#clearly the blue lock fandom is very chill

[kissagii]

something about the fact that i made a sneaky male reader fic with the intention of frustrating people and instead of making people annoyed i actually made a lot of them happy is amazing.

[wikiangela-fanfics]

Fictober22 - 19. Do we have a deal?

Fandom: 911

Ship: Buck x Eddie

Summary: Buck plans a surprise for Eddie.

Ao3

Words: 1425

***

“So, do we have a deal?” Eddie hears Buck’s quiet voice from the living room. He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, he’s just leaving the kitchen after doing the dishes and happens to hear the end of their conversation.

“Yes.” Christopher answers with a chuckle.

“Great. But now shh.” Buck shushes, as Eddie walks into the room, and his boys immediately look up at him with innocent smiles.

“What are you guys talking about?” he asks, trying not to appear too curious. 

“Nothing.” Christopher smiles brightly, and Eddie can’t not smile back. He does give them both a look that says he knows they’re up to something, though. 

“That’s our business. Don’t worry about it.” Buck adds with a grin, then winks at Chris, who chuckles.

“Fine, I don’t care.” Eddie rolls his eyes. He knows he’ll most likely find out soon enough, they won’t be able to keep a secret from him for long. He won’t push, though, they can have their secrets, he trusts Buck more than anyone with his son. 

To be honest, he kind of forgets about it in the next few weeks, since it’s never brought up or even alluded to again. 

Then, a few weeks later, suddenly out of the blue Christopher decides that instead of having their usual movie night, which is always a priority, he wants to sleep over at Denny’s.

“You’re sure you don’t want to have a sleepover another night?” Eddie asks yet again, as he’s driving Chris to the Wilsons’ house. He knows that his baby is growing up, but he thought he’d have a bit more time before he stops wanting to hang out with him. Besides, he’s not sure if Buck’s coming over anyway or not, so he’s kind of bummed at the prospect of an evening alone in the empty house. “We were supposed to watch that new Marvel movie.”

“I’ll watch it with Denny.” Chris just says, and Eddie looks at him in the rearview mirror.

“What?” okay, that hurts, that was supposed to be a movie for movie night. His son just smiles and shrugs innocently. “Okay. I’ll watch it with Buck then.”

“Buck’s busy tonight.” he immediately says. Eddie frowns. So he really is going to spend the evening alone… What is Buck even doing on their night? Does he have a date or something? Oh God, did he start dating again? Eddie tries to ignore the pang in his chest at the thought. It’s not the time for those thoughts right now.

“How do you know?”

“He told me.”

“Well, he didn’t tell me.” Eddie mumbles, now feeling even more bummed out. He drops Chris off and drives back home.

It’s about an hour later, when he’s chilling at home, mindlessly watching TV, that his phone rings. It’s Karen. He answers, a bit panicked that something was wrong. It’s not, though, and Karen just tells him that Chris wants to tell him something. Turns out, he forgot his phone at Buck’s place and absolutely needs Eddie to go and bring it to him. Eddie refuses, because, what is it with kids and phones these days, he’s literally at a sleepover, and besides he’s not about to just do whatever his kid asks, especially if it’s so trivial. Christopher insists and insists, and finally admits that he actually doesn’t need his phone, but he needs Eddie to go to Buck’s. He doesn’t want to say why, and Eddie’s annoyed, but intrigued.

So, in the end, he ends up driving over to Buck’s. He knocks on the door and hears a ‘Come in!’ So he does. He opens the door, which is not locked, saying:

“Hey, sorry to-” he stops mid-sentence, a bit taken aback. The whole place is dimly lit, aside from one light in the kitchen. There are candles and fairy lights, and soft music is playing, and Buck’s cooking, and is wearing a very tight button-up shirt, that makes Eddie’s eyes linger on his arms and chest for a bit too long. “What-”

“Hi.” Buck smiles sheepishly, still standing behind the kitchen island. “Glass of wine?” he points to the clearly just taken out of the fridge bottle of wine standing on the counter, condensation dripping from it.

“Wine- what is happening?” Eddie frowns.

“Yeah, so, I guess I did this a bit out of order, should’ve asked you first, but I wanted to surprise you.” he starts, while Eddie just keeps staring at him, baffled. “You wanna go on a date with me?” he asks shyly.

“A date…” Eddie takes a moment to wrap his head around it, and then something clicks. “Is this what the whole deal thing with Christopher was about?”

“Uh, yeah. He was supposed to stay at Denny’s, so you’d have a free night, and get you here while I prepare everything.” he smiles nervously. “Initially I wanted him to keep you occupied while I do this at your house, but I wasn’t sure how long this meal would take.” he shrugs.

“You didn’t have to do that- I- wow.” he’s honestly speechless. It’s not something he’d ever expect. He knew for a while that this thing with Buck would eventually turn into something more, they’ve been on the way here. But this surprise date was… a lot more than he imagined. “What did Chris get out of that deal?”

“Don’t be mad. I told him I’d buy him anything he asks for for two whole weeks.” he admits. Eddie can already almost see his son’s video games collection doubling, and he sighs and shakes his head, but can’t stop smiling. “So how about that date?” Buck asks again, nervously, then adds quickly: “I think we both knew this was coming, one of us just had to make a move, so I decided to finally do it. And if I misread anything, then we can just forget this ever happened.” his cheeks are red as he looks at the ground.

“Oh, no, Buck, you didn’t.” Eddie’s quick to assure, taking a few steps closer. “I’d love to have a date with you.”

“Yeah?” Buck’s face lights up, and Eddie almost melts. God, he’s so adorable.

“Yeah.” he looks around the apartment again. Then, he sees the area where the couch used to be. “Is that a blanket on the floor?”

“Yeah, well, I don’t have a couch.” Buck shrugs self-consciously. “I thought it’d be, I dunno, fun. I was thinking about an actual picnic, but I wasn’t sure about the logistics with this fancy meal. By the way, I’ve been learning how to cook this for a month and if I screwed it up again, I’m gonna be so pissed.” A month. He’s been learning to cook something for Eddie for a month. Any normal person would’ve just taken him to a restaurant. But not Buck. He planned this whole thing. For Eddie. He put a lot of thought and effort into this, and it feels like too much, but it also screams Buck. Eddie loves him more than words could express.

“You’re amazing.” Eddie sighs, walking around the counter and closing the distance between him and Buck, and just kissing him, finally, after months of dancing around this thing, this tension between them. Buck’s arms immediately wrap around him, and he eagerly kisses Eddie back. The kiss isn’t long, because Eddie can’t contain a huge grin, which makes kissing close to impossible. He pulls away and looks Buck in the eyes. “You’re unbelievable, you know?”

“It’s nothing.” Buck shrugs it off, like he does. “You hungry?”

“It’s not nothing, Buck. It’s everything. You’re everything.” he says with emphasis. No one has ever done anything this sweet and thoughtful for Eddie, and if he wasn’t already completely in love with Buck, he’d fall for him right then and there.

They end up eating the delicious dinner Buck prepared on the floor, on the blanket and pillows. Then, they lay there and talk, which turns into making out, which leads to a passionate night of lovemaking, still on the damn floor, because they’re so caught up in each other they don’t really care where it happens. Eddie knows his back is gonna be killing him in the morning, but it doesn’t matter. He feels loved and cared for, and happy. He’s so damn happy and in love, and he couldn’t have ever imagined this day going better. And he already knows he wants to spend the rest of his life making Buck feel just as loved and cherished, as Buck makes him feel.

[mochibrokenheart]

SVSSS: Guardian of the Museum

Mobei Jun x Shang Qinghua

Word Count: 2,756

Summary: Of course there's ominous growling and destruction to the building on Shang Qinghua's first night as a museum curator. Of course there is! Besides being desperate to keep the job, he's not sure what possesses him to actually walk toward the dangerous situation. His survival instincts were better trained that! Except...wait a minute...the terrifying creature causing all the ruckus is actually the hottest thing he's ever seen???

My first contribution for Moshang Monsterfucking Month (and my first fic for the fandom in general!) Heavy on the monster part as the nsfw is not explicit. Who knew that it would be hard to write something short. Inspired by the Day 2 prompt: horny.

Also posted on my Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34305571

A nearby bell tolled at midnight just as Shang Qinghua locked up the museum for the night, which meant that he was officially off for the weekend. Being a party of one, he celebrated with a groovy victory dance while turning the key over in the lock.

There was a little click and he rattled the knob, checking that the door was properly locked—if anything was stolen or vandalized during the night, he would most definitely be blamed as the recent hire!

The job was an important stepping stone in his career path plan to being a rare artifacts curator. He really needed the experience. It was hard enough to land the job, so he wasn’t above looking neurotic by double, and triple, and quadruple checking everything before he left.

A chilly breeze tussled his hair and raised goosebumps down his neck. It was October, he supposed while drawing up his hood to block the chill, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to complain.

He was much to delicate for cold temperatures and would exercise his right to curse out the changing seasons. Of course, he could move somewhere further south, so that he wouldn’t have to put up with it anymore, but still!

The only good thing about the loss of summer was the bugs, he decided.

Clearly, Shang Qinghua was irresistible because bugs treated his blood like an all-you-can buffet. If only hot men thought the same. But alas.

Sighing, he turned up to admire the full moon, who seemed to sympathize with the sad state of his romantic affairs, being the moon and all. Something about it’s pale gray-white color naturally emoted a sad, longing reflection.

It was as he was looking up that he heard a growl, loud not because of its pitch—it was actually quite low and gravelly—but because it vibrated the very air around him.

Shit. Shit. He wasn’t equipped to deal with some beast! He had no weapons and there was no way his body was going to get the job done either. He was a delicate flower, just ask the bugs who always feasted on him!

He rummaged through his bag frantically for his phone. That was what the authorities were for.

Opening his phone, his mind was racing. Who did you call when there was a potentially wild animal on the loose? The police? Animal control?

Gasp! What if it turned out to be a demon?

…!!!

He didn’t have any shamans or priests on speed dial. There had never been a reason to until then but if it would save him, he’d buy up every type of religious necklace he could and wear them around his neck daily. It was like insurance—it never hurt to cover all of his bases.

While he was wasting time on the sidewalk, what appeared to be small bits of gravel drifted down from what seemed like the roof. Scurrying to get closer to the streetlight, which casted a circular light on the steps of the museum, Shang Qinghua bent down to get a closer look.

It felt dusty when he rubbed his pointer finger against his thumb and did match the shade of stone the building was…The new evidence presented a bit of dilemma. Yes, he was still itching to call somebody have them do the dangerous work, but at the same time, his boss might fire him if something happened to the museum under his watch.

“Well, if there’s more damage, I guess I’ll take a look,” he muttered. He clasped his hands together. “But please, take mercy on me, moon! I promise that if you get me out of this that my next erotica will be dedicated solely to you, and in very large print, so that my readers know the reach of your mystical power!”

His hands remained clasped high above his head as he waited. So far so good.

There was still the scary growls, of course, but those didn’t count because he wasn’t going to investigate that. It was absolutely common knowledge that people who investigated weird sounds always ended up dead, at least in horror movies, and that was all the proof he needed to wash his hands of it.

No, the only thing that could sway him from his crouch on the front steps was…was…

Tears shimmered in his eyes as more rubble was knocked off from the roof, the fine particles irritating his nose and causing him to sneeze.

Thoroughly betrayed, he used his sleeve to wipe at his nose. Forget the moon. Clearly the bond he felt had only been one-sided, and now he was obligated to actually suck it up and put himself in harms way.

The Shang Qinghua of five minutes ago would’ve screamed and called himself a fool. Why ignore those highly honed flight instincts?! Even the Shang Qinghua of the present was screaming and calling himself a fool when he took the first hesitant step inside.

It was deceptively quiet in the stairwell but that wasn’t enough to calm him. As the saying went, it was the calm before the shit storm and he was about to be right in the middle of it. How careless of him.

Just in case this was the end, he started to draft an epitaph—it’s not like anyone else would put in the same amount of effort. 

His minor following would be too busy wailing about the permanent book hiatus; his boss would have their hands full dealing with insurance over the architectural damage; and that hot-and-cold cucumber bro of his would still be nagging him in the afterlife, criticizing him for his stupid plan when it ‘clearly would’ve been better to do such and such’. But back to him.

We are gathered here to mourn the passing of one Shang Qinghua, a bright hamster that was taken from Earth far too soon. His exhibit work was flawless, his knack for collections cataloging unrivaled. There was never a day without bountiful office supplies with him around. We thank him for his singular brave—foolish?—sacrifice in the name of historical value. Shang Qinghua is survived by several dying houseplants and the stray dog he usually fed on his way home from work.

There. That sounded as good as he was likely to get. Wait. No. He almost left out the most important part: the secret letter of last words meant only for cucumber bro’s eyes. Bro, if you’re reading this it’s because I died a terrible and scary death. Please take pity and wipe all of my search history. It was all for research, honest! It’s bad taste to judge a dead man.

The access door to the roof was large and imposing in front of him, even though there was still no noise coming from the other side. He was going to be mad and then relieved, in that exact order, if this turned out to be nothing.

He inhaled. Exhaled. Jumped around and shook his hands where they hung down beside the length of his body. He’d watched enough athletes—for research!—throughout his short life and getting loose always seemed to pump them up for competition. The same principle should apply here.

The door gave with a loud screech and he suspected that it wasn’t in regular use. Not that there was probably much to see up there anyway. Just roosting pigeons, stone slabs, and—

His mind went blank.

Crouching in the corner, so close to the edge that all it would take was a gust of wind to send him tumbling down, was some sort of winged creature. And the wings were massive things that arched up before curving downward completely over it’s back, the tips draped on the ground. Judging by how large they were, they had to be functional, which nearly caused him to wet himself. 

He didn’t want to imagine that thing taking flight after him. Not that he would be exciting prey. Gods, this probably how a mouse felt when a hawk was flying overhead.

But it was the horns that really caught his attention. They were hulking black spirals and the sharp points were pointed right at him. Even in the poor light, it was obvious that they were pure black. Any other time, he might comment on how cool they actually were, how they were a cosplayer’s dream, but it wasn’t cool when it was a matter of life and death. 

And he would most certainly die if those menacing horns and wings were any indication.

Trying to keep the element of surprise, he slowly let the door swing shut. Until a little bat started flew over squeaking, which caused him to squeak as well. The door hit the frame with a loud rattle. His body went heavy with fear and his eyes snapped shut, a natural prey response. He had never, ever been this scared.  

Not patient enough for Shang Qinghua to turn around on his own, the creature flung him around to face it with an aggressive growl. And he had thought it was loud when he was on the sidewalk. Which wasn’t true at all. It was much louder and more intimidating when it was right in his face.

“Trespasser!” it growled, teeth clicking.

…Okay, so it could talk. Maybe this was a good thing. Now could grovel with it to spare him!

Blinking rapidly, he opened his eyes and looked up, up, up. It didn’t look as horrific from the front as it did the back. In fact, it had a humanoid appearance and was distinctly male. He was the hottest thing he’d ever seen, a total fantasy come to life. How the hell was he real?

His was incredibly tall, his huge wings proportional to his size now that he was standing up. Now that he saw them up close, Shang Qinghua noticed that they were a beautiful shade of blue that started out dark but lightened to pale blue once it reached the tips, which also had sharp spikes—Nails? Claws? He wasn’t well versed in anatomy—attached.

The top of his ears were pointy, too, just like the tops of the wings. Oh, and the horns! There were two of them, both pure, glossy obsidian, that sprouted out on either side of his temple, the bases thick and ridged as they spiraled like a ram’s. The only difference was that his horns were much larger. He could maul someone with those along if he wasn’t careful.

But now that he considered it more—even in times of crisis, he could multi-task when it really counted—the horns only added more to his attractiveness. They were intimating, sure, but also sexy, in a monsterfucking type of way. He gasped as a clawed hand wrapped around his throat. Yep, he could definitely get into the horns and claws. Mark him down as scared and horny.

The growling died down but sharp teeth were still on display, and there was a stylized tattoo-looking mark on his forehead. Despite the snarl, Shang Qinghua instinctively knew that his face was insanely attractive; it had to be to match the rest of him. Speaking of the rest of him…

He dropped down in front of him, making sure to drag his hands down that ripped physique and gave his massive pectorals a quick squeeze before he landed on his knees in a kneeling position. 

His face was right in front of the creature’s impressive package, covered only by a flimsy loin cloth. It fluttered in the night breeze and he had to bite down on his finger to stop his depraved moaning. “Ff-forgive me, my good-demon-sir, but I swear I’m not trespassing. I’m a humble worker here at this museum.”

He quickly took out his employee badge to offer it up to the demon who barely gave it a glance. “Gargoyle,” it said in reply.

“Oh. I’m sorry but I don’t really know what you mean by that.” Wait, why did he say that? He didn’t want to get further in the demon’s bad side than he already was! “I mean no offense, of course. I’m sure gargoyles are absolutely lovely—”

“No,” he interrupted, his face smoothed out into blank slate. It made it harder to read him but Shang Qinghua quickly decided that it was alright. “I am a gargoyle, human. You may address me as Mobei Jun.”

Ohhh. Now that he mentioned it, his wings and horns could belong to a gargoyle. He knew that they were popular parts historical buildings that had a strong Western influence, which the museum did.

“And I am a king. Not a sir.”

Curse his authority kink. He was sure that any new fantasies he conjured up would be staring this particular king and Shang Qinghua as his servant.

“Of course, my king! You’re reeking of kingly handsomeness. As a lowly human, my apologies for the obvious mistake.” The gargoyle king didn’t make any move to acknowledge his words other than a slow blink, so he figured that it was all good. “Excuse me if this sounds rude, but what are you doing up here? And what was all the noise about?”

“Guardian. I was charged with the safety of this place by a war lord.” Jeez. So he’d been with the building for centuries at least, maybe even millennia.

There was a pause and he realized that he wasn’t going to answer the second question. It also seemed like the gargoyle king was waiting on him and a light bulb went off. “S-sorry again my king. I am Shang Qinghua. I am in charge of the rare artifacts inside of the building, so you may see me closing up most nights.”

The gargoyle king nodded sagely and he figured that the role must be acceptable to him. A loud sigh left him and his muscles relaxed just in the slightest way. He might survive this encounter yet. Ever better, survive and be able to go home and break out that new bottle of lube that he bought last week. There was plenty of new material to work with, that was for sure.

Then the gargoyle stepped back, giving him more space, which was actually the opposite of what he wanted. Feel free to punish him for earlier transgressions, king, especially if they were rough in a sexy way!

Unaware of his inner pleadings, he continued walking away to crouch back near the edge of the roof.

“Umm, be careful, king. It’s dangerous to be that close—”

“I am a king. Concerns such as that are not applicable,” he said, puffing up his chest. Those pecs! He might have to put in a request tomorrow to do more work on the roof. It was a crime that no one was admiring that body on a regular basis. “Leave. Return home. The circles under your eyes are hideous.”

He gasped, touching his bags. Rude! He had just finished a long shift and definitely wasn’t at his best. He was going to have to step up his game if he was going to tempt this gargoyle in the future. Trying his best not to show embarrassment, or disappointment, he agreed to leave.

“Whatever you want, my king. I’ll leave for now but if you need anything, I’ll be back tomorrow and the day after as well. In fact, every night, in case you need me.” Screw his weekend off. Who needed one of those when there was a hot gargoyle of legend serving as the guardian of the museum. Not him, that’s who.

He scrambled to his feet and bowed again for good measure. The door was open and he was across the threshold when his dream gargoyle muttered something. “Did you say something, my king?”

He cleared his throat and spoke gruffly. “The pigeons pooped in my hair.”

Suddenly, the growling from earlier made sense. No matter if you were human or gargoyle, having birds shit in your hair, especially hair as luscious as Mobei Jun’s, was bound to make anyone furious.

Determined to keep his laughs to himself if it was the last thing he did, he merely replied, “Yes, my king. I will make sure to chase them away from you next time.”

“See that you do.”

On cloud nine, Shang Qinghua grinned as he bounded down the stairwell. The gargoyle’s comment implied that there would be a next time. And he intended to romance the loincloth off (literally) of the serious gargoyle king.

Hope you all enjoyed! So happy to share this with everyone. Thanks for reading :)

[aethersea]

May I request 41 - First Kiss and 94 - Hair Brushing/Braiding for the Leverage OT3, please? (Also extra bonus points if you give Eliot beads in his hair like in The Ice Man Job, because we didn't get NEARLY enough of that in the show) Thank you!

I cannot believe I wrote this whole thing out and then never published it. I’m so sorry, it’s been at least twenty-four years since you sent in this ask, please accept my humble apologies and also this ficlet.

However, this prompt is just pure fluff, and I hate to tell you this but I am not a fluff writer. I just can’t pull off that unadulterated sweetness. I am in this fandom for the shenanigans, first, last and foremost! So this fic is now a 5+1 of Eliot and Parker trying to seduce Hardison.

1. Parker thinks they need to give him gifts, so she goes through her stash and picks out the largest, fanciest jewel she’s ever stolen. Then she realizes: Hardison likes stories. He spends hours giving their aliases histories and pets and allergies and favorite foods, he can get a whole sordid history of jealousy and betrayal from a single corporate email chain, and Parker knows for a cold fact that he writes little stories with his online friends about being wizards together.

She goes through her stash again and picks out the most cursed thing she’s ever stolen.

It’s a jeweled statuette, almost as tall as her forearm, made of gold and studded with precious and semi-precious stones. Mysterious deaths have befallen five separate owners of this thing. Its base is dented from the time it was used to bludgeon Owner Number Three to death. The tiny rubies it has for eyes follow you across the room.

Parker puts a bow on it and leaves it in Hardison’s room while he’s sleeping. He wakes up to this horrible little statue watching him from his bedside table.

He texts the group chat, Hey did anyone put an evil little gold guy in my bedroom last night? But Parker chickens out and says nothing (drunkenly betting Eliot that she can seduce Hardison is one thing, but admitting that she likes him is something else altogether). Everyone else texts back variations on “nope.” (Except Sophie, who just sends back a string of heart eyes emojis and a wikipedia link. She loves cursed artifacts.) So Hardison puts the statue away in a closet somewhere and figures he’ll deal with it later.

Parker is mildly offended that he put her gift in a closet. She goes into his room the next night and puts it back on the bedside table, where it clearly belongs.

This goes on for a week. Hardison puts the statue in a desk drawer, then in one of the cabinets in the office downstairs, then in the dumpster down the street. Every day he wakes up to those glittering red eyes watching him sleep. He’s asked his internet buddies if anyone knows a good exorcist. Hardison doesn’t really believe in curses, but also? What the fuck. What the fuck.

~

2. Eliot assumes the drunken bet will be forgotten by morning. What kind of world would it be if people always followed through on promises they made while they could barely stay vertical? So he spends the morning nursing his hangover and cleaning his knives. Cleaning guns is no good while hungover—all the snaps and clicks of popping things in and out of place sound like actual gunfire when you’re hungover, it’s a nightmare—but knives are quiet and have no moving parts. Buffing and polishing them is soothingly repetitive work, and every once in a while he can throw one at one of the dartboards on the walls and reassure himself that his reflexes are still sound even after that much tequila.

It’s only when he gets Hardison’s text about the golden statuette that magically appeared in his room overnight that Eliot realizes Parker’s actually going for it. After some internal debate about whether he’s going to stoop to this or not, Eliot decides what the hell and starts making plans.

Eliot agrees that gifts are the way to go, but not stolen gifts. Not things. Anyone can give a thing. Proper wooing is about giving experiences.

Eliot plans for three days. On the fourth day, he and Hardison have their irregularly scheduled monthly coffee date, and Eliot texts him beforehand to say he wants to do it at the brewpub this time. Hardison arrives to find a deceptively simple meal: basic country fare perfected through years of experimentation, made with the best ingredients Eliot can get his hands on. And Eliot, after all, is still a retrieval specialist. There’s very little in the world he can’t get his hands on.

And yet the night ends and somehow he has not gotten his hands on Hardison.

This is just not right. Eliot knows how to deploy a smolder, okay, Tangled reference aside he is damn good at flirting and he knows the looks he’s giving Hardison are clear as day. It’d be one thing if Hardison had turned him down, or if he’d been uneasily unwilling, or even if his eyes had widened slightly in suppressed panic and he’d abruptly found a reason to leave. Eliot can take rejection, bet or no, and he’d have bowed out graciously without a fuss. But this was much, much worse.

Hardison didn’t even notice he was flirting.

He’s going to have to up his game.

~

3. “How do you seduce people?” Parker asks bluntly, turning up at Sophie’s door just past midnight.

Sophie, despite the hour, is utterly delighted by the question.

This goes as well as you would expect.

~

4. Eliot’s taken a lot of dates to sports games. Hardison may prefer sparkly elves with purple lightning magic to a decent MMA fight, but baseball is the American pastime. Eliot gets them perfect seats, hot dogs from the best vendor in the stadium, even chilled beer that he smuggles in without letting it get warm. It’s going to be a perfect game.

And it is. At first. Hardison, it turns out, has a lot of opinions about baseball. What he does not have is an understanding of the rules. They’re not even into the second inning by the time Eliot finally snaps and starts arguing with him about it.

They make it all the way to the fifth inning before Eliot realizes that Hardison’s basing his complaints off the rules of a game from a Star Wars novel.

They’re at the bottom of the eighth before Eliot will speak to him again.

~

5. Eliot and Parker are drunk again. This is not intentional. They didn’t even mean to come to this bar, but the smoothie place with the fried oreos that Eliot had brought Parker here to try was playing such incredibly bad music that they’d ordered the oreos to go and fled. The bar was just the coziest looking place on the block, and of course they’d ordered drinks to avoid being rude––Eliot had entertained himself for a few minutes scouring the menu for something that would pair well with fried oreos and popcorn chicken.

And now they’re drunk. The conversation has, perhaps inevitably, turned to the ongoing bet.

“I tried everything!” Parker wails. “I laughed at every joke, I touched my hair constantly, I got him talking about things he likes.” She thunks her forehead on the bar. “All that happened is now I know the complete history of orcs in western literature.”

“Hardison wouldn’t know flirting if it pinched him on the ass,” Eliot grumbles.

Parker slaps his arm. “No pinching Hardison!”

“I’m not going to—I don’t pinch people!”

Parker’s ignoring him. Eliot pouts and takes another sip of his drink. He’s not entirely sure what this one is––it’s blue and kind of fizzy, that’s all he can say for sure. Parker took over the drinks menu several glasses ago, and she’s been picking them based on what has the most fun name to say. Eliot’s pretty sure the alcohol content’s been doubling with each order.

“Eliot,” Parker slurs, “we need to work together.”

“What?”

Parker lifts her head from the bar and frowns at him, the way she does when she’s figured out the obvious solution and is just waiting for everyone else to get on the same page. It’s adorable. It’s always adorable, but right now her eyes are wide and slightly unfocused from the alcohol and she’s listing sideways a little, almost as if she’s unbalanced, and it is the most adorable thing Eliot has ever seen. Parker’s never unbalanced, but some part of Eliot’s fuzzy brain thinks she’s about to fall on top of him and cannot wait to catch her.

“You can’t seduce Hardison,” Parker points out. Eliot is drunk enough to get offended by this, but too drunk to get out a complaint before she continues, “I can’t seduce Hardison. But if we work together, the two of us can definitely seduce Hardison. Together.”

Eliot stares at her. Then he takes another sip of his fizzy blue drink. Later, when questioned, he will blame his next words on that drink.

“Worth a shot.”

They take Hardison to a movie. They research for three weeks beforehand. They find the best movie theater in town, with the nicest seats, the biggest screens, and concession snacks that Hardison likes, and they buy tickets for the midnight premiere of the superhero movie that Hardison hasn’t shut up about for the past month. Parker even hacks into the theater’s computers in a last-minute fit of nerves and cross-references the credit cards with drivers’ licenses to make sure the people sitting in front of them won’t be too tall.

Parker witnesses a kidnapping in the parking lot while the boys are getting popcorn. They don’t even stay long enough to catch the commercials.

~

+ 1. “Hey Eliot,” Hardison says during movie night, a little over a week later. “Remember the Ice Man Job?”

Eliot groans. “I try not to.”

Hardison throws a piece of popcorn at his face. “Shut up. Remember how you did your hair for that one? With the little—those little beads on, like, a braid?”

Eliot shoots Hardison a suspicious glance. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Teach me how to do that.”

Eliot shoots Hardison another, more deliberate look, this one pointedly directed at Hardison’s complete lack of braidable locks.

Hardison rolls his eyes as if that’s a silly detail to get hung up on and leans forward to dig around in one of the boxes he has under his coffee table. He emerges with a ziplock bag of plastic beads in no time flat and hands it triumphantly to Eliot. Then he yanks a few cushions out from behind Parker, who’s sitting on his other side, and puts them on the floor in front of him. “Sit here?” he asks Parker, patting the cushion pile.

Parker takes a moment to consider being offended at having her cushions stolen, but curiosity gets the better of her and she just plops down between Hardison’s legs, grabbing the bowl of popcorn as she goes, and waits.

Hardison lifts her hair with sudden gentleness, drawing it over her shoulders and letting it fall down her back in a golden wave. His fingers brush against her neck. Parker shivers. Eliot is distantly aware that he’s gone perfectly still, focused with a hunter’s intensity on Hardison’s dark, graceful fingers carding through Parker’s hair.

Hardison leans back, hands on his knees, and Eliot breathes again. “Well?” Hardison looks over at Eliot, a tiny smirk of challenge on his lips. “Show me how it’s done.”

Eliot is suddenly, brutally aware of how close they are. Hardison’s couch is obscenely comfortable, which is half the reason movie nights are at Hardison’s in the first place, but it is not large. Their thighs are touching. Hardison leans away, to give Eliot access to Parker’s hair, and he’s still so close that Eliot would barely have to reach out a hand to—

Eliot ruthlessly shoves that thought down into the dark where it belongs. He dealt with this, he dealt with this years ago, and accepting Parker’s stupid bet doesn’t mean he’s forgotten the way Hardison and Parker look at each other. It just means he doesn’t mind losing for a good cause.

So he keeps his tone steady and his fingers brisk as he shows Hardison how to braid the clunky plastic beads into Parker’s hair, and if he flushes with heat when their hands brush each other, well, nobody has to know. He’s been trained to withstand eight different schools of torture. It won’t show on his face. His voice never once falters.

Parker has had no such training. Her lips have parted, and her breathing is shallow. She’s staring glassy-eyed at the TV. Hardison can’t see her face, sitting behind her, but Eliot watches her carefully, worried that they need to call this off. Parker’s not used to intimacy, to closeness that means something, and for all the three of them have spent half their movie nights literally on top of each other, this is something else. This has weight.

Eliot puts a hand on her shoulder, pressing down just enough that Parker startles and cants a glance over at him. Eliot raises his eyebrows in question, and Parker glares back: don’t you fucking dare. Eliot backs off. Hardison, frowning in concentration as he threads a wisp of Parker’s hair through a green bead, graciously pretends he didn’t see the exchange.

Hardison gets the hang of the beading fairly quickly, and Eliot shows him a few different techniques. He’s almost managed to convince himself that nothing is actually happening when Hardison says, conversationally, “You two are really bad at this.”

Eliot glowers his confusion. “At movie night? You started this, if you wanted to actually watch Alien then you shouldn’t have—”

Hardison’s smile is soft, but Eliot decides for his own safety to focus on the laughter at its edge. “No, at this.” And then he slides his hand onto Parker’s neck, caresses her cheek, and isn’t the slightest bit surprised when she gasps.

Parker whips around, and there’s hurt on her face but it dies in the glow of Hardison’s gentle, unteasing smile. Hardison pulls her up with the lightest of touches, and she goes, eyes fixed on his like salvation.

They kiss sweet and slow, and Eliot’s heart twists in his chest and he can’t breathe. He needs to leave now before he shatters in half, but if he moves then they will look at him, and he would rather never breathe again than meet their eyes right now.

Hardison breaks off the kiss, gazing at Parker with something just this side of wonder, and then he does look at Eliot. Eliot flinches. He opens his mouth to…say something, make some joke or hasty excuse and scramble out the door, but Hardison raises a hand to Eliot’s face, slides his long fingers to cup Eliot’s neck, and pulls him forward, as gently as he did Parker.

It’s a chaste kiss, no more than a soft press of lips, because Eliot is too stunned to respond and Hardison doesn’t push. It lasts a long time. A whole era of change happens in the span of that kiss, as everything Eliot thought he knew tears out of place and then settles, gingerly, into a new understanding.

Hardison pulls away, his hand still warm on the back of Eliot’s neck. His smile is pure sunshine. Eliot finds himself smiling back, helpless.

Hardison’s grin turns smug. “And that,” he says, looking between Eliot and Parker, “is how you do it. Y’all are disasters, honestly, I can’t believe two master criminals working together couldn’t manage a single real date—”

Eliot heaves a deep sigh and drags Hardison into a headlock, pinning his arms when he flails. Parker surges to her knees and starts tickling him mercilessly.

They don’t finish the movie.

[fireladybuckley]

A Thousand Knives of Ice

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                                              * * *

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

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

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

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

                                                               * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                                              * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                                              * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

             “Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              “Thanks b-buddy.  I’m g-glad too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              “Yeah, but I didn’t.  You did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              “I love you too.”

                                                            * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                                         * * * 

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

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

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

[justcourttee]

So you are one of my favorite writers for the Maribat Fandom and this is litterally like just on the edge getting ready to dive into barely there territory. . . but imagine Chloe "Queen B" Bourgeois deciding that Roy Harper is her future husband because he is the only one her age with the potential to even hyphenate Queen. She /will/ get her title in her civilian life if she has to drag Roy to the courthouse herself. Cue shenanigans and chaos friends to lovers lol

You’re so sweet and I hope I did your prompt justice. I love the Roy X Chloe energy and this is just something I could picture cannon Chloe trying. I hope you enjoy! @risaxtitan

The Future Mrs. Queen

The day Oliver Queen announced to the world in that fated press conference that he was adopting Roy Harper, the younger boy had no idea how much his life was about to change.

He was still floating on Cloud 9 as he stepped off of the stage and into the crowd where his friends awaited him.

“Dude, congrats! It’s like all official now!” Adrien clapped him on the back, causing him to stumble forward a little.

“It still feels unreal.”

“Tt, it’s not like your his blood son, but I suppose this will be a good opportunity for you.”

Roy cocked his head to the side as he tried to debate if Damian was congratulating him or not. A small smack echoed following an ‘oof’ as Marinette’s bright smile entered his view.

“I’m so happy for you Roy! Conner, Jon, and Wally wanted to come with us, but you know how it goes. Always a mission somewhere.”

Roy shook his head, the smile still plastered across his face.

“It’s fine Mari, it’s not like today was the real thing. This was just a press conference. They were there when we officially signed the papers and that’s what matters in my book.”

“So, like, is your last name officially Queen now?”

Roy’s attention snapped to his left where a familiar blonde stepped out from behind Adrien. She fiddled with the ends of her curled hair, her mischievous blue eyes locked onto his. Certainly if a beautiful girl like her had told him her name, he wouldn’t have forgotten it.

“I suppose so. It’s officially Roy William Harper-Queen.”

Her smile was blinding as he nervously reached back to rub the back of his very warm neck.

“Oh Gods, we are so dense! I’m sorry Roy! This is my friend Chloe Bourgeois! Adrien was supposed to introduce you two earlier, but we all got separated in the crowd. She’s a big fan of Oliver Queen, so when she heard my dear friend was getting adopted by him-”

“I just had to come.” She stepped in front of Marinette, reaching forward to grab his hand. “Did you know that I tried to legally change my name to Queen? But my mother wouldn’t let me! She’s ridiculous, utterly ridiculous. Something about it wouldn’t be good for my modeling career or whatever. But now, you can help me with that! Can’t be bad if it’s my husband’s last name.”

Roy stumbled out of her grasps, his entire face matching the red on his head.

“Hu-husband? Girl, we just met. You can’t go around saying things like that!”

Chloe waved off his embarrassment as her blinding smile pulled into a mischievous smirk.

“Like it or not Roy Harper-Queen, you will be my husband, even if I have to drag you to the courthouse myself!”

“Yeah right blondie.” He couldn’t help the stutter in his voice as he hid behind Damian’s chuckling figure.

There was no denying how attractive she was, but he would be damned if he let a pretty blonde step in and seal his fate.

“Maybe not today, but you’re going to love me Roy Harper-Queen, just you wait.”

The flip of her hair felt like a slap across his face as he watched her retreating figure dragging Marinette with her.

“So like, Can I be your best man? I know that you’ve known the other’s longer and all, but like we are always hanging out together! That has to count for something.”

Adrien’s wide eyes and pout earned a slight chuckle from the redhead as his eyes trailed back to where his friends stood.

“Sure Agreste, I’m sure everyone won’t mind one bit. You might have to fight Tim-”

“Tt, is that supposed to be a threat?”

Adrien and Roy shared a look before bursting into laughter. Roy slung his arms around the two boys as they headed off into the crowd. He wouldn’t see Chloe for another couple of weeks, but that didn’t stop the blonde from monopolizing his every thought.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“C’mon Arsenal, you really going to let your ass get beat by a little girl?”

Roy sneered as he pushed himself off the matt for the third time that day.

When Dick asked if he wanted to train with the Batclan, Roy was over the moon. Batman hardly let anyone into his special training spot without him being there. He didn’t think twice when he put the motorcycle in park outside of Wayne Manor. He already knew what to expect, Dick’s flexibility, Stephanie’s strategy, Damian’s rage. What he wasn’t expecting was to see a certain blonde and his two friends.

“She’s not beating my ass Stephanie, I just don’t want to hurt her.”

Dick had a hard time holding back his laugh as he leaned on Marinette for support. A hand shot into his line of view as he accepted Chloe’s helping pull him the rest of the way to his feet.

“C’mon mon chéri, your face is pretty too, but it’s not going to make me pull my punches. Give it to me, cherry.” She sent a wink in his direction as she set up for another spar.

If you asked Roy later, the red in his cheeks was from the anger at being called a cherry, but anyone could see the blush betraying him.

Chloe darted forward, dodging his first swing before smacking his butt.

“HEY!”

Roy pushed himself out of her reach as Stephanie and her shared a fist bump. There was no way he was getting out of training alive. He needed a way to finish this as quickly as possible.

“Blondie, what if we make a bet?”

Chloe raised her eyebrow at him, encouraging him to continue as she set herself back up in the circle.

“The next one of us to pin the other gets to pick the next hang out spot. I know it’s your turn in the rotation, so if you win, nobody will put a restriction on your choice.”

Her eyes glistened dangerously as a collective gasp sounded behind them.

“Hey, Roy, are you sure you want to do that? She-”

“Shut it Agreste. The boy has named his terms, no restrictions for me, or he gets to steal my turn. I’ll gladly accept Ginger.”

A sudden shift in the atmosphere was easily noticeable. Inadvertently, a shiver went down his back as every hair on his body stood in high alert. Her first strike was quick, he barely lifted his arms up in time to block it before she had hopped backwards, ready to hit again.

He thought he was the one holding back before, but clearly he was underestimating. Here she was, no longer holding back, toying with him as if he was nothing more than her prey. It was a bit terrifying.

Just as he extended his arm to try and make contact, Roy suddenly found himself on his back, her knee at his throat.

“God, when did you even knock my feet out?”

Her eyes were dancing with humor as she slowly stood, offering her hand to the boy below.

“We tried to warn you, my friend. Chloe doesn’t do competition, she destroys them.”

Adrien offered his hand as well and together the two blondes heaved him to his feet. Marnette shook her head solemnly as she and Dick mock prayed for Roy’s fate.

“So, no restrictions huh? That means overseas is fair game.” Chloe placed a hand gently on Roy’s shoulder sending a chill down his spine. “Guess tomorrow, we are going to Paris, France. Richard, is there a Zeta-Tube that does overseas?”

Dick finished his mock prayer before sending a nod in her direction.

“Perfect. Marinette, tell your little gloomy boyfriend and Timothy that we will be taking a day trip tomorrow, to the city of love.”

She sent a wink to Roy as she stepped out of the rink to grab her towel. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t ignore the racing in his heart all from one little comment.

“You are falling so hard, my friend!” Roy flinched as Dick threw his arm over his shoulder, sharing a fist bump with Adrien.

“I am not! I barely know her! We’re like acquaintances, at most she’s just a friend.”

Adrien stiffened as he bit back his laughter.

“Just you wait, after tomorrow, you’ll be questioning everything you know.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Roy was indeed questioning everything, like his sanity, as he stepped out of the tube and onto the tallest platform of the Eiffel Tower. Taking a quick step back from the edge, he found himself pressed against the cool metal.

“Isn’t it like illegal to be this high up?”

Chloe’s giggle filled the air as she smacked his arm lightly.

“Of course it is, for normal people that is. We can’t just have everyone using the Zeta tubes ginger.” Her fingers curled into his hair as she gave it a light ruffle.

“Tt, man up Harper. Even if you fall, it’s not like you’d hit the ground before someone here saved your sorry ass.”

A small ‘oof’ echoed from where Damian stood as Marinette stepped out of the tube.

“You didn’t even hear what I said!”

“True,” she shrugged, a smug smile pulling at her lips. “But I assume you were making fun of Roy.”

Damian huffed under his breath as he snaked his arm around her waist, drawing her into his side. Roy was never sure how someone like Damian could have landed a sweet angel like Marinette, but if it meant he had a constant guardian angel, he could care less.

“Where’s Adrikins?”

“He said, and I quote, ‘I don’t want to be a third wheel and neither does Tim.’”

Chloe rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t hide the sparkle from the new information.

“Looks like it’s a double date!” She gripped Roy’s arm pulling him from his safety. “You wouldn’t leave me alone to those two annoying lovebirds would you Harper?”

Roy gulped nervously as his eyes darted between the couple and the blonde hanging off of him. With a sigh of defeat, he nodded, allowing her to pull him closer to the edge.

“I hope you’re ready Harper because if you survive today, there’s no way you won’t fall for me.”

Without warning, Chloe used all her strength to push him off the platform. The scream caught in his throat as the wind rushed past him. Some first date! Here she was trying to kill him within the first five minutes!

A flash of yellow flew past him, catching his attention briefly before an arm yanked him out of midair. This time, the scream managed to slip out, but instead of fear, he felt instant relief as he flew through the air pinned to Queen Bee’s side.

“There was an easier way of doing this Chloe!” He tried to shout over the wind but it felt useless. The only indication that she might have heard his pleas came from the sideways smile she flashed him as the came to a halt in an alleyway.

As his feet touched to ground, his legs instantly gave out. On his hands and knees, Roy reassured himself that this was safe, in solid ground. Moments later, a flash of pink blinded him as Marinette and Damian landed in front of him.

“What’s wrong Harper? You look a little green. I thought that was Oliver’s color.”

Roy’s middle finger only seemed to fuel the egotistical smirk Damian bestowed on him.

“If that was too much, I can’t wait to see how you handle the rest of the day.”

His eyes widened as he tried to imagine what could be worse than freefalling a few hundred feet from the highest structure in Paris. Little did he know, he would soon get his answer.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Bourgeois.” He tried to keep his voice steady as he offered his hand to her, but the condescending stare made him want to crumble.

“What do you expect me to do? Shake your hand? Honey, you may have been adopted into money, but you are not money. I do not touch any person that is worth less than I am.”

She turned her back briskly as Roy slowly dropped his hand, unsure of whether to be insulted or not.

“Mom, Roy is my friend, can’t you be nice?”

Her mother’s cold glare rested on Chloe. Roy had no idea how she managed to stand her ground. He wanted to crumble for her.

“You are lucky I let you into my workshop after you have missed the past three fittings. When I said you could move to America with the Marianne kid, I expected you to still make time for the business. Should I begin looking for your replacement?”

The tension between the two of them was deadly. Roy wanted to step in, tell her mother to back off, that Chloe was a hero who didn’t always have time for fashion, but somehow, he figured it would only make it worse.

“No mother, I am here now am I not? Let us work quickly so that I can return home.”

Her tone was icy as she stepped forward, holding out her arms for her mother to remeasure. Roy shifted from foot to foot as he held back his tongue. Her mother commented on her weight gain, complained that she was going to begin to fat to be her model anymore. She commented on her studies, or lack of, and on her being a class d hero compared to Superman.

It was to quietest he had ever seen Chloe Bourgeois.

“If that will be all mother, Roy and I have to meet up with Damian and Marinette.”

Her mother waved her off. Not a single love you, not even a real goodbye. Roy was sure his face matched his hair by the time they had set foot back into the streets.

“So, Mari’s parent's house isn’t too far from here. Wanna swing over?”

It was as if a switch flipped. Back was the flirty social butterfly that he had gotten to know over the past couple of weeks.

“Chloe.”

“C’mon carrot top, swinging really isn’t a bad way to transport. It’s quick and effective.”

“Chloe.”

“Don’t be a chicke-”

“Chloe.”

He hadn’t meant to raise his voice, but he knew what she was trying to do.

“Chloe, why do you let her treat you like that?”

Her lips were pressed into a tight line as she turned, taking a step away from the building.

“Chloe, you don’t have to pretend that it didn’t happen. I’m not going to tell anyone, it’s just, the Chloe I saw in there is nothing like the one I’ve come to know.”

“Well, maybe all you know is a lie.”

Her voice was quiet as she took off at a brisk pace down the street. It took Roy a second to process before he took off after her. Gently, he pulled her arm until she came to a stop once more.

“Then let me get to know the real Chloe. After all, I can’t marry someone I don’t know!”

She laughed half-heartedly at his joke, her smile weak.

“She isn’t very good with her emotions and neither am I. I know that she cares, hell, she wouldn’t let me explore this hero side of me if she didn’t think I had potential. But she always puts business first. I never wanted to go into business with her because she can’t separate family and employees. But I need the money. Daddy won’t let me touch my trust fund until I am secure on my own.”

Roy nodded, a number of things falling into place.

“Why don’t you work for Oliver or Bruce like the rest of us?”

Chloe shrugged, her fingers absentmindedly reaching for his.

“They have offered before, but I really feel like the way to her heart is through the family business. I know she wants to leave it to me one day and if I abandon it now, she might reconsider, and honestly, that would hurt her more than me. She’ll never say it to my face, but it would mean the world to me if I could be her legacy.”

A moment of silence passed, and then two as Roy admired the determination that crossed her face. Somehow, it made her more beautiful than she already was. He hadn’t even noticed how close they had gotten until a soft cough snapped him back to reality.

“Well, we only left you for like two hours. Is this a new development?”

Marinette and Damian shared a smirk as Chloe dropped his hand as if it was burning her. She tried to pull up her scarf, but it was too late. The red on her cheeks were burning, matching his he was sure.

“I don’t know what you are referring to Dupain-Cheng. Let’s head back to the tower. A certain blonde must feel my wrath.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

As Roy laid in bed that night, his thoughts kept wandering back to that moment.

She was so close, her lips were so close, so full, so red. They were drawing him in and if Marinette hadn’t stopped them..

“Ughh,” he buried his red face into his pillow, willing his pounding heart to still.

He rolled over to where his phone sat, the dark screen bugging him. Not a single text from her after they returned, not even one from Marinette or Damian teasing him. Reaching out, he lifted the phone toward his face.

Clicking on his photos, the most recent one lit up his entire screen, sending his heart into another fury. Chloe had borrowed his phone, leaving several adorable selfies that he only found a couple hours later.

Not that he wanted to admit it to anyone, but maybe he could admit to himself that just maybe, he was already head over heels for Chloe Bourgeois.

Just as he moved to place it back onto his charger, a text message pinged.

‘Still awake carrot top?’

Roy couldn’t help the smile that tore across his face.

‘Depends. Whose asking blondie?’

‘You’re ridiculous, utterly ridiculous. Now open your window, my arm is getting tired.’

Instantly, Roy shot up as he opened his window. Looking around, he couldn’t find her. He was ready to close it when his instinct told him to look up. Sure enough, Queen Bee sat dangling, motioning for him to move out her way.

With one great heave, Chloe swung into his room, dropping her transformation before her feet even touched the ground.

“Miss me that much?”

The sound of his own voice was foreign as his wide smile was certain to leave his cheeks sore in the morning.

“Oh don’t get full of yourself Harper. I just wanted to thank you for today.”

“Mhmm, this seems mighty personal for a thank you.” He took a step forward, his stomach flipping multiple times.

“I may have also wanted to see you. After all, no text, no call. How is a girl supposed to feel after you almost kiss her?”

She stepped forward closing the gap between them, the smirk on her face as graceful as ever.

“I could say the same thing about you. Running off to another man after spending a day in the city of love with me?”

Hestitanly, he raised his hand to cup her cheek, basking in the feeling of how soft her skin felt against his palm.

“Harper, I want to be to future Mrs.Queen, so what do you say? The courthouse is still open in Paris, we can go right now.”

Roy couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. Gently, he stroked the side of her cheek, admiring her every feature. Leaning forward, he heard her breath hitch in her throat right as their lips were a mere inch apart.

“How about we start with a first date? A real date?”

Chloe’s warm breath tickled his lips as his pounding heart awaited her answer.

“I suppose Mrs. Queen will have to wait, I’ll pick you up, tomorrow Harper. Be ready.”

Just as quickly as he leaned in, she lept back, already calling her transformation. Racing to the window, she looked over her shoulder, blowing him a kiss before slinging away. Hesitantly, he approached the window, watching her retreating figure, his heart still racing a million miles a minute.

It started off a soft chuckle, but it soon grew. With a grand smile, Roy returned to his bed, his thoughts all centered around one blonde. Marriage was sounding less and less like the scary thought he had when he first met her. He wasn’t sure the exact moment that it sounded so good, but he didn’t care.

After all, Chloe Harper-Queen had a nice ring to it.

Permanent Tag List:

@ash-amg @rebecarojas07 @heaven428 @long-lost-peace @thequeenofpotatoeunicornss @moongoddesskiana @nach0ava @iamablinkmarvelarmy @seraphkitty @clumsy-owl-4178 @pawsitivelymiraculous @mialuvscats @leagrey @smolplantmum @animegirlweeb

[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

Whumptober Day 1: “Should’ve Listened”

Summary: Written for Whumptober Day 1. Set during a Httyd Zombie AU of mine. Main fic to follow soon. Snotlout saw an opportunity to get more supplies and he took it, despite Hiccup's warnings that it was much too risky. When he doesn't listen, he finds himself captured and left for dead. (Not a death fic)

Rating: Teen and up

Characters: Snotlout, Hiccup, Hookfang

Pairing: None

Words: 1 389

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Prompt: Waking up Restrained + Punctured

Author’s Notes: Written for Whumptober Day 1. Decided to go for one of the three prompt suggestions as well as the alternate prompt because they just fit together.

Prompt: Waking up restrained

Alternate prompt: Punctured

This is part of an AU that I've been working on, but haven't been posting yet. Whumptober is a nice opportunity to explore some ideas and dynamics.

Constructive criticism is appreciated!

Enjoy!

Ao3

-------------------------------------------------------------------

If there is such a thing as karma than perhaps Snotlout has found it because he should've listened to Hiccup. When he told him that cache of supplies was too high risk to try, he should've just listened. If he had, then maybe he wouldn't have gotten into trouble.

He's tied up. That is how he woke up. To lying on some hard floor of a mostly empty room with his wrists bound behind his back and his ankles bound together because he wouldn't listen to the guy who's made keeping them all safe his one and only reason to still live and breathe in this life.

"Hiccup is always right." They've repeated that sentence so many times, like a mantra, and not because they are made to. If Hiccup ever hears them say that, it will just stress him out more.

He'd been stupid. So, so, so stupid! Still lying on the ground, barely having moved since he woke up, Snotlout pulls at his restraints in a frustrated attempt to get free, but that it doesn't work only serves to frustrate him even more.

He should've listened.

Snotlout pulls and growls. He pulls on his bindings as hard as he can, but he can't get them to budge. The ropes are rough and the only reason they don't cause his wrists to bleed is all because of the leather bands he's decided to wear. It's purely for aesthetic purposes, he called it his "apocalypse getup", but they've actually come in handy.

Hookfang's whereabouts and well-being are a complete mystery to him, too, another reason to be angry. Usually, at the receiving end of his Rider's not-so-wise decisions, the Nightmare had come with him to raid the cache. Snotlout hopes he managed to get away safely when they got caught and that he's safe with the other Dragon Riders. If something were to happen to that dragon because of his stupid fault, he would never forgive himself.

He doesn't even know where he is. He's in a building of that he's certain, but are the Dragon Hunters using it as an outpost? Is it a camp? There's nothing here besides a table, a chair, and a shelved cabinet, which is empty. But besides that, he knows nothing.

He never should've gone.

They had knocked him out with an injection. He doesn't know what it was, just that he was out in minutes and that he feels a little sick now.

Who still uses needles in this day and age?! A good old cloth with chloroform would've sufficed! A good and hard knock to the head maybe? Or a nice chokehold, whatever happened to those?

Snotlout feels dirty on top of being angry. Who knows where that thing has been before! The Dragon Hunters can't be trusted to use clean and unused needless. They would use them dirty just for the fun of it.

He can hear voices on the other side of the door. Is it his friends? Hunters? He can't quite hear what they're saying.

And then he realizes that they're not saying anything at all. Those aren't words that he's hearing, just garbled noises and moans. He knows those sounds can only come from one kind of thing and said thing isn't even alive.

A familiar chill runs down his spine as he realizes that the dead can only be here if the Hunters have left. He isn't in a camp at all, they've just tied him up and left him in the nearest building they could find to either starve to death or be eaten! Clearly, Snotlout Jorgenson wasn't important enough to kidnap.

He bets they had a good laugh, too. They're good at that, laughing at the Dragon Riders. Anything to make their own sad little lives seem a tad less depressing.

The door to his room creaks and it's the first time Snotlout has decided to twist in his awkward position on the floor and look at it to see that it's been open this entire time. They hadn't even left him in a locked room and it explains why he can even hear what's going on outside in the hallway.

The thing making those moans comes ever closer until it shuffles aimlessly inside.

It's about as dead as every other zombie he's seen. Its skin is a greyish pale, perhaps a little bit on the sickly blue side. Its empty gaze wanders across the new space, searching for something in this barely furnitured room. It quickly settles on Snotlout.

"Oh no!" He yelps as a moan escapes the walking corpse, the kind that tells of the delicacy it spotted. It quickly lunges for him. The only times when they're fast is when they've spotted a fresh meal.

"Oh no, oh no!" Snotlout panics and all he can do with his hands and feet bound is crawl away. Like a human caterpillar, except he has no hope of ever transforming into the beautiful butterfly he's meant to be if he's killed and eaten now.

"No! Oh no!" He can hear the hurried footsteps behind him, can hear the gurgling moaning coming closer, can already imagine its decaying fingers grabbing hold of him and its teeth sinking into his flesh next.

But that doesn't happen.

There is a snarl, the kind a very specific dragon would make, and Snotlout turns onto his side just in time to see the corpse go up in flames. It is roasted within seconds and the immediate stench is unbearable.

Still on fire, it crumples to the ground, already partially cremated.

Snotlout struggles to turn towards the door and there he sees the relieving sight of his dragon, his head just barely fitting through the frame with his horns.

"Hookfang!" He shouts, pure joy and relief on his face. The Monstrous Nightmare rumbles happily and struggles to get his much too big horns in through the doorway. He can't reach his Rider like this.

"Don't, Hookfang, you're going to get yourself stuck." A nasal voice says and the Nightmare reluctantly retreats to let Hiccup inside. His face, more specifically his mouth and nose, are covered with a thick cloth and understandably so. Knowing Hookfang would be roasting anything in his path to get to Snotlout, alive or dead, he'd come prepared.

But upon seeing Hiccup, the leader he'd disobeyed and troubled, Snotlout stills and looks at the floor, now back to lying flat on his side.

He's expecting a lecture, a rant, anything as Hiccup walks over and pulls out a knife. But it doesn't come even as he kneels behind him and cuts through the ropes restraining him.

So Snotlout feels like he has to ask. The urge to do so is nagging at him.

"Hey, aren't you mad?" He reluctantly asks as sits up and rolls his shoulders.

Hiccup gazes at him for a silent moment in contemplation before eventually sighing as he puts away the knife, folding it closed and shoving it in a pocket. That sigh already isn't a good sign and Snotlout feels his stomach drop.

"No, I'm not mad. Disappointed? Definitely. But not mad." Hiccup tells him and stands.

Ouch. A disappointed Hiccup is much worse than an angry one, he can't quite explain why. Disappointing him is almost like disappointing a parent, that's the only way he can possibly explain the levels of discomfort this brings him.

Snotlout looks away again, the floor is suddenly very interesting and he flicks a tiny rock away.

"Can you get up?" Hiccup asks, already offering a hand. Quietly Snotlout accepts it and lets the other pull him to his feet. Hiccup dusts him off.

"Come on, we're going home." He tells him and walks outside ahead of him, where Toothless is surely waiting for him.

They don't have one. At least, not in the form of a house. "Going home" simply means going back to the other Dragon Riders.

Snotlout follows, meeting with his dragon and with Toothless outside of the room.

Hookfang rumbles gently and pushes his snout in his Rider's hands, who takes him just as softly. He's glad to be reunited with him, so glad. But as he watches Hiccup and Toothless go down the corridor, the former's hand on the latter, there is a nagging feeling of guilt that Snotlout can't fight.

[gypsydanger01]

THE STORM - Part twenty

Fandom: The Boys (Amazon prime tv series)

Pairing: Black Noir x OC

Disclaimer: I don’t own The Boys, only my OC characters and certain pieces of au plot.

Comments, reviews, constructive criticism, and other requests are always more than welcome!

The Home Invasion

As night fell upon the city, Black Noir suited up. He wanted to settle in for the night and forget the situation that plagued him but couldn’t with the conflict unfolding in his head. He had very clear orders as to how to deal with it. He’d never felt remorse for carrying out orders and he shouldn’t feel any now.

And yet, the fact that she was his target weighed down on his shoulders like an unmovable load. The difference was that he knew her. He’d watched her for a long time, learning her routines, likes and dislikes. And then she’d allowed him a glimpse behind the scenes during their quiet moments together. She had felt real.

She lied, and she wasn’t who she said she was, but some part of him desperately clung to the possibility of there being an essential reason. She wasn’t Sarah, she was Marianna, a woman with a whole different story behind her. She’d never shared details on her childhood, or her reason for working at Vought. She was a mystery, an intricate set of questions he couldn’t seem to unravel.

But he’d gotten a glimpse past the happenings of her life, the superficial happiness she expressed. He’d gotten a look straight into who she was in the moment. By her side, he felt untouchable and accepted. He felt like she truly saw him. There had always been this knowing look in her eye and he now wondered if she had always known what he truly did for Vought. Who he really was behind the façade of advertisements, movies, and interviews.

He left his tracker on the table and wore a suit with a disactivated camera.

When he’d pulled his gloves to wash their cup, she’d respected him.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to hide here.”

He had promised himself he’d keep her safe from any form of harm.

A part of him insisted that their time together had been genuine.

At that thought, he violently stuck a final knife into its sheath and walked out the door.

.

He arrived at her home and stopped in the shadows to observe the quaint abode. He could hear the tv playing and the oven on in the kitchen. The lights were on throughout the house, and he wondered if he’d walk in to find her chilling in her armchair, wrapped in her light blue blanket. He could almost see her swinging the door open with her wild hair and searing dark eyes.

But this was no social meeting. He moved stealthily towards the house. He was filled with disappointment at the prospect of their meeting ending so quickly. Would he be merciful if he gave her a quick and painless death?

Mr. Edgar wanted her alive, but he’d looked into compound 15 and the experiments that were carried out at the cold, isolated facility. A quick death would spare her a life of pain under syringes and surgeries, tests, and experiments.

He made his way to the back and jumped over the fence. He inched towards the door to the kitchen and heard the tune she always seemed to mindlessly hum.

Was she baking?

Well, Mr. Edgar had said to catch her off guard, making sure she didn’t have time to counterattack. Still, he’d expected to encounter the formidable fighter of the night before, the threat to Vought.

Was it her? A wave of doubt surged through him.

He broke the lock and quickly entered, observing the space for any sign of her. The oven was on, indeed, but when he crouched and peered inside, he found it empty. He followed the sound of her humming to the kitchen table, where it emanated from a small recording device. He almost smirked, glad this would indeed be a match of forces.

And then he took a step into the living room and pulled the invisible wire which unleashed holy hell on him.

The woman waited with bated breath as she heard the bombs go off in quick succession, making tremors run through the house.

It was definitely her.

Black Noir stilled and waited for the dust to settle. The tv remained untouched and continued playing Frank Sinatra’s greatest hits. He pulled a few nails from his suit but didn’t bother with the rest when he realized how many there were. He took caution in stepping forward into the room, certain that there would be more devices planted across the house.

He wondered if she was even there, or if she was long gone and had left this surprise for him.

From overhead, Sarah silently dialed her house number and heard it ring at the entrance. His heavy steps boomed through the space below until he stopped in front of the ringing phone. Was she calling? If it was her, he decided to indulge her.

Noir picked up the phone. Another explosion caught him off guard, and plaster blew into the air like the finest snow. It didn’t send him to his feet, but this one did send him a few steps to the left. Standing tall, he smiled under the mask. He was impressed.

He headed down the hall he’d never ventured before. He passed an empty bathroom to his right and moved towards what he presumed to be the bedroom. He slipped a knife out of its sheath and readied himself.

Well, he definitely wouldn’t catch her off guard at this point.

He kicked the door down only to find the room empty.

He stared at the space and listened closely for any sound, whether it be her heartbeat or breathing. The man grew frustrated and stormed back into the living room where he searched for the remote to the tv. While Frank Sinatra’s songs were enjoyable, he preferred silence when hunting.

Sarah flipped the hatch and let the stairs fall out before he could find it. She jumped down from above, softly landing in a crouch.

“Are you looking for this,” she asked, holding up the remote controller and turning up the volume.

Impressive.

She watched him but couldn’t gauge his mood. He just stood tall with a knife held loosely in his hand. Watch that, she noted to herself. It would take less than two seconds for him to flip that knife in her direction. It would then sail in the air for less than a second before it sunk into her neck. She would then promptly bleed out and die.

She caught the twitch in his muscles as he raised the blade and flipped it her way. She barely missed it, ducking behind the ladder.

She peeked out and pressed her palm to the closet near her, sending it flying towards Noir. He side-stepped it but was still caught by the explosion that it produced as it crashed to the floor. She must’ve stashed a bomb in there as well.

Dust in the air, he used his high-grade eyewear to locate her amid the plaster, ashes and smoke clouding the air. She moved forward and they were soon locked in hand to hand combat. Equal forces clashing together again and again. Any time he got too close for her liking, she’d make sure to transfer energy when landing a punch. He’d flown backwards through a wall, through a cabinet, over the couch and every time he stood and shrugged it off.

She could feel the energy coursing through her and wasn’t sure how long she could hold it. It felt like fire was tearing through her, waiting to break free. And while she knew she’d survive, she wasn’t sure if Noir or her next-door neighbors would.

A knife was sent her way, and she moved just in time for it to only nick her across the cheek. It reminded her of the one she’d sent his way at the archives. The fire only grew impetuous, driving her forward and keeping her alert.

The dust had settled since the last explosion, and the only sound in the air was another Frank Sinatra song crackling through the tv’s ruined speakers. Black Noir drove a long dagger through the tv screen and twisted it before ripping it out. The tv died out, and they were left in silence.

Noir could hear her clearly now, her fast heartbeat and the blood rushing through her veins. He could also discern a distinctive buzzing sound. It was so low, a normal human being wouldn’t catch it, but he did. And as it grew louder, he didn’t know what to expect.

She cried out, and his first instinct had him taking a step forward. But she immediately reacted to his movement by kicking the shards of the entrance mirror on the floor, sending the jagged edges hurtling at him.

He moved back and they stood facing each other, unsure of the other’s next move. Sarah clenched her teeth and held fast on her control as she felt the fire pulling it apart.

She was strong enough to beat him, but could she do so without losing herself, without clearing the whole block? She’d sworn to herself that she’d rather swallow the energy and have it consume her than leave casualties. She held fast and waited for Noir to come at her again.

But he did the most unexpected thing. He dropped his defensive stance and simply stood by the broken tv screen. He watched her, observing the pain in her shoulders, and the anguish in her eyes.

“You won’t take me,” she whispered knowing he could hear her every word even from the other side of the room. He simply watched, giving no answer, nor any signal he’d heard.

He simply watched her, amazed at her strength and perseverance. There was something wrong, something obviously causing her to clench her teeth and force herself to take deeper breaths. Still, he’d never been met with such a force, and he had the distinct feeling that she was holding back.

Then the doorbell rang.

She glanced at the door and then back at him. She signed for him to stay quiet.

He only watched her, and the familiarity of her hand’s movements, the gestures that made up their language crashed into him.

She made her way to the door. What would she find? She imagined a team of Vought agents ready to take her in. She expected guns and tranquilizers pointed to her face.

Instead, she found two police officers. She slid her utility belt off and dropped it in the corner. No need for them to question the number of daggers currently hanging from it.

“Good evening, ma’am. Is everything okay?”

They scanned her black suit, and disheveled appearance. The cut on her face was already healing but hadn’t faded entirely. She focused on keeping it together and rebuilding her control.

“Everything’s fine, just getting dressed for a party,” she acted confused.

They didn’t seem convinced. “Well, we received a call from a neighbor asking for us to check on you due to strange sounds. They said they heard crashing sounds, like someone thought the house was being destroyed—"

That’s accurate.

“—and that there might have been a break in, or some severe case of domestic abuse.”

Depends on how you look at it.

She laughed, “Oh no, I was simply moving some furniture around and renovating the living room. Nothing to worry about,” she explained. “And actually, I should go finish getting ready for the party I’m going to. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

The other officer chimed in, “Miss, you have a cut right—,” he paused when he noticed it had disappeared. “I could have sworn I saw—”

“No, it’s alright, it’s probably the lighting out here—it’s really bad,” she cut in with a soft smile. “This place really needs renovation,” she added for good measure.

They both looked skeptical but ultimately walked back to their patrol car and slowly drove off.

A high-pitched voice yelled out to her from the neighboring house.

“Sarah, honey, is everything all right?”

Sarah peered into the darkness and found her sixty-year-old neighbor leaning over the porch railing. She should’ve known Margaret was the one who called.

“Yes, Margaret, thank you but everything is fine. Sorry I worried you,” she called back apologetically.

The older woman waved it off and pushed her small glasses back up onto the bridge of her nose.

“I thought you had bombs going off in there,” she exclaimed incredulously.

Sarah played it off as though it were nothing, “No, no, just renovating”

“What was that dear?” she called back. Margaret was partially deaf.

“Just renovating,” she spoke louder. She heard Noir moving through the house and knew he was doing so on purpose, so that she’d know.

“Oh okay,” Margaret finally accepted it, presuming something was wrong with her hearing aid. “I’m going back in, dear, it’s chilly,” she waved and disappeared into the house.

Thankful of this, Sarah spun around and softly closed the door. The belt immediately found its way back around her waist. She crept towards the living room and noticed that someone had put out the small fires that had started licking away at her couch in the midst of the explosions.

A piece of paper was pinned to the wall by a knife inserted to the hilt.

Let’s talk.

And beneath those words he’d added in smaller calligraphy, I still like you.

Her head almost spun at the words. But she realized he was referencing their last encounter prior to everything changing.

He had confessed that he really liked her, and that she was his favorite person.

He was either asking her to trust him and walk into that room to have a civil conversation, or this was a ploy to lower her guard. Still, she realized he probably wanted an explanation.

How had they gotten to this point?

She stepped amongst the wreckage that was her living room and moved towards the kitchen where she knew he’d be waiting for her.

MASTERLIST

Tag list: @ateliefloresdaprimavera @ellejo @dust-bun @coco724 ​  @proximio-5 @damiminator @omegahighendpro @rpgluvr95 @sweetrabbitteamx @rayray1463 @mialexisrodrigues

[peachfluffsoftstuff]

Beyond The Reef [1]

Content: Soft Vore, G/T Vore, Unwilling Prey, Shark Mer Pred, Eventual Safe Vore Reveal

Word Count: 2230

Fandom: N/A; Original Content

A/N: An older piece, but I’m still fond of it!! I have a few more chapters already written, too. I promise it gets fluffier.

-

Aless pressed himself flat against the rockbed, listening as the reef went quiet around him at the sight of two predators passing through. Neither of them seemed to notice, probably used to the attention, and were talking in low voices that still clearly travelled to all the smaller folk in the area, him included. 

He watched in half-stunned awe as the giant mers passed his hiding spot, neither noticing his tiny body camouflaged against the plant life. What a chance encounter… He was suddenly glad he had decided to venture out alone again today, watching them glide along with an unassuming steadiness to their pace. 

They continued their discussion as they moved, and despite, or maybe because of the danger, Aless darted after them, eavesdropping as he swam through concealing nooks and crannies. 

The one currently talking was seemingly younger, with wild dark hair flowing around a face with bright eyes. He had olive skin with dark grey scales scattered in patches around his fins. His tail was a lighter blue-gray, tipped with black, marking him as a reef shark breed of mer. Unlike stories Aless had heard, there was no constant anger in his eyes, but rather, crinkles around the corners that looked an awful lot like smile lines. 

At the moment however, he wore an expression of tentative concern as he frowned at his companion. 

“...I don't know Dev, doesn't it seem kind of harsh? Maybe there's some other way to find one, no need to-”

“Skim,” the other mer cut him off, and Aless wondered at that too. The older and, apparently, leader of the two had similar dark hair, though much tamer, and his tail was the deep mottled grey of a tiger shark. “I understand your concern, but this is the way it's been done for ages. There’s no need to make waves, it’ll work out alright. It always does. You’ll understand when it happens. Trust me.” He offered the smaller a slight smile.

The other mer-- Skim, allegedly-- seemed to droop slightly as he sighed, returning a weak smile and seemingly finally resigned to whatever it was they were talking about. Aless tilted his head, wondering for only a moment or two, before becoming distracted by the familiar surroundings. This… was the route to Hali Reef that the two were taking. 

Aless knew because he had just come from that very direction, hoping to avoid more harassment from the other teens his age. Nevi, at least, didn't try to draw attention to him, but it could only do so much when one’s been the whole village’s scapegoat for so long. 

What would two giant mers be doing in such a small mountain reef? Aless moved faster, an uneasy pit in his stomach, old folk tales suddenly springing to mind. These were still predators, after all.  

Soon, they came upon the opening into the underwater village, which looked uncomfortably recently abandoned. Aless could tell they hadn’t had much time to lock down and hide, and felt a little guilty for not immediately swimming ahead to warn them. 

Though, if the giant mers hadn’t come through and he’d raised a false alarm... Well, he caught enough flack from the townsfolk already without ‘attention seeker’ being added to the list. 

There was a tense pause, before Dev cleared his throat pointedly, much to Skim’s dismay. 

“You mean I really have to--?” Dev gave him a quelling look, and he sighed uncomfortably again but turned to the nearest patch of seagrass and reached out with one hand, slowly picking through it. Aless’s sense of horror mounted as he spotted a flash of silver amidst the waving plants. The only one in the village with those distinct glinting silver scales… was Nevi. 

Skim seemed to have spotted it as well, going by the way he was indecisively hovering his hand closer. Aless watched, his whole body tense with anxiety. In an instant, he saw as Nevi’s self-restraint broke, and she darted out of the plants and away like quicksilver. 

Unfortunately, Skim was even faster, slamming his hands together over her so quickly it seemed like it had been only his reflexes that caught her. He seemed to feel the same way as he looked between the prison his cupped hands had made and the other giant mer, who was looking expectantly at him. 

Hesitantly, he closed his hands together and used the position as leverage to hold the girl by pinching two fingers securely around Nevi’s muscled waist. She looked small compared to him, barely the size of his hand. 

“Why isn’t anyone helping her,” Aless murmured to himself, though deep down he already knew. She was the strongest and second-fastest one in the entire village. If she couldn’t get free, nobody could save her. 

Not without risking life and limb, with no chance of success. Aless reached for the carved dagger tied at his hip. 

Nevi was thrashing in Skim’s hold, gills and frills flaring, lashing out with enough force to break something vital in a mer her size, but only making Skim take on an expression like a kicked guppy. He started to lift her closer to his face, and a dismayed note of alarm wailed in Aless’s mind. He was moving before he could even think twice, shooting across the open water as quickly as his fins would propel him. 

He used his momentum to drive his small dagger into Skim's finger, hard enough to stick. Skim yelped at the unexpected pain and pulled his injured hand back to his chest, releasing Nevi. In the same motion, like clockwork, Aless was dragged along, the drag causing him to collide with the back of the hand he’d attacked. 

Before he could reorient himself, Skim’s other hand weighed down on him, leaving him sandwiched between the two, just as trapped as Nevi had been. 

“Aless!”

Unable to do anything about his position, he floundered for a moment, before managing to meet Nevi’s eyes. She had twisted to look at his predicament, caught in indecision, but there were two predators there and only one’s hands were occupied with him. 

“Go!” He shouted, harsh enough a command that she jerked and darted away, still stuck in the fight or flight mindset. It was a good thing he was probably about to die because otherwise she would have kicked his ass later for yelling at her like that.

He got only a moment to watch her vanish back into the reef in a flash of silver before the warm skin around him moved, one hand moving down to grasp his tail between finger and thumb. As soon as his bottom half was securely snagged, he was pulled back to look at his captor. His orientation shifted as the hold tugged him from the bottom end, leaving him hanging upside down. 

Despite the instinctual panic edging his mind, he didn't try to escape, common sense dismissing it as a fruitless effort. If nobody was brave enough to try and free Nevi, everyone’s darling, from Skim’s grip, then there was no way Aless, the local bastard, would be getting any semblance of help at all. Seeing as Nevi’s considerable strength hadn’t done anything for her, he wouldn't be able to make a getaway on his own, either. 

Still, he refused to cower or beg, glaring at Skim as he was dangled upside down in front of him. The mer was nursing his injured thumb, pulling the tooth dagger out of his skin with his teeth and spitting it into the open water. Aless watched somewhat mournfully as it sank down to the ocean floor below. That had taken him ages to find and fix up into a proper weapon. 

“At least it’s not deep...” 

Looking back up, Aless automatically flailed as he was dragged by the tail to in front of the giant’s face, and he stared at the big features, resisting the urge to reach out and touch the tip of that lightly freckled nose. It was close enough that Skim went cross eyed trying to keep looking at him, defeating the whole purpose of closer scrutiny. Aless stubbornly crossed his arms to keep from pinwheeling them, ignoring the way his fluttering gills and fins gave away his fear despite his best efforts. 

He expected Skim to pull back and send a desperate look to Dev yet again, but instead his expression was strangely dazed, his glowing irises near eclipsed by expanding pupils, gaze fixed on Aless with a strange intensity that sent a chill down his spine. He absently chewed on his bottom lip with sharp-looking teeth, and then slowly lifted Aless up above his head, looking up to keep him in view. 

Aless was only kept in the dark about his intentions for a second or two, before Skim made them very clear by opening his mouth, displaying rows of triangular white teeth framing a fleshy gullet.

“Ah,” Aless said, softly. 

At least Nevi wasn't in his place. At least they’d all know what happened to him. At least nobody would miss him too much. His chest jolted up in hiccups as his breathing started to speed up unsteadily. 

As if in spite of its inevitable end, his heartbeat was pounding a frighteningly quick tempo as he was lowered into the gaping maw, the prehensile tongue stretching out to receive him. He numbly watched as his head passed under the stacked rows of teeth, aligned neatly to tear prey apart. The rough muscle at his back was the only thing cushioning him from being skewered on the lower teeth. 

Abruptly, his surroundings went dark, Skim’s lips sealed around his torso cutting out all the outside light. His hands rose to push against the hard palate above him automatically, as if he could somehow keep the mouth from closing further. He felt the pressure from the fingers holding his tail vanish, apparently satisfied with his current level of immobility. He didn't try to move, too aware of the fangs barely scraping his stomach like a threat. 

The seconds stretched, and Aless was certain that any moment, the jaws would snap shut on his spine, interlocking and slicing him clean in half. The blood would be a mess. Distantly, he hoped that none of the children in the reef were watching. 

His grim predictions were interrupted by a pulling sensation on his skin, and he yelped as more of him was suddenly suctioned into the dark, enclosed space. More than ever, Aless could feel the difference between the warm, cloying atmosphere in the giant mouth and the cool ocean water brushing past his tail fin, which was still peeking out between Skim’s lips, twitching weakly. 

The top of his head gently bumped into something solid, and when he reached out with one hand to investigate, the smooth flesh of the throat rippled under his touch. He jerked away, seized by a primal urge to get out get out get out get out-- but at his squirming, the tongue beneath him rose up and pinned him against the ridged roof of the mouth, knocking the wind out of him. 

He was stunned for a moment, splayed out with his arms flung above his head. Then, there was another pull, an uncanny tug on his whole body accompanied by a thick sound, and his arms were suddenly surrounded on all sides by the same smooth, slippery muscle. He drew in breath to yell, terrified, and with the sound of another heavy swallow, found his entire head and chest stuck in the same constricting tube. Even as he tried to wriggle free, he could feel the rough tongue on the scales of his tail, tasting him, and he shuddered, squirming as the esophagus contracted and pulled in more of him. 

He only had a moment to think ‘I can't breathe’ before the final thick swallow resounded in his ears, peristalsis locking him in place and tugging him downwards. His smooth fish half went down easier, one gulp enough to tug the whole thing down, fins and all. Locked completely in the slick tube with barely enough room to twitch, Aless focused on trying to bring in oxygen from the meager water trapped with him. Everything pulsed around him, loud and overwhelming.

Just as the edges of his vision began to darken, his hands were released from the complete peristalsis, and the rest of him soon followed, sliding into a slick pouch full of warm seawater, contracting and relaxing rhythmically at his arrival. It was larger than where he’d been before, but filled quickly, his tail coiling and twisting in the meager space.   

After gasping in enough air to function, Aless looked around at the pitch dark space with growing despair, and began to run his hands along the stomach walls, desperately searching for some kind of exit. He found only smooth flesh under his fingers, and a rumbling purr started up above him, making him yank his hands away angrily. That giant bastard was enjoying this. 

As quickly as his temper had flared up, it died away, and he slumped against the soft folds of flesh around him. Of course Skim was enjoying this. In every way, he’d acted as the predator that shark mers were rumored to be. 

Aless was nothing more than a meal now, tucked out of sight and out of mind.

[izaswritings]

Title: saving atlas

Fandom: RWBY

Synopsis: (Post-Volume 7 fic). In the aftermath of the Atlas disaster, Oscar and Oz figure out where they stand. But first: shelter. 

Or: in which Oscar is Upset, Oz is the voice of reason, and Atlas winters prove to be the most immediate foe, incoming invasion non-withstanding. When the weight of the world is bearing on your shoulders, what are you supposed to do?

AO3 Link is here.

.

“Stop,” Oscar says.

The air is so cold it burns against his face, every inhale like a knife right to his lungs. The icy breeze saps what little warmth his coat might have given him, and right now even his aura is no help. He’s used it all up—aura and magic and whatever else besides—and now he’s left standing in the snow, with less than nothing. Oscar is cold and tired, and he wasn’t prepared for this, didn’t leave thinking he’d end up here—

He stops the thought in its tracks, mercilessly. He doesn’t want to think about that right now. He just can’t. Already the memory coils in his gut, tight and angry, beating like a hollow ache. It rises up and he has to swallow it down before he does—something. Scream, maybe. Or worse—  cry.

Ironwood is going to leave Mantle to die.

Even just the thought, Oscar thinks, chills him worse than the wind.

“All I want to know,” he says, at last, “is how we save Atlas next.”

He can feel Oz’s hesitation like a lump in his throat. Fear of a different sort, preemptive defeat. That may be—a harder task than we can handle.

“It’s not about handling it!” He means to sound calm; instead, his voice snaps. Oscar closes his eyes, and grits his teeth against a scream. “He’s going to—to—”

Pain flares up his side like a spark, right where the bullet had hit. Oscar presses a hand against the bruise and exhales hard. “Please. I—” The words are bitter, but the feeling behind them is complicated. He is so tired. And Oz has been gone for a long time, when they really could have used him back sooner. But at the same time, Oscar understands. And he is also just so, so grateful, that at least in this moment, he is not out here in the cold alone. “I don’t know what to do.”

…To start, perhaps shelter.

“Oz—”

We are no help to anyone like this. Oz sounds as reluctant as Oscar feels; this mollifies him little. Your aura is broken. You… we need to rest.

“But Salem—!” He can’t finish. Just the name makes his head spin, pounds through his skull with all the gravitas and fear of hundreds of lives. If he heard Ruby’s transmission right, then Salem is planning to come to Atlas. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe now. In the back of his mind, the memories that aren’t his own whisper: Bad things happen when Salem comes calling.

Oz, too, in his head, takes a long moment to answer. …I know. It’s funny, that for all the memories Jinn showed them, there is nothing in Oz’s voice that speaks of once loving this woman. All Oscar can feel from him is dread, and a dull hatred borne from years of endless loss. Every good thing Oz ever tried to do, Salem has always destroyed. But that doesn’t change the facts. You are already freezing. And, I imagine, in a great deal of pain. The bullet didn’t break through your aura, but that doesn’t mean it won’t leave a mark.

He wants to argue it, but fresh pain flares and Oscar can’t. Oz is more right than he probably realizes. He shakes his head. “But…”

Oscar, please. I hate this as much as you do, but if we do not recover, then we will be less than useless. And that will be so much worse.

Oscar breathes in. The air burns. It’s so cold it takes everything he is just to keep from shivering, and Oscar exhales slowly through his teeth. Damn it. Damn it. He’s not going to cry. “…Fine.”

There is a feeling from Oz like relief, wordless and grateful, and Oscar ignores him, rubbing at his arms for warmth and finally taking in his surroundings. Shelter. He needs shelter, and a place to hide, until he can face the cold with aura in place. But his surroundings are cold and gray, barren. A great downward spiral of a pit, with roughshod buildings and unpaved roads. The houses are sparse and decaying, little more than hollow shells. He can’t even see any heating grates.

This is what lies under Atlas? This is the pit beneath the city? It looks… it is… worse off than even Mantle. He’d call it abandoned, except it’s clearly not—just neglected to a degree that makes something in Oscar go small and furious.

The sting of disappointment rises up in his throat, stronger this time, strangling. He’d really thought… they’d been so close! So close to saving Mantle, to choosing trust. But maybe they were never as close to peace as Oscar had hoped. Maybe this was always going to fall apart. He gets the sudden and looming sense that Ironwood never really saw Mantle, or this place, as worth saving at all.

You couldn’t have known. Oz sounds tired. It’s not your fault.

Oscar starts walking. His feet sink in the snow. “You weren’t there.” There’s no accusation in his voice—just fact.

…No. But I—saw what happened. In a way. And it wasn’t your fault, Oscar. You did—everything right. Another pause, longer this time, and Oz concludes, very quiet: You did better than I ever could.

Oscar hesitates mid-step, staring at the ground. He wants to protest, but he can feel the sincerity. Oz means it. It makes something go funny in his chest, to hear that. Oscar blinks down at the ground, watching his shoes, and doesn’t answer. Just remembers, suddenly and clearly, the first thing Oz had said to him. Actually, you saved us. Now he wonders, quietly, if maybe Oz had meant something other than just surviving the fall.

Oscar doesn’t ask, though. He puts a bracing hand against his side, still sore, and looks up into the sky. Atlas is a looming shadow, and the storm clouds are dark and forbidding… but still. The pale light of the coming dawn is beautiful against the ice.

“I’m glad you’re back, Oz,” he says, finally.

You don’t need to lie to me, Oscar.

“I’m not.” He starts walking again. “I got used to hearing you, I guess. And you weren’t so bad, really. And then, when you just… weren’t there…” He’s not sure how to explain it—the emptiness, the hollow pit, the silence worst of all—so he doesn’t try. He takes another step, hand pressing harder at his side. The pain is blinding. Oscar takes a shaky breath. “I never hated you. Not really. I just—I wanted the truth. I think we all did.”

…I know.

“Mm.” He takes another step, and his knee almost buckles. “Ah—”

May I?

“What?” Oscar blinks, fast. His first instinct is to say no—he’s never liked losing control—but already he can already feel Oz pulling away, and Oscar swallows down the instinctual denial. Oz only means to help. And honestly, Oscar could use a break. But on the other hand… “It’s not gonna be fun, feeling this.”

I assure you, I have gone through far worse. Oz’s tone is almost dry. You’ve seen a few.

For a moment Oscar has no idea what he’s talking about, but then the memories click. Ohhh, right, the constant death via godly bickering, and not to mention that whole bit with dragging himself across the ground while suffering from a terrible stomach wound… Yeah, no, Oscar remembers. “Still—”

Please. If you won’t let me apologize… at least let me shoulder some of the burden.

Oscar considers this and sighs. He closes his eyes, drifting back—and then his limbs are not his own, and he is there and yet he is not, and the pain is suddenly and wonderfully far away, barely an echo.

Oz, in control now, takes a sharp breath and almost stumbles. “Oh.”

Told you.

“You did, but I confess, I didn’t expect…” He presses a hand to their side. “You’ve had a hard battle.”

Bullet didn’t help.

“No.” Oz’s voice goes briefly hard. “No, I suppose not.” He straightens, turning around to look, flexing their fingers. For a moment their mouth pulls in a grimace.

Are you okay?

“Just—unused to this. I’ve never… done—well, that, before. Locking myself away. Now… It feels like going out of practice.” He rolls their wrist, flicks out the cane. “I’ll adjust.”

You old man.

Oz exhales hard, almost a laugh. His surprise flickers bright and warm, the barest hint of a smile. “Well, I suppose that is true…”

The conversation tapers off, and Oz takes them higher up the pit, closer to Mantle’s edge. Beyond that momentary stumble, the pain doesn’t seem to touch him at all; with the cane as a crutch, he walks as if they are perfectly fine, rather than on the verge of collapse. Which is good, Oscar supposes. People tend to remember injured children, and tend to ignore weird ones walking with fancy canes. Good for staying undercover.

On one of the ledges of the pit, they find a small house with the door already swung open. Oz takes them inside, and shoves the door shut behind them. The heating is still off—if it even exists down here, a thought that makes Oscar flinch and Oz tight-lipped—but there’s some moth-eaten blankets in one corner and an empty bed elsewhere, and Oz curls them up in the corner of the abandoned home, with some food and a small water bottle he’d swiped from the cupboard.

Oscar takes in the place, the tiny kitchen and barren bedroom, and sighs. Who do you think lived here?

“Hopefully someone who managed to evacuate.” Oz sips at the water. “We’ll take an hour to recover here. Then, we need to discuss our next move.”

I don’t know where the others are. I told them to go ahead…

“With luck, they have. If they’ve been detained, that may pose a… difficulty.” Oz pats down their side. “Where did you put your scroll?”

Left pocket. Wait, wouldn’t you know?

“When I say I was watching, it was really only the barest minimum of awareness. That is, when you were stressed, or felt you were in danger. So no.” Oz tugs out the scroll, pulling it open. “Hmm.”

Surprised it isn’t broken.

“They are remarkably sturdy things.” He taps their finger against the screen, frowning faintly. “Oh, joy.”

There is a bright blue alert flashing across the screen—updated orders for the whole of Atlas Military. Oz taps at it, and the banner expands, taking up the screen. A row of faces stares up at them. The main group—RWBY and JNPR—are listed under a banner labeled Arrest on Sight. Qrow is now under Detained. And Oscar—

There’s an X through his photo, and a small note beneath his name. Deceased.

For a moment neither of them says anything. The silence weighs down like a physical thing. Oz shifts on the bed and exhales hard, and then lifts a hand, tentative, to their cheek. Their fingers come away damp with tears. “Oscar.”

Are you—?

“…No.”

Oh. Which means… the tears are Oscar’s.

With that understanding, all at once, everything crashes down on him. Neapolitan. Losing the relic. Facing Ironwood, hoping against hope something could still be salvaged, and then—

Oscar is suddenly glad to not be in control anymore. If he was, he thinks he might crumple, or worse, hyperventilate. Everything goes shaky. Their vision blurs. I…

Oz carefully wipes the tears away with one edge of the blanket, their sleeves too dirtied and torn for use. “It’s okay.”

I don’t even know why…

“I do.” Oz lifts a hand to their chest. “I feel it too. We trusted him. We thought he would make the ri—” He stumbles, briefly. “…a good choice. We thought things would be okay. That Atlas and Mantle could stand together, that Remnant could be reunited. And even then.” Oz sounds bitter. “In that final moment. My presence would have only angered him, I think, but—I’d truly hoped that you would be able to change Ja… General Ironwood’s mind. I never thought…”

He shot me. The words are dull, empty, devoid. The shock hasn’t hit him yet. Not really. He tried to kill me. He thinks he did kill me. And I don’t think he even cares.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

Why are you apologizing?

“I—”

Oh.

“Never mind.”

No. No, you’re right. I think—I always thought so too. The bitterness settles down on both them, a shroud. Always trying to wake you up… and even then, he asked which one of us it was, when I walked down there. I wonder if he ever saw me for me.

“The others did. Do. Miss Rose, Mister Arc, Miss Valkyrie… I have seen that, too. They care deeply for you.”

And now they’re going to think I’m dead, too.

“…Ah. A fair point.” Oz frowns down at the scroll. “This is, perhaps, a problem.”

Can we get in contact with them?

“Hmm.” He brings a hand to their ear, to the comm piece, and waits. Nothing. “We are still too far out of range, I think. Too far below. If we got back to the sky…”

Oscar considers something else. It says… Qrow got detained.

“…so it does.”

What prison do you think they’d throw him in?

“I have a few ideas.” But Oz sounds hesitant. He swallows. “Oscar—”

Hm?

“I—that is, I am not sure…” He trails off, as if unable to finish. Their lips pull in a grimace.

He’ll be mad. Oscar is frank, certain. I mean, probably. The others too. But it’s not the same as before. We’ve all had time. Atlas has… we’ve grown a lot. All of us. You said you were watching some of it—you saw that too, right?

“I did.” There is a quiet warmth there. A muted pride.

Then, you know. They’ll be angry, I think. But Qrow—and the others, they’ll listen. We’ll listen. You came back. And whatever you say about me saving us, well, you kept me from blacking out, which is its own help, so.

“Oscar—”

You’re not—it’s not like with Ironwood. You’re not an enemy. I’m pretty sure no one ever saw you as one. They just wanted the truth, and now we have it… and if I’ve learned anything from today, then its only too late if you make it that way. You can always still choose trust. You can still choose to build trust.

Oz goes quiet, distant. He stares off at nothing, and then slowly shakes his head. His smile is a faint, disbelieving thing—but genuine, too. “I said before that I had reasons for the things I do. For the lies, especially.” He closes his eyes. “But I admit, Oscar. These past few weeks have… swayed me to your side, so to speak.”

The truth didn’t break them, Oz.

“No. It didn’t.” He straightens. “All right. We’ll do it your way. Trust others, as you like to say. Starting with…” He taps the scroll. “You’re quite right. Qrow would despise prison.”

So…

“We need to find a way to Atlas.” Oz downs the last of the water and food, and stands, stretching out their arms. Their aura flickers up, weak but slowly strengthening. “Evacuations have stopped in Mantle, but if I can find us a ship…”

You can fly an airship? Wait, what am I saying…

“Beyond crash-landing expertise, I was also there when they were first being built, you know.”

Wow, you really are ancient. But Oscar almost feels like laughing, the earlier grief beaten back. He hasn’t realized until now how much he’d missed Oz. And he thinks... he did miss Oz. He hasn’t missed all of it—the fighting, the lies, the body-snatching—but he’d missed this. The echo of a voice in his head. The warmth of not being alone. Of having someone there to turn to, whether Oscar needed it or not.

And strangely, for all the time he’s been gone, Oz being back is… easier, somehow, than it was before. Less like being haunted, and more like living in tandem. Maybe it’s the merge, or the shared memories… or maybe it's something else. Relief, perhaps. There are no more lies or fears to stand between them. All of Oz’s secrets are now brought to light, no more pretending necessary—and Oscar, at ease with his fate, has grown stronger and surer of his place here, all on his own.

It feels… equal, now. As if, for the first time, Oscar and Oz are finally on the same page.

Thank you for coming back.

Oz hesitates. “I should have—”

It doesn’t matter. He can’t smile, but he hopes the feeling comes across. Just… thanks.

“…Of course.” Oz ducks their head. Then he takes a breath. “Well, then! To Atlas.”

Oscar almost laughs at him, but that would be rude. Instead, he settles back with a sigh. So, what now… find a ship, save Qrow, connect with the others, help Mantle, stop Salem’s probable invasion…

“One thing at a time,” Oz says, smiling faintly, and pries open the front door, stepping back into the sun. The air burns with winter fury; the wind howls a storm. But the cold is lessened, beaten by their aura, and the oncoming darkness of the storm still pales, for now, to the sun-lit horizon. In this moment, the worst has not yet come. In this moment, there is still a chance. The determination rises in them twofold, a feeling like setting your feet and lifting your head, and the grief of the long night fades away, if only for now.  

Let’s go save Atlas.

Oz’s smile grows, a little wider, a little stronger. He lifts their head, tilting their face back to the sun. In the glint of sunlight, their eyes burn bright and gold.

“Agreed,” Oz says, and heads toward the city proper, cane in hand and gait steady, taking the first step of many on the long trek back.

[orionsangel86]

Sam & Eileen - A Supernatural Romance.

I am quite clearly over the moon about 15x06 and Sam reunited with and bringing Eileen back from the dead. I was so over the moon in fact, that I burst into tears when Eileen stepped out of the bathtub and took Sam’s hand. That was… wow. 

That was the most romantic moment in this show since 13x05 “it’s never too late” (also a return from the dead!)

So I was inspired to write an homage meta post celebrating Sam and Eileen’s romance looking back at everything canon has given us on this epic pairing.

It turns out, despite all my usual grumbling, there is still one het ship out there that I can totally get behind, and no one deserves love more than our dear Sam Winchester.

11x04 - Baby

This is where I believe the story started for Sam. 

“You don’t ever want something more?”

(x)

“You know, with a hunter? Somebody who understands the life?”

This question, from Sam to his brother at the start of Season 11, has shaped so much of the subtext in the seasons following. It’s significance to the Winchesters individual development arcs, their hopes, their dreams. It blatantly spelled out for the audience what both these boys desire and what they deserve for each of their endgames.

Not a white picket fence, not the apple pie life, just something. Something that suits them. Something to share with someone else, romantically, who might fit that particular box. Let me be very clear here and stress that Sam certainly wasn’t talking about him and Dean finding that something with each other.

Dean’s journey towards finding that something has been building for even longer than this particular moment in canon, with the other stand out scene being his confession in 10x16 where he talked about having things, people, feelings, that I want to experience differently than before, or maybe even for the first time. Dean’s journey is something we have discussed at length, and as every meta writer in fandom knows all too well, it only leads in one particular direction - towards a certain dreamy blue eyed angel. 

Sam’s journey has not been discussed as intensely as Dean’s, but 11x04 did lay groundwork for the writers to build upon. It hasn’t been as smooth or as obvious in the subtext as Dean’s either, with certain writing decisions appearing to come out of left field and confuse the path. But it seems that Dabb has course corrected and brought us back on track. 

This episode was the first time in canon in a long time that we heard Sam textually voice his desire for a romantic relationship of some kind. I therefore immediately got excited and locked this moment away in a pocket in my heart to pull out again if ever the show would introduce a character who could fit those requirements for Sam. 

The show did not disappoint.

11x11 Into the Mystic

GOD I forgot how full of delicious layers this episode was! It was written by the same writer who wrote 11x04. Robbie Thompson clearly had something in mind for Sam when he first wrote that script, and he gave it to us (and Sam) in this episode.

Eileen is introduced in 11x11 as another Hunter on a quest for vengeance - to avenge her murdered family.

It isn’t a surprise that we basically immediately shipped Eileen with Sam after this episode first aired, because her entire backstory is written to compliment Sam. Within the first 5 minutes of getting to know her, she already fulfills the requirements from Sam’s wistful speech in 11x04. She is a hunter, she is someone who understands the life. But more than that, she is all of the following:

She is on a revenge quest

She has murdered parents

She was raised by a Hunter or rather “trained” to be a Hunter rather than raised (in a scene which implies a similarly strict hunter upbringing to Sam and Dean)

She continued hunting alone after her guardian died

Her grandfather was a Man of Letters, making her a MOL Legacy, just like Sam.

Her mother was a lawyer, so she makes a joke about studying law which prompts further bonding with Sam due to his Stanford law education.

Eileen catches Sam’s eye almost immediately, and it is surprising I didn’t pick up on that on my first watch at the time, but Eileen is literally disguised as the cleaner in order to go unnoticed. Sam had no reason to be suspicious of her, and I think at the time we all assumed that he just wanted to question a potential witness - but even so, there was no need to interrupt Mildred to go speak to her. Could Sam’s distraction have been a bit more than strictly professional? In hindsight I’m gonna go with YES.

Their next meet is cute simply because by this point the audience is misled to think that she is actually the banshee. The ominous music tones, the shots of Eileen watching the Winchesters from a window. We believe that she is the villain, and then when she uses magic to pin Sam and comes at him with a dagger it’s practically a romantic trope used in enemies to lovers fics. A case of mistaken identity (another trope) and Sam and Eileen are able to reveal each of their truths. They bond immediately with both Sam and the audience learning all of the above. the checklist requirements indicating their compatibility is so blatantly obvious its almost too on the nose. But then het romance always seems that way doesn’t it?

The real kicker in this episode that made my heart sing at the time was this:

“Feel free to drop me a line if you ever need anything. Or even if you just wanna hang out”

“you can’t call me though, I mean you could call but I won’t answer.”

(x)

FIRST OF ALL - HOW DARE YOU KILL ME WITH FEELS SAMMY OVER THAT GORGEOUS SMILE

Sam’s line here though was SUCH A LINE. “Or even if you just wanna hang out”

I see you Sam Winchester. Hoping for Netflix and Chill right? I know you have Netflix. You gave Cas your password. :P

This little interaction at the end of this episode was pure flirtation and it was gorgeous to watch (and to rewatch, with hindsight, knowing what happens in 15x06 to totally deepen their relationship. Urgh. I guess I really am a sucker for a good old fashioned Supernatural Love Story!)

The other big takeaway from this episode is that meeting Eileen rejuvenated Sam. He starts the episode unable to sleep, haunted by his Lucifer trauma and feeling so down and broody that Dean steps in constantly to ask if he’s okay and try to engage in talking about feelings (always a bad sign for a Winchester to get to the point where they feel they need to ask the other to talk about feelings!)

But the end of the episode marks a significant change in Sam. He smiles, he opens up to Dean, he textually states that the case helped him. He opens up a keepsake box (that we never knew he had before this episode) and puts the retirement homes leaflet in there - an indication that he actually has hope that he might live to see a happy retirement (a wonderful sign for someone who just 40 minutes ago was acting like a total nihilist.)

The case alone wasn’t some spectacular revelation, so what else could have possibly caused Sam’s change of heart? The answer is obvious. Eileen did. She acted like a beacon of light this episode for Sam, and in a perfect bookend to how the episode opened, Sam curls up in bed, turns off his light, and is able to sleep. It is only Dean who spends the night restless and haunted.

This was the first time that Eileen acted as a “win” for Sam just by meeting him.

Unfortunately, we don’t meet Eileen again until a whole season later in

12x17 - The British Invasion

This episode is a far cry away from 11x11′s layered genius. Messy, overly plot heavy, too many various character stories causing mental whiplash, too much focus on unnecessary side characters, LUCIFER existing in general, an unnecessary sex scene between Mary and Ketch (eww), a bloody death scene, and moments of utter stupidity from the lead characters.

In other words it’s a CLASSIC BUCKLEMING.

Do yourselves a favour and if you ARE planning on re-watching this episode, just skip to the parts with Dean, Sam and Eileen (the Dagon and Kelly stuff is relatively good as well - the rest is utter garbage).

Anyway, pushing aside my hatred for the terrible duo for a moment, I will say that as per usual, what they lack in subtlety and intelligent subtextual layering, they make up for with a sledge hammer to the face in terms of trying to get a point across. So when it comes to Saileen in this episode, well, it might as well be canon already.

Practically every time Sam and Eileen interact in this episode, they are framed as a flirtatious couple in the early tentative stages. The smiles and playful flirting, the smirks when one does something to make the other proud. It is very clear, even if it is still technically subtextual, that both Jared and Shoshannah are playing this like these characters are attracted to one another, and are building on that relationship.

Hell, even Dean teases Sam twice about Eileen in this episode (though once was in a deleted scene that they should have kept instead of the Lucifer crap):

(x)

What we also find out from this opening scene, is that Sam and Eileen have been communicating off screen since 11x11. It is textually confirmed that the two of them have been developing their relationship previously, and we just haven’t seen it. Did Eileen visit the Bunker previously? Because she certainly seemed comfortable there this episode. Have her and Sam cuddled up to watch movies previously? (We know another pairing that textually do this even though we’ve never seen it on screen - Dean and Cas). Dean feels comfortable enough to tease his little brother in that playful typical sibling way, so clearly Eileen at this point has become a more frequent character in Sam’s life. It’s just a shame we as the audience have never seen anything of it until this episode. 

This episode might be the first time we have seen her again since her introduction, but it certainly isn’t the first time Sam has seen her since. This is canon.

The rest of this episode continues this theme of displaying with zero subtlety that Sam and Eileen have something more than friendship. One of the easiest ways to truly see the effect of this is just watching Sam in scenes with her compared to Sam at any other time. Like in 11x11, Eileen manages to light Sam up and have him grinning like a puppydog. It’s kind of adorable and also quite shocking when you realise how rare it is to see Sam smile (or any of the characters in this angstfest of a TV show for that matter.)

Just look at the above cheesy smile in the car scene. Look at Sam’s bashful face here when Dean teases him in front of his girl:

(x)

Look at this smug face when Eileen snaps back at the irritating guy:

(x)

Jared hits every mark playing a loved up Sam Winchester. 

By the end of this episode, a tragedy strikes and Eileen is scared off. Their relationship here ends on a comforting hug, because meaningful relationships in this show are almost always first signified with comforting hugs following traumatic events, and tentative hand holding.

The way he strokes her hair gently is just SO touching and intimate.

(x)

When all is said and done Eileen leaves, terrified of the British Men of Letters. When Dean asks Sam where she was, he tells him she went back to Ireland, and Sam looks so dejected at that thought. I don’t see how anyone can possibly read his reactions towards Eileen as anything other than romantic affection.

As a bonus point - I will mention that due to Bucklemings sledgehammer approach, it is quite clear that Eileen plays a Cas mirror in this episode. All of her scenes with Sam are paired off against Dean who spends this entire episode trying and failing to get hold of Castiel. In the Winchester’s final scene, Sam greets Dean in the morning and immediately asks his brother about Cas. Sam does this a lot in season 12, because Dean’s concern for Cas is present throughout every episode in which he is absent. Dean admits he is worried, but changes the subject, instead asking Sam about Eileen (note that it is the next morning so Dean assumed she had stayed the night).

Both brothers revert to the other when it comes to their respective partners. Sam leaves it up to Dean to contact and worry about Cas, and Dean does the same with Sam about Eileen. By this being a common pattern throughout pretty much all of Carver/Dabb eras, both brothers subtextually acknowledge that they each have a strong emotional connection with their respective potential romantic partners and therefore any contact or communication about each partner must come from the brother closest. 

12x21 - There’s Something About Mary

Another Buckleming episode and the less said about this one the better. I won’t even mention the extremely insulting and inappropriate way to kill off a disabled character (almost as bad as killing off a lesbian by having nazis butcher her) I also won’t comment on the letter that Eileen sent Sam which whilst it did have romantic undertones, was clearly written by a 12 year old girl and did not marry with Eileen’s character at all (Eugenie showing her misogyny again).

The one good thing that came out of this episode (the only good thing) was Jared’s understated grief over Eileen’s death. 

(x)

(x)

His performance dealing with her death in this episode was beautiful. It was understated, but clearly portrayed as heartbreaking. Unfortunately Sam had to push it down and bottle it up. 

Eileen’s death was a huge shocker to us all as it didn’t make any sense at that point to cut short a story that seemed so clearly to be on a specific trajectory. We often talk about how Eileen’s romance with Sam at the time was tied to Dean and Cas, and that their relationship paralleled Dean and Cas’s in the narrative. This is all true, especially the death of Eileen coming as foreshadowing for the death of Castiel at series end. Just looking at that above gif of Sam where he looks at her corpse bears an extreme resemblance to Dean pulling back the sheet and looking down at a dead Castiel in 13x01.

However much I squee and love that these relationships are clear mirrors of each other though, I need to stress how Saileen, how Sam and Eileen’s canon relationship, is so much more than that. They may have mirrored Destiel, but they are also totally different, on a different course, and with a totally different backstory. Eileen doesn’t exist just to give Sam his own version of Cas to run off with. She is not there just to push up a separate ship. Sam and Eileen’s romance stands alone in this story. It may mirror DeanCas at times, but its purpose is not for DeanCas. It’s purpose is for Sam and Eileen. 

Right from the start she ticked all of Sam’s boxes, and the clear attraction between them made it obvious. Yet Eileen was not written to just be a love interest either. She is an ally, a capable hunter, who is written deeply, with her own trauma’s and tragic past. Yet she keeps fighting, all whilst owning her disability and making it work for her rather than hold her back. She is hardly a Lisa, or an Amelia, both of whom had zero depth of character and were more or less written to look pretty and concerned as the Winchester boys basically treated them terribly. Eileen stands out as an individual character far beyond her relationship with Sam. She was full of potential which is why her quick death was an absolute travesty. 

Eileen should not have been killed off. I believe even the writers are well aware of that, and this is why they brought her back. 

Which brings me to:

15x06 - Golden Time

We knew long before this episode aired that Eileen would be back as Dabb revealed her return at SDCC. He made comments at the time ensuring that any characters he brought back would not be fanservice, that they would be characters chosen because the writers felt their stories ended too quickly, and that they had more stories to tell. Something I believe that DabbBerens are doing in particular in this season is righting the wrongs of the past. Eileen’s death was a clear “wrong” and I think its highly likely that DabbBerens’ were aware of this and saw Eileen as a no-brainer to bring back. As I said at the start of this post, Dabb is course correcting, getting his endgame plans back on track, and ensuring that he hits certain markers in order to do that. 

Once again, we are at a place in the story where Sam is grieving, and suffering deeply from all of the loss and trauma that he has faced. Being God’s personal puppet, losing his mother, losing his son, and losing someone he was close to in Rowena by his own hand, has left him in a dark place. Sam’s arc in early season 15 plays out very similarly to Dean’s arc in early season 13. A Winchester in desperate need of a win.

Eileen was Sam’s win in this episode.

Given the time that has passed since Eileen’s last episode, and how the narrative has progressed since then, I was worried that Eileen’s return would seem like fan service, and would therefore fall flat (I felt this way with AU!Charlie and never warmed to the character because of it). I was also worried that whatever potential relationship might have been building between her and Sam in seasons 11 and 12 might not have shone through in this episode. But thankfully the writers played it pretty damn perfectly and Eileen’s return wasn’t just a small side plot to an otherwise jam packed episode (like Kevin’s return in 15x02). No, her story was the A plot as Sam devoted himself to finding a way to save her from a terrible fate.

My concerns about their potential romantic relationship not being played as it was in 12x17 were also completely unfounded. From the moment Sam saw Eileen’s ghost whilst on a jog the romance was immediately back and I have no doubt that Jared and Shoshannah are once again fully playing up the connection and romantic attraction between the two. 

I am so convinced of the romance being put across here, and I want you to see why I adore this so much (in case you don’t already see it). So here are my biggest and most important takeaways from Eileen and Sam’s scenes in this episode and WHY I feel these stand out as significant elements towards proving the writers intentions for this to be an endgame canon relationship:

1. Aside from the obvious similarities between Sam and Eileen that were written into 11x11 in order to ensure that Eileen was able to stand as Sam’s equal, the one other thing that we have long discussed that Sam needs in a partner is someone who at least somewhat understands the trauma and pain that he has experienced in his life. Sam has predominantly bonded with people via shared trauma. Before her death, Eileen had had her fair share of traumatic experiences growing up in the tough hunter lifestyle, but spending an eternity being tortured in Hell is a different level of trauma entirely.

This episode cleverly once again elevated Eileen to the same level as Sam. They are equals now, both through good and bad experiences. Eileen was dragged to Hell, and only escaped when Chuck released the souls. Given that 1 year on Earth is 100 years in Hell, this means that Eileen was in Hell for 250 years give or take. Her trauma, her pain over this, is something that she can’t talk about just yet, but this significant connection between her and Sam was textualised clearly:

SAM: “I’ve been there too. Hell… long time ago. You try and forget but it gets inside you. Talking helps.”

EILEEN: “I can’t. not yet.”

SAM: “I understand”

And he really does. It is something that we can argue is a shared suffering that can create a (forgive me for this) profound bond between two people. The only other people who can understand just what he has been through were Dean (via years of Hell torture), Cas (via shared Lucifer possession), and Rowena (via shared Lucifer torture). Eileen now makes that very small list.

2. The other big factor that this episode made clear to point out textually was that this is not a Chuck manipulation. This really is Eileen, and her return from death is not part of Chuck’s story: 

SAM: “Rowena got it, she didn’t know the details but she knew the game was rigged so this. Magic. This is how she kept control.”

The reason I do not believe that Eileen is part of Chuck’s manipulations is this very pointed line right here about Rowena. Along with many other things in this episode that indicate that it isn’t guided by Chuck, Sam specifically clarifies that Rowena used magic to maintain control over her own universe.

Whilst I fully believe that Rowena will be coming back as Queen of Hell (because whatever happens to Heaven and Hell at the end, they will need balance, and someone to play caretaker and Rowena has just been set up for this role far too perfectly for me not to at least consider the option), this episode so beautifully respects and honours her character, to the point that Rowena, even in her absence, is able to control and play architect to all that happens. Rowena effectively is given Chuck’s role over this particular narrative, but instead of being framed as something villainous, it is portrayed as a precious gift that she has given to her protege Sam.

Rowena rigged the system for herself, as Sam textually explains. Her use of magic, was her way of escaping Chuck’s control, and it is through Rowena that Sam is also given this power. The power to bring back someone he loves - who was most likely taken from him by Chuck’s own dark and poorly written story (yes I do believe that Meredith was throwing shade at Buckleming in the deep subtext - pretty much all the other writers do this all the time if you pay close enough attention :P)

Rowena’s journey from villain, to reluctant ally, to friend and then finally to family, is one of the most beautiful and epic journey’s on the show (rivalled only by Castiel in my opinion). She remains one of my all time favourite characters, and her tribute in this episode, that even after death she could bestow such a precious gift to Sam, is one that I think will remain one of the more touching stories this show has given us. This is yet another reason why I believe that Sam and Eileen are endgame. Because it is a gift from Rowena, and I believe it is a gift that will be honoured by the writers.

3. It’s a small moment, but it is IMPORTANT. Sam confirms that he was teaching himself ASL after he met Eileen. In a moment of adorable flirtation Eileen beams at him and a bashful Sam smiles and bounces on the spot like a giddy schoolboy. This is yet another reveal of moments in the lives of the Winchesters that we just don’t see in 40 minute episodes. That it is canon that Sam spent hours of his life teaching himself ASL so he could more effectively communicate with Eileen is so precious. There is no way to argue how much she meant to him. 

But it isn’t just evidence of Sam’s affections, it proves to be a useful tool to the hunt in this episode as well. When Sam is unable to speak due to the witches curse, he is instead able to sign “My brother” to Eileen so that she knows to go and get Dean. It is Sam’s knowledge of sign language, which he learned due to his affection and interest in Eileen, that saves his life in this episode. 

One point that I HAVE to mention here is how the writers gave so much thought to their depiction of Eileen as a deaf person, and how wonderful her return is as representation for deaf and hard of hearing people everywhere. In both this episode, and also in her first episode 11x11, her disability was not treated as a set back, but as a tool that enables her to get ahead. The only time the writing displayed an insulting and frankly ableist light was Bucklemings 12x21 which isn’t really surprising. We expect such things from Buckleming. The other writers have proven how much more compassionate and caring they are.

The idea that Sam Winchester could end up falling in love with a beautiful, deaf woman in Eileen is practically unheard of in TV media. When do the protagonists ever end up with anyone less than “TV perfect”? It is groundbreaking that Supernatural in it’s 15 seasons has grown so much and come so far. That it started with the fridging of two women, that it’s cast remained predominantly white men throughout its entire run, that it was blackened by excessive misogyny in its early days, as well as ableism via the treatment of Bobby Singer’s paralysis in season 5. 

Supernatural has faced heavy criticism throughout it’s run, but it seems like the writers have listened and are learning. By allowing Sam and Eileen to have a happy endgame, they are doing a wonderful service in truly putting this show on the map for progression and representation - They just need to make sure that they follow through on that other big important thing too…

4. Rebirth and new beginnings. I am reminded of 13x05 and the brilliant Steppenwolf song “It’s Never Too Late To Start Again” as I rewatch the bathroom scene for the hundredth time. If the rest of the episode hasn’t already had you crying out how desperately these two should be together I fully believe it was Meredith’s plan (along with the entire production crew and Shoshannah and Jared), to have us all bawling our eyes out in happy tears that Sam and Eileen get to be together now!! (well, I certainly cried. A lot. and ruined my mascara. and squeaked at such a high pitch only dogs could hear me. The only other time I have had that reaction was in 13x05… oh, and 12x19. It’s RARE okay!)

I think the most significant point here is the touching of hands, which calls back to an earlier painful moment in the episode when ghost Eileen reached out to try to comfort Sam as he despaired about being a cosmic joke, and found she wasn’t even able to touch him. 

It is a romantic trope that was most famously used in the film Ghost, where touch was a big part of the on screen relationship. Supernatural displays this same trope rather perfectly here when the big win of the episode takes place, and Eileen emerges from the bathtub alive and whole, and tentatively reaches out to take Sam’s hand again with vastly different results.

(x)

Sam is so hesitant to touch her back, so fearful that this isn’t real, that he isn’t being allowed this. The overwhelming sense of relief and warmth that radiates from him when he finally does take her hand was exactly what made me burst into tears. The moment is so extremely breathtaking, so intimate and touching that your heart just aches for them to have that happy ending. It’s rare that Supernatural gives us moments like this, but when it does give them, when it allows its characters a win, they are immediately memorable and stand out as bright spots in an otherwise dark show. It’s moments like this that make watching these characters suffer so much worth it in the end.

The hug that comes after the touching of hands is just as intimate. This is portrayed as a lifeline. Something for Sam to grasp onto and breath. Something that inspires him to change his outlook, to gather his determination, and to convince his brother to join him and fight for the happy ending that both of these boys so desperately deserve.

(x)

The entire bathroom scene was a testament to how well Supernatural can work romance into its narrative. How these talented creators can easily provide us with a romantic scene to tug on our heart strings. Anyone screaming that romance doesn’t belong in this show I will now point at this scene and tell them exactly how wrong they are. This scene is EXACTLY what this show needed. 

For anyone denying the romance here (yeah funny how the bronly’s are so anti Saileen - I wonder why...) I’ll spell it out for them:

This is how you set up a romantic scene in TV Production:

1. Candlelight. Check.

2. Soft focus (dates back to the 1930s when films would use soft focus to portray the dreamy emotional uplift of happy couples in love - see Meet Me In Saint Louis for a very clear example). It is almost always considered a filming technique to portray romance. Check.

3. Chivalry. As if any of us didn’t expect Sam to be a perfect gentleman! But the fact is that the way he turns his back and waits with bated breath to see if the spell had worked is shown as anything other than platonic. He is almost shy, knowing that if and when she emerges from the water she will be naked, but he turns to preserve her dignity. Check.

4. Leading on from that, this is literally a naked woman emerging from a bathtub whilst Sam awkwardly stands in the room. It could have been highly sexualised. They could have used that god awful 70s porno music they like so much in this show. Sam could have made a joke to dispel the tension. If this was a platonic friendship, any of these things would have given it away. The fact that none of this happened, that the scene remained tense and intimate but not overly sexualised only further validates the romantic reading. I mean LOOK AT THIS:

CHECK

5. The music. Music is such an important part in any story. It always plays a vital role in signifying the correct atmosphere, and the correct tone of a scene. We talk about music a lot in relation to Dean and Cas and the sweeping melodic notes that usually compliment any heightened emotional DeanCas scene. The music during THIS scene though? Well it was beautifully romantic in every way. If in doubt, just go back and listen to it with your eyes closed. Play this music track over another random scene of two people sharing a moment, and it will make the scene read as romantic. I guarantee it. 

CHECK AND MATE.

Overall, this episode was the most romantic and most intimate Sam and Eileen have ever got yet in canon. It is a clear indication that their relationship is heading in a positive direction. I couldn’t be happier with how the writers are portraying this and am jumping for joy at the thought that Sam might actually get what he desired all those years ago during 11x04 when he tried to bring up the topic to Dean in the Impala.

We know from promo photos, that Eileen is still staying with Sam in 15x07. That she comforts him. With images like this to go on:

I’d say with some confidence that we will get to further watch their relationship grow, and I couldn’t be more excited for it.

I fully expect there to be darker moments coming up, and potentially Eileen will be sent away for a period of time (my money is on Chuck “dusting” her the way he did with Becky in 15x04 because I don’t believe that kills people and I do believe that they can be brought back from wherever he sends them too - plus “dusting” makes me think of Avengers Endgame which I find amusing because the “dusted” all returned at the end. I wouldn’t be surprised if Supernatural played around with that as it so often likes to play with pop culture references). I think that post Mid Season Finale we will be back to a period of utter loss and despair for the Winchester boys, and that therefore those who they feel strongly for (aka Cas and Eileen) will have to be separated from them.

However, the point is that it is always darkest before the dawn. In this story, 15x06 has laid the groundwork for Eileen to be Sam’s romantic endgame. It’s now up to Sam, and Eileen, to make sure they fight to get what they both so desire.

Bring on the finale show.

(If you liked this meta run through of Sam and Eileen’s building relationship, please leave a comment for me. It took forever to complete! Also, please click the links under the gifs and go give the gifmakers some love! The gifsets I have used are all wonderful and deserve your reblogs. (Gifs that don’t have links are my own)).

:)

[alternatewarning]

All The Kings Horses Chapter 2 - Whumptober 2020 Fic

Entry Number 14 and 19 for Whumptober 2020: Branding/Fire and Grief/Mourning Loved One

Title: All The Kings Horses Chapter 2 Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Pairing: Gladio/Prompto, Ignis/Noctis Rating: M Trigger Warnings: Major Character Death, Burning Alive, Branding, Racism/Fantasy Racism Summary:  Everyone handles grief differently. As he, Noctis, and Ignis recover from the shock of Gladio's death, Prompto leaves to spend some time alone. However, some citizens of Insomnia are none-too-friendly to outsiders.

Cross posted on Ao3

Prompto and Noctis were both released from the hospital with nothing more than scrapes and bruises. However, the doctors could do nothing for broken hearts. Ignis had taken them both back to Noctis’s apartment in an oppressive silence; Noctis in the back, watching his breath appear on the glass of the window, Prompto in the front, unfocused eyes letting the city lights dance across his freckles. The empty seat in the back felt heavy on all of them, a painful reminder of what once had been.

For the next few days, Ignis did his best to care for the bleeding hearts, at the very least taking care of their bodies. While he had seen Noctis morose more times that he wanted to admit, seeing Prompto curled up on the side of the couch, his eyes rimmed red from crying was a spear to the heart. He looked like a pale doll, broken and soulless, nothing more than a fading phantom.

“It’s getting late, I think I’m gonna go home.” Noctis looked up from where he had been watching the television with a dazed expression as Prompto spoke. It was the first time since that night that his voice didn’t carry a sob.

“You don’t have to! Stay here.” The prince shifted on the couch as he spoke, getting onto his knees as he reached out to wrap his hand into the fabric of the blanket Ignis had thrown over Prompto a few hours prior.

“I know I can stay. But I kind of want some time alone. Don’t worry.” Prompto smiled even though the pain was still clear across his face. “If I get lonely or something I’ll call for Iggy to pick me up. I’ll see you tomorrow though?”

“Ya, sure, I guess.” The young prince sighed, slowly letting go of the blanket as the blond untangled himself. There was a little more of his spirit than there had been before, a little more sunshine seeping through.

“Would you like me to drop you off at home?” Ignis walked toward the front of the apartment, reaching out for the car keys hanging from a hook to the right of the apartment door.

“Ah, no it’s okay. I want to walk. It’s not too chilly outside so I’ll be fine, really. I just gotta think, ya know?” He patted Ignis on the shoulder with a bit of a skip in his step as he grabbed his bag from beside the door and let himself out. Tension hung heavy in the air as Noctis stared at the now-closed door.

“Everyone mourns in different ways, Noct.” Ignis spoke quietly, as if his voice would shatter something. He locked the apartment door before coming over and sitting in the empty chair across the living room. Prompto’s empty seat felt almost sacred, for now.

“We were almost always together, I’m sure the two of us are just a reminder. Give him some time. Prompto feels everything very deeply.” Noctis huffed in response, which was as good of an affirmative as Ignis was going to get. It was clear that the prince was a rage of emotions right now: fear, hurt, grieving, and loneliness. He had lost not just a bodyguard, but an older brother of sorts, a friend. Ignis had tried to get him to talk about it but so far all he’d gotten were bouts of silence or tearful ‘I don’t want to talk about it’s.

“Fine. I’m going to bed. Don’t wake me up in the morning.” The retainer just nodded in silence, watching the boy go into his bedroom, a blanket trailing behind him. More than anything Ignis wanted to hold him close, tell him it would be okay, heal his wounds. But he knew better than to lie.

_________

It was a little colder outside than Prompto anticipated, but he didn’t mind. The chill of the wind against his face reminded him that he was still alive even if he didn’t feel that way. He didn’t really want to walk home just yet because he knew the house would be empty and lonely and he had enough loneliness to last him for the next few weeks. Instead he just started to walk in any direction, letting his feet carry him through the streets of Insomnia.

As he walked, he pulled his camera from his bag, almost on instinct. The thought of looking through pictures from before made his stomach tie itself in knots and lodge in his throat. But at the same time, he ached to force the memory out of his head, the memory that kept replaying over and over like a broken record unable to skip past the chorus. Every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was that, was Gladio’s broken body shattered on the ground. The blood and the pieces of brain and skull pooling out. The memory made him want to vomit but he just locked his jaw, refusing to give in.

He needed to wash the bitter aftertaste out of his brain. The blond wandered until he found a bench and sat down, dropping his bag at his feet. As much as it would hurt, and he knew it would, he needed something, anything to remember. To remember the man who saw him, who was kind to him even if he had no reason to be. Prompto was nothing, just a pathetic commoner who was more of a mess than any of his friends. And while Noct was his best friend, one of his only friends, Gladio was different. If Noctis was his prince charming, then Gladio was his knight in shining armor. And he had always had a thing for knights.

The camera clicked on with a mechanical clack, the screen lighting to life. In the setting sun, the glare from the display hurt his eyes so he blinked a few times, waiting for them to adjust. Slowly, his thumb tapped over the backwards arrow, pulling up the last picture he took. It was from only a few days ago and yet it felt like a century. The four of them had been visiting a new little cafe that had just opened and the giant coeurl stature in the front had just looked so regal. The first picture was just the statue, the white cat looking up into the cloudless sky. But the very next one was Gladio pretending to punch the statue in the face. Prompto couldn’t help but giggle at the sight, even as his eyes filled with tears.

He continued to cycle through his pictures, stopping on any of them with the Shield. He was always so big, so strong. He looked like nothing would ever stop him. Nothing could stop him. Until it did.

“Hey! Blondie! This ain't your turf, go home!” Prompto wasn’t intentionally ignoring the voices, he was just too wrapped up in his memories to notice the insults. His blue eyes blinked, confused, as a small rock hit him in the face. There was a group of six people standing a few feet away. Everything about them screamed that they were the ‘wrong crowd’ that everyone was told to avoid a child. The one in front picked up another rock and threw it, causing Prompto to yelp as it smacked him in the head.

“Hey, hey! Okay, okay I’m going, jeeze.” He wasn’t sure what ‘turf’ he’d stepped into but clearly he wasn’t wanted. He grabbed his bag from the floor, setting it on the bench so he could safely pack away his camera. It was all he had left, after all.

“We don’t want you Nifs here!” The blond froze mid-motion, as if he was trapped in time. How?! No one, and he meant no one, should have known that he was from Niflheim. His throat felt dry and his bones frozen but he forced himself to keep putting his stuff away. He stood up stiffly, as if he was a puppet with knotted strings.

“Look I don’t want to get into a fight with you. I’m just going to be on my way, okay?” He held up his hands in front of his body, a show of surrender. Slowly Prompto started to back away from the angry pack as the hairs on the back of his neck started to rise. They were watching him but more than that, they were moving towards him.

“You’re the little blond who’s always swooning over the prince, aren’t you?” The man who had thrown the rocks seemed to be the group’s leader as they all followed behind him like a pack of wild dogs.

“Excuse me, I was not swooning. We’re friends, that’s all.” The photographer huffed with a little more indignation than he should have. It only seemed to anger them more.

“So what are you, a spy? An assassin? Doesn’t matter, we won’t take this lying down. Go back home, Nif!” He threw another rock, larger this time, and Prompto just managed to stumble out of the way. Gladio’s training was coming in handy, even if he was still a little too startled to really put it to good use.

“Look, I’m going! To my house, here in Insomnia, where I live!” He turned on his heel, intending to book it down the path and into a more populated area. But just as he started to run he realized that his backpack wasn’t on his back. It was still on the bench. Normally he would just leave it and run, but that backpack had his camera. And that camera had his last pictures of Gladio. He couldn’t let it go.

The gunman bit down on his lip as he suddenly swerved, running back towards his abandoned bag. He should have just left it, just run, just escaped. But he couldn’t. Those pictures, those memories, he needed them. He couldn’t let go of the few things that he had left. Just as he reached the bag, the mob reached him. He didn’t even have time to register exactly what was happening before he was thrown to the ground with enough force to knock the wind out of him and knock the bag from his hands.

“You don’t belong here!” “No one wants you here!” “Fucking scum!”

The words started to blend together as all six of them started to yell and scream. Prompto just curled as tight as he could, protecting his face with his arms and his neck with his hands. Just like Gladio had shown him. Eventually they would get tired of punching him, kicking him, spitting on him, and they would just go away. He wasn’t sure what the Empire did this time to build up such a rage but right now he didn’t care. He just wanted to live through this and go home. Or maybe back to Noct’s house. It would hurt to be with them again but at least it was safe.

One of the group, Prompto had squeezed his eyes shut so he didn’t know which one, had grabbed his hair and was starting to pull. But not just the ‘pulling on his hair because it hurt’ way but the ‘dragging by the hair’ sort of way. Even as he was being unceremoniously dragged through the street by a small mob they kept attacking him, a boot to his face so hard his lip was bleeding, a kick to his gut that made a sickening crack.

“Let me go! I didn’t do anything wrong! Noct’s my friend, I’d never do anything to hurt him, please! Please someone help, help!” Now it was clear they were not going to just ‘move on’. This wasn’t the type of anger where people got in a few good hits, felt like they had the last laugh and then just left. This was the type of anger that had been burning for years and years and wasn’t going to be put out by a young man screaming for mercy.

Prompto kicked and wiggled, trying to pull free of the white-knucked grasp of his hair. His back was starting to burn from being dragged across the cement, a hole already torn open in his shirt. He grabbed the arms holding his hair and tried to claw and pull, anything to get away.

“Don’t do this, please don’t kill me! Really we’re just friends, we went to school together! You can ask him! I’m not a spy, I grew up in Luc-” He didn’t finish his plea as one of the group shoved some sort of cloth in his mouth. He shoved it in so deep that Prompto started to gag, now focused on freeing his throat over escape. Once the gunman pulled out the rag the grasp on his hair dropped, letting his body thud into the harsh gravel. He knew it was his only time to escape.

The blond relied on all the training that Gladio had given to him. He rolled onto his side, keeping low to the ground, and tried to launch into the space between two of the attackers. It worked and he burst free of their circle. For a short moment he felt freedom, the panic pushing his legs to run even as the skin on his left leg was torn open from cement and gravel. In a flash his freedom was taken away with the clang of metal and a shock of pain in the back of his head before his body fell to the ground with as much force as he had used to try and escape. The leader now stood over him, a metal pipe in his hand.

“You’ve killed so many, broken up families, made us hide away behind the Wall. Now it's your turn to be afraid.” Prompto wanted to say something back, to tell him he had it all wrong, but instead everything just faded to black.

The sensation that forced Prompto awake was nothing but pain. A searing, burning pain that tore a scream from his throat even before his consciousness had fully kicked back into gear. His blue eyes snapped open as he tried to twist, pull away, kick, fight, anything. But every twitch, every turn, resulted in nothing. His senses kicked back into gear all at once in a moment of panic. He couldn’t pull away because he couldn’t move, his hands were tied behind hid back so tightly that he couldn’t really feel his fingers. But they weren’t just behind his back, something, a pole or a plank or something, was digging into his shoulder blades and his arms were trapped behind him, the structure in between. His feet were also tied in place with the same sturdy cord, wrapping him to the rod with so little movement that he was sure his feet were going to lose circulation, and soon.

“What are you doing, let me go! Please!” Now acutely aware of how dangerous a situation he was in, his mind was just starting to catch up. He wasn’t in the same place that he had been when he’d been knocked out, now he was surrounded by dirt, sand and ruin. Outside the Wall--there was a small flame flickering in front of him, but not from a magical haven. Just a mound of sticks and dried grass. Something was sticking out of the fire, long, the tip blazing orange. Pieces started to fall into place in his mind. The same six from before were watching him, a sick pleasure across their faces. They were confident that they were cleansing their city of something that shouldn't exist.

The leader grabbed the long handle from the fire and lifted it up. Prompto hissed, realizing that his first thought had been right. The end of the metal stick was twisted into an “L” shape, leaving the tip flat instead of brunt, a molten hot line perfect for branding skin. Slowly the blond looked down, his panic overriding any sense of pain. His shirt had been ripped open, his pale skin now a mural of purple and red, faint bootprints clearly visible. But there was also one vertical long black burn across his chest just about the size of the bar. As the man stepped closer he just closed his eyes and tried to set his jaw.

Even knowing what was coming, Prompto couldn’t help but scream. The red-hot metal pressed against his chest, hissing loudly he tried to thrash away from it. Once the metal started to fade back to black the man pulled it from his chest, the metal nearly tearing the skin that it had melted too. Now the former line was joined by another, starting at the top of the previous bearn and running in a diagonal to the right.

With a haggard scream, the blond let himself sag, trapped in place by the cords around his wrists, feet and under his arms. By his count there were 5 more burns coming. As if on cue, the leader came back, pressing the metal into his skin for a third time, completing the first letter in blacked, charred skin. N.

“Why are you doing this to me?!” Prompto choked out between sobs that were slowly swallowing his screams of pain. “I didn’t do anything to you, I never hurt anybody! Please stop, please!” The fourth round of branding was placed right against his sternum, pressing not only the molten metal into his skin, but forcing his back into the board behind him, an “I” now branded to his skin. All six seemed to be taking a sick delight in his pain, looking among each other with pride instead of disgust. As the iron was pulled away from his skin he let out a heavy groan.

“Noctis! Noctis save me, please! Noct!” He screamed and thrashed, torn between closing his eyes and watching the iron heat up so he would be prepared. “Iggy! Please, save me! Help!” His screeching bounced around the abandoned ruins, fading into nothing but a voiceless echo as it traveled out of the valley.

“Someone, anyone help me! Gladio!” The boy’s voice was starting to go hoarse as he screamed, the metal pressing into him again until all Prompto could smell was burnt flesh. No matter how much he screamed, no one was coming to save him.

_______________

Ignis watched the sleeping prince, his heart torn in two. Did he wake up Noctis to the horrible news, or let him stay in a peaceful dream. His green eyes slowly dropped to the newspaper in his hands. The headline was bold across the front page, dotted with pictures so grotesque they were pixelated for distribution. But if anyone was interested the full pictures, in bright and living color, were easily found online.

The retainer slowly sat on the edge of the bed, reading over the article again as if he could force the words to change.

“Niflheim Spy? Charred body found outside the wall, NIF branded into his chest!” It read like some sensationalist tabloid. The journalist clearly didn’t care about the remains that once belonged to a soft and sensitive boy. Even though the body had been burned at the stake like some sort of historic criminal, there was enough left that one glance at the picture and he knew. Even with the picture pixeled out to hide the worst of it, Ignis knew those freckles, that form, those clothes. All he could do was pray that the boy had died quickly even though his logical mind knew that he likely suffered through almost all of it before either dying or passing out.

He couldn’t bear to awaken Noctis, not for this. He folded the paper in half, placing it on his knees as he leaned forward, the weight suffocating him. They had only been apart for an evening and yet now the prince would wake to a world without his best friend. Without the spirit and smile that could drag even Noctis out of the depths of his own sadness.

Yes, he was going to let the prince sleep a little bit longer. Hopefully it was peaceful in his dreams.

[chaoticsagi]

FICTOBER 2019 | DAY TWO | “JUST FOLLOW ME, I KNOW THE AREA”

Prompt: 2 -  “Just follow me, I know the area.”

Fandom & Ship: Community, Jeff x Annie

Summary: Jeff, Britta and Troy fly to DC to surprise Annie, but without Annie there to plan it all, it kind of falls apart.

“We’re lost,” Troy whines behind him, his voice rings in Jeff’s ears. This is the fifth time that Troy has moaned in the last 3 minutes and Jeff’s starting to lose his patience with him.

He thinks to himself how, if they had listened to him earlier and actually followed the map he had out on his phone, they wouldn’t even be in this mess. But then his phone died, and then so did Troy’s. Now they had no map, no address, no hints as to where the hell they should be headed.

He pictures them all in Annie’s apartment, imaging them with a hot drink and their feet up on her sofa, listening to her tell a story in her animated Annie fashion. He tries to ignore the fact that they’re currently roaming the streets of DC hopelessly in a desperate attempt to find her apartment building in the cold air. Their luggage drags along behind them and they can’t ignore how tired, bored and cold they all feel.  

The thought of seeing Annie again was the only thing keeping Jeff going at this point. Even if Britta and Troy were there with him. He does kind of wish he could see her alone, but when he announced his plans to his friends, they all begged to join him, and Jeff couldn’t say no.

“Just follow me, I know the area,” Britta says confidently, but it only causes her friends to groan. “I lived in New York, remember?”

“You do realise we are not in New York right now, right?” Jeff feels the need to check, unsure why Britta thinks her faux-knowledge of a completely different city will help her here and now. It’s one of those weird Britta-isms he’ll never understand, but he hopes for her sake she’s on to something. For the love of God, please let her be onto something.

“Shut up,” she nudges his side and storms past him, walking off down the street.

Troy and Jeff pick up pace to follow her, knowing they don’t really have much choice at this point, both their phones are dead and they have no idea where they were. They might as well not lose Britta, even if she is dead weight.

They wander aimlessly for a few more minutes? Hours? Days? Jeff’s lost track of time by this point, and every second seems to be crawling by agonisingly slow. It’s time to face facts, they have no clue where they are. He just wants to see Annie. Why is it so hard?

The idea of surprising Annie with an impromptu semi-group reunion seems stupid now that they couldn’t even find her. Jeff thinks back to their original, half-hatched plans and wonders whether they should’ve just got her to meet them at the airport. She’d probably be embarrassed with his poor planning skills, he thinks to himself after.

“Shall I just call her?” Britta asks 5 blocks later, and Jeff and Troy turn to each other, eyes full of anger (Jeff) and confusion (Troy).

“You’ve had a phone on you the whole time?!” They shout in unison.

“Duh doy. These phones last like a week without charging,” Britta pulls out a very outdated phone from her purse. It looks like a brick and Jeff’s pretty sure he can see an antenna sticking out of it. It looks like a lost relic from the late 80s. “It may not have all your fancy apps on it, but it does the trick.”

“Jeez Britta, how old is your phone?” Troy comments, curiously inspecting the device in her hand. “You seriously need an upgrade.”

Returning back to the task at hand, Jeff rubs his temples vividly. “So you’re meaning to tell us we could’ve called Annie hours ago? Did you seriously not think of that?”

“I thought the whole point of this was that it was a surprise,” she spits out.

He glares back at her. Her reasoning is stupid and he’s not afraid to tell her that.

“Shut up, Winger. Maybe if you didn’t spend the whole flight sorting through your selfies and draining your shitty phone battery, we wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.”

Troy stifles a laugh and stops immediately when Jeff sends him a pointed look.

“I wasn’t even doing that,” he murmurs, mostly to himself. So what? He may have been looking through some old photos of the group all together, reminiscing about the last time he saw Annie… Didn’t mean anything though.

Britta presses call on Annie’s icon, putting the phone on speaker. They can all hear her flustered voice when she finally answers.

“Hi Britta,” Annie calls out in her familiar voice. It sends a chill down Jeff’s spine. That, or cold breeze that just picked up. “Is everything ok?”

“Heyyyy,” she drawls in response. Jeff and Troy stand by, listening in.

“You haven’t locked yourself out of the apartment again, have you? Is there a problem with the rent or something? Have you been robbed?”

“Nah, I’m all good,” Britta continues. “Actually, we do need your help… We’re a little lost.”

“Lost?” Annie’s voice is laced with concern, he can practically sense imagine her sitting at home, heart racing, eyes filled with panic. It’s a pretty cute picture, but he doesn’t want her to worry too much.

“We’re in D.C. but we don’t really know where we are right now… What’s your address again?” He sighs, feeling a bit bad they’ve ruined their surprise.

“Surprise!” Troy adds in before Annie can even react.

“You’re in DC?” is all she says before pausing for a moment. They wait, huddling further into their jackets, unsure if she sounds excited or not. “I’ll text it to you now Britta.”

“We’ll get a cab right over. Thanks, Annie!”

-

“I can’t believe you guys are here!” She jumps up and down as they walk into her apartment. It’s a tiny, tiny excuse for a place. The walls are bright yellow - very Annie - and the kitchen slash living room just about fits them all inside. Thank god the others hadn’t been able to make it; they were already at maximum capacity.

“I missed you,” Troy pulls her in for a big hug. “Plus I have to tell you all my pirate stories - something these two clearly don’t appreciate.” Troy sends Britta and Jeff a glare as he moves away.

Britta ignores him, approaching Annie next. “Your place is… cute,” she tries. 

But in reality it’s cramped, and Jeff’s pretty sure he can feel a breeze coming in through the closed window, he mentally tells himself to check that out later. 

He can tell she’s really tried to make it as homely as she can, with throws and pillows and little dashes of Annie about the place. 

“Thanks,” Annie shrugs. “It’s the best I could do with my savings right now. Oh, and please thank your parents again for covering all the rent while I’m gone, I owe them.”

“Don’t mention it. Seriously.”

It’s Jeff’s turn next.

He’s finally standing in front of her, a moment he’s been picturing ever since he dropped her off at the airport with Abed. And yeah, he definitely never imagines Troy and Britta in all his fantasies, but he knows it’s nice for them to all have a group reunion so he’s not exactly complaining. 

“Hey,” he breaths as she steps towards her. He feels a weight on his shoulders, full of words unsaid, longing and feelings. The woman he loves is stood there in front of him, and more than anything he wants to go over to her, pull her close, and press his lips on hers. But he can’t. Not right now, at least.

A silence lingers between them, before she moves closer and wraps her arms around his waist.

“Hey,” she near-whispers back into his chest and the vibration of her voice against him sends shockwaves around his body. For the first time in a while, he finally feels alive. It’s stupid and he tries to ignore it.

“Missed you,” he stops himself from saying more. He really doesn’t want to open his mouth and admits just how much he hates Greendale when she’s not there. He’s been getting by ok, and he doesn’t exactly want to scare her off.

She leans up to whisper in his ear, “I missed you the most.”

She smells like vanilla, all warm and homely and comforting all in one and he can’t help but let a smile dance across his features as he holds her.

“Break it up, guys,” Troy yells across the room, to which Britta adds some gagging noises for dramatic effect. 

“Yeah. I didn’t come all this way to be a third wheel, Winger.”

Annie pushes herself out of his grasp, smiling at her houseguests.

“Who wants to go get dinner?”

Jeff stands by watching the three, all happily discussing where to go. He thinks to himself how lucky he is to have them all in his life still, how lucky he is that they’re all here together despite their Greendale days being long gone. He never could have imagined it would be like this, but he’s so glad it is.

This is it. This is his family.

-

They drop their things off at the hotel before heading for food, and because they all have so much to catch up on, they almost don’t notice the restaurant clearing out for closing time.

So they eventually end up at some random bar Annie recommends and it’s pretty packed inside. Full of people much younger than Jeff, he notes, but tries not to think about it too much.

His mind wanders to whether she’s moved on, found some young, good looking guy here in DC that’s more suited to her new FBI lifestyle than he is. But the thought makes his stomach churn and his head cloud with anxiety and insecurity and he thinks it’s best to leave those thoughts alone. 

He ends up ordering himself a scotch while they all listen to Troy’s recap of his time in Australia and then sneaks out the entrance to the smoking area for some fresh air.

It all feels so surreal now, Jeff’s not really sure how to feel. 

“You ok?” he recognises her voice immediately, and turns to spot a familiar head of brown, shiny hair and bright blue eyes looking up at him.

“I’m good,” he nods, his voice doing very little to mask his true emotions.

Not that it matters. He knows Annie can read him like an open book anyway. He doesn’t know why he bothers trying to hide anything from her.

“Just follow me,” she says, grabbing his hand. “Don’t worry, I know the area.”

He looks at her puzzled, remembering when Britta said the exact same thing. She giggles at his quizzical expression and winks back. Troy had told her the story earlier and she found it completely hilarious.

She leads him away from the bar, just down a quiet, secluded street around the corner. She’s walking faster than he’s ever seen her move and he wonders what her urgency is and where she’s taking him.

She doesn’t say anything, just stops abruptly outside a closed shop, and before he even has a chance to ask her what she’s doing, she leans onto her tip toes and slants her lips on top of his.

His heart explodes and his head goes fuzzy and he can’t quite believe this is happening. He pulls her body closer, his hand nestled into her hair and the other tight on her waist, holding her close.

Her lips taste fruity, like the cocktails she’s been ordering all night (some things never change). Her tongue finds its way into his mouth, and he has to stop himself from moaning too loudly in response. He’s waited far too long for this. His heart pounds in his chest, threatening to leap out if he gets too excited.

Eventually, they part, their chests heaving and their lips red. Her nose is a little pink from all the friction. It might just be the best thing he’s ever seen.

“We should go back before they notice that we ran off,” she smiles innocently and holds her hand out for him to take.

He doesn’t have time to overthink what just happened. All he knows is he can’t wait for the rest of their little secret moments together this weekend.

[reyagreenewrites]

A Fate of Feathers: Chapter One

Fandom: The Witcher 

Rated: M (Language, Sexy Time) 

Pairings: Geralt/OC 

(Currently taking fanfiction requests and submissions) 

The street cats of Raven’s Way ears’s twitched and fretted as a silent shadow on horseback passed through the town, the chilly night air catching his breath and turning into clouds as he passed by equally mute homes of farmers and their families. Hair on the back of one cat's neck stood up and it was all it took as seemingly from every which way angry and haunting shrieks and sputtering hisses of cats filled the otherwise silent streets, the horse chuffing slightly at the sound.

A gloved hand reached down and gave the horse's neck a reassuring pat. "Easy, Roach." The voice was soft, but held an air of mystery and danger, cut gruffly by a deep growl of something almost primordial. The cats shrunk back into the shadows eyeing the man warily as he continued on with his steed, crawling up the hill towards the town proper. The lights in brasiers were lit to signify his arrival and In the faint luster of the fire, those he passed could see that he, his mount, and the satchel attached to his saddle were soaked with crimson blood, steaming slightly against the chill of the night . Guards fell into hushed silence as he approached, looking up from their drinking and Gwent. Slowing to a gait the horse and rider approached a pair of arched oak double doors. He dismounted, unhooking the dripping satchel from its secure line,  and hoisting it over his shoulder as he walked, not caring of the mess that he left behind him.

The doors opened for him without warning or cry, a strange custom considering the man's profession. He crossed the threshold, leaving a trail of gore in his wake and continued up the steps, not bothering to announce himself before entering the large chambers before him. Many strange and curious objects adorned the room, bits and baubles collected over several lifetimes and ages. A small wreath sat cocked to one side on the room’s soul occupant, adorned with rubies and sapphires, not to be usurped by his piercing blue eyes which sat beneath a head of brown curls. The eyes watched, clearly dulled by too much wine as the newcomer approached, slamming the satchel on the table with a sickening slap. The satchel’s belly was split by the action and carnage poured out onto the hardwood, staining it a deep mauve. The head of a beast followed, its once yellowed eyes rolled back into its skull, tongue lolling out to perch on its painfully sharp teeth, licking up the crimson as it tumbled out.

"There," the rider grunted, finally pulling back his hood to reveal a shock of white hair and equally pale stubble, "This is the head of the basilisk of Wolfbane's Ridge."

The man at the table smirked, and in one fluid motion, slid a small pile of gold coins towards the ashen haired stranger.

"You have done me well, Geralt of Rivera." The man proclaimed to no one in particular, "You are a man of your word."

The rider, Geralt, shrugged nonchalantly. "You had a paying job and I took it. Not much more to talk about."

The man's smirk widened and turned into a malicious grin, "Geralt, my friend, sit with me, enjoy some wine."

Geralt shrugged as the man reached over and poured him a glass, "What's the catch?" Geralt asked, sitting down at the right side of the crowned man. He sighed and pushed the goblet towards the sharp eyed man, shaking his head in dismissal.

 “I am but a public servant, Witcher, sort of like what you do. Take care of law and order and what have you.”

Geralt bit his tongue to keep from retorting. This man was as much of a public servant as the Witcher was a king. “I fail to see where this is going, Anders.”

Anders sighed again and sipped at his wine, as if the weight of his crown made him weary, “Geralt, I look after the well-being of those under my father’s employment. I am responsible for their quality of life. These people do not have that under their current circumstances.”

“And what circumstances do those happen to be?” Geralt questioned, already knowing where the conversation was headed.

“I sent out that bounty as a test, dear Witcher, to get only the best of the best to step over that threshold! That basilisk was just the beginning of lifting her curse from this place!” He spat as he slammed his goblet down on the table, completely ignoring the question.

“What curse?” Geralt inquired, getting slightly annoyed by the man dancing around the question, “Anders, what the hell are you talking about?”

Anders smirked, a deep chuckle arising from deep within his throat, “A witch, Master Witcher. A witch so foul, she placed a curse on this land. The beasts that once roamed only the forests, now prowl through the streets of the accursed village, killing livestock and humans alike. She controls them through spell craft, sending them to steal the souls of the women and children in their beds.” 

Geralt sighed. He knew of women who often fell through the cracks of society and ended up in backwater towns becoming local apothecary owners or herbalists. It was rare to hear of one being powerful enough or deranged enough to call upon hellish beasts like they were familiars. However, the foolish lord before him seemed to have a very bad habit of embellishing the truth. The basilisk that he had killed was hardly more than a whelp, and barely the monster that the warrant had claimed it to be. “How much are you offering for a bounty?”

“25,000 crowns, no questions asked if you bring me her head.” He stated simply, causing Geralt’s eyebrow to raise in suspicious question. A bounty that high could only mean one thing. She was as dangerous as he claimed or  merely wanted her very, very dead.

“No questions asked?” Geralt repeated, pushing his untouched wine away, “What are you hiding, Anders?”

Anders narrowed his eyes suspiciously, glaring at the Witcher, “As a reminder, you are an employee in my eyes. I am paying you to do a job, not to ask questions, do I make myself clear?”

Geralt merely nodded as Anders cleared his throat and smoothed the front of his robes until they hung taut against his body, “Now then, the witch resides in the old village up on the side of the mountain. Be warned, her monsters patrol the area and have torn apart any and all I have sent. That, my dear witcher, is why she is so dangerous.”

Geralt nodded again and turned on his heel to leave, but before he could, Anders cleared his throat, “Take heed. Even if you get past the monsters she controls, her honeyed words are dangerous. Do not believe anything she says. The witch is worse than any of her creatures and will lie to get herself out of any situation.”

Geralt merely grunted as he stepped over the threshold and disappeared into the inky night, lights falling away as he galloped from the village, spurring Roach into the unknown that lay before him.

“Steady now, Roach.” Geralt said as he finally tugged back on the reins, the horse chuffing in annoyance and pulling back to show his distaste. Roach however knew that his owner could sense things that it could not and in turn, quieted itself.

Geralt peered through the darkness as rain and wind started to sweep around him. Through the storm, he could see a large shape perched high in a tree, watching him intently. From here, he knew that he was looking at a royal griffon and he thought back to Anders’ words about the creatures along the path. Both knew the other was there, but Geralt wondered why the creature did not attack as was the nature of creatures such as these. The Witcher decided to leave this chance encounter to the winds of fate and continue along the mountain path. The longer he traveled, the more creatures he encountered, watching him from beyond the veil of darkness. Sure enough, the road that led to the witch was wrought with many strange and befuddling creatures that had often plagued Geralt along his journey thus far in his mortal constraint.

He could smell the scent of her before he even saw the village. The fragrance of the smoke in the air was that of a deep juniper, tinged with the stench of forest in the fall, the decaying leaves and undergrowth medicinal and pungent. As the aura grew, Geralt watched as a small group of ramshackled buildings came into view, the boards bloated and soft with the neverending tirade of the elements. Only one home still stood intact, a gentle glow falling out onto the puddle laden ground, dancing with the raindrops as they hit the water. No monsters prowled here, surprisingly, all standing a distance back from what was left of the village.

Geralt jumped off Roach’s back and unsheathed the silver sword from the bundle behind the saddle. Inside the hut, with his enhanced witcher senses, he could hear the woman’s heartbeat strong and steady. He couldn’t see her, but he could hear her move across the earthen floor, breathing gently into her hands to keep herself warm. He silently moved across the sodden ground, breathing only enough to keep himself undetected. He pressed up against the door and was surprised to find that it held no warding spells to keep people away.

He heard her change in heartbeat, turning her head towards the door as she crossed the ground, reaching towards the door and pressing on it. The wooden barrier swung outwards and Geralt was forced to take a step back and stand face to face with the woman that he was intent on killing.

Geralt was surprised to see not an old, tired hag, but instead a woman, her deep brown locks pulled back into a simple braid, a look of surprise on her face. “Can I help you, Witcher?” She asked icily, glaring at him in suspicion.

“I was sent to kill the witch that lives here,” Geralt said simply. The woman looked down at his sword, still unsheathed and pursed her lips, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Well then, I believe you’re in luck because I am the witch who lives here,” She replied mildly, a dry little smirk coming to her lips, “Would you like to come in?”

Geralt slowly lowered his sword and stepped over the threshold, the warmth instantly catching him by surprise. The hut was dimly lit, herbs lining the ceiling as they dried. A grizzled barn owl twitched his head this way and that as he watched Geralt enter the small room, its tawny feathers standing on end as he stood at his full height and made a soft cooing noise. A fire crackled lively in the hearth, a kettle of water resting just above the flames. “When Anders said witch, I expected…”

The woman walked back towards the fire, her left sleeve hanging lifelessly from the bodice of her dress as she took the water from its perch and placed it on a weathered table, “You expected some old grave hag, or close enough to it I’m sure. That’s the picture that he paints for everyone.”

“There have been others?” Geralt questioned as she poured water into two earthen cups, steam rising as she put it back. Now that she had been so close to him, he could see that her left sleeve hung limply because she had no left arm.

“Of course there have been others,” She said simply, sitting down at the table, ushering for Geralt to take the other chair, “But none of them had been a Witcher. He’s been sending witch hunters after me for ages, but the forests here are crawling with monsters.”

“You control them?” He continued his line of interrogation, making the witch chuckle dryly.

“Hardly! I can manipulate them with sounds and smell, but to control a wild beast is to control the gods themselves.”  She pushed one of the cups across the table to Geralt and he picked it up, inhaling the scent of blackberries and chrysanthemums. “Before you ask, it’s not poisoned. I wouldn’t bring you all this way only to bring upon you death.”

Geralt looked at the cup and drank suspiciously, watching the woman’s every move. Her eyes danced like amber in the firelight, the glow of the flames casting starbursts across her irises, “Why does Anders have a price on your head?”

The woman cocked her head slightly to the side and bit her lip, narrowing her eyes, “Maybe we should start with names, Master Witcher. You, of course, are Geralt of Rivera, the Famous White Wolf, the Butcher of Blaviken.”

“You know of me? Then it is a pity I know nothing of you,” Geralt replied, arching an eyebrow as the woman stood and ushered to herself with one arm, dropping into an ugly curtsey.

“I am Lady Lyra Northwood-Dupont, daughter of Marquee Dupont of Toussaint, and wife of Lord Anders Northwood of Novigrad.” She said, “No longer recognized as either, unfortunately, but you may call me Lyra.”

Geralt furrowed his brow and looked at the woman who stood before him. She was pretty in the strange, hypnotizing way as he often found with witches. Her deep brown hair framed a pretty face, lined by the agony of some unknown trauma. His eyes hovered briefly over her left sleeve but he felt it best not to question the lack of appendages, “So, how did you end up out here, my Lady?” Geralt asked as she sat down yet again. The owl in the corner screamed like a child in the night, sending chills down Geralt’s arms as it took off through the open window.

“I was betrothed to Anders before I was even born.” She said, looking into the fire, “Our fathers were best friends and it only seemed logical that they be united in marriage as well. When I was 10, I found out that I could...manipulate stray animals. Creatures big and small would be drawn to me. Imagine my father’s surprise when he realized that he would have to give up his only daughter to the Lodge. He despised me for it, but in the end, let me go, if only for appearance's sake. Since land was on the board for Anders’ father, he pushed Anders to go after me. When he did, my father retracted his blessing and I had to return to Novigrad to marry him.”

“And you did,” Geralt pointed out. “Why didn’t you run away? Disband yourself from your family?”

A thin lipped smile appeared on Lyra’s face, “My father knew what was best for me,” She said mildly, “I went in blindly thinking that I would be able to go back to the Lodge once we were wed. Unfortunately, because of certain...rumors that began to circulate, they demanded that I live with Anders in Raven’s Way. It was the village on the Elder Lord Northwood’s land that was the furthest away from Novigrad and the whispers.”

“What were the rumors?”

Lyra looked down at the floor and sighed, “Well, they ended up not being rumors, but were very true. Anders has a very sadistic side, and because of this, ended up killing women in his...wanton lust. His father threw money at the problem to make it go away and sent us out to Raven’s Way to live out the remainder of our lives. Maybe have some children along the way that we could send him to live out his legacy. When we left Novigrad, he had nowhere else to turn to to slake those desires. I became his main torture victim.”

“I’m...sorry.” Geralt said as she looked back up at him, a single tear trailing down one cheek.

“You have no reason to be. It’s nice to be able to tell someone my story.” She replied, “During this time, I realized that I would go mad if I didn’t learn to control my abilities and so I practiced in secret. Sometimes, it would go awry and I would call beasts to the village. That would always cause some ruckus, but someone would always push it back. It was also when the abuse was at its worst. I had these beautiful hunting birds. The night that my daughter was conceived, he killed three of my favorites and raped me on their corpses.” She wiped the tears from her eyes and sighed, squaring her shoulders. Reaching for her tea, she sipped at it and looked back at the fire, “When I finally had Ingrid, I finally realized that I could finally find light in the situation. I loved her like she was a part of me.”

Lyra inhaled sharply, sitting up quickly in her chair, “After Ingrid’s birth, Anders began to drink heavily. He was an angry drunk and I did my best to protect my daughter. However, I could not protect her for long. In her seventh year, Ingrid stood up to Anders in defiance and he pushed her down the flight of stairs that she often hid under to get away from him. I held her broken body as he tormented me, taunted me for failing to protect her. That was the last night I saw Anders. I took Ingrid to see a friend of mine, another witch and begged her to bring her back. I knew that she lingered behind on the cusp of life and death and I wanted her back. She begged me to allow my daughter to leave this world. I refused to listen.” Geralt watched her glossy eyes, reliving some dark memory from the past.

“I chose to save her. I took her soul and I brought it back. Her body, however, was too broken to put her soul back into, so I made do. The owl houses the soul of my daughter.” 

“And your arm?” Geralt questioned, nodding to the empty sleeve.

“Necromancy always has some….unforeseen consequences.,” Lyra replied, standing and turning back to the fire.  “But there is always something to be learned from our mistakes.” She glanced over her shoulder at Geralt, “I know you’re under the employment of that monster, but may I make you a deal?”

“I’m listening,” Geralt replied, crossing his arms over his chest and arching an eyebrow.

“Help me get my revenge,” She replied, walking back over, forlorn sleeve hanging limply at her side, “Help me silence that bastard once and for all. I have not seen my father in almost 15 years, but I’m sure that he will pay you handsomely to help me return to the House of Dupont. Tell Anders that you killed me on top of the mountain.” With one fell swoop, she ripped off the vacant sleeve and grabbed a knife from the table Geralt sat at. He instantly recoiled and jumped to his feet.

“What are you doing?!” He demanded as Lyra screwed her face up in concentration.

“He won’t believe that I’m dead without some carnage.” She murmured, more to herself than to Geralt as she dug the tip of the knife into the space where her arm should have been. Lyra cried out in pain as she rubbed the sleeve against the marred swath of skin, wincing as she did so. When she finally pulled it away, Geralt could see the stump clearly. The place where her arm had been was scarred beyond recognition, the twisting vines of terror and pain lacing up her arm and into her shoulder, disappearing under the dress.

Lyra handed Geralt the sleeve, blood still dripping from the cloth, “Give this to him. It will convince him that you did as you were requested.”

Geralt took it without question, putting it into the satchel at his side, “You do realize that I won’t kill him for you. Witchers don’t deal in politics.” 

The woman glanced at the Witcher, grabbing a rag from the table and pressing it against the freely bleeding stump, “I didn’t expect for you to kill him,” She quipped, “I’m just requesting you take this to him. At least get him off of my trail.” 

Geralt paused for a moment, weighing the conversation in his mind. On one hand, Anders had said that she had a way with honeyed words, playing the victim in the situation. However, on the other, he knew that the griffon he had seen in the forest earlier that evening would have killed him if she hadn’t stopped it. “Fine, I’ll help you. Where will you go in the meantime?” 

Lyra pursed her lips and looked off into the distance as if pondering it, “I will stay here, for now. Once you’ve delivered that,” She said, pointing at the satchel, “Return and I’ll hopefully have a plan divulged. If not…” 

“If not, then you’ll have no Witcher and no idea of what to do. How long can you survive up on this mountain with your army of monsters?” 

She shot him a scathing glare, “I’ve survived on this mountain for the last five years, Geralt. I believe I can hold out for another month.” 

Geralt crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head in disbelief, “Fine, stay here. I’ll come back when I have word from Anders.” 

Lyra paused for a moment before nodding, “Very well, then I bid you farewell...for now.” 

Turning on his heel, Geralt walked from the cabin, the rain still pummeling the ground as he bent his head and strode back to his horse. However, to his surprise, he heard the cabin door open behind him and he turned around to see Lyra at the door. 

“Witcher, one last thing. If you betray me, I will kill you.” She promised in an almost teasing tone of voice. However, Geralt didn’t want to stick around to find out if she was jesting and so with a sharp kick to Roach’s haunches, he began his trek back down the mountain. 

[starspatter]

Heroes and Thieves, Ch. 13

Title: Heroes and Thieves Fandom/Universe: BTAS, pre/post-RotJ flashback

Summary: A story about second chances, healing, and having hope.

Rating: PG-13, for references to character death, child psychological torture and trauma.

Genre: Romance/Family/Friendship/Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 2,260 Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12

Also on ff.net and AO3. In which Tim isn’t Jason.

A long long time ago, in a tragedy If ever comes a day that I go away In a forest deep, you'll sink like a stone From that moment on, you'll go alone

For we are two of a kind; when we walk, we are one The sound of lies being told disappear like the sun And now we both bow our heads; only a single shadow Didn't you know that I'm also going alone?

-Fullkawa Honpo, "Alice"

————————–

Now.

Alfred had been in the midst of pouring himself a calming cup of tea in the parlor when he heard the doorbell ring, followed by loud banging on the outside.  He set the pot down and strode with as much steady grace as he could muster to the portentous sound coming from the porte.  Opening it, he came face to face with his former young charge, now grown older and grimmer in appearance compared to the foregone past.  …That seemed like only yesterday, yet at the same time so long ago.  When he’d wear a wide grin as he dashed straight into the manor upon coming home from school, eager to tell all about his day over a plate of snacks that would already be laid out and waiting for him; tossing coat and bag carelessly to the side, where Alfred would quietly pick them up and hang them in proper order. He’d shake his head, but smile and say nothing in light of the boy’s brimming energy and excitement as he waved to the butler in thanks, before charging up to cheerfully greet an ever expectant Bruce, vaulting heedlessly over any furniture on the way in vaunting display.

“Why, Master Timothy, what a… pleasant surprise.  How good to see you.”

“Sorry, Alfred,” Tim interjected briskly.  “I don’t have time to chat.  …They’re down there, aren’t they?”

“‘They’, sir?”

Tim’s eyes darkened dangerously.

“Cut the act, Alfred. You know who I’m talking about.”

Alfred sighed, standing aside to let the young man in.

“Master Bruce arrived back shortly ago with a young lady through the… ‘other entrance’.  They are at present where you’d suspect.”

Tim immediately brushed by without another word, breezing brazenly through the halls in a burning haste towards the study, where he stopped before an old grandfather clock.  He hesitated a moment as his hand tremblingly reached out, taking a deep breath before pulling on the pendulum to slide the access open, shouting an angry warning into its depths.  Foreboding darkness and blue cavern walls stretched before him as he descended down the familiar staircase for the first time in forever, feeling the sudden drop in temperature from subterranean chill.  When he reached the bottom, he arrested at the sight of his (second) worst nightmare come to life, freezing another few degrees.  …He was too late.

Seething, rage flooded his face as he flew at the culprit in fury, and for a second all he saw was pulsing red and bursts of black – erupting flashbacks – as he heatedly yelled at what was once his must trusted companion.  How could he?  The sheer nerve. He had given everything for him, and now he had betrayed his secrets – taken whatever little independence – or semblance of it – he had left.  Destroyed any remaining faith in his “father” by proving himself a fake and a liar, exposing sins of the “son” without even so much as consulting said subject. Insulting his pride and privacy in the worst way imaginable.

It took Steph’s worried voice and shaking to snap him out of it, and his mortification magnified as he wondered what she must think of him now.  He couldn’t even stand to look her in the eye, afraid to confront the same expression one would surely exhibit at a freak show.  Stabilizing, he stalled by requesting her to wait for him above ground. …Whether she actually would was a different story, but he didn’t really want to consider that possibility right now.

As he observed her cloaked backside heading up the steps, his vision traveled to the row of costumes beside, locked away in clear cases like inmates in their cells at Arkham.  He approached the smallest one in scarlet and put his palm on the mirrored glass, mimicking the exact same motion he made so many years ago the first time he laid shining, hopeful eyes on it, now staring dully at his own tired reflection.  In front of the mask instead of behind.

“So this is what you did with it,” he muttered, somehow unsurprised.  “You should’ve just burned it.  Like those tapes.”  Bitterness wedged in his tone as he glimpsed down the aisle at Batgirl’s and Nightwing’s dead, shed skins as well.  “…Or is that all we ever were to you?  More trophies to add to your collection?”

Batman simply stated:

“It’s there as a reminder.”

Tim nodded.  Deep down, he had known the answer already, but still he just wanted to make sure.  He needed to hear it said – out loud.

Rotating slowly back, he returned his gaze to his ex-guardian’s own guise, studying the apparent lack of revealing emotion.

“Bruce.  Take that off.  I want you to look at me.”

Batman remained unmoving for a beat, but acquiesced.

As the façade fell away, Tim could see the old man looked even older than he remembered, wrinkles and peppered gray starting to show.  Maybe far older than he should be.  …Than either of them should.

He fixed those cold, steel blue irises with a firm deadlock.

“Promise me you’ll never take on another Robin.”

“That I can assure.”

Tim surveyed the seriousness in the other’s countenance, accepting agreement on that front at least. He revolved to regard the rest of the room, a place filled with so many overwhelming memories he didn’t even know where to start.  (Though he deliberately avoided looking at the giant Joker card hanging directly above; why Bruce still bothered to keep that up was beyond him.)

“The last time I was down here… was the night you brought me back from Arkham.”  He swallowed, recollecting little about that time other than brief spots of awareness to his surroundings, and dimly hearing echoes of concerned voices that weren’t the Joker’s laugh or Harley’s high-pitched shrill, as his body was still in shock after everything.  …Or maybe he had just blocked it all out.  (Perhaps just as well, if he could’ve seen the pale looks of pure, panicked horror on their hovering visages, that very nearly matched his own.) “It hasn’t changed much, has it? New tech, new trophies…  But still the same dreary atmosphere.”

He ran his hand along a railing as he moved over towards the training equipment, recalling how he used to spend so much time balancing on it, performing handstands to help keep blood and thoughts flowing (and limbs from getting bored stiff) while they casually discussed more difficult cases – with Batgirl and Nightwing as well when he stopped by to assist in cracking particularly tough ones (or just to hang out and spar a bit with his lil bro) – brainstorming together as a team by combining their collective detective skills.  Barbara tended to pace as she pondered, while Dick would smirk and lean back in his chair with muscles lax behind his neck and feet propped up on the terminal, teasing that she looked like a lumbering red gorilla when she does that, and she’d snap back that he was being no help (and besides what was he even doing there didn’t he have his own place now maybe he should go fight crime with Catwoman if he’s so smart), and Bruce would irritably bark at them all over the two’s bickering (and Tim’s smothered snickering) to stay focused on task, only to be interrupted by Alfred as he came down to serve some food, insisting they all stay vitalized if they hope to make any progress.

Tim crossed over to the target range – past the medical bay, where Batman had interrogated him once after he’d been caught sneaking around (and stealing from) upstairs right after their initial meeting, whereupon he learned of Bruce Wayne’s secret identity.

“So what?  I know how to keep a secret.  You can trust me.”

He picked up a Batarang from the table.  It looked like a newer model than the ones he was used to; lighter, sleeker, circular, with bits of red on the edges of the winged blades.  He took careful aim at a stalactite, attempting to adjust to its weight, but the persistent tremors and twitches in his fingers wouldn’t cease, no matter how hard he endeavored to suppress.  Gritting his teeth, he shut one eye and let the wild projectile fly, but it only veered far off course, bouncing harmlessly off the back wall to drop down into the river below with a weak splash.  Shoving hands shamefully in his pockets and peering down into the chasm, Tim reflected on how he had stood here once, lifting his arms in breathtaking glory as he basked in his ultimate childhood fantasy, beholding the bedrock and bats, wistfully absorbing the beauty of it all.

“If you knew how many times I’d dreamed about this place.”

He kicked a stone into the ravine.

Bruce was watching him the whole time in silence.  Tim turned back and addressed gloomily.

“You know, I was always doing dumb stuff to try and impress you.  Draw your attention, get you to notice me.  Make you proud.  All I ever wanted was to be just like you when I grew up.”  He paused, taking in the pathetic, penitent image of his prior idol – now weary and weathered, clearly worn down by age and the endlessly waging war he still kept stubbornly fighting on his own, come hell or high water.  “I used to think you were the greatest man alive.  …You’re still the greatest man I ever met, Bruce. But this-” he gestured vaguely at the empty expanse, “-what you do – what you had us do – it can’t be called ‘living’.  …I realize that now.”

The other only grunted, questioning gruffly:

“What’s your point?”

Tim gave him an almost-pitying glance.

“Bruce, I forgive you – for not saving me.  But when are you – for once – going to try and save yourself?”

Bruce blinked back at him, blankly.  Tim bit his lip as he tried to explain.

“I didn’t leave – just because I couldn’t be Robin anymore.  I was mad at first, that you would take all of that away from me.  …But I understood why.  The real reason I left – is because I couldn’t stand the way you looked at me afterwards.  Like I was your greatest failure, as if you regretted ever picking me up off the streets and taking me into your home in the first place. I couldn’t take it anymore.”

He inhaled.

“Even then, I would’ve stayed – if you’d only asked me to.  Admitted – for once in your sorry life – that you still need someone in it.”

His fists balled in frustration.

“But you never could admit that, could you?  I get it: Ever since your parents died, you’ve had trouble expressing yourself.  You blame yourself for what happened, every single bad thing that’s come your way since then. That’s why you keep all this old junk around, just like their pictures everywhere upstairs.  So you won’t forget that it’s all your fault, that you’ve hurt everyone you’ve ever come in contact with, isn’t that right?”

Bruce said nothing, but his eyes narrowed slightly.

“So you end up pushing people away, until you’re finally all by yourself.  Because you believe it’s for the best.  You think you deserve to be alone, when it…”  He gulped, sensing the hypocritical stab in his own gut. “…Isn’t true.”

Tim took a tentative step forward, trying to close some distance, bridge the extensive gap between them – that almost seemed like an eternity at this point – but simultaneously struggling to find words and will for it.

“Bruce, I’d like us – to still be friends.  …But if this is how it’s going to be between us – if I can’t even trust you to keep my secret, not to ruin the one good thing I’ve had since then – then I can’t be around you anymore.”

He cast one last nostalgic look around at what he used to call “home”, etching the sentimental scene into his brain.  His safe “haven”, where he could always count on his “family” being there for him.   …Not a sanctuary, he recognized fully now, but a prison.  Built for one solitary soul, never meant to share in the first place. A private “Plan” others weren’t originally supposed to be part of, no matter how much the architect desired it deep down.  Who broke that vow more than once in an effort to better someone else’s life, only to be burned so badly (and vice-versa) that both parties feared forming close connections again as a result.  To care that much for someone, only to eventually receive bitter disappointment in the end – if not the other way around.

Yet, despite all odds, Tim had found a flicker of hope in another’s company.  Comfort.  Courage.  And he- wanted to keep striving towards it.  He didn’t want to end up like him.  Like this.  So lonely and isolated from the entire world.  Even through all the hate and hurt, he didn’t wish for this kind of bleak future, a mere hollow existence – for either of them.  …But this was as far as he could confess it.  He couldn’t keep coaxing, chasing constantly after remote coattails and infinite comets, straining so desperately to catch and ride on them anymore; he needed to be met halfway.  It was up to the opposite side, ball in the other’s court now.

“When you’re ready to come out of the cave and be a person again, let me know.  I’ll be waiting.”

With that, he walked past the mute shadow to the stairs and up the ascent, never looking back. Denying darkness for the light.

“Goodbye, Bruce.”

————————–

And I am one of a kind; when I walk, I am alone I've grown weary of lying to the bone Now I bow my head in this golden room I was here with you, and now, it's gone too soon

In a forest deep, I sank and I knew I'm a charred and dirty, forsaken fruit And that is the end - there's nothing more to recount From this moment on, you'll go alone

[raywritesthings]

Dog’s Best Friend 6/6

My Writing Fandom: Harry Potter Characters: Sirius Black, Rubeus Hagrid, Harry Potter, Remus Lupin, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Peter Pettigrew, Albus Dumbledore Summary: When Rubeus Hagrid is placed in the cell next to notorious murderer Sirius Black, truths are revealed and events are changed. *Can be read on my AO3 or FFN, links are in bio*

Sirius had paced the floor in front of Hagrid’s fireplace so thoroughly by Friday afternoon that he felt surprised he hadn’t worn through the hearth rug to the wooden floor yet. But today was the day, and he couldn’t possibly sit still.

Hagrid had promised him they would get Pettigrew today.

He felt even more out of his own body than usual as his Animagus form. After all these years, he would finally stop the traitor and make him pay for James and Lily’s deaths. It felt in some ways like the end of his life as he knew it, the closing of a chapter.

Sirius wouldn’t have thought there was a chapter after that if not for Harry.

Harry was everything he had thought the boy might grow to be. James’ messy hair and assured confidence, Lily’s eyes and her helpful nature. The one thing he didn’t seem to share was their happiness; Sirius had only seen his godson smile very briefly in exhilaration after Hagrid had helped him down from the Hippogriff’s back.

He hadn’t been able to help himself in following the third year class to their lesson, not when it meant glimpsing the boy for the first time since that Halloween night. He’d made sure to stay well back behind some rocks until he’d noticed the impending disaster involving a young Malfoy — his cousin via Narcissa, he supposed, though his demeanor spoke far more of Lucius. Normally, Sirius wouldn’t have cared what happened to idiots who mouthed off to prideful creatures, but the last thing he wanted or needed was Hagrid getting in trouble. Especially considering all that the man was risking for him. And all that he was helping to arrange.

He looked up, totally alert, as Hagrid went to answer a knock at the door. It had to be time, but then Hagrid’s greeting chilled his heart.

“Remus!”

No, not here, not now when he was so close! If Remus suspected his presence, he would ruin everything and Peter would get away. He couldn’t know that he’d been wrong about the identity of the traitor just as Sirius had been wrong to suspect Remus.

Sirius looked around and squeezed himself under the bed against the far corner of the room, hoping the blankets hanging over the side might further conceal his presence. In the doorway, Hagrid kept prattling on, but Remus had yet to come in. Maybe he didn’t suspect. Maybe he was here for a simple visit by coincidence.

A set of younger voices made themselves heard, Harry’s among them. Sirius’ tail wagged once, though he kept himself low to the ground as he slowly inched out from under the bed on his stomach. He needed to be ready the moment Pettigrew was inside.

A set of shoes and girl’s stockings came through the doorway followed by another pair attached to trousers. Sirius crept around the table, coming into view just as the third boy entered carrying Peter himself.

The door closed with finality. There was no escape now. Sirius bared his teeth, a growl leaving him that Pettigrew no doubt heard. The children turned in alarm as he sprung off the ground straight at the one holding the rat. A scream and two shouts filled the small space.

Peter’s eyes widened as a squeal of sheer terror left him; he tore himself free from his owner’s hold, flying through the air. Sirius extended his jaw and closed his mouth around the wriggling animal, nearly biting down on instinct—

“Don’ kill him! Don’ kill him!” Hagrid ordered sharply. Fang yowled and cowered in the corner.

Peter kept squirming, fighting desperately to get free. As Hagrid reached a hand out, Sirius got ready to give the rat over.

“Let Scabbers go!” The Weasley boy cried out, leaping onto Sirius’ back. He made a muffled yelp at the impact, rearing back to try and shake off his attacker.

Harry was suddenly at his front, reaching toward his jaws and grabbing at the rat’s tail. “Give it here, Grimm!”

He shook his head roughly and was happy to hear Pettigrew cry out.

“Hagrid, Hagrid do something!” The girl begged.

“Harry, Ron, jus’ let me—”

The door banged open and Remus stepped through, his wand leveled straight at Sirius. “No one move.” His eyes seemed to take in the whole scene as he slowly shut the door behind him again, locking it. They landed, at last, on Sirius and the rat in his mouth.

“It’s really you,” he breathed. “Both of you.”

Pettigrew gave another pitiful squeal and tried weakly again to fight his way out. There was spittle leaking out of his jowls, but Sirius just continued to pant through his nose as he stared Remus down.

“What do you mean, Professor Lupin? Who is it?” The girl asked, curious in spite of the clear distress she felt.

“Will you transform?” Remus asked him.

Sirius nodded once.

“But the Dementors,” Hagrid protested.

“I can ward them off. It should take them some time to track him, at any rate.” Remus’ gaze shifted to the rat. “Will you transform?”

Peter made another pitiful noise, clearly attempting to pass himself off as a normal rat.

“They can understand you,” Harry said, his eyes never leaving Sirius.

“Why’s he just holding Scabbers?” The other boy asked. “Why won’t he let him go?”

“He’ll have to in a moment.” Remus flicked his wand, and a jet of blue light hit Pettigrew in the face. Sirius felt the rat start to grow and change and spat him out, backing up and changing back as well for the first time in nearly two weeks.

Another scream left the girl, though it hurt his human ears less.

“But he’s — and what—” the boy — Ron, he thought Hagrid might have said — gaped between him and Peter as the rat had disappeared and was now replaced with a man.

Harry, Sirius noted with pride, had drawn his own wand but seemed unsure where to point it.

When the blue light faded and Peter Pettigrew at last stood before them, he stood wringing his hands and cringing away from Remus, Hagrid and Sirius’ hard stares. In rumpled clothes with clear drool stains, he looked a sorry sight, as pathetic on the outside now as his character warranted.

“Remus, my friend. Thank you. Thank you for saving me.”

“I’m not sure if you’ve been saved or not, Peter. That depends on what you’ve done since your widely-reported death.”

“But if he was Ron’s rat,” the girl began, looking awfully pale. “Then he was an Animagus. And the dog…” She gazed at Sirius with fear.

“Yes, I’m one as well. It’s how I escaped,” he admitted freely.

“But then why go after him?” Harry asked, gesturing at Peter. “They said you’d come after me.”

“They’re right about that,” Peter said quickly. “The things he did, Lily and James—”

“That’s the last time you say their names,” Sirius snarled, taking a step towards him. Pettigrew shrunk in on himself. Only Remus’ wand still trained on them both kept him from moving any further. He worked to calm himself before turning to his godson. “I did break out to get to you, Harry. But not to hurt you. I was the only one who knew what danger you were in.”

“Not the only,” Remus countered. “When did Sirius approach you, Hagrid?”

“In Azkaban,” the half-giant admitted. “They put me in the cell next ter his, an’ he helped me. The Dementors, they were drivin’ me mad, the things I was seein’.” He shuddered. “But Sirius told me his secret. That if yeh were innocent, it was something ter hang on with an’ keep yer sanity.”

“Innocent?” Ron echoed. “But he’s You-Know-Who’s right-hand man!”

“Never,” Sirius said. “And this worthless worm wasn’t either. He was just a spy.”

“The true spy,” Remus agreed quietly. “But how did he betray them, Sirius?”

He looked down. “It was my fault.”

“Did you hear him, Remus?” Peter cried again, his voice rising with panic. “He admits it’s still his fault!”

“Only because I was too stupid to trust you, and it led James and Lily to their deaths,” Sirius snapped.

“You don’t mean — my parents?” Harry stepped forward, his wand now decidedly pointed at Pettigrew. “What have they got to do with it?”

“Everything. They were our friends. All of us. And when they went into hiding with you, they asked us to keep them safe.”

“How?”

“The Fidelius Charm,” Remus stated, and Sirius could picture him at the front of his new classroom now. “An old magic meant to guard a secret. A location or residence, oftentimes. It requires the knowledge to be placed with a Secret Keeper. Only they can divulge the secret.”

“James wanted it to be me. I was his best friend, we were closer than brothers,” Sirius said, his voice growing gruff as he stared into Harry’s widened eyes. “But I thought it was too obvious, that Voldemort would realize and torture it out of me.”

Of the children, Harry was the only one who did not jump or react with fear. Even Hagrid winced, and Peter cringed away.

He bared his teeth in a savage grin. “What’s wrong, Peter? Afraid to hear your master’s name? Or feeling guilt remembering that the minute I convinced Lily and James to make the switch, you ran off to tell him?”

“I didn’t — he forced me, Sirius, I swear! You don’t know the weapons the Dark Lord had, you don’t understand—”

“That’s enough,” Remus said coldly. “Whatever reason you had for betraying them, you chose to frame Sirius and to kill those Muggles. You’re guilty, Peter. And you can’t hide from it any longer. Stupefy!”

Pettigrew dropped to the floor like a stone. Remus followed it up by magically creating binds that wrapped around him hand and foot. “Hagrid, we’ll need Headmaster Dumbledore.”

“O’ course.” Hagrid turned to the children. “Yeh three alrigh’?”

The girl nodded, though she still seemed very frightened. The boy named Ron seemed far more likely to be sick as he stared at Pettigrew’s prone form, and Sirius certainly wouldn’t blame him if he was. Harry kept switching his gaze from Sirius to Pettigrew, but he nodded stiffly as well. Hagrid cast another glance around the cabin before hurriedly leaving, and his footfalls faded away. The room was left in silence.

“I hope you can forgive me Remus, for thinking you were the traitor,” Sirius said quietly. It was one of many regrets he had held the many years in Azkaban.

“Only if you can forgive me for thinking the same of you,” Remus replied. He strode across the room, and they embraced as brothers.

“But Mr. Black,” the girl said, and Sirius was so startled that he broke away from Remus to gawk at her. “If you were innocent this whole time, why didn’t you say anything at your trial?”

“Yeah, why didn’t you tell anyone their pets might be people?” Ron demanded shakily.

“I might have had the chance if I’d had a trial,” Sirius replied. “But I didn’t know where Pettigrew had been until I saw his picture in the Daily Prophet the Minister lent me on his visit.”

“Ah, so that’s what motivated you,” Remus said. “And when you broke out, Hagrid was able to secret you to Hogwarts as his own pet.”

Sirius shrugged. “It was his own suggestion, before we even knew about Pettigrew still being out there. He thought here at least I could see…” he trailed off as his gaze went to Harry.

“Me? Why would you want to see me? It was my parents you were friends with,” the boy pointed out, and the matter-of-fact way he seemed to convey he should hardly matter to Sirius tore at something within him.

“Yes, I was. But more than that, Harry. When you were born, they named me your godfather.” He walked around the table slowly, stopping just a few feet away. “I didn’t get to see you much as a baby. They had to take you into hiding, but… the idea was that, should anything happen to them, that I would take care of you. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to do that.”

He glanced up through the hair in his face, surprised to see Harry swallow down something like a lump in his throat. “I was supposed to live with you? Not the Dursleys?”

“That’s what we arranged. Of course, if Dumbledore clears all this up, I wouldn’t want to disturb you and your family.” All the time that Hagrid had talked to him about Harry, he hadn’t let himself believe he might have this chance to speak with him, to become a part of his life. “But once I’ve found myself a place, you’d be welcome there.”

“I could live with you?” Harry repeated, and it occurred to Sirius that he wasn’t upset by the idea so much as it not being a reality. He wished he didn’t recognize the desperate hope in the boy’s eyes, an echo of his own at sixteen, when he’d ran away to the Potters’ house.

“If you wanted,” he answered, and he hoped it was as gentle and warm as the Potters’ offer had been. A chill went through him, and he shuddered. “Remus.”

“They might be coming. Hermione, watch Peter,” Remus instructed, slipping out the door of Hagrid’s Hut.

“Who’s coming? The Dementors?” Ron looked about to panic, but it was Harry he looked at rather than Sirius. “Harry, you’ve got to get out of here!”

“I’m not leaving either of them,” Harry argued, though he had gone very pale.

Sirius slowly sank down to the floor, holding his head between his hands. He couldn’t go back there, he couldn’t survive it. Couldn’t lose the happy feeling that had only just started to grow in his heart while speaking to his godson.

There was a mournful howl from Fang, and in his foggy vision he watched Harry fall into a chair, his friend Ron shaking his shoulder.

“Expecto Patronum!” A voice commanded, though it wasn’t Remus’. Moments later, Albus Dumbledore swept into the Hut.

“I see it is as Hagrid has said.” Another set of binds were conjured around Pettigrew, who was then levitated off the floor. “Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley, if you would please escort Mr. Potter and Black to the Hospital Wing. Professor Lupin and I shall see Mr. Pettigrew safely turned over to the authorities.”

Ron hauled Harry up to his feet and started moving him towards the door.

“Er, come on, boy,” Hermione encouraged as she turned to him. It was only then that Sirius realized he had changed back into his Animagus form. Likely for the best if they were going to enter the school. He rose on shaky legs and followed the children out of the Hut.

“This is mental!” He heard Ron exclaim in a hushed whisper. “I can’t believe Scabbers was a person this whole time. I let him sleep in my bed!”

“I just can’t believe Hagrid managed to keep a secret this huge,” Hermione whispered back. “Or that Harry has a godfather.”

Harry continued to shuffle along between them, his hands hanging limply at his sides. Sirius picked his paws up a little faster so that he could nuzzle the one. Harry stirred slightly, patting Sirius’ snout. His fingers reached back to tangle in Sirius’ fur, forcing Hermione slightly to the side as Sirius came up to walk with him to the Hospital Wing.

It was over. Peter was caught and Harry was safe. He was free. Hagrid’s plan had actually worked.

He had a feeling he wouldn’t believe it until he’d recovered from the Dementor’s effects. So Sirius hopped up onto the end of the bed Harry was shown to and felt himself drift off to sleep.

---

It took far more convincing than Rubeus would have liked, but the Minister eventually let Professor Dumbledore have his way about questioning Pettigrew in front of the Wizengamot. Rubeus was asked to attend as a witness.

“Please tell the court exactly what led you to the discovery of Mr. Pettigrew’s continued existence among the living?” The Headmaster asked him kindly.

Rubeus did his best not to notice all the other witches and wizards watching him and just focused on his story. “Well, when I was sent ter Azkaban las’ spring — on false charges, mind yeh — I was placed in the cell next to Sirius. I wasn’ very happy abou’ that at the start, but then he helped me.”

“Helped you how?”

“He showed me how focusin’ on being innocent instead o’ happy things helped the Dementors from affectin’ me so much. When I asked him how a criminal like him could know that, he told me his story.”

“And you believed him?”

“Every word. The other inmates believe him, too. They sit there day and night cursin’ that Pettigrew’s name fer givin’ You-Know-Who the information what led to his downfall.”

Professor Dumbledore didn’t ask him any further questions, which Rubeus was grateful for. He’d rather not get into just how long he’d been aware of Sirius’ whereabouts after his escape and all that.

They brought Pettigrew out for questioning, but rather than focus on the pitiful man, Rubeus watched the members of the Wizengamot. He thought he could see their expressions shifting, though from what to what he couldn’t say. He only hoped it meant good things for Sirius.

“Witches and wizards of the Wizengamot,” Professor Dumbledore spoke as Pettigrew was dragged away, “it seems clear that a grave miscarriage of justice was done. I move that the charges against Sirius Black be dropped and that he be declared a free man.”

The assembled members put it to vote, and Rubeus nervously counted. When he passed the halfway mark, a great breath left him. All told, it was something like two-thirds!

“Hem-hem,” one of the dissenters coughed. “I wonder, Supreme Mugwump, will we be putting the matter of Black’s illegal Animagus status to a vote? After all, he did break the law.”

Rubeus gaped at the tiny witch. She couldn’t be serious!

Madam Bones from the DMLE spoke before Professor Dumbledore needed to. “Black’s more than served the time for such an offense. Given his status as a minor when he achieved the transformation — impressive at that — that’s even more true. I’d rather we vote on a measure to check all the current inmates of Azkaban for such abilities.”

There were general murmurings of assent from the other members, and the matter was scheduled for the next meeting. Rubeus left the visitor’s bench to meet Professor Dumbledore.

“Hagrid, you were marvelous,” the Headmaster told him. He felt like blushing.

“I only told the truth.”

“Yes, and I can only be glad the truth has come out at last. You did a very good thing for Sirius.”

He’d worried how the Headmaster might feel about his keeping secrets and all, but it seemed he understood. That lifted a weight right off his shoulders.

Sirius had been transferred to St. Mungo’s by the time Rubeus got back to the castle with Professor Dumbledore, though Harry, Ron and Hermione were waiting eagerly at his cabin to hear all the details.

“He’s completely cleared,” Rubeus told him. “They reckon seein’ as he spent so long in Azkaban there’s no need to penalize him for the illegal Animagus bit. He’ll jus’ be registered now.”

“How long will he be in St. Mungo’s?” Harry wanted to know.

“No way to tell. He’s a sharp one when he needs ter be, but Azkaban isn’ a place to stick around long. He’s healthier now o’ course, but it’s his head they’ll be hopin’ ter heal.”

Harry accepted this answer, and he seemed even happier when Rubeus offered to go through the album he’d gifted Harry and point out the few instances of Sirius in the photos. He sent out another round of owls to the old crowd, seeing if anyone might have hung onto anything else with him in it, seeing as they’d all thought Sirius a criminal the first time he’d asked for pictures.

Another wealth of information for Harry was Remus, who had gotten over what had been holding him back before and now seemed happy to share all the stories he could remember with the boy. Rubeus supposed it helped now that the man didn’t feel the need to edit Sirius out of them; he’d always been right in the middle of things with James, after all, and Pettigrew was far easier to ignore.

The Dementors had been removed from around the school, which left everyone eager to head down to Hogsmeade village for the first weekend of the year. Including Harry, who’d received a signed permission slip from Sirius in the mail the morning of. Rubeus had managed to find a fresh copy on a visit to the staff room and sent it along earlier in the month along with his usual letter.

Christmas holiday came, and Rubeus was proud to be part of the escort that took Harry to visit his godfather in his private room. Remus came along as well, seeing as they’d timed it after his most recent recovery from the full moon.

“I had to send an owl order, so I haven’t gotten a look at it, yet,” Sirius told Harry as he passed a long, thin package his way. “I hear you’ve got a pretty good one already, but James always thought it was a good idea to have one for practices and matches and one for the offseason. You can decide which is which.”

Rubeus couldn’t hold in a chuckle as Harry’s eyes went wide as dinner plates upon unwrapping the broom that sat inside. “This is a Firebolt! I can’t believe — you really didn’t have to.”

“I’ve more money in my vault than I know what to do with and twelve years of presents to make up for,” Sirius reminded him. “There’s loads of things I want to pass down, too, but I’ve no idea where my possessions ended up.”

“I think some were sent in a box to your mother,” Remus told him.

Sirius grimaced. “Probably burned them, then. That’s another thing I wanted to talk about.” He sat up a little straighter. Rubeus was glad to see there was an awareness and light in Sirius’ eyes that had been somewhat lacking those first months after his escape. “I’ll need somewhere to live once they let me out of here. It’s a little difficult searching from a hospital ward.”

“I can stop by Diagon Alley fer the catalogues.” They kept up a list of available houses that didn’t have all the outlets and other things Muggles filled their houses with.

“Something out in the country,” Sirius was saying.

“You could have a pitch like the Weasleys have got,” Harry told him, and Sirius smiled wide at the idea.

There was a sudden pop, and a witch suddenly materialized and slid down the far wall by the door to crash on the floor. She gave a frantic shake of the head. “What?”

Remus got his wand out and Sirius yanked Harry around to the other side of the bed as Rubeus moved forward. “Skeeter?” He rumbled. “How’d yeh get in here?”

The Daily Prophet’s rising star looked just as perplexed to be talking to Rubeus as he was to be talking to her. “Well I- I certainly didn’t mean—”

Remus strode past him to call out into the corridor. “Healer? We need security.”

It turned out Rita Skeeter had fallen victim to the Anti-Animagus Charms they had put up around Sirius’ room. The Healers wanted him to stay in his own human mind as much as possible for the time being rather than retreating into the dog’s form. Skeeter’s hopes to get a scoop in her own undisclosed beetle form proved her downfall.

The spring term came and went. Harry took the Gryffindor Quidditch team to victory with a far and away lead on his Firebolt, and just after Easter Sirius wrote to say he had closed the sale on a house.

This meant that most of Harry’s summer was looking up. However, Professor Dumbledore insisted that Harry go back to the Dursleys for the couple weeks that it would take Sirius to finish furnishing his new house and setting up protections, some of which were provided courtesy of old Mad-Eye Moody. None of them were all that pleased at Harry’s return to Privet Drive, but Rubeus reminded his young friend to just let his relatives know his convicted godfather had been released and was keeping in touch; he didn’t have to say he’d been released because he was innocent.

On the  31st of July that summer, Rubeus headed down into the country for a day with some homemade fudge and a motorbike for a gathering of godson, godfather, old friends and a family of redheads. “It’s Harry’s birthday, but I realized I had somethin’ o’ yours as well, Sirius,” he explained in greeting.

Sirius barked a laugh and pulled Rubeus into a hug. He lifted his friend off his feet and hugged him back.