for a moment, assessing, as if trying to gauge what had changed. But if he found anything, he didn’t comment on it.

“Vehicle’s ready, sir,” you said simply, your voice steady.

Frank gave a curt nod, his white hair catching the light as he stepped out, his baritone voice as authoritative as ever. “Let’s not waste time then. We have a meeting to attend.”

You fell into step behind him, your mind already running through the logistics of the day. The meeting was critical—a gathering of top military officials to discuss ongoing operations and strategy in the Middle East. Frank would be in his element, directing the discussion with the same sharp intellect that had earned him his rank. And you would be there to ensure everything ran smoothly.

The drive to the meeting location was silent, save for the hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of papers as you reviewed the agenda. Frank sat beside you, his eyes occasionally flicking over to the documents, but his focus remained outward, as if always calculating, always planning.

As you navigated the vehicle through the winding roads leading to the military compound, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. It was a subtle tension in the air, a sense that you were being watched. Your instincts, honed by years of service and sharpened by your recent trials, prickled at the back of your neck.

“Sir,” you said, your tone professional but laced with caution, “I recommend taking a different route. There’s something about this road that doesn’t feel right.”

Frank turned his head slightly, regarding you with a look that was both curious and wary. “Explain.”

“Gut feeling, sir,” you replied, keeping your voice level. “And I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

There was a brief pause as Frank considered your words. Finally, he nodded. “Very well. Take the alternate route.”

You didn’t need any further prompting. You took the next turn, guiding the vehicle onto a less-traveled road that wound through a series of low hills. The tension in your gut didn’t ease, but you kept your focus on the task at hand, eyes scanning the surroundings with heightened vigilance.

The ambush happened so quickly, it was almost a blur. One moment, the road ahead was clear; the next, a burst of gunfire erupted from the hillside, shattering the silence. The windshield exploded in a spray of glass, and you barely had time to swerve the vehicle as bullets peppered the metal, the sharp cracks of gunfire echoing in the confined space.

“Down!” you shouted, your training kicking in as you slammed the brakes, the vehicle skidding to a halt behind the cover of a small ridge.

Without hesitation, you grabbed your rifle from the backseat, the weight of it familiar and reassuring in your hands. The world narrowed to a single point of focus as you assessed the situation. The attackers were positioned on the ridge, using the high ground to their advantage. But they hadn’t accounted for your quick reaction.

“Stay low, sir,” you instructed, your voice calm despite the adrenaline surging through your veins. “I’ll handle this.”

You reached for the door handle, ready to leap into action, but before you could open it, Frank's hand shot out, gripping your arm tightly. You turned to look at him, your instincts screaming at you to move, to fight, but what you saw in his eyes froze you in place. Frank's hazel eyes, normally so sharp and commanding, were wide with panic. He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and his hand, still gripping your arm, was trembling.

"Sir?" you said, your voice tinged with confusion. You glanced down at where his other hand was fumbling for his sidearm, but it was clear that he was struggling. For a split second, your mind raced through the possibilities—had he been shot? Was he injured? But as you quickly assessed him, you realized it wasn’t physical—Frank Benson, the unflappable Lieutenant General, was having an anxiety attack.

The realization hit you hard. Frank was a man of control, always the one in command, always the one making the tough calls from the safety of his office. But it had been years since he was on the front lines, years since he’d faced the reality of combat up close. The years spent behind desks, overseeing drone strikes and coordinating operations from afar, had dulled his edge. And now, here in the heat of an ambush, the raw terror of being back in the thick of it had caught him off guard.

You took a deep breath, pushing down your own fear. You knew what had to be done. Frank wasn’t in any shape to command this situation, and it was up to you to protect him. The irony wasn’t lost on you—a demoted captain, now a private, taking charge of the situation. But there was no time to dwell on that. Your training and instincts kicked in, and you moved swiftly.

“Sir, you need to stay down and keep your head low,” you said firmly, your voice steady and commanding, despite the chaos erupting around you. “I’ve got this.”

Frank’s grip on your arm loosened slightly, his hazel eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, you saw the vulnerability in him, the fear he was trying so hard to suppress. It was a side of him you’d never imagined existed, and it struck you deeply. But there was no time to dwell on that either.

You gently but firmly pried his hand from your arm, giving him a reassuring nod before grabbing your rifle. You didn’t hesitate as you slid out of the vehicle, using it as cover while you assessed the situation. The attackers were still positioned on the ridge, firing down at you, but they hadn’t moved from their position. That was their mistake.

You took a deep breath, steadying your aim, and returned fire. The first shot took out one of the attackers, the second forced the others to scatter. You moved quickly, staying low and using the terrain to your advantage, keeping yourself between Frank and the line of fire. You could hear his labored breathing behind you, and you knew you had to end this quickly.

The next few minutes were a blur of movement and gunfire. You pushed forward, using every bit of cover you could find, firing in controlled bursts to keep the attackers at bay. Slowly but surely, you forced them to retreat, the intensity of their fire dwindling as you pressed the advantage.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the gunfire ceased. You held your position for a few moments longer, your heart pounding in your chest, before slowly rising from your cover. The ridge was clear—the attackers had retreated.

You turned back toward the vehicle, your breath coming in heavy gasps, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. Frank was still in the car, his chest heaving as he tried to regain control of his breathing. His eyes met yours, and for the first time, there was no disdain, no judgment. Instead, there was something else—something softer, almost vulnerable.

You walked back to the vehicle, lowering your rifle as you approached him. “It’s over, sir,” you said quietly, trying to keep your voice steady. “We’re clear.”

Frank nodded, his breathing slowly beginning to steady. He reached up, running a trembling hand through his white hair, his gaze never leaving yours. “You saved my life,” he said, his voice low and gravelly, the usual baritone softened by the weight of the moment.

You shrugged, trying to downplay the situation, though your heart was still racing. “Just doing my job, sir.”

Frank’s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied you, really seeing you for the first time since you’d been assigned to him. The harsh, critical gaze was gone, replaced by something more thoughtful. And in that moment, he saw you—really saw you—not just as a soldier, not just as the demoted captain he had so harshly judged, but as a person. A woman who had just risked her life to protect him.

You continued to take control of the situation, leaving Frank crouched in the passenger seat, his breathing still ragged and uneven. Without hesitation, you hopped back into the driver’s seat, your hands gripping the wheel tightly as you shifted the vehicle into gear. The adrenaline still surged through your veins, but you forced yourself to stay calm, focused. Frank needed you to be steady, even if he’d never admit it.

"Hang on, sir," you said, your voice firm but calm, as you pressed down on the gas. The vehicle lurched forward, skidding slightly on the loose gravel before gaining traction. You kept your eyes on the road, scanning the horizon for any signs of danger as you sped away from the ambush site.

In the seat beside you, Frank leaned back, his white hair slightly disheveled, his hazel eyes closed as he tried to control his breathing. His chest heaved with each breath, and you could see the way his hands clenched and unclenched in his lap, a telltale sign of his struggle to regain composure. You stole a quick glance at him, your mind racing as you considered how to help him.

The radio crackled to life, interrupting your thoughts. "Base to Sierra Three, do you copy?"

You reached for the radio, your hand steady despite the tension coiled in your chest. "This is Sierra Three, Private [Your Last Name] speaking. We’ve encountered an ambush but are currently en route to safety. What are your orders?"

There was a brief pause, filled only with the sound of static, before the response came. "Sierra Three, you are to return to base immediately. I repeat, return to base. We’ll send backup to secure the area. Over."

"Copy that," you replied, your voice steady. You placed the radio back in its cradle, then glanced at Frank again. "We’re heading back to base, sir. Just hold on a little longer."

Frank didn’t respond, his eyes still closed as he leaned back in his seat, trying to regulate his breathing. His usual commanding presence seemed diminished, replaced by a man grappling with something deeply unsettling. You knew what it was—fear. The raw, unfiltered fear that comes when a person who has spent too long in the safety of command is suddenly thrust back into the heart of danger.

You drove in silence for a few moments, the hum of the engine and the crunch of gravel under the tires the only sounds filling the space. But the tension was palpable, hanging thick in the air between you. You needed to do something to break it, to help Frank calm down.

"Sir," you began carefully, keeping your eyes on the road, "my father—the Colonel—once told me something about you. He said you saved his life."

You felt Frank’s eyes on you, a subtle shift in his posture, but he didn’t say anything. Encouraged by the reaction, you continued, keeping your tone light, conversational.

"He didn’t give me all the details, of course," you said with a small, knowing smile, "but he mentioned that you two served together a long time ago. He told me how you pulled him out of a bad situation, one that could’ve gone very wrong if you hadn’t been there. He always spoke highly of you, sir. Said you were one of the best officers he’d ever served under."

Frank’s eyes opened, and he turned his head slightly to look at you. His expression was guarded, but you could see the flicker of recognition in his eyes as he remembered the incident you were referring to.

"You know what my father is like," you added, trying to inject a bit of humor into the conversation. "He doesn’t hand out compliments easily. So when he told me that, I knew it meant something. Said he owed you a debt he could never repay."

Frank remained silent, but you could sense the tension in him beginning to ease, just a little. His breathing was starting to steady, the panic slowly receding as he focused on your words instead of the attack.

"I guess what I’m trying to say is," you continued, your voice softening slightly, "you’ve been in tough spots before, sir. You’ve faced danger head-on and come out on top. Today was no different. We made it through because you were here, and I wouldn’t have it any other way."

For a long moment, the only response was the sound of the engine and the road passing beneath you. Then, finally, Frank spoke, his voice low and a little rough but steady.

"You did well back there, Private," he said, his tone softer than you’d ever heard it. "Better than I gave you credit for."

The acknowledgment took you by surprise, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you nodded slightly, keeping your focus on the road. "Thank you, sir. Just doing my job."

Frank fell silent again, but this time, the tension between you had eased, replaced by a tentative understanding. He leaned back in his seat, his eyes closing once more, but his breathing was calmer now, more controlled.

As you drove back to base, the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the landscape. The adrenaline was slowly fading, leaving behind the exhaustion of the day’s events, but you felt a small spark of something you hadn’t expected—a sense of connection with Frank, a mutual respect born from the chaos of the ambush.

The road ahead was still long, and you knew there would be challenges to face in the days to come. But for now, as you drove through the twilight, you allowed yourself a small moment of relief. You had made it through, and so had Frank. And in that shared survival, a new bond had formed, one that might just carry you both through whatever came next.

After the intense drive back to base, you and Frank Benson finally arrived at the military compound. The sun had fully set, and the compound was lit by the harsh glare of floodlights, casting long shadows across the vehicles and buildings. The moment you pulled into the motor pool, a group of medics hurried over, their faces etched with concern. Frank waved them off, his baritone voice steady as he assured them he was fine, though his white hair was slightly disheveled, and the lines of tension were still visible on his face.

As Frank stepped out of the vehicle, he adjusted his uniform, his hazel eyes scanning the area with his usual sharpness. He seemed to have regained much of his composure, though there was a lingering weariness in his posture. He nodded curtly at you, a subtle acknowledgment of your efforts during the ambush, before walking off to debrief with the other officers.

You were about to head to the barracks when you heard a familiar voice call out, "Captain!" The voice was filled with concern, and you turned to see Second Lieutenant Jamie Collins striding toward you. Jamie had been one of the soldiers under your command in Afghanistan, a bright and capable young officer who had always looked up to you. His dark hair was slightly mussed, and his blue eyes were wide with worry as he approached, his steps quick and purposeful.

"Captain, are you okay?" Jamie asked, his voice laced with genuine concern as he came to a stop in front of you, his gaze sweeping over you, searching for any signs of injury.

You couldn’t help but soften at the sight of him, a mixture of warmth and sadness filling your chest. You managed a small smile, but it was tinged with melancholy as you gently corrected him. "Jamie, I’m not a captain anymore. And I’m certainly not your captain." Your voice was soft but firm, carrying the weight of the reality you had come to accept. "You shouldn’t call me that."

Jamie’s face fell slightly, a flicker of confusion and hurt passing over his features. "But... you’ll always be my captain," he said, his voice quieter now, almost as if he was trying to cling to the memory of who you had been.

You shook your head gently, your smile fading as you took a step closer to him, lowering your voice so only he could hear. "I appreciate that, Jamie, I really do. But I’m a private now. You’re the Second Lieutenant here. It’s you I should be saluting." There was a quiet insistence in your tone, a reminder of the chain of command that you both had to respect, no matter how much it pained you.

Jamie’s expression shifted to one of reluctance, his shoulders sagging slightly as he realized the truth in your words. He hesitated for a moment before giving you a small nod, the respect in his eyes clear as day. "Understood, Private," he said, though the formality of the title felt strange coming from him, and you could tell he didn’t like it.

As you exchanged these words, you noticed Frank Benson standing a short distance away, his gaze fixed on the two of you. His hazel eyes held a curious glint as he watched the interaction, the way Jamie had instinctively referred to you as “Captain,” and the way you had gently corrected him. Frank’s expression was inscrutable, but you could sense that he was piecing something together, trying to understand the depth of your connection with the younger officer.

Jamie glanced over his shoulder, realizing that Frank was watching. He straightened up quickly, giving you a small, almost apologetic smile before saluting you, the gesture crisp and respectful. You returned the salute, though the role reversal felt strange and uncomfortable.

"Take care of yourself, Jamie," you said quietly as he lowered his hand, the warmth in your voice genuine despite the formality.

"You too, Private," Jamie replied, the title still feeling foreign to him, but he gave you a nod of understanding before turning to leave.

As Jamie walked away, you could feel Frank’s gaze still on you, assessing, considering. When you finally turned to face him, his expression was thoughtful, though he said nothing. The moment stretched between you, the silence heavy with unspoken questions and newfound understanding. It was clear that Frank had witnessed something in your exchange with Jamie that had piqued his interest, something that didn’t quite fit with the picture he had formed of you.

But whatever conclusions he was drawing, he kept them to himself, his demeanor as guarded as ever. He gave you a curt nod, signaling that you were dismissed for the evening, before turning to head toward the officers’ quarters. As you watched him walk away, you couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking, and whether today’s events had shifted his perception of you, even if only slightly.

As you made your way to your own quarters, the weight of the day’s events settled heavily on your shoulders. The road ahead was still uncertain, but for the first time since your demotion, you felt a small glimmer of hope—hope that maybe, just maybe, you could prove yourself once again, not just to Frank Benson, but to yourself.

In the days that followed the ambush, there was a noticeable shift in Frank Benson's demeanor toward you. While he remained tough, his usual edge of disdain had softened. He still held you to high standards, but there was now a mutual understanding, a silent acknowledgment of the life-or-death bond forged during the ambush. Frank's hazel eyes no longer bore into you with unyielding judgment; instead, there was a glimmer of respect, perhaps even curiosity, that hadn't been there before.

Frank, despite his outward stoicism, couldn't shake the incident from his mind. The way you had acted so decisively, so fearlessly, lingered with him. He had seen soldiers crumble under pressure, had seen them falter when it mattered most, but you—you had faced the danger head-on, saving both of your lives without a second thought. And yet, there was still a mystery surrounding you, a puzzle he couldn’t quite piece together.

Your files were frustratingly sparse on the details of your demotion. The official report mentioned insubordination, a blatant disregard for direct orders, and yet it also noted that you had acted to save a single life. The incongruity of the situation gnawed at Frank. Why would someone like you—a former captain who had proven herself under fire—make a decision that would cost her everything?

One afternoon, as you were engrossed in your latest task, Frank made a decision. He wanted answers, but he knew better than to ask you directly. Instead, he sent for Second Lieutenant Jamie Collins, the young officer he had seen interact with you the day you returned from the ambush. Jamie had been one of your comrades in Afghanistan, and Frank suspected that if anyone knew the full story, it would be him.

Jamie arrived promptly at Frank’s office, standing at attention as he awaited instructions. Frank motioned for him to sit, and as Jamie took his seat, Frank studied him closely. The young officer had a respectful demeanor, but there was a trace of something more—loyalty, perhaps, or even admiration—when he spoke of you.

"Second Lieutenant Collins," Frank began, his baritone voice steady, "I need to understand something about Private [Your Last Name]. Her file is incomplete, and I have reason to believe that you might have the information I need. What led to her demotion?"

Jamie hesitated, glancing at the door as if to make sure you wouldn’t walk in at any moment. Frank noticed the apprehension and gave him a reassuring nod. "You can speak freely here, Lieutenant. This is between us."

Jamie took a deep breath, clearly grappling with the weight of what he was about to say. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady but filled with a deep sense of respect. "Sir, I’m not sure what the file says, but I can tell you this: [Your Last Name] has always been the kind of leader who cares about every life under her command. She’s saved my life more times than I can count, and I’m not the only one."

Frank leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful as he listened. Jamie continued, his words pouring out as if he had been holding them in for far too long.

"In Afghanistan, she wasn’t just our captain—she was our protector. She didn’t just give orders from the safety of the command post; she was always on the front lines with us, putting herself in harm’s way to make sure we made it out alive. There were times when the rest of us were ready to give up, but she never did. She always found a way to keep us going."

Jamie paused, his blue eyes clouded with memories. "There were so many times she could have just followed orders, could have put the mission first, but she didn’t. Instead, she made sure the civilians in the villages we passed through were safe. I remember one time—we were supposed to clear out an area suspected of harboring insurgents. It was a high-risk mission, and we were under orders to proceed without delay. But as we were moving in, [Your Last Name] saw a group of children playing nearby, unaware of the danger."

Jamie’s voice softened as he recalled the event. "She didn’t hesitate. She broke formation and ran to get those kids to safety, even though it meant delaying the mission. The rest of us followed her lead, and by the time we secured the area, the insurgents had gotten away. Command wasn’t happy, of course. They blamed her for the failure, but none of us did. Those kids are alive today because of her."

Frank absorbed this information in silence, the pieces of the puzzle beginning to fall into place. Jamie’s account painted a picture of a soldier who valued human life above all else, even if it meant sacrificing her career.

"And it wasn’t just the locals she protected," Jamie added, his voice filled with admiration. "She took care of us too. There were times when food was scarce, and she’d give her rations to the younger soldiers, claiming she wasn’t hungry or that she’d already eaten. We all knew it was a lie, but she did it anyway. She’d go without so we wouldn’t have to."

Frank’s hazel eyes darkened with understanding. He had misjudged you, had seen your demotion as a sign of weakness, of failure. But now, he saw it for what it really was—a consequence of your unwavering commitment to protecting others, no matter the cost.

"She was disrespected by some," Jamie continued, a hint of bitterness in his voice. "Some of the other officers didn’t like taking orders from a woman, especially one who was so young. They questioned her decisions, undermined her authority. But we, the ones who served under her, we knew better. We saw her strength, her courage. She was a leader in every sense of the word, and we’d follow her anywhere."

Jamie fell silent, his words hanging in the air between him and Frank. Frank’s expression remained impassive, but inside, he was deeply moved. The picture Jamie painted was of a leader who had been willing to sacrifice her own career, her own well-being, for the sake of others. It was a rare quality, one that Frank now realized he had been blind to.

After a long pause, Frank finally spoke, his voice low and measured. "Thank you, Lieutenant Collins. You’ve given me a lot to think about."

Jamie nodded, sensing the weight of the conversation. He stood, saluted Frank, and then left the office without another word. Frank remained seated, staring at the door long after Jamie had gone, his mind racing.

He had been wrong about you. He had been so focused on your demotion, on the fact that you had disobeyed orders, that he had failed to see the bigger picture. You weren’t a failure—you were a soldier who had chosen the hard road, who had put the lives of others before her own career. And that, Frank realized, was something he deeply respected.

As the days passed, Frank’s attitude toward you continued to soften. He still held you to high standards, still pushed you to be your best, but there was now an underlying respect in his interactions with you. He began to involve you more in strategic discussions, seeking your input on matters that he would have previously handled alone. And though he never directly mentioned the conversation with Jamie, you could sense that something had shifted between you.

One evening, as you were leaving the office after a long day, Frank called you back.

"Private," he said, his tone less formal than usual, "I’ve been meaning to ask—about that day in Afghanistan, the one that led to your demotion. Do you regret your decision?"

You paused, caught off guard by the question. You had spent so long trying to forget that day, to push it to the back of your mind, that you hadn’t expected Frank to bring it up. But now that he had, you realized that you didn’t regret it—not for a moment.

"No, sir," you replied, your voice steady. "I don’t regret it. I did what I had to do."

Frank studied you for a moment, his hazel eyes searching yours. Then, with a slight nod, he simply said, "Good. You did the right thing."

It was a small acknowledgment, but it meant the world to you. For the first time since your demotion, you felt truly seen—not just as a soldier, but as a person who had made the difficult choice to save a life, even when it cost you everything.

As you walked out of the office, you felt a renewed sense of purpose. The road ahead was still uncertain, but with Frank Benson’s newfound respect and understanding, you knew you could face whatever challenges lay ahead. You had proven your worth once, and you would do it again, not just for yourself, but for the lives you had sworn to protect.

[mirandyficlists]

Fic Searches sometimes take Time.

Hey there my Mirandy Dandies hope you're all well.

After a number of particularly noxious Anonymous messages from someone, or possibly several someones, kvetching about oh so many shortcomings with my Tumblr site and my other actions in the fandom as a whole, I felt I needed to make this post to clarify a few things about:

What I do,

What I'm able to do.

What I'm willing to do

The way this platform works...something, bear in mind, that I can't change.

I am a diehard Mirandy Dandy and one of the things I love to do is to SHARE the goodness and to chat about fics whenever I can. Having been a victim of the loss of Angelfire and Geocities when so much amazing fic was lost to us in the Xenaverse and other of my earlier fandoms, when I became a Mirandy Dandy I was not going to see myself in the same limbo and made a point of fully harvesting all fics as they were posted and keeping external copies of my treasures, updated monthly whenever possible. I did this, by the way, from the beginning on LJ to the present and let me tell you, keeping track of and harvesting fics from LJ was not easy and took a hell of a lot of time copying and pasting but I did it to the best of my ability.

The Mirandyverse is now 18 years old (we should all buy us a drink…well in the UK anyway, lol.) and we have people finding the Dark Side every week. Now these newbies and youngsters have often never set foot on LJ, if they’ve even heard of it, some have never set foot on FFnet even not to mention places like Passion & Perfection and the Pink Rabbit Consortium, and therefor have missed out on some great gems and giants of the days when new fics came out thick and fast. Thus the difference between the 3732 fics recorded for DWP on AO3 and the 5422 fics I have listed on my spreadsheet. Added to this the number of fics that have since been deleted or lost in other ways and you end up with the Newbies truly missing out.  And so I try to spread the goodness as best I can and share my harvested treasures when asked, as well as letting the masses know about that on several different platforms.

Because I love the fandom as I do, a significant amount of my time is invested in it, but as with everyone, I have a real 3D life that demands my presence and attention regularly and sometimes exclusively when, well, when shit happens as they say. Add to this my personal disabilities and I sometimes struggle being able to do things and thus have to let some things, like fandoms, slide in order to cope with the day to day. But when I’m better I always come back. And my disabilities can bear good fruit too, in this case my fic Spreadsheets, necessitated for my enjoyment because of my medically induced memory problems but that have been used and enjoyed by the fandom as a whole. Silver linings and all that.

I am always willing to share the Mirandy goodness in anyway I can manage. I LOVE being able to send deleted fics to people who either haven’t read them or aren’t able to access their old favourites because they were deleted. Hence my spreadsheet which keeps track of the existence and whereabouts of about 97% of all Mirandy fics online. And also my Themed Rec lists, now numbering 157 different groupings. All of which assist me in helping out with fic searches which I always try to source whenever they are presented, and that sourcing includes seeking help of other Dandies on different platforms.  Now, just to clarify, none of these things are complete or exhaustive, but I do keep them up to date within the limitations stated above AND try to make sure to share them online at least every couple of years. I don’t mind doing it, it gives me pleasure, but to my nasty Nonnies from earlier and any other Trolls who might be lurking…I AM UNDER NO OBLIGATION TO DO ANY OF THE THINGS I DO FOR THE FANDOM. I do it out of love of the Mirandyverse and the vast, VAST majority of truly wonderful Mirandy Dandies.

Tumblr is, as we who tumble know, both glorious and hideous as far as social networking platforms go, and has always been meddled with by admin for the sake of selling it off and trying to monetize it into oblivion and not to actually improve the functionality for the users in anyway. And that is the arena in which I operate this Tumblr and adapt how I do so in order to accommodate my needs.

So just for your collective FYI specifically regarding Anonymous asked fic searches…

If you have sent an anonymous fic search and have not seen an answer posted for a very long while:        

I am NOT ignoring you.

                                I am NOT ‘being lazy.’   

                                I have NOT deleted your request.            

                                And believe it or not I have NOT forgotten about you.

I check my in box weekly to remind myself of the searches I am still tracking down, so

not getting a response to an Anonymous ask only means I have not yet found your fic, but I am still looking for the fic, when time permits me.

Because you sent an Anonymous ask, if I try to answer it and let you know that I’m still looking for the fic, the ask is removed from my in box and I no longer have it in an easily accessible place to remind myself to continue the search.   So instead, I keep the asks in my in box until I find the fic requested, which lets be honest my Dandies, given some of the descriptions or key points you sometimes give could be one of several thousand fics and it takes some time to sift through, lolol.  If you want to be kept updated on the search progress, then it is much better if you PM me directly so that I can communicate with you.

To finish off I do want to say, ANY Mirandy Dandy is ALWAYS welcome to contact me with asks and questions in what ever way best suits their needs all I ask is that you appreciate any limitations attached to your preferred method and behave accordingly.

The Mirandyverse is generally a stress-free and positive place to be and always has been, and it is my dearest hope that it continues to be a space free from the toxicity that often invades other fandoms.  To that end I will always continue to offer my services to fellow Dandies in a spirit of helpfulness and sheer Joie de Vive.

Long live the Mirandyverse!

[vanmarkus]

currently trying to work out the logistics of the mudslide fic, editing, titles, posting dates, etc and I'm kind of just realising how I haven't posted a multichapter fic in ages, also that I never posted anything this long before...

[erithel]

I'm surprised you don't include Klance moments in that "fav moments" ask. 😆

Okay, first of all, thanks so much for your blog. Because of you, I start shipping Klance (and I love them). So....

- When did you start shipping Klance (what moment that made you ship them)?

- Can I ask your top favorite fics that you've written (feel free how much that you want to list)? Why they're special to you? Is there a specific inspiration when you wrote them?

- What are your top 5 fav Klance fics ever?

Sorry if you already answered the above questions before (newbie Klance shipper here, just starting last year).

That's fair lol

I'd say I picked my favorite moments based on ones that were truly satisfying, and while I thoroughly enjoyed many klance moments, since they never really paid off, they always left me a bit unsatisfied, so that's why I left them off the list.

To answer your questions:

I think I started shipping klance through stumbling across fanart before even watching the show. There was so much out there when I found it, and it all looked really interesting, and I realized "I want to know more about these two." So I kiiiindof went into the show with a super low-key ship. But if I could pinpoint it, it was probably the "I cradled you in my arms" line that made me go "oh I'm gonna be looking forward to all of their interactions from now on to see where this goes."

I had to check my ao3 to see if I'd even written 5 fics (I have). #1: "Broken Things" This one is special to me for the same reason I was inspired to write it: It was a very tough subject that I was so tired of seeing handled poorly in media. It became even more special when I started receiving comments from people who let me know they had been through similar things and they felt I handled the subject well. #2: "Gone" (a comic, but it still counts) I'm still counting this one even though the experience of posting it turned out to be one that almost made me want to quit before completing the comic. This was also a subject that I had seen handled very poorly, and I wrote it at a time when I had a new understanding of grief, and what it can do to a person. It was very important to me that Lance's side of things was taken seriously, and understood, and unfortunately it really wasn't. But that's kindof why I want to write stories in the first place - to get those thoughts out into the world so they might exist in someone's subconscious, even if they are not fully realized at the time. #3: "Stand Here on the Edge With Me" I started writing this because Chasing Stars was becoming too dark for me to write. I usually stick with angst and love it, but I was writing a really angsty scene where Keith was pining super hard while having their conversation on the lion at sunset and I just thought "wait a minute. What if he's totally fine for once?" and then this fic just kindof materialized. It also has one of my favorite last lines I've written, so that's something to look forward to. ;) #4: "Chasing Stars and Memories" I've always liked stories about traveling to different worlds, and the idea of Klance meeting themselves was always a fun idea to think about. But then I realized that I had never read a fic where only one of them was gender-swapped, and that made it so much more interesting for me, because the angst options just exploded with that one little change. This one's special to me because again, it deals with heavy themes and large emotions and I just adore writing those, and I hope I do them justice and convey the gravity of them. #5: "What If You're Someone I Just Want Around?" I'd always wanted to write a 5-and-1 fic, and I actually wrote this entire one around the third part ("Scared"). It was still pretty early on that I wrote that and I felt like I basically nailed Keith's and Lance's "voices" in that one based on their actual canon selves, so that was a nice little accomplishment at the time!

Basically, my inspiration comes from a lot of emotions, and also because there are specific subjects we see in movies/TV/books that I feel could be handled way better.

I've probably answered the top 5 fics before tbh. I don't know if I have a top 5, but here are 5 I love:

There Nestled Against His Pulse

You're Always Welcome Here

New

In This Moment, You Mean Everything

Terminal Velocity

(Some of these contain NSFW content btw)

There are, of course, many other fics I love, and as always I will recommend anything written by Iybms, Wittyy_Name, or Autumn_Ignited. Sadly, I haven't had the chance to read anything super recently, as I've been trying to read more published books (for pitching reasons), and have been a little disappointed so far unfortunately.

[byslantedlight]

Hello OFMD Tumblr thingie, and all the amazing people who are out there, and especially the ones who've been making all the posts that have made me so happy over the last few months. 💖💖💖 First and most importantly, thank you, thank you, thank you, to anyone who sees this!

This is my first post to Tumblr (probably pretty obvious from my huge lack of Tumblr sophistication! And the length of this post...) If you don't count reblogging things that I wanted to be able to find again. I've braved up to comment thank you to people a couple of times, but that's been it so far. I must admit it all looks a bit scary from this side of the glass, even though I can also see how friendly people mostly are.

But OFMD fandom is big! And you've been here a long time! I loved Series 1 when I watched it, and knew I wanted to watch out for Series 2, but it wasn't until I re-watched it when the Series 2 trailer came out on BBC iPlayer that I fell veeeery in love with it! And by then you were already here, and there was a language and debates about things I'd barely even noticed, and it's mostly me staring with big eyes thinking wow, and sometimes huh? and... well, you know. Plus there's trying to work out Tumblr, which I definitely haven't actually managed to do yet, and possibly never will, so... I decided to just jump in and post summat. Even just rambling, which is a bit of a specialty of mine... I mean - what's the worst that can happen, right? 😬

So... how come now? Well, I can't make art or gorgeous screenshots or gifs. I do write, but I'm still hanging out to get the right voices in my keyboard... I know them when I hear them, but you've gotta get the right rhythm going, and I'm not quite there yet, I don't think. Although really, I should probably just sit down and try (and stop waiting for work to shut up and give me time - I should be a pirate and take it!)

Anyway (told you about the rambling...) what I'm mostly doing apart from rewatching the eps on a constant loop is reading the fic. I'm picking it according to kudos on AO3, and according to recs that I see on Tumblr, and it's occured to me that alot of the stories I'm loving must have been recced looong ago, and that newbies like me totally missed them, and so maybe I could do my own recs, even if they are of older stories, and someone might find them useful. You know, if I work out how anyone else might ever see my posts. 😁 And if people aren't put off by my probably age-revealing use of emojis. (But I am entirely age-appropriate for Ed and Stede, and if I had to look up what zaddy meant too, well, that just means I matched Rhys Darby's expression in the bts, right? 🤨)

So it's not much, but I'd like to contribute even just a tiny bit to OFMD fandom in return for everything it gives me, so... yeah. That's my plan. I'll start in a bit, but this post is probably already too long since it's just rambling. And kind of dull. I should probably have said tl:dr at the top, shouldn't I, but then maybe anyone who actually saw this wouldn't, so... See, I kind of live in hope. 😊

Okay. Tags next, right? ... ack ... why won't it let me create new tags instead of just using ones from the drop down...? Well, those will have to do for now... maybe someone who sees this will have mercy and tell me how? I'll just be over here being a slight failure at Tumblr... And if you've made it this far (how long is an acceptable post over here?! Not this long, I don't think...) - thank you hugely for just that, and may your dreams be OFMD and joyous!

[hyperfixation-fix]

Alright girls, guys, and gays - welcome to...

A Newby's Guide to the Marauders Fandom

You keep seeing your mutuals post about this Harry-Potter-adjacent fandom. It seems cool, and pretty damn gay, and you're kinda curious to know more. Except there's one problem: there is little-to-no actual canon.

How do you get into a fandom with little-to-no canon material?

Well friends, I'm here to help! Consider this post your roadmap to the fandom - useful locations are noted, major landmarks and tourist destinations are starred, and recommended routes are highlighted.

But where you actually go is up to you.

Level 1: The Basics

If you're the freshest of fresh meat to this fandom, you may like to start with a nice little overview of our chaos-fanon. Here are some YouTube videos that give you a good tl;dr:

a deep dive into the marauders fandom by uncarley (YouTube video, general topic, no major content warnings) - this is a great starter video, especially if you're not a fandom person usually. It's digestible, fun, and not too lore-heavy.

The Marauders Era Fandom Deep Dive! by Coffeekoe (YouTube video, general topic, no major content warnings) - alternatively (or in addition), this is another great starter video, but possibly more from a fandom-familiar perspective. Also Coffeekoe just has great vibes and I want to kiss them on the forehead. Mwuah mwuah mwuah.

Marauders Era Ships Deep Dive! by Coffeekoe (YouTube video, several different ships, no major content warnings) - after you've got the gist of how the fandom works, you might want to know a bit more about the common Marauders ships. This video gives an awesome (and comprehensive) overview.

Level 2: The Canon in the Fanon

You're going to have a pretty tough time in the fandom if you're not at least somewhat familiar with The Fanfic™️, All the Young Dudes. This fic is as highly revered (if not more so) than the real actual canon text (obligatory fuck JKR).

First off let's understand what it is.

All the Young Dudes is a long-form fanfiction written by MsKingBean89 and published on Archive of Our Own. And when I say long-form, I mean long-form - this thing is a monstrous 188 (chunky) chapters long. It spans from 1971, when the Marauders start their first year at Hogwarts, until 1995, when Remus dies. Speaking of which, it's also canon-compliant, so I'll save you some heartache and tell you right now that all of the characters die in pretty tragic ways. I'm not going to lie to you, it's a pretty heavy story - there are strong themes of child abuse, homophobia, underage drinking/smoking, drug abuse, abusive relationships, and trauma. BUT. I really enjoyed it and have read it twice now, simply because the happy bits are worth the painful bits.

With all of that in mind, here are (my recommendations for) your options for acquiring your ATYD education:

All The Young Dudes Deep Dive! by Coffeekoe (YouTube video, ATYD, some light discussion of triggering topics mentioned above, spoiler heavy!!!) - yep that's right, it's Coffeekoe again. Mwuah mwuah mwuah. This video is a super duper great alternative to reading ATYD, or a great way to dip your toe in and see if you want to commit to reading it in full. Obviously it's spoiler heavy, so if you already know you want to read ATYD and spoilers bug you, just skip it.

All the Young Dudes by MsKingBean89 (AO3 fic, mostly Wolfstar, triggers as mentioned above) - here's just a straight up link to the fic. You may need an account on AO3 to access it.

All the Young Dudes by BIBLIOBIBULI (YouTube, same as above) - if you're like me and love the idea of reading a long-fic, but don't actually have the time/energy/patience/stamina to do it, an audiobook might be the way to go! This one is great, and complete. You're welcome 🫶

Level 3: Fics of Note

Okay! By now, you should have received your official Marauders Fandom Certification in the mail (or, I guess, via owl), and you're pretty much free to go and explore the fandom on your own. You may, however, still come across references that confuse you. Those (probably) come from one of the many, many, many popular fics in the fandom.

Here's just a few of the major ones and links to them, for your convenience (asterisks indicate fics that require an account to access):

NOTE: This is not a rec list. Approach with caution and read all the tags.

Crimson Rivers by bizarrestars*

Just Lovers (Like We Were Supposed To Be) by bizarrestars*

Best Friend's Brother by bizarrestars*

Choices by MesserMoon

Kill Your Darlings by MesserMoon

All the Young Dudes - Sirius's Perspective by Rollercoasterwords

The Cadence Of Part-Time Poets by motswolo

Art Heist, Baby! by otrtbs

Only the Brave by Solmussa*

Level 4: You're On Your Own, Kid

You're still here? Why are you still here? You should be out there, enjoying your newly acquired fandom!

Fine, one last piece of advice and then you really have to leave:

Engage.

This fandom is unique because it is the weird, Frankenstein's-Monster-esque lovechild of thousands of strange little obsessive gremlin people like you and me. Sure, it only has one eye and far too many nipples, but who cares? We made this and we love it. And it's your job, as someone in the fandom, to keep it alive by engaging. Yes, this is true for every fandom, but even more so here. Comment, reblog, share, recommend fics, ask for fic recs. Fuck it, create too - write, draw, share headcanons, make playlists. It doesn't matter if it's "bad" or "wrong", there aren't any fucking rules.

Add another nipple, by all means! Eyes are overrated anyway.