#it's not on ao3 or anything BUT IT WILL BE

[nausicaaandhermouth]

A Kiss For Loyalty

masterlist

young!silco x gn!reader [1.2k][AO3]

summary: You find him after the attack on the bridge, and you're left to figure out how to tread the fragile state of him.

tags: young silco, a few hours after vander tries to drown him, angst, established relationship, hurt silco, not betad

a/n: mid-lecture we were looking at photos of gash wounds and i couldn't help but think of young silco's face fresh after the drowning, so ofc i had to write a comfort fic for him. kinda comfort. it's mostly angst.

Vander couldn’t look you in the eye, couldn’t form a single word. And at first, worry was what overtook you—Silco hadn’t survived, lost in the fight. But the more you looked at the larger man who had returned, the more you recognised something else: the aftereffect when he’d had too much to drink, had raised his voice, had felt guilty. Regret.

You find Silco in your bedroom, curled up on the worn mattress that had held you both some countless nights. It had overheard the visions for your new nation, the sloppy passion of drunken evenings, the quiet rise and fall of breaths during winter. Now it’s witnessing something new.

You’ve never heard Silco cry. Your bedroom shrinks at the sound of it, as if the corners darken and round themselves to hold and hush him. It’s a sharp sting, an undeniably pained cry bleeding into his palm, cupped around his mouth.

When you approach, you’re silent—assessing, investigating, worrying if this isn’t something you can fix. He’s never been so evidently broken. You’re not sure whether it’s about Vander or at the failure of their uprising, both of which had taken a large portion of his heart.

“Silco?” you whisper, taking another step forward.

“Don’t,” he manages, his sobs becoming quieter, but affecting his breath, bubbling out of him in squeaks and chokes. “Please,”

You shake your head, keeping your ground but keeping your eyes on him. He’s refusing to remove his reddened hands from his face, his hair curtaining over his left side, black, wet strings.

“You’re hurt,” you furrow, focusing on the blood down his hand. You rush forward, chest attempting to wrangle in a frenzied heart. “Show me, hey, S—”

“Stop!” he inches away from you, a childlike recoil that makes you freeze.

It’s a foreign behaviour, a desperation he’s never worn, never come close to mimicking. As far as you’ve known him he’s been the opposite. Even in pain, he stitched together a composure so convincing it made others doubt he could ever truly feel the hurt he was raised around.

You suppose that it’s something he’s worked on, refined throughout the years after taking on the responsibility of becoming Zaun’s face, alongside Vander. His ideologies had spilled straight from his heart into your ear. You understood why he worked so hard to maintain a strong face.

That man was gone; he hadn't entered the room this time.

He’s hiding, you see, shielding his face from you. This, you understand, is something he thinks may spare you from even a fraction of the pain he must be feeling. He’s always been so. To hoard the suffering and smile.

“You don’t want me to see you?” you ask, kneeling by the bed and retracting your hands.

Silco doesn’t answer, the chokes of suppressed sobs the only sound from him.

“It’s alright,” with a shake of your head, you turn around, facing the other way and leaning against the bed. “I don’t have to see you. Just… just talk to me,”

You wait a beat, then another, waiting for his voice, willing his voice to regard you again. Anything with a meaning that you could warp into a sign of hope.

“Please,” you add. It’s unintentionally desperate, pleading, giving him the power of controlling where the conversation goes. Something he needs, you suppose, something he’s certain is still predictable.

You hear a sharp breath behind you, then the shuffle of your bedsheets. Your eyes slide the farthest they can without turning your head, attempting to see any glimpse of him.

Then his hand enters your periphery, pale skin against scarlet, fingers twitching and shaking as his forearm rests on your shoulder.

You take gentle hold of his hand, turning it this way and that in search for wounds. But nothing. “Who…” your breath escapes, “Is this your blood?”

“Yes,” he responds, a word that pricks at your lungs sharply.

You see the moment clearer now. A wound so deep that to reveal it is its own pain.

You recall Vander’s face. The shame that distorted his features, how ugly it becomes as you try to piece together the fragmented pieces. 

“Vander did something,” you surmise. Your breath quickens, a sneer creating brackets around your flared nostrils. “Did Vander do something?”

You feel Silco’s breath near the top of your head, but before you’re able to turn, a weight settles over you. Momentarily, you hold, letting the firmness of his muscles process on your body, around your shoulders, his other arm snaking over your bones and holding you backwards to him.

You hear his soft sniffs over your head and slightly to one side, the bone of his cheek pressing against your crown.

There it is again. It’s a spear through your body, the sound of him. It strikes a fissure along your lungs, each sudden inhale a crack veining in your airways, each tremoring breath he takes an earthquake on your skull. Vander, what have you done?

You take his hand and hold it to your cheek, the cool back of his hand against the warm apple of your face. You interlace your fingers, a familiar practice, just as fluid as the locking of legs in the night, or the pressing of palms for a prayer.

Next was the chaste kiss on his index knuckle, for loyalty. Then on the middle knuckle, for liberty. Another on the ring knuckle, for luck. And lastly, a kiss on the pinky knuckle, for love.

It was a silent conversation he and you had made, meeting mouth to bone always easier than devoting a voice to each word.

His other hand wrapped around your wrist, bringing your arm upwards and over your head, your own knuckles meeting his familiar lips. But they tremble.

He breathes a kiss, gentle, on your index knuckle, starting, then failing. His breath falls jagged on your skin.

For a moment he restarts, the warmth of his air hovering over your knuckle. But again he fails.

Your frown deepens. Even more so when he moves your hand and skips to your pinky knuckle, the only promise fulfilled.

“How bad is it?” your voice slightly muffles against his hand near your mouth.

He swallows, clearing his throat. “At the… we were at the river, he—” he grips your hand slightly tighter.

“It’s still hurting?”

His clothes shuffle. “Yeah,”

“Let me look?”

Silence.

You start to think he’ll reject you again, not yet prepared to face you in whatever shape Vander had left him. But he loosens his arm around your shoulders and moves away, his presence at your back fading.

Your other hand remains in his, the anchor, as you shift on the floor and turn.

You look up and your eyes meet. No. One eye meets yours.

You sense his panic by how the one remaining blue jumps between your eyes, tips of his mouth downwards. He brushes aside his wet hair.

The left side of his face had been marred, a trench of exposed muscle, skin, and blood bared at you. The blackened sclera is haunting, a flame moving in tandem with the watery blue of his other eye.

You’re more than certain there’s nothing but indignation gushing through your veins. Yet, Silco remains beautiful. You realised a long time ago it was difficult for him to not be, no matter the state of him. And still now, left eye diseased with the molten of betrayal, mouth frowned by grief, fear in his good eye.

“It’s not over,” he whispers, leaning forward as you reach up and cup the unmarred side of him. “We’ll take back Zaun,”

There he is. No man, no river, could ever kill him. “You’ll show them,” you press a kiss to his index knuckle.

[gloomwitchwrites]

141 when a younger recruit has a very obvious crush on you (not dating yet)

Oh, anon. I had fun with this one. Simply because it's a "we aren't dating yet so why are you jealous" scenario just waiting to happen. That's where my mind went with this. The boys have zero claim on you but they are possessive and territorial as fuck. omg. Do you hear that? It's me standing outside screaming because I need to get a fucking grip. Anyway! Enjoy!

Presented in four double drabbles.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Reader (gn!reader except on Simon's)

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): hidden feelings, jealousy, possessive behavior, intimidation, crushes, suggestive themes, swearing

Word Count: 800

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

John is the superior here. He's the one in charge.

Yet he feels completely out of control.

This isn't happening. This isn't fucking happening. He has spent months—months gently putting himself before you. Jealousy and possession are strange to him. They don’t come easy. And yet here they are, eating him from the inside out, chewing away at his resolve.

Anger and irritation are starting to seep in.

A new recruit with an obvious crush shouldn't make him this irate. There isn't any competition, but John can't help himself. All he sees is this wanker making eyes at you, speaking softly and with such tenderness that it's driving John up the fucking wall.

Which is insane. Stupid. You do not belong to him. The two of you are not dating—not anything—but somehow that doesn't matter.

His feet are moving before he even realizes it. The recruit turns in John's direction and instantly pales.

Good. Fucking good.

You turn too, brow furrowed.

"Captain?" asks the recruit, straightening his spine.

John shoves himself between, staring the recruit down, all venom. "You're wanted elsewhere."

"Y—yes. Sir."

The recruit salutes and takes off, the primal jealousy purring softly with contentment.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle is going to grind his teeth into dust if he doesn’t unclench his jaw.

What the fuck is this bloke doing over on this side of the complex anyway? He’s a goddamn new recruit. Freshly arrived and still green.

Do you even realize he’s flirting? Kyle can tell just be the way he stands far too close, or the subtle way he touches your arm. His smile is stupidly large. The man is completely struck by you. You appear completely oblivious, having a conversation with him like there’s nothing amiss.

Nope. Kyle is pissed. Furious. Which is fucking ridiculous. The two of you are not a couple, even though Kyle wishes otherwise.

“You look right scunnered.” Soap appears at Kyle’s shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“That,” he growls.

Soap frowns, following Kyle’s line of sight. Soap’s frown turns to a knowing smirk. He turns it on Kyle with a mischievous glint. “Want Ghost to scare the shit out of him?”

The rest of the team knows how Kyle feels about you even if they don’t comment on it.

“That would be great,” says Kyle flatly.

Soap lightly pats Kyle’s shoulder. Turning around, he cups his hands around his mouth. “Hey, Lt!”

John "Soap" MacTavish

"I could rig an explosive. Put it under his bunk. That’d be fucking brilliant,” murmurs Johnny.

"We're looking to scare him. Not to maim everyone in his immediate radius,” replies Kyle.

"What about a firework? Poppers? Oh! A stink bomb?"

"That’s fucking childish, Johnny,” mutters Simon.

Johnny isn't jealous. Really, he's not.

He's just...protective. That's what he tells himself anyway.

Kyle, Johnny, and Simon observe you from across the communal gym. A new recruit from the latest batch is hanging on the ropes of the boxing ring. His stance is casual, skin glistening with sweat as he gives you his best smile while he chats you up.

The lad is putting it on thick, and Johnny is having none of it.

You are not Johnny’s spouse. You are not dating. You are not his…anything.

But that hardly matters.

Because Johnny has stolen plenty of kisses from you. He’s put his hands on your body. He’s been far too close for the comfort of a coworker or friend. In that, there is a claim. Johnny can draw the line somewhere.

He is so close to making you his.

No one is getting in his way. Not even a charming new recruit.

Simon "Ghost" Riley (Female Reader)

"Don't do it, Simon. It's not worth it."

Johnny's words don't satiate the anger. Rage is boiling beneath Simon's skin. It is white hot—fierce. All of this emotion and yet Simon has no claim over you.

It still hurts. Still aches.

The two of you are not together—not dating. But it's Simon's name you scream with pleasure, and that counts for fucking something.

His fists clench, muscles coiled with wrought tension. Johnny places his hands on Simon's shoulders and shoves him back down in his seat. If Simon weren’t ready to flay his newest target alive, Johnny wouldn’t be so bold.

"Remove. Your. Hands," growls Simon, slowly.

Kyle grimaces, his gaze darting between Simon and Johnny. He looks ready to jump in if Johnny needs him.

"I'm doing this for you, Lt,” murmurs Johnny, even as his hands keep the pressure.

"She's mine."

"We know,” reply Johnny and Kyle in unison.

One of the new recruits is putting on his best performance, following you around like a lovesick puppy. Johnny is right. Simon can't go over there and knock the man to the ground, no matter how much he wants to.

"Take a deep breath, Lt."

"I'm trying."

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@ferns-fics @tulipsun-flower @miss-mistinguett @ninman82 @eternallyvenus

@beebeechaos @smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx @chaostwinsofdestruction @weasleytwins-41

@saoirse06 @unhinged-reader-36 @ravenpoe67 @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

@voids-universe @iloveslasher @talooolaaloolla @sadlonelybagel @haven-1307

@itsberrydreemurstuff @cod-z @keiva1000 @littlemisscriesherselftosleep @blackhawkfanatic

@sammysinger04 @kylies-love-letter @dakotakazansky @suhmie @kadeeesworld

@keiva1000 @jackrabbitem @arrozyfrijoles23 @lovely-ateez @waves-against-a-cliff

@ash-tarte @marispunk @gingergirl06 @certainlygay @greeniegreengreen

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part Nineteen

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader AO3 - 3.2k words Tags: 18+ mdni. nurse!reader. Pregnancy and things that come with it. PTSD, anxiety, despair, depression. A lot of internal monologue.

“I need to borrow your car.” Marshall’s eyebrows shoot straight up into his hairline.

“Excuse me?”

“Your car.” You spit, barely containing the tremble in your voice. Your throat is tight, hundreds of thousands of pounds sitting on top of your chest, crushing you, your heart. “Marshall-“

“I’m confused why you think I’d let you borrow my car.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, the thin shred of patience you’ve been holding onto finally ripping apart.

“I have put up with you for years. I have dealt with your shit, your relentless pursuit of anything that walks, your lack of interest in your own patients. I have covered for you. I have babysat for you. You owe me.” He blinks, and then pats his pocket, scrutinizing your expression.

“Are you okay?” You glitch for a second. The orchestrated denial, evasion slips away as you grapple with his question. You’ll never be okay. Never.

It snaps back like a rubber band. Like a backhand across your face.

“I’m fine.” You’re not fine. You’re drowning. You’re at the bottom of a well, stone walls cracking and crumbling at your feet. “Keys.” He drops them into your outstretched palm with a sigh. “You can pick it up at the south station in a few hours, okay?”

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes…” A plan is still rapidly taking shape, forming from bits and pieces of roads laid out before you. “My mother is sick, and not answering the phone. I’m worried, trying to get over there as soon as I can.” He nods, unphased by the glaringly obvious hole in your lie.

“Of course.”

You have no one to blame but yourself.

The girl in the mirror blinks back at you with judgement in the quiet of the bathroom. She regards you with disgust.

Foolish.

Hot water flows over your knuckles, your palms. It burns, too hot to be sensible, scorching your skin.

It’s pain you deserve.

This is the only time you’ll give yourself for now, the only time you’ll break until it’s safe again.

You shatter to pieces. You scream into your hands, sobs cracking your ribs, cleaving you apart.

It was all a lie.

And you’re the one who fell for it. You’re the one who believed it was real, that they were true. You believed you could walk in the sun, and you only have yourself to blame.

You try to burn their faces from your mind, incinerating your memories to ash. Johnny’s eyes, his easy smile, the lilt of his accent when he’d say your name. Simon’s low murmurs and comfort in the dark, the way they molded themselves around you, held you.

They tricked you, but they made it so real, so believable. So sweet as they wrapped you up in a web, dripped poisoned honey into your mouth from their own.

Lies. They’re full of lies.

Steam rises from the bowl of the sink, and you look yourself in the face again. You stare at the woman who allowed herself to be manipulated, who gave herself to two people who only sought to harm her.

But-

They gave you a gift, didn’t they? They gave you this chance.

Your palm hovers over your stomach, and you fill your lungs with oxygen.

Get it together. Get yourself together.

Your world crumbles beneath your feet, but you’ve done this before. You’ll do it again. Better, even, now with the stakes so high, higher than you could ever imagine.

You can do this.

Deep breath.

The foundation of your resolve cracks when you step through the front door and Penny comes padding down the hall with her arms up.

You meet her in a crouch, letting her cuddle you, small fingers twisted in your scrub top. “Hey Penny girl. How’s your day, huh?” She signs something and then points to the living room before smiling.

“Bocks.”

You retreat into yourself, burying the lump in your throat, swallowing your tears. “I love you; you know that?” You lick your thumb and wipe the corner of her mouth. “So much.” Lou clears her throat from the hallway, watching with a strange expression.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, just tired, and forgot my work backpack.” You had forgotten how easy it is, to lie. How easy the mask slides on. It’s almost nonchalant, a practiced art.

You retreat upstairs before she can question you further.

In a sewn in pocket of a backpack shoved under the guest bed, is a cellphone. It’s a flip phone, old and clunky, always charged, but almost always off, except when it’s needed. Programmed with a single contact, a pre written text already in the drafts.

I’m moving again. I’ll keep you posted.

The response is always the same. Be safe.

There are too many items in your life now. Too many objects, too many things, and too little time to pick through them.

You stick to your rules. Pack light and easy. You can replace anything left behind once you’re somewhere safe. Nothing frivolous, self-indulgent, or even sentimental.

It’s tempting to take a permanent marker and scribble fuck you across their bathroom mirror, tempting to take a knife to the mattress and slice it to shreds. It’s tempting to rip their clothes to pieces, to soak their life in lighter fluid and strike a match. The anger pulses in your veins like poison, knowing you could never.

Even now, the idea of them hurting makes you feel sick.

Fool, you’re a fool. A silly, stupid girl who got caught up in a fairytale with no sense to save herself.

You take one last long look at the bed. The bed where you thought you were safe, the place where your nightmares eventually turned to dreams.

Tears burn at the back of your eyes, and it takes everything you have to stay upright.

Phillip terrorized you, beat you black and blue, stole your future, your life-

but it never hurt as bad as this.

Marshall’s car is, of course, is expensive. Something out of a fancy television commercial. It’s comfortable, fast, and drives smoother than butter.

It reminds you of Phillip. Of all the luxury and riches surrounding him, the mile high leg up he had since the day he was born. His entire existence carefully crafted and honed into something out of a nightmare, the mask of a monster slipping on and off as easily as yours.

You used to wonder if money really did buy happiness before you met him, and then you learned. Some people crave more. Some people crave violence. Destruction.

There’s no happiness for those who are rotten to the core, their souls as dark as night, their desires putrid and inhumane.

You never saw it with them, in them. You never felt it, the way you felt it in Phillip. They fooled the wariest heart.

Will your child be like them? Deceitful? Evil?

Will it be nature versus nurture?

The first piece of the puzzle is figuring out where to go, how far to run. You need a city or a town big enough to hide in, a hospital that’s in desperate need of nurses, and a flat that’s available immediately. No smaller islands in case you need a quick escape, no countries where you may struggle with the assimilation. Accessible by train. Primarily English speakers.

You briefly dream about something tropical and warm with a beach before you shake the thought loose in favor of the city that’s always been on your short list.

Edinburgh.

It’s painfully kismet, knowing you’ll bring your child to one of their father’s birthplaces, fitting in a sick, senseless way, but you have no choice. You vetted the city in the past, scoped out appropriate neighborhoods, chose a potential workplace. It’s been at the top of your list.

It’s the logical option.

The air is cold. It stings the tip of your nose, your ears, isolates your exhales and turns them into white puffs of fog. Your jacket is too light, too soft for this kind of weather, representative of all the clothing you have in your backpack, and your wallet weeps at the idea of a brand-new wardrobe.

Still, you don’t cry. The tears don’t come, they’re held back by an iron clad dam, an impenetrable fortress built around your heart. People move around where you’re stuck still on the platform, a round rock in the middle of a river, surfaced smoothed by the repeated flow of water.

That’s what you are.

A smooth surface, a still pond, a tranquil lake. Cohesion in its ultimate form, hydrogen bonds clinging to one another, casting a tightly knit net of water molecules over the whole of your being. Lies upon lies meshed to create perfection, an unblemished nurse, an agreeable personality, an overall uninteresting but more than perfunctory person. Forgettable.

Step off the platform, into the street. Slip beneath the surface, swim to the bottom, pack yourself away and assume your new life, new name, new existence, the glass surface hiding a turbulent sea.

Things fall into place. You get hired on the spot and find a great apartment almost immediately. Better than great, if you’re honest. It’s a generously sized two-bedroom, freshly painted, no landlord specials in sight.

“What do ye think?” You wince. The accent pulls a string, tugs on a chord buried deep.

“I’ll take it. I can give you three months’ rent up front,” you survey the locks, “if you can add a deadbolt.” The door only has a keypad lock, the fancy new kind touchscreen kind. You don’t trust them. The wires are too easy to manipulate. He cocks his head.

“Shouldnae be a problem.” He’s looking closely now, too closely, and you flash a smile.

“Thanks. I’m a bit paranoid, you know? New city, can’t be too careful.”

“O’ course.”

“So… how far along are ye?” You choke on the dry piece of scone in your throat.

“Sorry?”

“The bairn?” She points to your belly, and you shift the hospital issued zip up hoodie over your waist. Her face softens. “Don’t worry, I willnae tell.” You haven’t disclosed the pregnancy to your boss yet, trying to wait it out as long as possible to prevent getting fired, still holding onto hope that no one will notice. It’s common practice, something women around the world try to manage, tiptoe around until the last second. Sisterhood, you guess.

“Almost twenty weeks.”

“About halfway then.” Her name is Ally, you think, or with an ie, Allie maybe. She’s a float, the worst position in the hospital, and your envy is nowhere to be found. You’d rather work peds than be in her shoes.

“Yup.” The p pops on your lips apprehensively. Being noticed is a problem. You can’t lose this job, not after the all the energy and effort you’ve expended to make this place home. The apartment you’ve slowly furnished, the baby’s room you’ve now painted, all the broken pieces starting to fall into place.

“Boy or girl?”

“I don’t know.” You manage a weak smile. “I’m gonna wait, I think. Leave it as a surprise.” She claps her hands.

“That’s the best! I have two and did it the same way. It’s so fun.” The conversation wanes, her expression shifting into sympathy. “If ye ever need anything, I’m around. Okay?” Your jaw clenches.

It’s a reminder of how alone you really are. How you have no one to depend on, no one to go to, nothing holding you up. The extension of a helping hand almost brings you to tears, and you whisper with true gratitude.

“Thank you.”

You lose hold of the strings stitching you together as you stare at parts and pieces spread out around your knees, screwdriver abandoned, instructions crumpled up and tossed to the corner.

The ache in your heart is physically spreading. It’s crumbling your weary bones to dust, zapping your strength and resolve away until there’s only despair, desperation left in its wake. You press the heels of your hands into your eyes, trying to stem the loss of the control, the tears slipping down your cheeks. “I can’t do this.”

It’s the first time you’ve admitted defeat, and your arms fall limp before wrapping around your belly. “I can’t. I can’t do it.” The words are stifled by gut wrenching sobs, the wave of hopelessness washing over you like a wall of water intent on destruction.

How will you do this alone?

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, slowly stroking over the curve of your bump, rocking back and forth. “It’s just you and me little sunbeam, and I- I don’t know how to do this. I’m going to mess it up.” That’s the crux of it, the heaviness weighing on your shoulders. You’re going to fail. You don’t know how to be a mom, you never imagined doing all this alone.

You wish they were here, you want them here, against all better judgement, and as you lay down on the carpet in the baby’s room, you close your eyes and allow indulgence, a fantasy where you’re not alone. Where you’re curled up on the couch between them, safe and warm. They tell you they love you, assure you how good of a job you’re doing, how wonderful of a mom you’ll be. A dream where they would hold you, wipe your tears, hold their hands to your belly to feel the baby kick. You’d experience all the firsts together, watch Penny become a big sister together, go through all of the highs and lows together.

The fantasy falls away as the cold creep of dread drags you back to reality.

They don’t love you.

They never did.

Your dreams are just that, dreams. Made up nonsense that never existed in the first place.  

Something is wrong.

His knees flex on the bench, attention fixated on the giant sliding doors at the entrance of the hospital.

He’s unsettled. It’s a rare feeling, but Phillip fucking Graves appearing in the hallway today like a nightmare that never goes away has thrown him off kilter.

“Have a man in surgery here. Flown in on a medivac this morning.”

He threw a barb at Johnny immediately after, a comment in jest, but there was something unusual about the glint in his eye.

It was a shine Simon recognized well. The ripple of a hunter, on a scent track of prey.

You’re ten minutes late now, but it’s not unheard of. You rarely, if ever, get out on time.

It never concerns him, except for today. A cloud lingers overhead, caliginous and heavy with rain, waiting for the right moment to change everyone’s day, to spoil it all.

It’s a bad sign, and he doesn’t know why.

When the clock hits twenty minutes past, he texts you.

No response.

He texts again.

No response, again.

When he calls, the phone doesn’t ring. He tries a second time, and then a third, before shoving it into his pocket and stalking inside to the information desk, conveniently placed right in front of the double doors.

“I need a visitor pass.” He towers over the poor girl behind the counter, and she blanches. “For the ICU. I have a family member up there.”

“O-okay.”

There’s only one person at the nurses’ station, a man, a doctor, who is regarding him with cold curiosity as Simon comes striding over, your name on his lips.

“Wait… you’re one of the boyfriends, right?” His tags reads ‘MD’ with his first initial and last name. J. Marshall. He holds his hands up in surrender. “I don’t know where she is. She ran out of here hours ago.”

“What?”

“Yeah. Asked to borrow my car and everything, said she…” He’s still talking, but nothing is registering. There’s a high-pitched frequency ringing in the back of  Simon's head, a whine turning to a roar, a tinny sound making the backs of his eyes hurt.

He leans into Marshall’s face, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. “Where did she say you could pick it up?”

“S-south station. Get the fuck off me-“ Simon shoves him backward, sending him flying on the rolling chair he was lounging in. “I’m calling security!”

“Don’t bother.” Simon doesn’t look back. By the time the call connects, he’s already on the first floor and almost out the door.

“She came home in the middle of the day.” Johnny’s pacing, hands in his hair, ignoring Simon’s pleas to sit down, calm down. “Lou said she seemed off.”

“Something must have spooked her.” He accedes, staring at a spot on the wall, trying to put it all together. You wouldn’t have run without a reason. After everything, after all this time spent together, building trust, building love, a relationship, it’s the one thing he knows for certain. You’re in danger, he can feel it.

Johnny stumbles, careening to the side, and Simon darts forward, tugging him into his chest, nose in his hair. His breath catches, once, twice, before it breaks into a wet cough, a cracked cry caught in his throat, crestfallen and agonized, and Simon tries to soothe him. “We’ll find her.” They have to, there’s no other option, no other paths that don’t lead to you.

“She’s out there alone,” Johnny shakes his head, “she’s in danger, she must be.” He knows it just as Simon does, knows you like he knows each line in Simon’s palm.

“We’ll find her love, we will.” The rest of it hovers in the air between them, the painful acknowledgment that maybe they’re not so different from your abuser, maybe they’re no better than the man who brutalized you. They’d chase you across oceans, across the globe to bring you home. They’d use all their resources, manipulate systems, act with violence, to see you again. To hold you.

“What if she doesnae want us to find her? What if…”

“That’s not why she left.” Simon’s resolute in his denial of the possibility. You haven’t run away from them. You ran from something, someone, hunting you. “We’ll fix it.”

It’s been six weeks since they’ve seen you.

Six weeks since they’ve seen your smile, the thing they worked so hard to earn, the curve of your lips that you graciously gifted them along with your trust. Six weeks, since they’ve heard your laugh, held your hand, rolled over and felt the heat of your body between them in bed.

The hallway is full of doors, but none of them lead to you.

Their smart girl, so clever, a fox in the woods, a master of camouflage, of stealth. Or, as Kate said-

your girl is ghost. This kind of wipe work is professional level… are you sure she’s a nurse?

In these moments, the quiet dark ones where Johnny stares at the ceiling in bed, he wonders if you’re more. If you held out on them, this whole time, if there’s something else.

It’s ridiculous, he knows that, but the ache in his heart demands answers, explanations, things he can’t provide.

“Close your eyes sweet boy.” Simon kisses his neck, thumb stroking circles into his collarbone.

“She’s out there somewhere, Si, on her own.” His voice cracks, Simon’s arms tighten.

“I know.” A phone buzzes on the nightstand, and Johnny jolts, heart leaping in his chest.

It’s a text from Kate.

>Finally got the footage.

[taikeero-lecoredier]

HR9495 ON ITS WAY TO SENATE

Sadly the nonprofit orgs killer bill passed the house and is now on its way to the senate,endangering orgs such as ACLU,EFF,FTF, Internet Archive, AO3 ( @transformativeworks )and any fighting for human rights. Take some time to voice your disappointment at the reps who voted yes on this terrible bill,and thanks the rep that voted against it. However the next step will be to focus on the Senate, here you can find your senators: https://www.senate.gov/senators/ If your senator is a democrat, you can use this script: "I am calling to urge my representative to vote no on H.R. 9495 . This is a dangerous bill would give the Trump administration unilateral power to label any non-profit as terrorist supporting and shut it down without due process. I am calling on my representative to defend civil rights organizations and oppose this bill. Thank you.” You can also tell them you'll vote for them if they vote no on this bill. Anything goes. if your senator is republican/MAGA, use their own words against them :

"As your constituent, I urge you to vote NO on H.R. 9495. This bill poses a dangerous threat to the fundamental freedoms guaranteed by the First Amendment and must not pass the Senate. It grants any incoming administration unchecked authority to revoke the tax-exempt status of non-profit organizations without oversight or due process. Such government overreach is not what the Founding Fathers envisioned for our democracy. This bill undermines the principles of free speech and freedom of association, cornerstones of American liberty.

H.R. 9495 threatens to pave the way for political suppression, allowing the government to selectively target and shut down organizations based on ideological disagreements. This could affect any non-profit, including churches and conservative groups, as well as organizations that champion human rights and civil liberties. Regardless of political leanings, this bill sets a chilling precedent that no American patriot should support.

While situations relating to the hostages deserve careful attention, they can and should be addressed in a separate, narrowly tailored bill. H.R. 9495, however, is a broad, unconstitutional overreach that strikes at the heart of free speech and freedom. It is unpatriotic and incompatible with the values we hold dear as Americans.

I implore you to stand as a defender of liberty and uphold the rights of your constituents. Be a patriot, listen to the voice of the people, protect our God given right to free speech as Americans, and reject this dangerous legislation. Vote NO on H.R. 9495. Thank you, God Bless and God Bless America." (Taken from here )

You can also come join our server internet dedicated to fight against bad bills (and other bad internet bills such as KOSA) We organize call in days and gather ressources ! https://discord.gg/pwTSXZMxnH

[no1mikasimp]

I’m from India, my parents thought having a TV created ‘bad habits’ in children so we’ve never had a Television in my household, instead me and my sister had unlimited and unsupervised internet and PC privileges since kindergarten.

Once we were trying to watch Phineas and Ferb on YouTube (we heard about it from our friends) when I was in first grade and my sister in second, in the YouTube recommendations on the side it recommended us a Princess Tutu AMV. We watched it— instantly fell in ✨ love ✨ and my sister soon found a website where we could watch the entire thing aside from YouTube (Animenova was the site’s name, it’s shutdown now)

After that watching Princess Tutu we found other anime like Mermaid Melody, Mew Mew Power, Cardcaptor Sakura and by the time I was we were in 4-5th grade we had already started watching almost anime anime we could find from comment sections and recommendation lists, it was then around the time AoT released and we watched it, then my sister found an anime called Owari no Serpah (Seraph of the End) which had the same concept as AoT but with vampires and it became our fav anime for a few long years along with stuff like Magi and Railgun through Owari no Seraph and the incredibly gay sexual tension between its two male protagonists Mika and Yuu, my sister and I found ✨ Yaoi ✨ at 10-11 years of age. I initially didn’t really like it but then by the time was 11 I was consuming that shit almost every day (started with Hybrid child, Sekaichi Hatsukoi, Junjou Romantica and Super Lovers) i wanted to consume more super lovers so I asked my sis where she read her Yaoi manga and general mangas too ofc, she recommended me our god and saviour ✨ mangago ✨ from where I proceeded to read Super Lovers and got heavily confused cuz everything was highly censored and I didn’t know what sex was (growing up in a conservative society like india does that, especially when you’re a girl watching anime since first grade and have no interest in anything else) then I read Royal Servant and found out what 🎀 sex 🎀 was.

Have never looked back since.

I only watched Death Note when u was in like 7th grade, so pretty late I guess. Mainly watched it cuz I heard there was a popular shop between L and Light.

Now, I’m turning 20 in a month and over half my life has been spent being a full time weeb, and almost my half life spent reading gay people making love and holding hands.

Never could have asked for a more perfect life.

Before anyone asks,

No, my parents still don’t know what me and my sister did with that unlimited and unsupervised internet access.

Whenever my parents see me reading Ao3 and ask what it is, I just tell them I’m reading a novel and they get so proud and like, ‘we raised you two so well.’ And give themselves a pat on their backs. They don’t know. It’s so freaking funny.

I also make my mum buy me Yaoi manga and BL novels with her money and she never says no cuz ‘reading is a good habit’

I have two entire bookshelves filled with books, one half normal stuff like Rick Riordan and stuff and the other half pure BL.

That post about death note being "everyone's first anime" (untrue statement) made me curious and now I want to gather data for science

Can you reblog this and tell me where are you from and what was your starter anime?

[loulovingho]

tags: violence (gay bashing), homophobic slurs, blood, hurt/comfort, angst, healing, heading toward getting back together, happy-enough ending

(ao3 link or read below)

Like Fine China

“Hey, I need you to keep your eyes open for me, okay? You hear me? Try to keep your eyes open.”

He recognized that voice. The last time he'd heard it was just a few weeks ago, at the hospital. Who was it for though? Why was he at the hospital that time?

His brain felt like a jumbled mess. His body felt even worse.

He just wanted to sleep.

“Tommy! Tommy, can you hear me?”

Athena! That's who was speaking to him.

He opened his mouth, cracked one eye open. God, it hurt!

“I- I'm,” the words felt foreign as they escaped him. His voice didn't sound like his own. His mouth was dry, and held a bad taste.

Whiskey and... and metal.

Blood.

“Tommy, paramedics are on their way, okay? I just need you to stay with me until they get here.”

It was dark, but something was shining bright in his face.

“Flash... Flashlight,” he managed to get out, squeezing his eye back shut.

“Eyes- Eye open, Tommy. I'll get the flashlight out of your face, but I need to know you're with me.”

Wait. Had she said paramedics? They couldn't. He couldn't let them- let him see.

“No, no, no,” he mumbled out, shaking his head a couple times until a sharp pain shot through it. “No, h- he can't. I don't-”

“They're not on shift, Tommy.”

He tried to push himself up, away from where she hovered over him. He didn't manage to get very far before she placed a hand on his chest.

“Tommy, you cannot get up. I need you to stay still, and stay conscious. Those two things are your only jobs. You hear me?”

“I can't,” his words were so garbled. He coughed up the blood that'd been dripping down his throat.

I can't let him see.”

“Listen to me, Tommy!” Athena exclaimed, getting right in Tommy's face. He could barely see her, but he could feel her breath on his face. “They're not coming. Buck isn't coming; it'll be someone else.”

In the distance, he heard the sound of sirens. He didn't feel relief. Didn't feel much of anything at all. He was fading, fast. It took all his energy to force out one last sentence before he lost consciousness. “Don't... Don't tell him.”

*****

He just wanted to go out for a drink. Something a little stronger than craft beer.

It'd been two weeks since he broke up with Evan- no, Buck. He was Buck now.

It'd been two weeks since he broke up with Buck and the ache in his chest felt the same way it did the second he walked out of the loft.

He'd thought he was saving himself from future heartbreak, and maybe he was, but it didn't quite make it hurt any less.

Georgie's wasn't exactly a gay bar, but Georgie was gay and the bar itself became a sort of unofficial hang out for older people in the lgbtq+ community. No loud music and everyone left each other alone. A perfect place to decompress while still allowing yourself to be free.

After a couple of whiskey sours, and yeah, a pitcher of craft beer, Tommy was ready to go.

He waited outside, near the alleyway, for his Uber. He found himself going to his messages, hovering over Evan's name. He hadn't had the heart to change it to Buck yet.

He'd been wanting to text him since the breakup. Talk about it some more. Actually give a reason for why it- why he- fell apart so fast. How Buck's words triggered some terrible memories for him. How he suddenly realized there was no way he could be everything he thought Buck needed. Everything Buck deserved. Not to mention they hadn't even exchanged I love you's. And it was insane to think all of Tommy's things could fit in Buck's loft. Buck's things could fit in his house so much easier!

He clicked on Evan's name, started to type something out, erased it, started again, erased it again.

He was usually so aware of his surroundings. His time in the military did that to him. It did a lot of things to him actually, many of which he wasn't very thankful for. However, he prided himself on not being oblivious.

Tonight he was oblivious.

He didn't expect five men to jump him at once. He was a strong guy. Had taken on three men about fifteen years earlier. Did it with ease too.

But not five men. Not when one had a bat, and one had brass knuckles, and one was at least 6'5 and three hundred pounds. Not when they dragged him to the ground and into the alley before he had a chance to react. Screaming slurs at him as they took turns using his body as a punching bag.

He tried to fight. At one point, he was sure he kicked one of the guy's in the face. Heard him yell something like, “The fag broke my tooth!”

It only made things worse.

He wasn't sure when he first lost consciousness, but he knew they were still on top of him. Still laughing as they hit and kicked. He heard the sounds of someone spitting at some point. Felt wet on his face.

Then there was nothing.

Until someone stepped out from somewhere, and maybe they heard him groan? Maybe it was his Uber driver wondering where he was? Maybe it was an employee taking out the trash? He wasn't sure. He could barely hear someone telling him they were calling the police. There was a ringing in his ears, and his lungs felt like they were on fire. Someone said something about wheezing, barely breathing. He wondered what that was about.

Then there was Athena. Then nothing again.

*****

The next time Tommy opened his eyes, he was in a dimly lit hospital room. He was confused. Could barely see out of one eye and everything was blurry out of the other.

His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and maybe some tiny humans hitting his brain with hammers.

“Are you... awake awake or not really awake?”

The sound of a man's voice startled him. He couldn't hardly move, but he was able to focus his eyes across the room at the figure in the corner.

“Ed- Eddie?”

God, his voice sounded weird. Why did it sound like that? Like he'd spent the last 30 years smoking a pack a day.

“Yeah, I'm here.”

He sounded hesitant. Maybe they'd had this conversation before? If they had, Tommy certainly didn't remember it.

“Wha- Why?”

Eddie stepped closer. “You're in the hospital, Man.”

Tommy wanted to roll his eyes. No duh.

He settled for clearing his throat, which turned into a burning sensation running down his chest. “Why're you... here?” he tried. Hoped Eddie understood that much.

“Tommy-”

“I t- told Athena-” he had to pause to take a breath. “Told her not to tell.”

“Actually, you told Athena not to tell him. And she assumed, correctly, I'm sure, that him was Buck. So she called me instead.”

Tommy closed his eyes. “Why?”

“Why'd she call me? Oh, maybe because you don't have anyone listed as an emergency contact and you were nearly beat to death so she figured you might need someone to be here when you woke up.”

Tommy's jaw clenched at Eddie's harsh words.

Nearly beat to death.

He was nearly beat to death.

Eddie either noticed Tommy's heart rate going up on the monitor, or his eyes filling with tears, because he was right beside his bed in two strides. “Sorry,” he said. “Sorry, I- I'm kinda pissed, Man.”

“S'okay,” Tommy replied, swallowing hard. “I deserve it.”

Eddie looked taken aback. “No, I'm not- Tommy, I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at this,” he said, gesturing over Tommy's body. “I've never seen...” Eddie's voice trailed off and, through Tommy's own blurry vision, he could see that Eddie was close to crying.

“What'd they do to me?” Tommy asked, barely able to take in all his injuries. His entire body hurt, no part any worse or less than the other. He could feel something on every limb, but he couldn't quite move his head around enough to see what it was.

Eddie took a deep breath. He wiped at his eyes with his fingers, sniffling before getting started. “You've got bruising on about seventy-five percent of your body. You had surgery for a busted kneecap on your right knee. Your left arm has a fracture, and your right one has thirty stitches, I think. They broke a few ribs, so it's gonna hurt like hell when you take a deep breath or cough. Um, you had some internal bleeding, but they got that under control pretty fast. You've got a fracture in your cheek, which may cause some extra pain when you talk. You've got a few broken fingers too, and lost a couple fingernails during your- when you were defending yourself.”

“Hm,” Tommy hummed once Eddie was done. “S'that all?”

Eddie shook his head, rolling his eyes. “I'm sure I missed a couple things, actually, jackass.”

Tommy let out a laugh, which quickly turned into a groan. “Thanks for coming, Eddie,” he said, trying and failing at moving himself into a slightly more comfortable position. “You don't have to stay though. I'll be fine.”

Eddie stared at him incredulously. “You're kidding me.”

Tommy shifted his eyes back in Eddie's direction. “No, I- I'll be okay. I've got it. Just,” he paused to take a breath, “don't let Buck know, please.”

Eddie raised a finger toward Tommy. “Well, see, about that. You only told Athena not to tell him before, and-”

“You didn't.”

“-and see he was already at my place when I got the call, so-”

“Please tell me you didn't.”

“I have one with cream and one with sugar and- Oh my God, you're awake!” The sound of Buck's voice had Tommy's head twisting toward the door so quickly that a pain shot from the bottom of his back all the way to the top of his head. “Ow!” he yelped, clenching his teeth and tossing his head against the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Oh my God. Has the nurse come in yet? Have they checked his vitals? Eddie, you said he'd be out for a while! Tommy, do you feel any nausea? Do you remember who we are? The nurses said you might have-”

“Buck!” Eddie exclaimed. “Stop. He's okay.” He glanced over at Tommy, “I did forget to mention the head trauma.”

Tommy groaned, giving him a glare.

Eddie walked over to Buck and took the drink carrier from his hands. “I'll go find a nurse, you stay with him.”

Tommy wanted to yell out to Eddie to please not go, and also screw you, and maybe throw a couple hand gestures in there too. He stayed silent instead.

Buck looked Tommy up and down, hesitating slightly before walking up to the side of the bed. “So, you're-”

“I want to see myself,” Tommy blurted.

“Oh, um, I... Tommy, I don't. It might be better to wait.”

Tommy managed to move his head enough to look up at Buck. He could see the fear- no, the panic- in Buck's eyes.

“I wanna see," he repeated.

“Tommy-”

“Buck!” It took a lot of strength to get his name out so forcefully, and he didn't quite mean it to sound as angry as it did, but this wasn't Buck's decision. It was his. And he wanted to see what he looked like.

Buck pulled his phone from his back pocket, his hands shaking slightly as he pulled up the camera.

Slowly, he lifted the phone up to Tommy's face.

The second it registered that he was looking at himself, Tommy sucked in a breath. He grimaced as pain radiated through his chest but, when Buck went to move the camera away he stopped him. “No,” he said. “Just. Just wait.”

He knew his eyes were swollen by how out of focus his vision was, but he had no idea just how bad they looked. The right was worse than the left, but both were an angry mixture of black, purple, and green. The bruise on the left side of his face ran down his cheek to his jaw, circling underneath his chin like a half moon and fading into his facial hair. There were marks on his neck. Looked like someone's hand. He could understand Eddie's hesitancy on mentioning that. He didn't remember anyone gripping him there, which was probably for the best.

His forehead had more bruises, and cuts too. There was dried blood at his hairline, some stitched up cuts. His curly hair was nearly matted to his head, his scalp a brutal crimson.

“I tried to wash the blood out of your hair with a washcloth,” Buck explained anxiously, “but you have some lacerations on your scalp and I didn't want to bother them until they healed a little more.”

It was all so overwhelming. There was a whirring sound in his ears that made him feel dizzy. His eyes burned as they filled with tears that he didn't have the strength to wipe away.

“Okay,” he said, his voice uneven. He cleared his throat. “Can you- You can go, please. I don't... You can go.”

“Tommy-”

“Ev- Buck, I'm awake, I'm fine, I don't need anyone here.” He stared straight ahead, unable to look Buck in the eyes. “Please.”

“No.”

Tommy really didn't feel like dealing with stubborn Evan right now. “I don't-”

“I don't really care, Tommy. I'm not leaving you here. I've been at this damn hospital for three days now and I'm staying until you go home. I don't care what-”

He was cut off by the sound of footsteps behind him.

“Got the nurse,” Eddie said, an awkward smile on his face. The nurse, to her credit, ignored all the tension in the room.

“Let me get some hand sanitizer and gloves and I'll be right with you, Mr. Kinard.”

Buck sighed. He stepped even closer to Tommy. “I'm gonna go into the hall long enough for the nurse to check you out,” he said, maneuvering himself until he was halfway leaning over the bed, his arm on the other side of Tommy to prop himself up as he forced him to make eye contact. “I will be back in a few minutes. You have people who care about you, Tommy, whether you like it or not.”

With that said, Buck stood back up and left the room.

*****

Tommy spent a few more days in the hospital before he was released. There were only two times that Buck left long enough to get a shower and get a little rest in a real bed. Both of those times, he made sure Eddie was there the entire time.

Athena had come in to get his statement. Asked him all sorts of questions, most of which Tommy couldn't answer. He hadn't really gotten a good look at them. Only had very basic descriptions. He remembered the slurs they had hurled at him, knew they attacked because he was gay. He couldn't really figure out how they knew though. Besides being outside of that bar, it wasn't like Tommy ever did anything that screamed gay. Not that it mattered.

She'd been honest with him. There were no cameras at that part of the street, or in the alleyway. No one got a good description of the attackers, and the person who called the police only saw their shadows as they disappeared into the night. She'd do everything she could, but it wasn't likely they'd find these men. At least, not until they did this again.

Bobby stopped by once with some homemade chicken noodle soup. Buck had to feed him every bite, which made Tommy feel like he was about to cry the entire time, but he managed half a bowl before he had to stop. It was a million times better than anything the hospital had been feeding him, and he was glad to know Bobby had put some in his freezer to give Tommy when he got home.

Chim and Maddie came one evening. He'd been asleep when they got there, woke up some time during their visit, but he kept his eyes shut until they left.

Honestly, every time someone walked through the doors he felt more and more like running out of the hospital and finding a hole to fall into. Then, if he were lucky, someone would just shovel some dirt over him and let him rest.

These weren't his people. They were Buck's people. They didn't need to be there for him. They needed to hate him. They needed to laugh at his bruises and tell him he deserved every last one. They needed to yell at him for breaking Buck's heart to try and save his own.

That'd be a lot easier than this.

Thankfully, Hen and Karen didn't come by. They did send flowers though, and a card that explained both kids had strep throat and they didn't want to risk bringing that to the hospital. They'd come by Tommy's place once he was home.

He and Buck didn't talk about anything that needed to be talked about. All the unsent messages that had swirled through Tommy's mind didn't matter right now. It was like an unspoken rule between the two of them. Right now was not the time to try and fix whatever happened between them. Right now was about Tommy healing.

*****

As soon as they got Tommy home, Buck left Eddie with him so he could go to the pharmacy and pick up his medications. When he got back, Eddie headed out to go home and rest, promising to come back later with a variety of foods that would be easy on Tommy to eat.

The silence felt more... silent at Tommy's house. It was different now that they were at home instead of a hospital with people coming in and out at all times.

Tommy needed to do something, say something, to break the silence.

“I wasn't on a date,” he muttered out as Buck organized his pain meds on his nightstand.

Buck paused briefly before getting right back to it. “Didn't think you were.”

Tommy nodded. “Okay. I just, I don't know, didn't want you to think that.”

“You go to Georgie's when your brain is working overtime and you need it to quiet down.”

Tommy's eyebrows furrowed. “I didn't know I ever told you that.”

“You didn't,” Buck replied, handing Tommy his pills and a glass of water. “I just know you.”

Tommy swallowed the pills, wincing slightly. His throat still felt scratchy even a week later. “I don't know how they knew,” he said as Buck took the water from him and set it on his nightstand.

“Who knew what?”

“Those guys that-” he stopped. “I don't know how they knew I was gay.”

“A lot of queer people hang out at Georgie's,” Buck answered. “They probably took a guess.”

The thought of it made Tommy's stomach lurch. “I've spent most of my life trying to make sure people couldn't guess.”

Buck watched him for a moment quizzically. “Tommy, you're not... You don't blame yourself for this, do you? You know this wasn't your fault, right?”

Tommy avoided eye contact with Buck. He felt so small right now. “I know I didn't do anything to provoke them.”

“That doesn't really answer my question.”

“I just... I don't know what I could have done differently. I know I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings. I... I should probably go to a different bar, maybe. I don't know.”

“You can't be serious right now.”

“This is everything I feared my entire life, Buck,” Tommy admitted and, God, he wished he could shut up right now. The pain pills were starting to make him a little loose lipped, mixed with him truly being alone with Buck for the first time since they broke up, mixed with an undeniable fear every time he thought about that night, seemed to make it impossible to close his mouth. “I did everything to make sure nothing like this would ever happen to me and it still did. I keep thinking about it and wondering how it could have been different. How I could have been different.”

“Tommy, can you look at me?”

Slowly, Tommy looked up at Buck, his eyes shining with tears.

“This was not your fault. There's nothing you could or should have done differently. You cannot let those five men shove you back into a closet.”

“I-” Tommy cleared his throat. “They're not. It's just... a lot right now.”

“I get that, I- I do. You look tired. Why don't you rest for a bit, okay? I'll be here when you wake up.”

“Buck, you don't-”

“If you tell me I don't need to stay I will force feed you bone broth when you wake up.”

Tommy shivered. “Ugh! I hate bone broth.”

“I know you do.” Buck gently pulled a pillow out from under Tommy, allowing him to lie back easier. “Close your eyes, get some rest. I'm here when you need me.”

*****

They were bound to fight sometime. Tommy had honestly expected it to happen sooner. Buck had been staying with him for three weeks now, only gone when he was working a shift. Bobby had let him work part time for now, with Carla caring for him when Buck was gone.

They'd managed to get past the initial awkwardness. Buck rambled about any and every subject he could think of. They'd watch movies together on the couch, with Tommy falling asleep halfway through due to his pain meds.

Buck would get Tommy tucked in bed, then set himself up on Tommy's floor in case he was needed during the night. Tommy had tried to insist he use the spare room, but Buck wouldn't hear of it. He knew Tommy wouldn't call for him if he needed him through the night.

Then Tommy tried to suggest he sleep in the bed. But that was a no go because, “I kick, Tommy, you know this. Do you really want another knee surgery?”

They'd been focused on Tommy getting better. And they'd been ignoring the many, many elephants in the room.

So, a fight was expected.

What wasn't expected was for the fight to start because Tommy needed to pee.

Buck had seemed a bit more on edge today, but Tommy chalked that up to a shift that ran longer than expected.

Tommy had grabbed his crutches, which he'd just been able to start using to go short distances. He still didn't quite trust himself to use them at night, but he was working toward relying on them more and relying on people less.

When he stood, Buck immediately stood with him.

“I'm fine, Buck. I just need to go to the bathroom.”

“I'll help you there.”

“I'm really fine. I can get there by myself.”

Tommy was sure he had kept his tone neutral. He definitely didn't want an argument tonight. But, before he could even make it two steps, he heard Buck scoff. “Not surprised.”

And maybe it was the full bladder making him extra bitchy, but Tommy couldn't help turning around and asking, “What's that mean?”

Buck shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. “Nothing.”

“Obviously it's not nothing. If it were nothing you wouldn't have said anything in the first place. What doesn't surprise you?”

“Just you, ya know, pushing people away. It's what you do.”

“Ha!” Tommy laughed out. “If I'm pushing people away then I really suck at it because you haven't left my house in three weeks. I just need to pee.”

“I'm not talking about right now. I'm talking about me telling you that I loved you and you breaking up with me.”

How in the hell did they end up here?

“You didn't tell me you loved me, Evan!” Tommy exclaimed, unbelievably confused. The sudden change in tone caused Buck to take a step back.

He was only thrown off for a second, quick with a retort. “Of course I did!”

“No, you absolutely did not! You asked me to move in with you, but you did not tell me you loved me.”

“Wait. You asked him to move in with you?” Eddie's voice had them glaring in his direction. Both had forgotten he was even there in the first place. He raised his hands. “Sorry.”

“Well, I- it was obviously implied,” Buck argued. “I wouldn't have asked you to move in if I didn't love you.”

“How the hell was I supposed to know that?! You were making it sound like I was some gay hero that sewed the first pride flag! I don't even go to pride events, Evan! All the colors are far too bright and the glitter never leaves you.”

“Glitter is really annoying,” Eddie agreed.

Tommy pointed a crutch at him. “Thank you.”

“I was not trying to make you out to be some gay hero, Tommy! I was telling you that I was comfortable with you. I was telling you I wanted to spend all my time with you. I wanted us to be together!”

“You didn't even think it through, Evan!” Tommy motioned around the room. “I own a home. It comes with two bedrooms that have doors, a garage, a back yard, and two and a half bathrooms. You asked me to move into your loft.”

Eddie shook his head. “Oh, Buck.”

Buck's eyes shot over to him. “You're still here why?”

Eddie stood from his spot on the couch, grabbing his coat. “Yeah, I'm going. Later.”

They both stayed silent until they heard the door open and close.

Buck opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “This is our first fight, isn't it?”

Tommy nodded. “It is.”

“Took us long enough.”

Tommy managed a small smile. “Probably should have fought you that night, honestly.”

“I think I would have felt better if you did.”

“Me too.” Tommy took a deep breath. “I actually really do have to pee,” he said, shifting from one crutch to the other. “Can we pause this until I'm done?”

Buck nodded. “I'll be here.”

They didn't actually fight anymore after that. It was time for Tommy to take his meds, which made him tired, and Buck was tired himself from his shift. Tommy laid in bed, Buck snoring on the floor beside him, thinking it all over. All the things he still felt like he needed to say. The unfinished business they had between them.

The fight wasn't much, but it was something.

It was enough.

For now.

*****

“Are you sure you're good on your own?” Buck asked as Tommy limped behind him toward the door.

“I'm sure. I can successfully do everything on my own now with minimal to no pain.”

Buck turned back to him quickly, eyes wide. “But there's still pain?”

Tommy smiled. “I'm fine, Evan.”

Buck didn't look so sure. “Okay, I... Okay.” Instinctively, he moved forward to wrap Tommy in a hug. He stopped himself before he got too close, but Tommy responded by opening his arms.

Buck's posture relaxed as he gently wrapped his arms around Tommy, careful not to squeeze too tightly. "I was so worried about you," he whispered in the space between them.

"I know."

“You'll call the number I gave you?” he asked.

“I already did yesterday,” Tommy admitted. “When you went out to pick up dinner. My first session is next Monday.”

“Good. That's... That's good.”

“Thank you, Evan. For everything you've done for me. You didn't have to do that.”

Reluctantly, Buck pulled himself away from Tommy.

“Did you realize you've been calling me Evan since our fight a couple weeks ago?” he asked, lips upturning into a smile.

“Oh, um,” Tommy shifted on his feet, taking the pressure off his bad knee. “Sorry. Habit.”

“Don't be sorry. I hate when you call me Buck.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. I'll always- I wanna be Evan, to you.”

Tommy nodded, staring into Evan's eyes. “Okay. That's. I'd like that too.”

Buck continued toward the door, stopping again as soon as his hand touched the handle. He looked back. “Hey, Tommy?”

“Yeah?”

“Next time you think about texting me... hit send, okay?”

Tommy had never mentioned that before. But he'd caught Buck's near-texts to him too, so it didn't quite catch him off guard. “I'm kinda a mess, Evan. I'm not as comfortable as you think I am. I'm not... I'm still figuring things out.”

“That's okay. I am too. Text me anyway.”

“Even if I'm asking you out for a coffee? So we can talk? Really talk?”

“Date and time, I'll be there.” Buck smiled softly at him as he opened the door to leave. “I'll get your order right this time.”

[luoziluo]

休息时间

[honeyhotteoks]

feels right to repost this right now considering ☺️ but i did want to quickly ask everyone’s opinion on something as well!

i’ve been editing chapters of aurora and while there’s not significant changes to anything, there’s definitely clean up around descriptions / dialogue / edits to mistakes etc. and in some cases somewhat expanded scenes to fix pacing issues.

would readers of aurora enjoy me updating the existing AO3 & tumblr posts, or posting it new as an edited version? i know a lot of you re-read and i don’t want to mess anyone’s flow up ☺️ also…. i suspect new aurora in 2025 once that editing process is done. i so thank everyone for their patience.

♡ into the aurora | series masterlist.

summary: you didn’t expect to run into choi san outside of the venue, especially when your phone was dead and you were stranded in a random city. a kind offer for a phone charger turns into so much more, and you end up falling into a relationship with all eight members of ateez.

pairings: ot8 x reader

genre: fluff, angst, romance, ateez ensemble x reader, polyamory, non-idol!reader, fem!reader, eventual smut

warnings: handled on a chapter by chapter basis, any cw/tw will be clearly identified. if any need to be added, please contact me directly and I will update accordingly!

current word count: 208.6K

✶ one ✶ two ✶ three ✶ four ✶ five ✶ six ✶ seven ✶ eight ✶ nine ✶ ten ✶ eleven ✶ twelve ✶ thirteen ✶ fourteen ✶ fifteen ✶ sixteen ✶ seventeen ✶ eighteen ✶ nineteen ✶ twenty ✶ twenty-one ✶ twenty-two ✶ twenty-three ✶ twenty-four ✶ twenty-five ✶ twenty-six ✶ twenty-seven ✶ twenty-eight ✶ twenty-nine ✶ thirty ✶ thirty-one ✶ thirty-two ✶ thirty-three ✶ thirty-four ✶thirty-five ✶

please note, there will be a sequel! i'm taking a bit of a break before working on that, but new aurora content will be posted in 2023~!

if you prefer to read on AO3, you can find that here

my fic masterlist can be found here!

[anorlondo00]

AGHHHHHH i love your fic sooo so much the banter is so natural and funny and i REALLY really love how you characterize ace hes not a straight asshole or punk hes quick witted and thoughtful and caring but also frustrated at his share and conflicted.. i think i could read the way you write him forever and not get bored. like i really think you write him the best out of anyone ive seen so far. i also really love how natural his relationship with marco feels. its charged but theres trust and care its soooo so good i genuinely had to put my phone down multiple times and go "damn. theyre really in love huh" like its getting worrying how good this is thank you soo much for this fic i adore the concept and execution!! and also i loove the way you write marco he feels so dedicated to his work and his family and hes so caring to ace you can really feel just how much he cares about him and how smitten he is sniffs... i really love that ace can get so much out of him compared to other people like hes his weak spot thats so cute.. really looking forward to a future where ace and marco can just hang out and be together with the people they care about :) in my head im already planning their future home together so the angst doesnt get to me

DUDE this was the sweetest thing I've ever read. Thank you so much for reading and taking the time to share your thoughts— my heart is a flutter

Take this Ace WIP 😭

[ihavemanyhusbands]

Aqua Thermae

Also on AO3

Pairing: Lucius Verus Aurelius x Fem!Reader

WC: 2.3k words

Summary: After a particularly great victory in the arena, Lucius is rewarded with both a visit to a bathhouse and you -- a high-ranking courtesan -- to keep him company.

Warnings: SMUT (minors DNI this fic is 18+), reader is a courtesan (so SW), mentions of violence, shenanigans in and out of water, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, maybe some historical inaccuracies? forgive my sins please, and I thinkkk that's it but lmk if anything else!

-----------

It had been a very long time since he’d been somewhere so luxurious. One of Rome’s finest bathhouses brought echoes of a comfortable life long past in the emperor’s palace. The marble pillars and fine mosaic floors, the detailed frescoes on the walls, and a large thermal pool all for himself.

Then other flashes of memory came to him – his mother’s kindness, his father’s armor, his uncle Comodus’ booming voice, and the cross of their swords…

He shucked his heavy breastplate and immediately felt the steam on his already sweat-slick skin. He let out a long sigh, closing his eyes for a moment. If only memories were so easy to get rid of, he might not always feel so tormented.

Lavishness was not something he had ever actively sought out, even if he was entitled to it as the direct descendant to the throne, but it was strange to think he was once accustomed to it. So much had happened since his forced departure, like a hundred lives melding into one.

Now, after a long, grueling fight with a mighty rhinoceros and its fierce rider, he wanted nothing more than to luxuriate in the warm water until his head swam and his muscles no longer ached so badly.

But then he noticed you standing on one side of the pool, a carafe of wine and a platter of dates, cheese, and nuts waiting on a low table next to you. You smiled as your eyes locked and Lucius’ back immediately straightened. Not much took him by surprise anymore, but this certainly had.

“Who are you?” He asked, curious rather than irritated at your presence.

You inclined your head genially. “You may call me whatever you like.”

He huffed in amusement, giving you a once-over. “Very well, then. And who sent you here?”

“Macrinus wanted nothing but the best company for you, his champion,” you said, serving him some wine. “I am to be your prize, along with this bath.”

His eyebrows lifted infinitesimally and he looked away in an almost bashful manner. His profile was proud and handsome, kissed by the sun and the strikes of his opponents. He had the face of a hero history would always remember – Or at least you would, certainly.

He was hesitant at first, unsure if he could trust anything that came from Macrinus. But as he took another look at you, your allure was too great for him not to be stirred. He could tread carefully, but he didn’t really want to deny himself pleasure, however fleeting it may be.

“I take it your company is quite coveted around here?” He asked, approaching to accept the wine you offered.

You nodded in response, fingertips barely brushing his as he took the glass. He held your gaze as he took a sip and you almost lost yourself in the infinite blue of his eyes. 

“By the likes of who?” He asked.

“Fierce gladiators such as yourself,” you said pointedly, unable to help your wandering eyes from finding the rippling muscles of his chest. “Merchants. Senators. Even emperor Geta has had his fill of me, but Caracalla was content with just watching.”

“Let us not speak of them now,” he said, shaking his head and grimacing at the names of the bloodthirsty twin emperors. “Within these walls, it is just the two of us. Nothing more.”

You nodded in understanding as he set down his glass on the table. “Would you like me to help you finish undressing?”

“I can manage,” he said, but now his eyes roamed appreciatively over your form, barely covered by a nearly see-through shift. “But I should like to help you, so you may join me.”

“How very kind of you,” you grinned, a salacious edge to your tone. 

He stepped even closer, reaching to unclasp the bronze brooch at your shoulder. The shift fell in a puddle of fabric at your feet, your body completely bare underneath. He let out a small, shuddering breath, fingers lightly tracing one of your clavicles.

For a moment, his expression was clouded as something crossed his mind. He stared off into the middle distance, but before he could really lose himself, you decided to intervene. You pulled him in, one hand cupping the back of his head as you went on your tiptoes and brought your lips close to his ear.

“Whatever you’d like to forget, I should really like to help you,” you whispered.

“Everything,” he rasped, one callused hand grasping your hip, while the other gently tilted your head to one side so your lips would meet his.

You tasted the sweet wine on his tongue and breathed him in. He smelled of the arena — blood and sand and sweat. It was not unfamiliar to you, but it was heady coming off of him, fueling your growing desire. 

Deftly, he managed to reach between your bodies to undo his pteruges and the loincloth underneath, both joining your shift on the floor. You felt the hardness of his own want against your lower abdomen, but he made no move to hasten things along. 

“Come now, let us wash the day off of you,” you said softly, pulling away to guide him into the water.

You waited by the edge for him to submerge himself first, watching the way his muscles worked as he walked. He had the grace of a warrior, as if poised for attack at any moment. You almost shudder at his deep groan of contentment, leaning back against the edge. Sliding closer, you massaged his broad shoulders to try and relieve some of his tension. His hand found your calf, caressing it. 

He closed his eyes and let himself be pampered, your touch transporting him far away, beyond even the shores of Ostia. He thought of your luminous eyes, the honeyed taste of your lips, and the smell of rose oil on your skin… What lovely comfort you offered. He wanted more of you and he suspected he would still not have enough.

If winning meant earning moments like this, with you, then he would never let himself be defeated in the arena. Or elsewhere, for that matter.

“My very own Venus Pompeiana,” he said softly, turning around so he could slot his body between your legs and face you. “The Gods seem to be favoring me greatly today.”

You cupped his face tenderly. “Something tells me they will continue to do so, too.”

He grinned, eyes heavy-lidded as they dropped to your lips. “Tell me, did you emerge from the seafoam, too?”

You laughed, delighted at his words. “Yes, I am salt, and brine, and pearls made flesh.”

His strong arms enveloped you, pulling you into the water with him. His lips found yours again and your legs wrapped around his hips, anchoring yourself to him. He submerged both of you for a moment and you chuckled against his lips when you resurfaced.

He kissed you like he might never be able to do so again — like a desperate lover forced to say goodbye before sailing off to war. Your fingers threaded through his damp curls, his beard tickling the lower half of your face. Your head swam and you wished you could spend an eternity there, in that moment.

You let his hands wander a little, getting bolder by the minute, but then you pulled away and playfully swam away from him. A safe distance away, you splashed some water at him, inciting him to give chase. 

He swam after you unhurriedly, his head low in the water so that you mostly saw his eyes. You could tell he was smiling from the way they creased at the corners, and you felt a thrill low in your spine as he drew closer. It reminded you of a crocodile pursuing its prey, biding its time before the right moment came along. 

A nervous giggle escaped you as you backed away, even daring to splash more water in his direction. He slipped under the water and for a delirious moment of uncertainty, you thought your heart might leap out of your chest. You searched for any sign of him, but the water was cloudy and concealed him well.

Suddenly, you felt the graze of teeth on your hip and you cried out, startled. Lucius re-emerged, shaking water from his hair and cornering you against the edge of the pool.

“Got you now,” he rasped, pressing you against him and bending to kiss your throat.

“Mercy,” you gasped, smiling wide as you amiably submitted to his attention. “Oh, please have mercy.”

He lifted your hips further so that his cock rested against your folds. You tried to move against him as best as the angle would allow and he helped guide you with one hand on your hip. 

“Mercy?” he said against your jaw, the deep timbre of his voice like music to your ears. “You see how you’ve got me? I’ve not had any mercy from you.”

You grinned slyly. “You thought I’d yield so easily?”

He hummed, pretending to think about it. “Never crossed my mind.”

“Actually, you make it very hard not to, as much as I like to play,” you conceded, biting your lip.

He chuckled, sucking in a breath through his teeth as he fought the urge to slip inside you and claim you for himself. But not yet, of course, as he wanted to play with you a little while longer too. 

“Shall we put you to the test?”

He lifted you out of the water and sat you back on the edge. With one broad palm on your sternum, he gently pushed you backward. Instinctively, your legs hiked up, but you let him be the one to spread them.

He let out a low groan at the sight, his gaze incandescent as it met yours. He kissed your calf, then the inside of your knee, and steadily progressed up your inner thigh as he propped himself half out of the water.

Your hips shifted as he got close to his target, but then he moved to your other leg, repeating the same torturously slow process. You propped up on your elbows to give him a slightly annoyed look and he grinned cheekily.

“How’s that for mercy?” He asked, but before you could respond, his head dipped and his tongue finally found where you were aching.

A breathy Oh escaped you as your back arched, fingers digging into his curls once more. He was just as skilled with his mouth as with a blade, easily finding the tenderest, most sensitive spots. He had you squirming on the tiled floors, the tip of his tongue tracing circular patterns on your clit.

“Gods,” he moaned, the taste of you only making him hungrier and greedier for more.

You tried to grind against his face, chasing the waves of pleasure that already crested over you. His beard added just enough friction to create another layer of stimulation, and soon enough, your eyes were searching for constellations at the back of your skull.

“Lucius, oh, Lucius,” you panted. “You’re gonna make me– Ah!”

He felt triumphant at your trembling under him, more honey flowing from you and onto his tongue. You made soft, almost pleading sounds, holding onto his head as if to anchor yourself. He groaned, prolonging your pleasure for as long as you both could stand it. His blood felt near boiling and yet the only cure for it was you. 

Ravenous and near feral, he pulled himself out of the water and crawled over you. Finally – mercifully – he slid into you with ease, going slow and deep at first so you could adjust to him. He watched your reactions closely, feeling himself twitch inside of you — so warm and soft and perfect for him.

But that wasn't the only way he wanted to have you, and every time either of you grew closer to the edge, he changed positions. His stamina was astounding, especially considering he had been fighting for his life only a few hours earlier.

It wasn’t until you were on top of him, his hands aiding the gyrations of your hips, that you could get revenge for all his teasing. You set the pace, finding an angle where you could grind your clit against his pelvis with each move. His eyes roamed over you reverently, like you were the true goddess of love, and he was your subject worshipping at your temple. Sweat slick skin, the bounce of your breasts, your bared throat as you tilted your head backward in ecstasy… He found divinity in all of this.

His self-composure began to dissolve as his grip on you tightened. His brows furrowed and his mouth was slack, his moans spilling out wantonly. He was beautiful, so truly beautiful.

“Don’t stop,” he groaned, his hips positioning upwards to meet your movements. 

As you happily complied, leaning forward to kiss him, he lifted his torso to meet you halfway. He cupped the back of your head as his body tensed, spilling his seed inside you hotly. You came harder than before, your cunt squeezing him tightly in time with the twitching of his cock. 

Spent, you collapsed on his chest, the two of you sharing a laugh, high on endorphins. He wiped a stray strand of hair from your forehead with even more tenderness than you thought you’d ever experienced. He felt like the most fortunate man in the world, having found something so good in a place as hostile as Rome. He wouldn’t let you go so easily. 

“Come to the next games,” he said softly before he could really think about it.

You hesitated. As much as you’d love to see him in action, you didn’t think you could bear to see him get hurt… Or worse. 

“You want me to watch you fight?” You asked, trying to keep the fear away from your expression. 

“I want you to see me win,” he said without a shred of doubt. “That way, you can be sure that no man can stop me from claiming my reward right after.”

You shuddered, biting down a giddy grin. “I’ll be there for you to find me, my champion.”

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

[starlingflight]

Prompt: Sirius being a massive Hinny shipper, please and thank you ♥️♥️♥️

This was supposed to be a drabble. Read below or on AO3 here:

He had first noticed it in the summer.

At first, Sirius had thought Harry to have a particularly strong affection for Crookshanks, a sentiment that Sirius only found wholly sensible and had not questioned further.

It had taken a few weeks to realise it was not the charming bandy-legged cat that Harry’s eyes were subconsciously following. Likewise, the cat wasn’t the recipient of an increasingly frequent number of silent, secretive shared smiles whenever someone was unfortunate enough to do something that garnered Harry’s amusement; no, the honour of that bestowment fell to the equally charming — and equally ginger — young lady who had devoted a great deal of her summer to entertaining Crookshanks.

Again, Sirius couldn’t find anything to disagree with in the object of Harry’s attention, indeed, his good opinion of Ginny had been formed immediately upon meeting her, when, one balmy evening, at the very beginning of summer, she had come bounding into Grimmauld Place’s dank kitchen, flashed a bright grin at Sirius across the old wooden table and declared, “It’s nice to meet you, but I don’t think much of your family’s choice in interior decoration.”

Sirius’ smile was no longer familiar to him, but it had risen easily at the sentiment. “Was it the house-elf heads that put you off?”

The girl's eyes had widened in alarm; her nose had wrinkled in distaste. “House-elf heads?”

“Ah, so you haven't taken a trip upstairs yet?”

With that scant piece of information, she'd turned on her heel and marched straight back out of the kitchen, a harried-looking Molly Weasley calling “for Heaven's sake, Ginny,” behind her, but Ginny had only continued striding her path, set on inspecting the most gruesome spectacles lining the hallways of Grimmauld Place.

Harry hadn’t arrived at the Order's gloomy headquarters until weeks later. By that time, everyone but Sirius seemed to have accepted the chafing captivity offered by his parents' old house with, if not good humour, a grudging attempt at it.

And then Sirius had found his already-conflicted emotions torn once more as he'd reckoned with exactly what the task James and Lily had charged him with really meant.

Protecting Harry, keeping him safe, giving him enough information to protect himself in the face of direct orders from Dumbledore and the teenaged ire being thrown at him across the dining room table from his beloved Godson; his guilt not eased by the scorn that was being directed at him from a perfect replica of Lily's eyes, ones that silently assured him he'd already failed, otherwise, he wouldn't be in this situation to begin with.

It wasn't a new guilt though, Sirius had been living with it for fourteen years now, and it was certainly a lighter burden than it had been all those interminable days locked up with the Dementors. Though he’d exchanged Azkaban for another prison, one he'd thought he'd escaped at age sixteen, at least there were moments of levity now.

There was the Weasley family's easy affection with one another, and their warmth which seemed to fill the frigid house despite its determination to remain unwelcoming. There were hearty dinners and good conversation, and a sense of community that, while welcome, made Sirius ache for the best friends he would never share a meal with again.

There was also Ginny's bright, unrestrained laughter and the way Harry seemed to seek it out. There was the way his Godson's eyes seemed to soften on the youngest of the Weasleys, an occurrence which accomplished the seemingly impossible task of making all traces of James disappear from his face, leaving only Lily.

If Harry was aware of Ginny’s effect on him, however, he did an excellent job of hiding it. None of Sirius’ thinly veiled attempts at suggestion yielded the desired results.

After one of Molly’s delicious — and uncomfortably filling — meals, Sirius had tried to broach the subject in as delicate a manner as possible.

“Ginny’s very funny,” he’d said quietly to Harry, leaning across the small expanse of table that separated them.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed absently, ducking to avoid the dessert bowl Fred had just summoned, and that had gone soaring wildly towards Harry’s head. “She’s a laugh.”

Without giving the matter any further consideration, Harry pushed his chair back from the table, apparently intent on following Ron, who was already heading for the door, and Sirius, who was glad to see Harry in a rare congenial mood where his friends were concerned, had no heart to try and stop him.

Yet Sirius was only deterred temporarily; house arrest did not offer many opportunities for entertainment, and he seized upon this one.

His next attempt to force the matter occurred just days later.

Molly, persisting in her crusade to wipe away years of rot and decay that Sirius privately thought was likely weaved into the very foundations of the house, had seen fit to direct Harry to clear out an ancient wardrobe in one of the guest bedrooms; Sirius immediately volunteered to join the endeavour.

“I think your mum had a hoarding problem,” Harry informed him, removing a sinister-looking, ghostly white Venetian mask from one of the shelves and tossing it unceremoniously into the rubbish bag awaiting at their feet.

Sirius hummed in agreement. “You know, Ginny made a similar observation — she wasn’t very taken with the decor.”

“I’d think there was something seriously wrong with her if she was.”

“But you don’t,” Sirius prompted with forced nonchalance.

“Don’t what?” Harry frowned down at the pair of ancient — and hideous — buckled shoes he’d just collected from the wardrobe floor.

“You don’t think there’s something seriously wrong with Ginny.”

“No,” Harry replied, brow still furrowed as he turned to look at Sirius directly. “Do you?”

“No, of course not!” Sirius waved away the accusation. “I think she’s a charming girl.”

“Right,” Harry discarded the shoes and began flicking through the dusty garments hanging from the rail.

Sirius waited a moment but no other thoughts came forth. He swallowed a sigh. “And you already agreed she’s funny.”

Harry’s only response to this reminder was a noncommittal hum and Sirius was forced to forge ahead without any assistance from his impervious Godson.

“The prank she played on Ron last night with the fake spider was very amusing.”

In truth, Sirius was being generous with this compliment. While he appreciated Ginny’s dedication to the bit, and her willingness to provoke her mother’s ire, he had some notes on how her practical application could be improved that he planned to share with her later.

“Ron didn’t think so,” Harry replied, giving away nothing of his opinion on the matter. “He made me check every inch of our room three times before he’d go to bed.”

“He needn’t be so worried,” Sirius replied. “Crookshanks is dedicated to the task of keeping the house pest-free.”

Harry shook his head, whether at Sirius’ reassurance or the ghastly acid-green lace robes he’d just removed from the wardrobe, it was impossible to say.

There was no opportunity to ask, for at that moment Molly’s voice came calling from the corridor outside the room, beckoning them down to yet another dinner where Sirius was forced to watch Harry’s eyes wander to Ginny with painful obliviousness.

This pattern continued for the rest of the summer holidays, a period that was woefully short and allowed Sirius no further chance to help Harry reach the obvious conclusion. Indeed, any attempts he did make were met with little more than teenaged grunts and abrupt changes of subject and before Sirius knew it, Harry was boarding the Hogwarts Express, Ginny was swallowed by a group of her friends on the crowded platform and even this simple self-given mission had evaded success.

After that passed interminably long, lonely months locked up in the drafty old house with nothing but the fleeting company of Order members flitting in and out; Sirius’ only constant companion was Kreacher, possibly the only being he considered worse company than a dementor.

Undoubtedly, Sirius had not considered himself overcome with festive spirit in the run-up to Christmas. Nor could he find himself cheerful at the circumstances that brought house guests to him for the holidays, but once it was ascertained that Arthur would survive the terrible attack he’d sustained at the hands — or rather, fangs — of Voldemort’s snake, Sirius could not deny himself glad of the company provided once more by Harry and the Weasley’s.

By the time New Year’s Eve rolled around, Sirius was in a rare state of high spirits.

Grimmauld Place remained stubbornly bleak but the festoons of holly and glittering ribbons he’d draped from every available surface — helped by Ginny who certainly proved she had more of an eye for decoration than most of Sirius’ relatives — went some way to brightening the place up; as did the spectacularly impressive fireworks Fred and George had set off around the house well before the clock had begun to approach midnight.

By chance, a small party had gathered in the kitchen owing to Remus and Tonks’ unexpected early return from a mission, and Kingsley’s appearance with a collection of bottles of Ogden’s, which were quickly passed around the adults.

“I’ll have mine to go,” Sirius said as Kingsley poured him a generous measure of the amber liquid. “I really should make sure Buckbeak’s settled before things get too raucous.”

“I can go,” Harry offered from beside Sirius as he leaned to collect one of the bottles of butterbeer Kingsley had brought for the kids. “I haven’t seen him much since I’ve been back.”

“We’ll come with you,” Hermione offered, popping the cap on her own bottle of butterbeer.

Before Harry could think to respond, he was cut off by a groan from Ron who had been surveying the platter of mince pies, sausage rolls and various other finger foods Molly had just set out on the table. “I was just about to eat,” he protested.

Hermione’s lips pursed in unimpressed exasperation but Sirius was already formulating a plan, prepared to seize an opportunity that had not presented itself since the kids had returned from Hogwarts.

“Ginny can go with you,” he said quickly, eyes fixed on Harry even as he raised his voice loud enough for Ginny to hear from the opposite side of the kitchen where she was presently occupied ensuring Crookshanks didn’t burn his paws as he attempted to bat at the still-whizzing fireworks. “Ginny, could you go and check on Buckbeak for me, please?”

Her response was immediate. She scooped Crookshanks up into her arms as she stood, nodding enthusiastically at the suggestion.

“I can go alone,” Harry protested sullenly. “No one is going to attack me between here and the landing.”

“Of course not,” Sirius agreed, waving away his protests with the hand still clutching his whiskey glass. “But you don’t want to be alone on New Year’s, do you?”

Harry shrugged nonchalantly. “I think I’d survive for ten minutes.”

“Yes,” Sirius continued as Ginny’s form grew closer in his peripheral vision. “But Ginny is excellent with Buckbeak — she’s very good with animals, have you noticed?”

Harry shrugged again. “I suppose.”

Ginny paused her approach to deposit Crookshanks into Hermione’s waiting arms.

“Well, that’s settled then.” Lightly, Sirius nudged Harry towards her. “The two of you will go together.”

Ginny joined them just in time to hear this conclusion; her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “I didn’t realise it was a two-person job.”

“Apparently Sirius thinks I need supervision,” Harry informed her.“

“And he chose me to supervise?” Ginny frowned in horror. “I’m disappointed in myself for giving a false impression of responsibility.”

Right on cue, Sirius watched as her eyes met Harry’s and identical smirks bloomed on both their faces.

“Come on,” Harry inclined his head towards the door. “We‘ll try not to get into too much trouble on the way upstairs.”

“Maybe you will,” Ginny countered, already following him out of the room. “I never made any such promises.”

Sirius watched them go with a self-satisfied smile of his own. His triumphant mood, however, did not last long before being quickly burst by the pointed sound of a throat clearing behind him.

He turned to find Remus and Tonks staring at him in amusement.

“What was that about?” Remus asked, his arms folded expectantly over his chest.

“What was what?” Sirius asked innocently.

Remus shook his head wearily. “Need I remind you I’ve witnessed that exact manoeuvre before, minutes prior to the Great Venomous Tentacula Debacle of 1976.”

Sirius huffed dismissively. “This is nothing like that,” he disagreed. “I’m quite confident neither Harry nor Ginny are going to attempt to feed the other to Buckbeak.”

Which was almost exactly what had happened when Sirius had schemed to have Lily and James partnered in Herbology at the beginning of their sixth year. Of course, Lily had assured Professor Evergreen that she had meant no harm to James when she’d shoved him into the awaiting jaws of the predatory plant; she had only meant for it to ‘take a few bites out of his over-inflated head’.

“That’s not what I meant,” Remus disagreed with his practised look of weak disapproval that was so easy to ignore. “As you well know.”

Sirius sighed, chancing a glance over his shoulder to confirm no one was nearby before stepping closer to Remus and Tonks and saying in a voice too low for anyone else to overhear over the revellers of the night. “They simply need a nudge in the right direction, one that I’m more than willing to provide.”

Remus’ frown deepened. “A nudge in which direction?”

“A romantic one,” Sirius responded imploringly, surely that much was obvious to anyone with eyes. “Don’t you see it? They’re perfect for one another.”

“Harry and Ginny?” Remus attempted to clarify, his voice dripping with scepticism.

Any answer Sirius might have made was abruptly drowned out by Tonks’ unbridled laughter.

“What?” Sirius demanded, immediately disliking the smug shake of her head. “What’s so amusing?”

“Oh, nothing,” Tonks replied as she brought her laughter back under control. “Only that you’re obviously completely out of the loop.”

“I am not,” he protested at once, indignance flaring at the suggestion he might be uninformed. “Out of the loop regarding what?”

“So many things,” Tonks replied, sighing with superiority. “But, in particular, Ginny’s boyfriend and Harry’s preferred choice of snogging partner.”

“Harry’s what?” Sirius demanded, feeling rather as though one of Fred and George’s fireworks had just struck him directly in the face. Surely, if Harry was seeing someone, he would at least bother to tell Sirius as much.

“Sounds like you have all the teenage gossip,” Remus said, encouraging Tonks to share the details while Sirius reeled from the revelation that he, apparently, knew nothing.

“I only know what Ginny tells me,” Tonks replied, shrugging as she took a sip of her firewhiskey. “Six brothers haven’t really left her with much in the way of female influence, and Hermione’s always off with Harry and Ron, she gets quite lonely, not that she’d ever admit as much out loud.”

“Evidently not that lonely if she’s cavorting around with this secret boyfriend you mentioned,” Sirius replied haughtily.

Remus and Tonks’ eyebrows rose in surprise at his uncharitable tone and Sirius took a sip of firewhiskey to burn away the faint pang of guilt surfacing within him.

“She’s not keeping him a secret,” Tonks disagreed. “She’s just protecting herself from meddling big brothers—“

“And interfering godfathers,” Remus added.

Tonks nodded in agreement. “At any rate, I don’t think they’re cavorting — which, by the way, isn’t a word anyone has used in the last century — by her own admission, she’s quite fed up with Michael.”

“Michael,” Sirius repeated brusquely. “Of course she is, how could anyone not be fed up with someone named Michael.”

Even with Sirius’ limited knowledge, it was entirely evident Harry was superior in every way that could possibly matter.

“Michael Corner?” Remus asked, ignoring this last pointed remark, his expression still perfectly, annoyingly genial. “I remember him from teaching — he seemed a perfectly pleasant young man.”

“More pleasant than Harry?” Sirius demanded, failing to see how that could possibly be true.

“Of course not,” Remus replied evenly. His eyes wandered to Tonks and they both shared a look of amusement not unlike the smirks Sirius was now used to witnessing pass between Ginny and Harry.

Sirius took note of the moment to question both Remus and Tonks about later. Separately.

“Anyway,” Remus said abruptly, tearing his eyes away from Tonks as a red flush worked its way across his cheeks. “It sounds like Harry has his sights set elsewhere.”

At the reminder, Sirius looked to Tonks expectantly. “What do you know?”

“Like I said, only what Ginny tells me.”

“Which is?” Sirius asked, schooling his features into a look of mild interest. Clearly, Tonks was enjoying holding the information over him, and he simply wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of having him beg for it.

“Just that Harry was kissing some Ravenclaw girl on the last night of term — she didn’t elaborate further, other than to say Cho’s whispering skills left a lot to be desired.”

“Cho?” Sirius directed the question at Remus.

“She’s in the year above him,” Remus replied at once. “She plays seeker for Ravenclaw — she was very popular from what I remember.”

Sirius shook his head in vehement denial. “Harry’s not going to marry a Ravenclaw.”

“He’s fifteen,” Tonks reminded him through a laugh. “I don’t think marriage is his main priority right now.”

Before Sirius could argue, a course he was quite set on taking, the door to the kitchen opened and a flash of bright red caught his eye.

Ginny re-entered first, closely followed by Harry; the two of them were deep in conversation, both of them smiling at one another in a way that, in Sirius’ opinion, proved his point for him.

He, Remus and Tonks, all fell silent, watching the young couple intently as they grabbed fresh bottles of butterbeer.

Ginny headed over to the table, eyes surveying the spread laid out upon it; Harry remained at her heels. She paused not at the food, but at a pile of glittering red and gold party hats Fred and George had laid out earlier, the ones which had caused quite a stir when the one resting jauntily on Kingsley’s head had started to sing loudly and woefully out of tune.

Ginny picked up one of the hats and beckoned Harry closer with a crooked finger. His weak attempts to refuse her obvious demand did little to deter; Ginny took a definitive step forward; Harry made no attempt to duck away as she rose up on her tiptoes and secured the eye-catching hat to the top of his head where it sparkled brilliantly in contrast with his dark hair. Upon seeing Ginny’s triumphant smile, an identical one bloomed upon Harry’s face.

Sirius was also grinning victoriously as he turned back to Remus and Tonks.

“I’m not telling you you’re right,” Remus said stubbornly, but the stiff manner in which he knocked back the remainder of his firewhiskey was confirmation enough for Sirius.

Tonks sighed, her eyes still glued to the pair, watching as Harry attempted to force a hat onto Ginny’s head and she stubbornly — and speedily — ducked out of his way.

“I’m sure they’ll figure it out eventually,” Tonks said, a small smile appearing on her face.

Sirius nodded, unable to stop his thoughts from wandering to James and Lily and the many occasions upon which he’d been forced to watch them refuse to see what was plainly right in front of them.

He cleared his throat against the sudden emotion that swelled within, a strange mixture of longing for what had already passed and what was still yet to come. “They always do in the end.”

[beanarie]

of course 3/3

1/3

2/3

entire fic on ao3

in which tommy finally admits he should maybe see a therapist.

thanks again to @mooshkat for the original concept

(tw: heart problems, hospitalization, self loathing)

~

Bobby is the next to show up.

"Hi," he says, disconcertingly tall as he stands over Tommy's bed with a small tupperware. "I figured you can't have anything we would normally bring for someone stuck here, but there's this recipe I liked after my heart attack. It's just chickpeas tossed with olive oil and a bit of curry powder."

"That's very thoughtful," Tommy says, touched and confused. He starts tucking in immediately. The food here could be worse, but he never has much appetite when he's unwell. Maybe eating something will make the nurses frown less often. They're very frowny in this unit. Makes sense, as they probably have the highest proportion of deaths in the building, but it's shit for patient morale.

Bobby's still standing, so Tommy tilts his head at the chair and continues eating.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, once Tommy has left the now half-empty container on his tray table.

"Fine? Tired, mostly." Which is probably for the best when the only change of scenery he gets is the regular trips to imaging. All the napping doesn't leave time to develop cabin fever. "You?"

"I'm good. A little concerned."

Shit. So he's just jumping right in. Tommy works on his breathing. "Oh?"

Bobby nods. "Buck is getting released in the next few hours. He'll probably be up here as soon as they hand over the discharge summary."

Tommy doesn't eye the monitors, but he has a brief fantasy about ripping the leads out and smashing everything on the ground. It's been a long time since he's felt this exposed for this long. "That's good."

Bobby puts his hands on the armrests of the chair. "Hen seems to think you don't want to see him, which is interesting since Buck is behaving like you're pretty much back together."

Keep him away. Do it so I don't have to see his face. "I- I'm-"

Bobby looks at him like he's a spooked horse. "I'm not just here for him, okay? I wanna help you get clarity on what you're actually looking for before it blows up in both your faces again."

It's such a brazen offer Tommy can't help but laugh. "You're welcome to try?"

Bobby smiles a little. "Kid's got a heart the size of Alaska, but--or maybe because of it--he's like the La Brea tar pits. Once you're in, that's all she wrote. It's fine, though, great even. If that's your choice."

Tommy tilts his head, reconciling this man with the friendly, new in town captain who had a veil behind his eyes. In the last eight years, everyone at the 118 figured out how to open a vein for each other, and here's Tommy. Out, flying, and only able to meet his own eyes in the mirror half the time. "What if I'm a bomb," he asks. "Or... whatever destroys tar."

"Is that how you want it to be?" Bobby presses gently.

Tommy rubs at the side of his neck. "I'd be a monster and an idiot if I said yes, wouldn't I?"

Bobby spreads his hands. "There's no relationship jail, Tommy. Doesn't matter to me if you're either or both those things. All I ask is that you keep it away from people I care about."

"No. It's-" Tommy shifts his gaze, his vision blurring. "It's not- That's not what I want. But it's not that easy, Bobby."

"Didn't say easy. Didn't even imply it." Bobby moves a box of tissues from the nightstand to the tray table. "You're no stranger to tackling something hard because you thought it would be worth the effort. Maybe give yourself a little credit."

There are oval-shaped bruises in a roughly circular pattern on Evan's forearm, resembling a school of fish. Those weren't there after the crash. Tommy flexes his right hand, which has been stiff and sore for no apparent reason. "I did that," he says.

"Yeah?" Evan frowns in confusion. "You were suffocating. It wasn't on purpose."

It can be an omen if Tommy lets it.

"Tommy?" Evan says.

Omens are stupid. "Hm?"

Evan fidgets with his free hand, pulling at the edge of his sling. "You said of course you love me, like it was easy. Like it was a given. People don't- haven't said it like that."

"How did they say it?"

"Like they were surprised. Like it was the last thing they could've expected."

"I knew it was a possibility the first time I kissed you," Tommy says, tired of choosing between truths.

He looks up. "You did?"

"Evan," Tommy sighs, "you're the fucking sun."

His beautiful eyes widen and get wet at the corners. "I didn't want the first time I said it to be when- when you were dying in my arms." A shadow passes over his features and Tommy's fingers curl, gathering a handful of his blanket. "I wanted- needed to believe that I'd get another chance. I love you, too, Tommy."

Tommy is so grateful this conversation is taking place today, when he's recovered enough to not cause an international incident every time he does anything more stressful than looking at the color green. The specter of the alarm still looms, but he's done okay so far. "I might not have heard you, if you had said it then." Tommy gestures at his chest. "The wheezing, it was very loud."

"You heard some things, though? It felt like you- you were reacting."

"Yes, Evan. You kept me going."

Evan beams. Tommy aches from the inside like someone sprinkled salt in his IV bag.

"I need," he warns, "so much therapy."

Evan shifts forward in his seat, grunting softly in pain. "I can get you some recommendations."

"Of course you can." Tommy smiles.

Evan is inches away, practically falling out of the chair. "Can I touch you?"

"Do you have the slightest idea how many medications I'm on right now?"

He ducks his head and laughs. "You know that's not what I meant."

"Oh, well, show me what you m-"

Evan lays his free hand lightly, ever so lightly, over Tommy's battered heart before leaning forward and pressing their foreheads together. "I'm so proud of you," he whispers. "I asked you not to run, and you stayed."

Right after the alarm goes off, Tommy pulls away just far enough to capture Evan's mouth with his own.

[sanguinarysanguinity]

I'm going to quibble with the proposed method of calculating the Weighted G-index, which presumes a steady rate of fic production over the entire duration of the fandom. (Dividing the total number of works by the age of the fandom, yielding an average number of works a year.)

In the case of fandoms that had a wave of popularity in their early days, this does not give an accurate estimate of how large the fandom is now. Instead, I propose an Age-Adjusted Goncharov Index, which uses the number of fics produced during the Goncharov era -- in this case, defined as beginning when the Goncharov poster went viral November 18 2022.

Now, AO3 is not precise about dates! Users can set a work's date to anything they please, and in fact some Goncharov works are backdated to before the "film" went viral. Also, multi-chapter works are ordered by last-updated, not first-published! However, we can still get pretty close.

Using November 18 2022 as our cut-off, there are currently 800 works for Goncharov (1973). Going back to the same date for your fandom of interest, calculate the number of works posted since November 18 2022 (note how many pages you are back in the search results, subtract one, multiply by 20, and then add on the number of relevant works on the page where the date cut-off falls). Then use THAT as the relevant number for calculating the Age-Adjusted Goncharov Index.

An example:

For Hornblower (TV) (a fandom that had its surge when the show first aired in the late nineties and early oughts), there are currently 1,200 works total, giving a naive Goncharov Index of 1.5.

Please note that the oldest Hornblower (TV) work on AO3 is dated 10 Oct 2001 -- six years before the inception of the Archive! For a fandom this old, the Weighted Goncharov Index is inappropriate, since the great majority of works created during the nineties and early oughts were created on LiveJournal and Listservs, and have never been ported over to the Archive. If we were to attempt to calculate the Weighted Goncharov Index, it would exclude the vast bulk of fanworks ever created for the fandom! Since it is clearly an inappropriate method for a fandom this old, I will not calculate it.

However, the Age-Adjusted Goncharov Index is meaningful! The November 18 2022 cut-off appears on the sixth page of results (when ordering the fandom tag by date updated). That makes for 5 x 20 = 100 works falling on the first five pages, with an additional 14 works falling on the sixth page: 114 relevant works total. This yields an Age-Adjusted Goncharov Index of 0.14! Considering the current popularities of both fandoms, Goncharov is a MUCH more popular fandom than this older TV show, which currently has only a couple dozen active fans.

Obviously, as the Goncharov fandom ages past its own initial surge of popularity, this method may need to be updated! But this is an improved method for weighting a fandom's current popularity, and especially so for fandoms that are older than the Archive itself.

people trying to insist a fandom is tiny when it /only/ has a few thousand works on ao3 meanwhile my current fandom is a sixteen book series and has several hundred fewer works than goncharov, a movie that, and i cannot stress this enough, doesn’t even exist

[magicalrocketships]

pretty much every day i just think abt small!max saying "daniel, my daniel" when he sees dan. it's with me forever!! ok that's all

Okay, this awakened something in me, and I've missed Go Small! Max. Thank you, anon!

All earlier parts can be found in this masterpost and on AO3 here.

Five times Max calls Daniel ‘my Daniel’ (and one other time)

One. 

"No," Max says politely but with zero room for negotiation. "I don't want that."

That is a plate of sandwiches that look decidedly soggy, oil softened vegetables leaking out of a thickly sliced sourdough. 

Daniel looks up at the waiter. "Could you do some sliced bread and butter instead?" he asks, moving Max's plate out from in front of him. He finds room for it on the table next to him and opens up the sandwiches, starting to scrape the vegetables out onto the plate. In hindsight, it was a bad order. He'd seen the tomatoes and thought that Max might like them. 

The waiter comes back over with two slices of bread and a pat of butter; Daniel makes yet more room on the table to butter the bread and cut it into halves, then deposits it in front of Max. He goes back to scraping the mediterranean vegetables out of the sandwich, dumps the bread on his plate, then starts to pull out the tomatoes so that they're separate from the rest of the vegetables. He offers the plate to Max, who stares at it dubiously. 

"You like tomatoes," Daniel says. 

"Hmm," Max says. 

Daniel doesn't force him. He sets the plate down and shows Max his fork in case he wants to try anything, then eats his own pesto chicken on toasted sourdough. 

Max picks at his bread and butter, then after eating a piece, he uses his fork to carefully eat two little roasted tomatoes. He clearly considers this enough vitamins and nutrients for this meal, and goes back to his bread and butter. He does, however, drink his apple juice. 

"Is the bread nice?" Daniel asks. His sandwich is decidedly mediocre. 

Max considers. "Yes," he says finally. "Thank you, my Daniel."

Something inside of Daniel's chest shifts. He's changed forever. 

"Good," he says, his voice catching. "I'm glad."

&&&

Two. 

Max hasn't wet the bed in weeks. The nightlights had finally managed to turn frequent into infrequent into barely ever. 

Barely ever isn't not ever, though. Daniel's woken up by an insistent little hand on his shoulder. "My Daniel," Max says, sniffling. 

Daniel blinks away sleep. "What's up?"

"The bed's wet," Max says. 

Daniel sits up. "That's okay, Maxy-Max," he says. "That's okay. Nobody's mad."

Max sucks in a ragged, tearful breath. 

Daniel kisses Max's flushed forehead. "Let's go get you cleaned up."

Max tucks his hand into Daniel's, sleepy and tearful, and holds on. 

&&&

Three. 

"I didn't know where you were," Max says reprovingly, once he's discovered Daniel face down on the sofa, snoring into a Pokemon cushion with the TV on low, and poked him awake. "There's no breakfast bowl."

That is a reprimand. The rule is, no TV before breakfast. TV is allowed with breakfast, but the new rule came into force last week when Max refused to eat anything because he wanted to watch Detective Pikachu through to the end even though his tummy was rumbling. So: no TV before breakfast. 

Daniel didn't go to sleep until after four, though, and he's only out here in the living room because he'd finally got bored of watching the time tick by on his sunrise alarm clock and had resigned himself to pulling an all-nighter. He'd come out here to drink coffee and watch whatever he could find on TV in the middle of the night, then had promptly passed out eight minutes into an old episode of Friends. 

"You have to turn the TV off," Max repeats. 

Daniel obliges. He still feels mostly asleep. He rubs his fists into his eyes. 

"Hmm," Max says. 

"I didn't sleep very well," Daniel says. He doesn't look at his watch but Max likes to be awake pretty early. As an adult Max likes to sleep late, but kid Max doesn't feel the same way. Consequently, Daniel's life has flipped to an early bird timetable. His body hasn't quite caught up, though, and there have always been nights where he's stared at the ceiling for far too many hours. "Might have to be careful with me today, champ." He does finger guns to try and make it cool, but he's just tired. 

Max blinks at him. "Okay, my Daniel." He turns on his heel and disappears out of the living room, before coming back in clutching Pikachu. "You can hug Pikachu," he says. There's a pause. "Can we have breakfast now?"

Daniel laughs. "Sure can," he says, wrapping an arm around Pikachu's round middle. "What are we having today? Would monsieur like a fish? An omelette?" He does his silliest French accent. It's very bad. Max laughs. He always has the exact same breakfast. Max likes cereal. Cereal, and his milk in his own special jug. He won't entertain anything else. "A croissant, Max? A fried egg? Un oeuf?"

"No, no, no," Max says. "Cereal, please."

"Coming right up, monsieur," Daniel says, and as Max pads into the kitchen in his pyjamas, Daniel's heart skips a little soft beat. 

&&&

Four. 

"Daniel, my Daniel," Max calls, barely even waiting for Daniel to get out of the car. Daniel's been into the village to get fresh bread for lunch, and he's come back with wine for him and his parents, a few bits and pieces his dad had wanted for their dinner that evening, and a new bat and ball game for if Max can be tempted out of the pool for any significant period of time. 

Daniel grabs the bags. "Maxy-Max," he calls back, finishing off with his best camel impression just to make him laugh. He wanders around to the back of the house to the pool, where his mum and dad are — predictably — in the water with Max. "Mum, Dad. Everyone present and correct, I see."

"Watch me," Max tells him, clambering out of the pool and getting water everywhere. "Look what I can do now!" 

"I'm watching," Daniel says. 

He watches Max sit down on the edge of the pool with his feet in the water. He puts his hands above his head, shaped like he's going to dive, and Daniel knows what he's going to see. This is how he got taught to go into the water face first. His parents taught him and now they're teaching Max. 

Max tilts forward and forward until he's going into the water in a little seated dive. He emerges from the water, beaming, to Daniel's mum and dad clapping him, and Daniel cheering. Max swims over to the steps, and Daniel's waiting for him at the top of them. He gets a very wet and very excited hug. 

"Did you see?" Max asks. 

"I saw," Daniel says. He blinks away tears. He doesn't know why he's crying. "I saw, and you were brilliant."

"Good," Max says solidly, and follows Daniel inside, little wet footprints all the way after him. 

&&&

Five. 

Max is three. He's sleepy and full, a solid little lump in Daniel's lap. He's demanded three stories already before bed tonight, and Daniel's accommodating because in the morning this little version of Max might be gone. Daniel might get his seven year old Max back, or he might wake up to an empty bed and two missing cats, and Max having left to pick his life back up. 

Daniel kisses the top of Max's head. "This is the last story," he says, but he'll probably stretch it out until Max falls asleep right where he's sitting. There's no rush, anyway. There's nothing for either of them to do with their days. He turns the pages in their little book about kittens.

"My Daniel," Max says sleepily, a little garbled around his thumb. He sucks his thumb when he's three, and Daniel hasn't any interest in stopping him. He'll let Max have anything he finds comforting. He deserves the little kindnesses. 

"My Max," Daniel says softly. Max is falling asleep in his arms, his eyes drooping. It's time to put him to bed. "Time for sleep, my little Max. Time for bed."

Max is asleep by the time Daniel's carried him through into the bedroom. He doesn't stir as Daniel tucks him in, as he makes sure the nightlights are all turned on and that Pikachu's in easy reach. 

He stands in the doorway for a long time before he turns away. 

&&&

(And Another Time)

Daniel is so, so tired. His body feels heavy. His mum had gone with him to the doctor's yesterday, and they'd stopped at a pharmacy on the way home to pick up his new pills. She'd brought him a glass of water and a plate of crackers to have with the first dose. He'd downed them all obediently. 

They're not magic. He's not woken up this morning feeling happy again, or like his chest is more than the black, sucking hole where his heart used to be. 

He doesn't open his eyes. A tear escapes without his permission. He hates this. He hates feeling like he does right now, hates the nothingness, the weight of his body against the earth. 

"Hey, Daniel, my Daniel." It's Max, sleeping next to him for the fourth night in a row. He's big but he hasn't left. He always leaves but this time he hasn't. He's still here. He strokes Daniel's hair. "It is okay. I am here and your mum's here. We will make it all all right again. I promise, Daniel. You don't need to cry." He strokes his thumb under Daniel's eye, catching Daniel's stray tears. He wipes his thumb on the sheets then curls his hand into Daniel's. He laces their fingers together. "We've got you."

And Daniel, desperate, holds on. 

&&&

(thank you to Lin @andwegogreen for reading these as I wrote them tonight 🧡🧡🧡)

[harmonic-intervention]

Let the walls break down

A whole month.

That's how long Tommy could push his luck.

And another fix-it, everybody.

Word count: 15,623 - getting back together, communication, near death, injuries, I'm gonna make them talk if it kills them (it very well might)

Excerpt:

It landed him here – a month after the fact, his heart raw and throbbing with dull pain in his chest. They were on a call, and Tommy had theoretically known that there was a possibility they would run into each other on the job. Only it hadn’t ever really happened before, so why would it now?

On the other hand, back before he and Buck got together and he had shared calls with the 118, he didn’t specifically try to look for them, didn’t try to look for one specific last name stamped over the back of a turnout coat. You only really noticed something once it was gone.

It was an all hands on deck situation, a large apartment building that caught flame, and they were all busy evacuating people, trying to get the fire under control, trying to understand what the best strategy would be. Tommy had done this sort of thing a thousand times.

He wasn’t in a helicopter today, had opted to help out on the ground. For the most part, he didn’t even have time to think about the fact that Buck was around here somewhere, too busy with helping, and saving lives, and trying not to let his coworker’s chatter about whatever drive him insane.

He had trouble concentrating at the moment. It could have been the heartbreak.

He didn’t think about Buck being here, he really didn’t, until he was in the apartment building with a couple of other firefighters and scanning around for people that were still missing. He didn’t notice at first, until he and another man entered a room, and he first saw the 118 emblem on the helmet, and then the BUCKLEY on the back of the coat.

Just his luck.

Tommy didn’t say anything, and neither did Buck. They just shared a nod, and continued on together through the rooms. Air was getting thick. Tommy could barely see two feet in front of him. That did not stop him from seeing the woman and what he assumed was her child, crumpled to the floor in one of the last apartments they checked.

They worked seamlessly without words to each other, the only thing spoken being information about the victims that Buck quickly relayed through the radio.

Tommy did hear Bobby on the other end, however, instructing them to leave the building immediately – it was getting unstable. The damn thing really wasn’t up to code, was it?

So, Tommy threw the woman over his shoulder, and Buck picked up the kid, and they made their way out of there as quickly and safely as possible. No use running when you could barely see, there was always a risk they would stumble over something, and they really didn’t have the time for that.

They almost made it, too.

[continue on ao3]

[lilacxquartz]

under his authority;

officer kenjaku x f!reader

plot: finally ridding yourself of your problematic ex, he comes back in the worst possible form — themes: yandere kenjaku, (eventually) willing reader, stalking, dubcon, manipulation, he/him pronouns for kenjaku, mundane au — w.c: 3.5k

a/n: considered making this a shorter one shot, but an idea wouldn’t leave my head — warnings: extremely dubious consent, but reader is willing by the end — masterlist • ao3

Every night before you headed off to sleep, you would take the extra effort to barricade yourself in your apartment, with all sorts of intricate preparations in place… just to keep him away. You’d lock the windows, put up a bar against the front door, tuck a chair underneath the door handle of your bedroom, and sleep with a knife within reach—just in case.

Deep down, however, you knew that it was all pointless in the long run. You could never truly get rid of him, not even if you traveled to the very ends of the earth (or left it entirely). Your ex was simply not the type to let go and even though nothing had yet happened in your year alone without him, you knew that from the moment that you’d let your guard down, that he’d strike.

See, you knew him perfectly well and the sly way that he approached every little intricacy in life. He dated you for a couple of years, bending and twisting your life into all sorts of directions like a puppet on a string, swaying and meddling with the cross, having you thinking that you were the one in the wrong the entire time when it was his manipulation having you feel that way all along.

At some point, you woke up to it all however, and simply just left—choosing to start somewhere else entirely, ready to put up a fight if need be—but to your surprise, he never followed you. This is why perhaps you knew that you were in more danger than you could comprehend because if you knew one thing about him, it was that he had a penchant for holding onto grudges (and never letting anything, or anyone, go).

Such a suspicion was sorely implied however, when out from the corner of your eye on every other occasion, you would spot a glimpse of him. For a while, you thought that they had finally gotten to you; that they had driven you to complete and utter insanity, if you must have been seeing them in places that didn’t make sense. You sought help for that one however you could; through countless reports made through a system that didn’t take you seriously for whatever reason and then, later, through the means of therapy, which did help for a while. Just as you thought that he was out of your life, however, he started showing up again and in full force, too.

Your reports, just like before, meant nothing at all. All of those reports of stalking and someone lingering around your home, of your windows being scratched on and at your doors rattling during the odd hours of the night, only to be dismissed with the ask of ‘have they hurt you yet?’ or the claim that the evidence was still inefficient, so please only make such a report again if you have something to prove.

Such a ridiculous system, but that’s why you went to such great lengths to take things into your own hands. You had no choice, so what else were you otherwise supposed to do?

You were certain that all of those strange happenings were him, after all.

You weren’t going crazy.

It wasn’t like moving on was helping, anyway. His presence was constant and overwhelming, following you around like your own shadow. You were perhaps being driven crazy indeed, but it wasn’t your own doing as everyone else had otherwise claimed. You knew that deep down, these weren’t desperate illusions cast from a worn-down mind, but rather that they were strikingly real and he was surely toying with you, unable to let you go after a hasty, unspoken breakup, hell-bent on punishing you for daring to have a spine.

And just like every other time, everything was all locked up and ready to go; you were as safe as you could get. You did your usual clean sweep of everything and found nothing that could hint at danger, and yet, just as you had settled into bed… you heard something from the inside.

Tearing upright from your bed, you grabbed your phone in a hurry, dialing the police and urging that this time, this wasn’t a drill, that there was someone actively in your home so to please, please, send someone over and just because the claim was so desperate and dire, they did indeed send someone, reassuring you that it would be soon and to please, stop fretting so much. Such a soothing gesture threw you off guard a little, the pattern of the sentence piquing your interest as something once familiar, but your sleepy mind didn’t make the full connection just yet.

You opened up the door as soon as they knocked too, not thinking all that hard about just how on earth they knew which door in the block called for such a thing to begin with. You were exhausted, after all, worn down from a full year of constantly doubting your own mind, of course, your judgment was hazy. All it took was a bit of correctly applied confidence and a smooth, reassuring voice to render you compliant, to slip downstairs along with them under the claim that you would be going to the station to take a statement before you realised the chilling truth that slipped right past your nose.

That voice.

Those mannerisms.

It was him—you were with him.

You tugged at the car door, desperate to suddenly break free and yet he had you securely confined right in the back of his vehicle, driving you off into some unknown location without a single second to spare.

“You… how did you—” you spat out, your voice faltering in disbelief.

“You know, you should really practice better judgment when you’re tired, hm?” He spoke, his voice sickeningly condescending yet calm and sweet. “And now you’re in trouble. Oh dear.”

In protesting refusal, you kicked at the seat with your heel in an attempt to get them to slow the vehicle at least and plot your escape and yet, he seemed to handle such violent complaint with calculated ease, as if knowing your attempts were futile, as if knowing that he had already won.

“Let me go, you asshole,” you spat, continuing to knock on the seat.

Yet, they continued to remain infuriatingly composed, adjusting the mirror in the dark, allowing you to catch a glimpse of their coal-black eyes in the passing streetlights that phased through the road. He clicked his tongue in amusement before swerving the car off to an emptier road, forcing your body to hurl to the side in a grounding warning. “Careful,” he said, his voice laced with a cold threat, “you’re in no position to make such demands, now are you?” he asked, the reminder of your compromised circumstances hanging in the air. “Believe it or not, my role is genuine in this exchange and I could approve a warrant for your arrest if you’re not careful, so you would be wise to calm down and listen to me. How does that sound?”

“Arrest?” you scoffed. “For what?”

“Well, it could be anything, really,” he mused, calmly driving once more, “but let’s try those narcotics that I planted in your home—quite bad ones too, they would get you into a whole wealth of trouble—especially given those paranoid reports you’ve been making. Am I really that bad that you consider me a daily nuisance? I haven’t done anything that wrong, surely.”

You blinked. “You have been stalking me.”

However, all that he could do was huff out a humourless laugh as he composed a response, “Interesting claims, but I think you’ll find that I have evidence of me being busy at work for the good remainder of the year, but…” he paused, considering a pint, “how sweet of you to think of me so often. Have I been on your mind that often? Maybe you’re seeing things you want to see.”

“I wouldn’t want to see you at any time at all, you damned stalker—” you repeated, only for him to interrupt you.

“—stalker?” he asked in a completely deadpan tone, though there was a thin jab of mockery laced within it. He parked the vehicle off to the side of a lesser traveled road where the lights couldn’t quite reach before sitting with you in a stagnant silence for a while. When he finally broke the quiet, he spoke up again in a hushed tone, as if careful to not be heard (even though it was just the two of you in the car), “your claims aren’t entirely baseless, I have been… keeping tabs, but I have been careful,” he admitted, “I have been eliminating all traces of evidence from the moment that anything surfaced, ridding myself of anything compromising. You can try and rattle me out to the authorities if you wish, I won’t stop you, but you won’t get very far.”

“Was the break-up that significant that you can’t leave me alone?” you redirected.

Another silence brewed between the two of you, but then he quickly composed himself. “How silly of you to make such outrageous claims as if we were an item to begin with, but, I suppose that you could say that our time together was significant enough for me to be… conflicted about our parting, for a lack of better words.”

“That’s a long and pointless answer to mean ‘yes’, but alright, you do you, Kenjaku,” you mumbled, crossing your arms as you sank back into the seat.

“And what would admitting such a thing do?” he asked, drumming his fingers along the hard leather of the wheel. “We were together for a moment and just as things were getting interesting, you walked out on me,” he added, not quite losing his track of words but still pausing for a moment to school their demeanour back into something better controlled. “...Let’s say that we did leave on a bad note, surely you can understand my confusion and… interest in picking up where things had left off?”

“I understand the need for wanting answers,” you admitted, “but it doesn’t justify stalking, surely.”

“It justifies my need for closure,” Kenjaku corrected, “and now that I have you back in my hands, I think you’re overdue for some long-awaited discipline, don’t you think? Luckily for you, I’m surprisingly fair with how I deliver it, so I won’t hurt you, but I do have something in mind for the way you humiliated me.”

“Humiliated?” you scoffed yet again, although given his lack of immediate reply, you had an uneasy wave of dread pass you by with the hanging implication of what was yet to come. Something felt off, but they weren’t being clear with their delivery.

Before you knew it, he suddenly got out of the car and slammed the door shut, leaving you alone in the back of the police car for a beat, and then, without warning, tore open the back door, yanking you right outside. You landed on your bottom initially, but then he leaned you forward, pressing your chest against the dirt and cuffing your wrists right behind your back.

Pulling you up after, he slammed you into his car, caging you in with his looming overhead frame, making you feel suddenly quite small and trapped. He leaned in with his breath hot against your neck, allowing his pressing arousal to push into the small of your back while holding you in place.

“Humiliation is a two-way street, you know,” he whispered as he pulled down your jeans to your knees with your underwear following suit, “and I don’t think I can forgive such abandonment, at least not so soon.”

You remained frozen in place, realising exactly what he was planning to do, letting him talk as words refused to leave your own lips, “I always did like the lack of fight you put up during our time together,” he purred, “I bet it’s because you secretly like submitting to me like this, huh?”

His words were intentionally full of spite and mockery, but you were still confused and barely recovered from the extreme relationship they had you trapped in prior; it was an overwhelming time that left you with a piled-up emotional burden and nothing else beyond that point… but their touch admittedly, always succeeded in making you feel good in a way that nothing else or nobody else could compare. So skilled was the feel of his fingers over your skin—the only time he would ever listen to you.

“And what happened to your snark?” Kenjaku hummed, unzipping his slacks, dropping the pair to gather at his thighs, “I thought you had a lot to say just now? Did that all disappear too? Do you want me to make you feel good again? I bet none of those late-night hookups you’ve been having have been satisfying you the same way I ever could.”

It was humiliating alright, he knew exactly what you wanted and how you wanted. You loved it when he bit at your neck and when he pulled your hair just enough to make you feel good, but without long-lasting pain. You loved the way his hands would smack and smooth over your tender skin, bruising galaxies from his feverish touch. How his teeth would graze along the sensitive spots, making your life feel like putty in his hands; so malleable and yet so rigid, and yet, you knew fully well that he was bad for you.

He didn’t give you much time beyond that point to seek out confirmation, readily lining up the tip of their hardened cock to press into your soaked entrance, finding it almost peculiar at just how desperately soaked you already seemed to be. With a gentle push inside, he buried his shaft within your slick walls, easing into you slowly, taking his good, sweet time to get used to the feel of you again. Almost achingly slow, he pushed himself into your hilt and then back out, feeling almost insultingly delicate.

Kenjaku’s lips then lined up with your neck, peppering lazy kisses against your throat, but not surrendering to the heat of the moment like you almost desperately, guiltily craved. Such burning need that was evidenced by the full year of not being able to let you go and yet, now that he had you—he held himself off.

Albeit involuntarily, you drawled off a low whirring whine, arching your back into his form, letting him deepen his shaft into your core, yet never once accelerating as you hoped. Kenjaku remained infuriatingly composed and controlled, never once losing his cool, gently rolling his hips out and then back in, letting the need build up in you, yet never satisfying it.

“Such a needy thing,” he murmured, “what’s the magic word?”

“P-pl—” you were about to say, stopping yourself right as you were about to give in.

Kenjaku sucked at his teeth. “We’ll get there. You could never make me soft.”

He continued to roll his hips back and forth against you, nice and slow, pressing your body straight up against the cold, uncomfortably hard surface of the car with his uniform uncomfortably digging into your back. The coarse material roughly chafed through the thin fabric of the top you wore, rubbing painfully against you as all the wrong sensations were tackled instead.

It was painful, almost, and yet you felt your composure letting slip earlier than you would have liked, wanting nothing more than to give into the moment and for once, forget about him and what he put you through prior and just… feel good.

“P-please,” you gasped and then bit your lips, curling them into your mouth to stifle the remainder of the confession—humiliating, indeed.

He stilled for a second and you swore that you could feel his eyes bore into you with an almost feral resolve. For a while, he didn’t say a single thing and then, without warning, you cried out a choked-out whimper without registering exactly what had happened.

Suddenly, a deep, searing pain flooded your senses, making your eyes well with tears and spill in a matter of seconds. The realisation hit just a moment later, recognising the sensation as pain as he thrust repeatedly into your teased cunt at full force; his cock hitting right where it hurt and then without stopping, doing it again and again. Your reactions were poorly timed as you moaned out of sync with his feverish movements, pistoning himself into you with the driving force of someone crazed with reckless abandon. With such sawing aggression that emphasised just how needy he truly was, no matter the claims that otherwise left his lips, pinning the blame on you.

His hands then snaked around your chest but didn’t settle, reaching to wrap around your neck instead. His palms squeezed against your sensitive skin, choking out whatever pretty little noises you had left behind.

Your body recoiled slightly in pained protest as he continued to impale you; his hot breath rolling steamy pants of air that prickled against your clammy skin, pushing you closer towards the edge. His breathing became sloppier too, as he fucked himself as rough as he could into your sopping heat, quite literally spearing his length into you, until he couldn’t anymore. With one stuttering, rough, and final thrust, he melted into you entirely, crashing his body against yours as he filled you up with his own pent-up need. For a moment after, his hips gently bucked, albeit seemingly involuntarily as he sought to ride out the aftermath of his near-violent orgasm, only parting when he could quickly recompose himself and regain control over both of the situation—as well as you.

And after a while of such recovery—after helping you find your balance and dress you back up with almost attentive care—a darker thought slipped into his mind. Helping you sit back inside of the car, into the front this time, he let you quietly recover as he drove off somewhere else this time. Not to your home, nor to his, but… somewhere else entirely, because, if he was being real about you, he already knew that you wouldn’t give up on trying to get him into trouble—wouldn’t you? You silly thing. Oh no, he had to do something about that, and luckily for you, he had no such intention to kill you off, because you were the only thing in his life that he wanted to keep around for good and he had a good idea that you wanted this too, even if you were being so stubborn lately.

“Wait,” you piped up at long last, “where are we going?”

Kenjaku snorted out a half-laugh, finding your late realisation to be amusing before clearing his throat and answering you, “I’m not letting you go this time, so we’re taking a little detour—I’m going to keep you holed up with me forever,” he revealed, “maybe in chains at first as I figure out something more… permanent, but it’s all for a good cause, you know?”

You huffed, only to be interrupted, “A good cau—”

“—yes,” he replied in a matter-of-fact tone, “a good cause. I want to keep you forever, but I can’t have you running off on me. At least not again.”

You found yourself reacting in a way that surprised you, trying to sink into the seat again and kicking at whatever you could, but not as a means of escape, but rather out of frustration at your own mind. You could only respond in an uncertain murmur, still exhausted from the rough encounter, “You’re impossible, just… let me go,” you requested instead, although not sounding convincing to either him or yourself, knowing that it would probably be easier to just surrender instead.

“Oh you”, he endearingly cooed, smoothing his hand over your thigh, “I can’t do that. Not to you. But just know this, if you try to run away from me again, I’ll figure something out, maybe plant something compromising on you,” he replied, pausing for a moment to plot something out on the spot, “maybe have you arrested and locked up, because that way I can be sure to keep you in one place forever.”

You tilted your head off to the side, catching a glimpse of his thinly concealed mania burning in the depths of his eyes. “You wouldn’t go through that much, would you? You’re not that insane…”

Kenjaku however just shrugged, finding the calm conversation to be amusing, knowing that by even humouring him to this extent, you had already given up. “Just keep it in mind, will you? If it ever did come down to that, then guess who’s going to be the one to get you out to begin with?”

He let the implication hang in the air for a moment longer, before pushing you back further into the seat and finally letting go. “Anyway, rest up, will you? You have a lot of apologising left to do when we’re there and I fully accept you to be awake and alert for everything I have in store for you.”

You gulped, but you did as you were told, finally broken down enough to listen to him at long, long last.