#not sure if it's worth putting in the main tag but oh well there it is | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

my-writings-and-musings · 2 years

Text

Earthspark Breakdown x Reader x Bumblebee

Anybody want some fluff of Breakdown trying to be smooth while getting a date for Bumblebee only to crash and burn on his own feelings? Too bad, here it is! I can't be the only one that would love to be in a throuple with these two absolute dorks, right?

"I bet I could get you a date."

"Don't you fragging dare."

Breakdown considered the laugh he'd gotten from the exchange well worth the dent Bumblebee had left in his shoulder, and the fact that he had every intention of carrying out his promise was simply a pleasant bonus. His old friend would thank him in time; the lovestruck Scout was absolutely helm over wheels for you, the Maltos kind neighbor, he just didn't have the gears to initiate much more than an occasional conversation. Breakdown hardly blamed Bee for his attraction, as you were quite easy on the optics and he found the brief interactions he'd shared with you more than enjoyable, but he knew his friend didn't have it in him to ask you on anything even adjacent to a date. For the sake of you both, he was willing to use his skills as an exceptional wingman and break the ice. He was certain he'd be thanked in good time.

Finishing the short drive up the road to your property, he turned into your driveway with a drift that was equal parts showy and loud, wanting to announce his presence before traveling up the winding dirt path. It wasn't the first time he'd done as much, though this was his first time visiting alone. Ordinarily he tagged along with the group to watch Bee get adorably flustered every time you looked his way…

Slowing down as he approached your house, he scanned the homestead for you, being careful to avoid clusters of chickens pecking about your property. Driving up to your main barn, he parked and transformed once he was sure there were no other humans about, catching the sound of approaching footsteps just before he saw you emerge from behind the barn. You were obviously surprised to see him, but your smile told him it was not an unpleasant surprise.

"Oh, hi Breakdown! I thought you guys were training the Terrans until this afternoon?" you asked with mild confusion, referencing your visit to the Malto residence that morning. Breakdown recalled how disappointed Bumblebee had looked when you had regretfully informed the group you were too busy to hang out that day thanks to a number of jobs that needed to be done on your property, and thus you'd be unable to watch their training as planned. His friend's painfully obvious longing as you drove away had ultimately been what spurred him to try to secure a date between the two of you, but he had to play it cool while he prepared to make his move, not that he was expecting much difficulty. He had good reason to believe you returned the Scout's affection.

"Bee is showing them scouting and stealth tips today; not really my area of expertise." he explained, trying not to chuckle at the idea of himself tagging along on such a lesson. Primus, Bumblebee probably would have to unteach every bit of advice Breakdown would give on the subject, so he really was better off here. Keeping to what he was actually good at, he put the first part of his plan into action, knowing you'd be much more receptive to a date with Bee if you weren't overworked. "But I thought I'd use my free time to help out with those chores you mentioned. Got anything you need an extra hand with?"

You were once again surprised by the Stunticon, and once more it was quite pleasantly so, your shoulders relaxing as his offer took a load off them.

"I do, actually." you confirmed, approaching him and continuing with some hesitation even though he'd made the offer. Breakdown couldn't help but smile at your politeness. Most humans didn't hesitate to use bots for their own ends, yet you were courteous enough to ensure he was alright with something even after he'd offered, your reluctant expression making it clear he'd have every right to refuse with no hard feelings. "My biggest headache is a fallen tree I need to move to the chopping block, but it's a bit on the bigger side, so I understand-"

"Shouldn't be a problem." he confirmed quickly, freely puffing out his chassis as he disguised a flex as a stretch. Hoping you caught just how impressive his broad shoulders looked in the bright sun, he smirked at the ease of the task ahead, planning on showing off a bit while he put his plan into motion. As he took care of this chore he'd be free to drop hints about Bumblebee and gauge your reaction, and if he was as correct about your feelings for the Scout as he was certain he was, it wouldn't be a challenge at all to drive out of here with a date for his best friend. This wasn't the first time he'd been his wingman… "Just point me in the right direction."

"Really? Thanks!" you said enthusiastically, beckoning for him to follow as you started heading past the barn. Finding the energy adorable, he followed eagerly, thoroughly grateful he'd decided to give this plan a try. There was something about you that made him understand just why Bee was so deeply besotted, and once everything worked out he'd be glad to spend more time with you, perhaps even just the two of you.

Breakdown caught sight of the problem tree as soon as you rounded the barn and he got a clear line of sight to the edge of the yard, where a once proud oak had snapped at the base and smashed into the earth to leave a shallow crater in the grass. Estimating the trunk to be at least twice his height, he whistled as he imagined what a sight the fall must have been. It was just a good thing it had fallen so far from your very crushable house…

"You weren't kidding about it being a big one." he marveled, looking over the trunk and doing a quick estimate of its weight. While it certainly didn't look like what he would call light, he was more than confident in his ability to handle the burden, especially with an audience to impress.

"I know, right? I got lucky it wasn't near anything, but it's huge. Even a chainsaw would take an eternity on that thing." you remarked as you hopped over to the other side, stepping back and scanning your eyes along the once towering oak. He realized you were measuring him against the tree and trying to do some form of your own math, but judging by your expression you were less than optimistic about his odds. The uncertainty in your tone confirmed as much, and he got to proving himself before the first word left your mouth. "So really, if it's a problem-"

"You just tell me where you need it, hngh…" he declared, pausing his sentence to secure his servos under the trunk. Digging his digits in to the bark and heaving, he bit back a reflexive sound of strain to keep up the illusion of effortlessness, not struggling but certainly using a considerable amount of his strength. Seeing your eyes widen and your jaw go slack gave him all the motivation he needed to heft the entire oak onto one shoulder, the massive amount of momentum teetering it precariously back and forth before he secured it with both servos. Not even allowing himself a sigh of effort, he finished his sentence with a grin. "...and in how many pieces."

"Oh!" was all you said at first, the feat of strength and the speed at which he'd pulled it off briefly overwhelming your ability to speak. Breakdown felt his spark surge with pride at your reaction, enough that he had to remind himself he was here to make Bumblebee look good. Not that there was much harm in showing off to a cute friend…

Catching yourself, you turned on the spot and pointed to a flat area of land with a sturdy shed. "Well, uh, right over here!" you said quickly, moving fast so he didn't have to carry the burden for long. Breakdown had to appreciate the consideration, as the effort was admittedly very draining, enough that he could feel his actuators starting to ache by the time he caught up with you. Following your instructions to drop the oak beside a chopping block, he set his dentae tight to once again avoid any obvious sounds of strain as he hefted the tree off his shoulders, making sure you were clear before he let it more or less roll off his servos and slam into the earth with enough force to shake the surrounding dirt.

"There we go, didn't even break a sweat." he declared as soon as the ground became still, doing a fantastic job covering up how much the effort had taken out of him. Somehow, even if his end goal was getting a date for Bumblebee, it was very important to him that you knew how strong he was. Confident he'd shown off his impressive prowess, he dusted off his servos in preparation for the next step. "Now, how do you want it broken up?"

The question caught you a little off guard, and you had to think before replying, a pause he dared to think came from being utterly starstruck by his abilities. "Uhhh… I need the pieces to be about this size for firewood…" you said after you recovered, picking up one of the chopped chunks as an example. Breakdown tilted his helm in thought, figuring the amount of work it would take to divide a tree of such magnitude into as many pieces of such a size might take until sundown. He halfway considered running back to the Dugout for a weapon before you jumped in with a far more workable solution. "But if you could get the trunk into sections, I can store that as is. Do you think you can break it up?"

Breakdown brightened at the question, finding it easy to ignore fatigue if he was given a chance to impress you, and you had unknowingly given him quite the opportunity. Kneeling beside the base of the trunk, he secured his servo a short distance above the jagged edge, testing the resistance before turning to you for approval. It took a great deal of willpower to hide how eager he was to show off. "This a good size?"

"That's perfect, yeah!" you agreed eagerly, going quiet after it occurred to you that there wasn't any practically obvious way to get the wood to that size. Glancing at the ace and chopping block that were comically undersized for the job, you blanked on a possible solution but still offered aid to be polite. "Do you need any help?"

Breakdown grinned, barely keeping the expression from deepening into a smirk before he replied simply, "Nah."

Using one servo to twist and the other to pull, he tore the appropriately sized chunk free with only the tiniest sound of effort slipping past his lips, one that was covered by the cacophonous crunch of timbers being shredded by sheer might. Actuators running at full capacity, he needed only a few seconds of work before he ripped the section of tree off and had it resting in his palm, which he held up for your approval. Seeing your eyes as wide as saucers once more had him nearly giddy with delight.

"Holy moly." you said after a moment of stunned silence, shaking your head to clear some of the shock before you let out a chuckle of disbelief. "Any chance I could hire you? I know farm work isn't quite as glamorous as racing, but you're very good at it."

"I'm happy to help whenever I've got the time, maybe I could swing by here on the regular." he replied quickly, finding himself eager to spend more time with you however he could. It wasn't until he'd set the piece of wood down that he remembered why he was here, and the realization sent a wave of embarrassment through his spark, which he hid with a polite cough as he considered how to change the subject. Bumblebee wouldn't have minded him flirting with you as he was hardly the possessive type, but Breakdown was set on his original mission, and knew himself well enough to be certain he wasn't the type to get crushes. He was as smooth as they came, and needed only to get back on track for success to be all but assured.

"But uh… you might have better luck with Bumblebee. He's actually way better at this kind of stuff, loves lending a servo whenever you need it." he said, gaining confidence as he went on. He knew you liked Bumblebee and that made it all the easier for him to gather himself, even as he busily shoved down the flutters in his spark that were growing more frequent every moment he spent in your presence.

"Really?" you inquired as you moved to start chopping some of the more manageable logs into firewood, unintentionally drawing his optics to your arms as you hefted your ax.

"Definitely, that bot lives for helping out." Breakdown continued as he followed your lead, getting into position to tear off another hunk of timber in part so you couldn't distract him further. "If you've got any other big chores that need doing after today, I can pass along the word."

"I'd love that, especially if you both could come over." you answered eagerly, pausing to split a log and once more making his spark surge for reasons he refused to contemplate. Pausing to give him a smile that he refused to believe was anything more than polite, you continued giving the Stunticon an impossibly hard time, every word breaking down his defenses and tearing away his cool, indifferent persona. "I think it'd be really nice to spend some time with you both, just the three of us."

Oh, Primus.

"That'd be uh… pretty nice." he replied lamely, losing ground so fast he had to think quickly to try and save any semblance of the mission he set out to accomplish. Somehow, despite being a fraction of his height, you had the same power over him that had always had Bumblebee stuttering in your presence. Though he'd never admit as much, he resolved that he would stop teasing his friend after all of this was over… "But you know, Bee is the hard worker between the two of us. You'll be able to cut through your chores in no time without me distracting him."

Slicing through another log with a thunk that made his pump skip a few beats, you chuckled at the sentiment, fixing him with a wink that acted as the first half of a one-two punch you finished with a single sentence. "I'd say you're cutting through my chores pretty quickly yourself, imagine what I could get done with two big handsome mechs?"

The entirety of Breakdown's charisma evaporated in a single microsecond at the word handsome, only to be replaced by a flood of bashful giddiness so overwhelming not even all the self preservation his ego could muster was able to halt the blush that bloomed around his cheeks. The thick oak in his servos shredded like paper without him even noticing it, as he was far too busy grappling with the realization that Bumblebee was not the only one hopelessly infatuated with you. Unable to think of any response, let alone one that was remotely clever, he merely bowed his helm and mumbled something to the affirmative.

"How about this Friday? I'll be free all day." you offered, the knowing tone of your voice making it obvious you knew exactly what you were doing. Breakdown couldn't even be sure when the conversation had flipped so drastically, but it absolutely had, and for all of his embarrassment he simply couldn't be upset about it in the slightest. Technically, he had accomplished his goal with a bonus…

At least, that's what he told himself the remainder of the time he spent helping you finish up the tree disposal, as well as during the entire shameful drive back to the Malto residence. By the time he returned the Terrans were free of their lessons and his friend was relaxing by himself in the shade of a nearby apple tree. As he approached with most out of character sluggishness, the Scout turned to greet him with an expression that was guarded and concerned in equal measure. Transforming into bot mode upon approach, he couldn't keep the sheepish feeling in his spark from showing on his face.

"Breakdown, where have you been?"

The question made him want to blurt out just what a fool he'd been, but he remained somewhat calm, optics downcast as he nudged a fallen apple with his pede. "At the neighbors…"

Bumblebee tensed but said nothing, crossing his servos and leveling his friend with a heavy stare before he pressed for details. "What did you do?"

What did he do? Get in way over his helm, he wanted to say, with absolutely wonderful and disastrous consequences. Unable to put it all into words, he focused on the most important detail of the day, still uncertain how it had all gone down.

"I uh… I got us a date with Y/N."

"You did what-?!" Bumblebee exclaimed, grabbing him by the shoulders and halfway slamming him against a tree before the word choice hit him. "Wait; us?"

Breakdown could only bow his helm as his blush returned, and their longstanding friendship did the rest.

"Oh, Breakdown…" Bumblebee sighed as he released his equally lovestruck friend, realizing that both of them were now thoroughly stuck in the same boat. Pinching the bridge of his nasal ridge and closing his optics, he sighed again before offering the only admonishment fitting of the utterly ridiculous situation they'd just ended up in.

"You reckless fool…"

312 notes · View notes

bg-brainrot · 6 months

Text

WHaBFHtLA - Astarion x GN!Reader - Chapter 15: More than Friends Pt. 1

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Elf!Tav)

Genre: Reincarnation, Angst, Mystery, Slow burn

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Canon-Typical Violence, violence, some explicit content

WC: 8k words, 15/?? chapters

Summary: Push finally comes to shove. As fun as living in the present is, Astarion forgets that present dangers are still very, very real. Afterward, emotions run high, and you find yourself in a familiar predicament.

A/N: I know I put this warning in ch 1, but warning that the smut is always going to be more about their ~feelings~ than actual smut, so like, be forewarned and don’t expect too much 🔥!

Also: I never play wizards in real campaigns! I’m a filthy rogue-main and if I play a caster, it’s usually been for the roleplay of it all, so this Tav is not built optimally. They’re built for a chill life in Neverwinter with a few offensive spells. I’m also sticking to 5E rules for this (invisibility, spell prep) for the sake of story as well.

Ao3 | [Ch14][Ch16] | WHaBFHtLA Masterlist

Since you rejected his advances a few nights ago, Astarion has been making an effort. You’re not entirely sure what the effort amounts to, but it’s an effort nonetheless.

At first you think it’s to get to know you better, understand who you are, as you asked him to. But surely it isn’t that. Something like that wouldn’t make you feel this uncomfortable.

“Oh darling, please let me embroider your robes. They’re simply not doing enough to flatter your alluring figure.”

“Simply exquisite. When you read by candlelight, your eyes shine brighter than even the most vivid moonstones.”

“Have I ever told you that your voice could lure a siren? No? Well, its dulcet tones make this dreadful work all worth the while.”

You think he’s… flirting? However, either he’s out of practice or you’re not an easy person to flirt with, because each time you’re left a bit confused and unsure how to react. Usually it ends with you changing the subject with an awkward chuckle and a thanks.

As the new week begins and you’re finding yourself inundated with these odd statements, you think this might actually be his attempt to get to know you better– he just hasn’t gotten close to someone in so long, it’s devolved into an awkward jumble of compliments.

So when you return from your start-of-week shopping trip to find Astarion waiting, arms crossed, expression irked, you suspect you know what it’s about.

“Why are you rebuffing my every attempt to converse with you?” His voice is annoyed and you try your best not to laugh, thinking of how long he might have been waiting for you in that very position. But you’d been expecting this, so you know better than to laugh.

“Astarion,” you start, putting your bags down. “Are you talking about your weird flattery?”

He all but sputters his next words, “‘Weird flattery’?!”

You nod. “How else am I supposed to take comments about my ‘dulcet tones’?”

As if just hearing these words for the first time, Astarion recoils a bit. “Well, when you say it…” he trails off a bit before continuing. “I’m just trying to open up a conversation, darling. Not all of us have your… knack for subtlety.” You ignore the insult, as it’s likely warranted anyway.

“Regardless, thank you for making an attempt,” you say, closing the distance between you. “It means a lot to me, even if it’s been, hmmm, odd.”

“Yes, well, I appreciate you saying so,” he says, puffing his chest out a bit. “Gods know I deserve more praise these days for how patient I’ve been.”

You laugh and respond with a matching levity, “Any more praise and your head shall be too big for your shoulders.” Then, you don’t know what compels you, whether it be the instincts of your former self or the strange lull of domesticity you’ve both fallen into in the past few weeks, but you peck a light kiss on his cheek.

Both of you freeze as the gesture catches up to you.

Your mind doesn’t freeze, however, already peppering you with all of the questions a situation like this warrants, Did that just happen? What have I done? Why did I do that?!

Your mouth catches back up to your mind next. “Oh gods, I'm so sorry, I just– my body moved on its own. I didn’t mean to do that.”

Astarion doesn't say anything, just stands there in shock. A slow motion brings his hand up to feel where your warm lips made contact on his cheek.

Your heart drops in your chest as you continue to spew words at him, "I keep messing up, I really am sorry.” Then, seeing that no ‘sorry’ is bringing him out of his stupor, you feel the need to explain further, "I just can't help it. It's like caring for you is instinctual. I know you don't care about me, but–"

"I do care about you. I think. Just not… the same," he says, interrupting your rampaging speech. "It’s just all a bit… confusing."

Your heart leaps in your chest at the glimpse of hope. "So you don't want me to crawl back to where I came from?"

"… no. I don't think I do," he responds, dropping his hand. He meets your eyes once more and his tone turns teasing. "And please do adjust your fantasies. I would be much more likely to recommend you take a trip to the hells."

You don’t speak for a bit, as you collect your weekly groceries, head to the kitchen and begin to sort them. Guilt still beats against your chest like a second heart and you wonder if you’ll ever be able to speak to him again. That is until Astarion jolts you out of your spiraling anxieties.

“Darling, are you going to pout all day?” he says, head resting on his palm while he watches you from the kitchen table. “While it was so very droll at first, I’m starting to feel like I live alone again.”

Right. He’s not the same Astarion you remember from your dreams. While the touch had been a surprise, he doesn’t seem angry or bothered by it in the slightest. He really does seem mostly amused– oh good, at least I’m a source of amusement to him.

So you try to let it go– the moment of weakness, of a habit that wasn’t even yours. That’s not to say that you let it go entirely though.

You apologize again. And again. And again. All throughout the day.

He says you don’t need to keep apologizing, but you do. You feel like you’ve crossed a boundary that wasn’t ready to be crossed. You’re so worried that this carefully crafted, all-too-delicate bond would break with a mere kiss on the cheek.

Astarion assures you, it didn’t bother him. He was simply a bit stunned. While he hasn’t remained celibate over the years, not many have dared to do as you had done. You, the intruder, had dared to kiss the sad, broken vampire’s cheek. He says it like a joke, and you wish you could laugh with him, but worry persists even after you manage a reluctant little chuckle.

And so the rest of the day remains tainted, all but ruined in your mind.

Despite this, the day does continue. You go through plans for an expansion to the colony, more room to allow the vampires a better life. You’re a bit more aware of his hands near yours, his head leaning toward you, but otherwise, you manage.

Towards the end of the day, Astarion receives a message on a Sending Stone from Dal. He doesn’t tell you the contents of the message, but the look on his face says it all: worry. As soon as the exchange is over, he gets up to leave. He refuses to elaborate beyond the fact that his siblings need him.

You nod, not questioning his concern. “Can I do anything to help?”

“No,” he says, lips pressed together firmly, broaching no room for discussion. “I need to go now. I should be back by morning. Remember what I asked you?” When your expression remains blank he continues, “Prepare a Mage Armour or another warding spell.”

“Okay,” you respond, and your own face is likely as worried as his is now. “Are you sure you don’t need my–”

He grabs your hand in a rush. “Stay put. Promise me.”

You’re not sure that you can promise that, especially if he’s entering a dangerous situation. But with the way his red eyes burn into you, you find yourself nodding again. “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Tomorrow,” he confirms, releasing your hand and leaving. You’re left in a flurry of papers and growing unease.

On your sixteenth day in Astarion’s house, everything goes wrong.

He meets you in the morning, just as he promised, but after that, your day turns upside down entirely.

“Astarion?” you ask, when you open your door to his incessant knocks.

“Good,” he breathes. “You’re awake.”

You’d only just exited your reverie, but the look of sheer panic on his face means your remark dies in your throat. “What’s wrong?”

“Something came up,” he says before looking you up and down. “Get dressed and meet me in my room.”

Even on a regular day you would have listened, perhaps with a sly remark, but on a day like today, where his voice comes out short, clipped, and his jaw is clenched in a hard line? You comply with his orders like the model student you once were.

As soon as you’re ready for the day– in your best travel robe, Mage Armour cast, a variety of new spells prepared for the day– you head toward Astarion. You hope you won’t need the preparation, but with the way that Astarion’s shoulders were set, you suspect you might.

“Astarion?” you call, knocking on the door. “I’m here.”

He opens the door and you’re graced with a surprising amount of his bare chest. “Good,” he says, either not noticing or not caring about the blush that’s creeping up your neck and into your face. “I need your help.”

Finally, you think, brushing aside any feelings his bare body might stir within you. He trusts you and you this is your chance to prove yourself to him. You’re not sure with what yet, but what does it matter?

“Could you help me put on my armor?” he says, handing you a pile of leathers, straps, and buckles.

Oh.

“Of course,” you respond, working to lay out the armor. You vaguely recognize it, albeit with a few adjustments here and there. Different pauldrons, a few knicks marring its surface that weren’t there 150 years ago, but otherwise no worse for wear. “What else do you need help with?”

“Nothing else,” he says, pulling on a pair of boots you also recognize. “I simply don’t have the luxury of asking my siblings for help currently.”

You stop midway through sorting straps. “Okay, what’s going on Astarion? You can’t leave me in the dark like this.”

The vampire sighs, but lifts his head from his task to look you squarely in the face. “A group of hunters have found the colony. A few scouts found them on our trail last night. We’re preparing to defend it. It might be the biggest group we’ve seen… well, ever since we relocated.” He goes back to lacing his boots as he continues, “Nothing you need to worry about though. You will be staying right here, hiding.”

“Hiding ?” you ask, indignant. “Why would I be hiding when I can help?”

“Because,” he hisses, standing up and walking toward you like a panther. “We are frankly not in need of your help. We have our defensive plans set already, and I rather suspect you may do more harm than good.”

The words sting– largely because of the truth in them. Why should you enter the fray when you hadn’t been preparing to defend the colony? Did a few weeks of desk work amount to an honorary spot on the front lines? Still, the idea that this man– who you had already spent so much of your life with, who you had worked so hard to find– could be in danger? You could hardly sit by and twiddle your thumbs. So you begin your case.

“I may not be gifted in shaping my Evocation spells, but I have plenty of supportive spells,” you say, gesturing for Astarion to sit on his bed, the first undershirt for the armor ready in your hands. “I can create stone or relay messages for you. If none of that is helpful, I can always use Magic Missile– it wouldn’t get in your way at all. Please, let me help.”

Astarion sits there, silent, as you plead and place each piece of armor on his body. Partway through the process, you register that you’ve never done this before– but your memories of your past-life have guided you step-by-step.

You try to ignore the conflicting feelings bubbling up at that and focus on him, placing both hands on his now-armored shoulders. “Astarion, I won’t get in the way. I promise I will turn invisible or teleport out if anything goes wrong.”

Finally, he speaks again. “I appreciate that you care enough to help,” he starts, though he doesn’t sound like he appreciates it much. “But I’m afraid that you’re still not invited.”

You want to shake him, do something, anything to make him see you as an asset, an ally, someone he can trust with this. “But why not? Why teach me all of these things about the colony only to shut me out when it matters most?”

“Because this isn’t your responsibility!” he growls, glaring up at you through his lashes. “Because you are to remain here, stay safe, and live to see another day, despite all of your instincts to the contrary!”

His anger is palpable, pushing you back, off of him. You want to see the fear underneath his words, and you think you might get a glimpse. You want to understand where he’s coming from, to see yourself through his eyes. But all of that pales in comparison to the frustration building inside of you. Why won’t he take me seriously? “I can take care of myself!”

“I don’t have time for this,” he spits out as he stands up. “Shall I be brutally honest, darling? You’re too weak. You are not the Hero of Baldur’s Gate. And even if you were, I would tell you to stay here. ”

You know his words are meant to injure you, to deter you and keep you hidden away in this mansion, but they don’t hurt any less. You’re not sure what to say to him, can’t bring yourself to look at him as he storms out, toward the hidden entrance to the Underdark.

Just as he’s about to leave your periphery, into the illusory wall, he calls back. “I know you’re angry, but please, stay put. And if anyone other than myself or my siblings comes through that door, you leave.”

With that, Astarion is gone, body melting into the wall, leaving you standing in his room alone, emotions frayed and hands trembling with a silent rage.

You wait about thirty seconds before casting Invisibility on yourself.

You wait less than a minute after that to follow him.

He can treat me like a child all he wants, but I will make my own decisions. Even if those decisions involved diving head first into jeopardy. Watching him climb down the ladder, waiting for him to hit solid ground before you follow, you can't help but think back to your past week here. It had been lovely, born of a promise to forget the past and the spawn, focus on the present with him. But how unrealistic that truly was when faced with real danger.

So you trail him, careful to keep concentration on your invisibility, lest he catch you before you get to the colony. I’ll have to lose the invisibility sooner or later, you think. But I’d rather use it as an opportunity to attack.

You keep a distance between you through the field of Bibberbangs, on the walk toward the keep, but when you see Astarion dashing toward a small contingent, you begin to run after him.

Once you catch up to him, you notice the group appears to be comprised of most of his siblings. Out of arm's reach but well within earshot, you stay and listen to their conversation.

“Did we get a final count from the scouting party?” Astarion asks, and you see a tiefling, Aurelia you believe, step forward.

“A dozen at least, likely more. They’re organized, preparing to strike. Astarion, it’s not good,” she says. From your time with Astarion, you know that she’s been in charge of directing the scouting parties for at least a few decades.

Astarion grimaces but nods, turning to another sibling you recognize. “Leon, where do you need me?”

“The ambush point, if you’re ready. We need to head them off before they get any closer to the colony.” The man has been in charge of coordinating the various groups ever since your past-self died, and, from what you gathered, had grown into his leadership role well.

“As ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose. What is our final count?”

Dal answers this one. “Our numbers haven’t improved much since last night. We only have about thirty in any real fighting shape. A few who are willing to fight if it means they feed, but none I would consider strong fighters. There are others on the ballistas ready for support fire though. Petras should be up there with them now.”

Astarion makes an annoyed sound. After helping him with colony logistics, you knew that their fighting numbers were low, too many had died in prior raids, too many had been without blood for too long, but you hadn’t expected it to get this bad. You half wonder if you would do better to offer your body up to them, rather than your magic.

You don’t have time to dwell on the idea before Astarion is asking his next question, “Very well. Violet is with the evacuees, I take it?”

Leon nods, and continues, “Yes. We’ve had more than enough time to evacuate the noncombatants. It’s now just a matter of keeping these hunters at bay.”

Astarion’s posture seems to loosen a bit at that, but not by much. You’ve not seen Astarion this serious since you were fighting a world-ending horror– and even then he had room for jokes. But clearly the man before you was different. Like he’d lost enough, and for the survival of his siblings, his family, he would do what needed to be done.

He turns to look down at his shortest sibling. “Yousen, come with me.”

The gnome gives a curt nod and pulls out his weapon. “After you.”

You’re torn at that moment. You want to follow Astarion, ensure that he remains safe above all else. But you also know that he would disapprove of you joining any type of ambush, that you may truly prove to be a distraction for him. Besides, what kind of wizard gets within stabbing distance?

So you watch him run off, Yousen in tow. As your heart sinks deep into the pits of your stomach, you wonder if the worry you feel is that of a friend. But you don’t have time to ponder anything as trite as your feelings for Astarion– you have to find a position that won’t hinder, somewhere you can help and show Astarion that you are capable of standing by his side. Metaphorically at the very least.

The rest of the siblings disperse after confirming their orders. Leon heads to the front of the keep, Aurelia returns to her scouts, and Dal seems to be heading somewhere secluded. From your dreams and learning of the colony, you know Dal to be a healer, so she ought to be heading somewhere away from the fight. You follow her.

Much as you suspected, she moves up into the battlement of the keep, close enough to provide support, but far enough to stay out of danger. Perfect, you think. You silently thank her, wishing you could send her a message without breaking your invisibility or chirp up without terrifying her. As it is, you have to take your time, wait for the perfect opportunity to be helpful.

The wait is excruciating. You may as well be in the Astral Plane for how little time seems to be moving.

A level below you, Petras and some spawn are preparing their ballistas. To your side, Dal sorts health potions, arranging ingredients to make more. All you can do is breathe as quietly as possible, rest your arms on the crenel before you, and hope that your spells will be able to reach.

It turns out that your hopes hardly matter in the face of real combat. One second you’re standing there, almost bored, and the next you spot Dalyria’s head pop up like a frightened rodent. “Petras! Take cover!” she yells.

Time seems to stop. You register that she’s diving into cover, that the sending stone she’d been holding had fallen to the ground, and that out of the corner of your eye a burst of bright light is rapidly approaching.

Crap.

You fall to the floor, hoping that will provide enough protection. Hoping, beyond all hope, that for some reason the Fireball will simply not hit you. Of course that’s not how magic works, you would know.

Only a split second later, the fiery burst explodes before you. You don’t even have time to feel fear or to react with a spell of your own. Luckily for you, the battlements provide some cover, and you manage to maintain concentration on your invisibility. But gods does it burn.

You can’t help the yelp that escapes your lips, and you note that Dalyria’s head turns toward you at the sound. She seems to have escaped the blast, hiding behind a wall, but you swear the expression on her face is more wounded than you are. The woman’s face is sad, it’s scared, and so tired.

You’re reminded of the dream you’d had, of your former-self helping to defend the vampire’s previous keep. After nearly three centuries of living in survival mode, the exhaustion in Dal’s eyes is warranted. Frankly, you don’t know if you would have the strength to last as long as she and the other spawn have. But, for at least today, you would muster it.

It’s easy enough to piece together what happened. Dal received a message from the scouts or from the frontlines, they were targeting the support lines, and you needed to get the hells out of these battlements.

You crawl forward, grabbing the Sending Stone before you make your way to Dal’s hiding spot. Making sure you’re out of swinging reach, you call to Dalyria, “Dal, it’s me.” She adjusts her gaze, honing in on where you are now. “I’m here to help.”

The woman nods, clearly too fueled by adrenaline to be shocked by your presence. “I knew you would come,” she says quickly. “Astarion is such an ass sometimes.”

While you agree with her, you decide not to comment on that. He had likely told them you were indisposed or didn’t want to be here, but you need her to know that that has never been the truth. “Of course I would come. Where do you need me?”

“Astarion said they’ve split their forces. The second group has a wizard, that’s where that Fireball came from,” she says, eyes darting back out to the rest of the keep, where the sounds of battle have begun to ring. “Do you have anything that could help neutralize their wizard?”

You think to yourself, wishing more than anything you had prepared the spell Silence. As it is, you have plenty of other, far less useful spells at your disposal. But you’re not about to tell Dal that, not when she’s looking in your vague direction with a set of hopeful, pleading red eyes. Eyes that remind you of the vampire who is also in danger at this very moment.

So you sound far more confident than you feel when you say, “Certainly, I’ll head there immediately.”

Before you go, you try to give her the Sending Stone back, in the event she needs to communicate with Astarion. She pushes the rock back into your invisible hand with a shake of her head. “No, no, you’ll be out there. You need this more than I do. Astarion has the matching stone, call for him if you need help.”

You decide not to tell her that Astarion might just kill you himself if he hears your voice through the stone, and instead thank her, pocketing the stone. “Stay safe,” you say as you hurry toward the stairs once more.

“You too,” she calls after you.

Then you’re running down the stairs, two at a time, no longer caring who might hear your invisible steps. After all, the din of combat is drowning out everything else. A few Fireballs hit the battlements you’d just left and you hear the following cries of those on the ballistas. You had known that fighting would be loud, scary, dangerous–but gods did you still miss the comfort of knowing that at the end of it all you would wake up, untouched.

You don’t know where to go or how to get there, so you find your feet moving on instinct, toward all of the sounds that should terrify you.

Once you’re finally in the fray, you see the two groups, as Dal had described. The group at the mouth of the keep is being held at bay by Leon and his forces, and you can see Astarion’s group dropping behind, preparing for another sneak attack. You hug a wall to get closer to the second group, all the while watching Astarion’s lithe form move in on an enemy.

You can’t help but be in awe at seeing the man in his element.

Armor hugging his body, knives gleaming in his hands, he looks every bit the dangerous, roguish vampire he was when you first dreamt of him. The difference is that now, instead of fear, you feel an odd sense of pride. That’s right, you think. Stab him again!

But you can’t let him distract you, you’re nearly to the second group of hunters. There are at least six to your quick count, each looking as nasty and well equipped as the last. Now that you’re close you can see the wizard, standing in the back, already preparing another spell.

Again, you curse yourself. Why didn’t you prepare Counterspell, you idiot? It’s too late for regrets though, you’d had no idea what you might be getting into when you arose that morning. All you could do was work with what information you had.

Despite all of your memories, nothing can prepare you for this moment, when you finally, truly enter a combat situation. Your mind races with possibilities, and you’re struck by the fact that none of them are the right solution. There is no right solution to a battle.

So you go with your instinct.

You run forward, directly in front of the wizard’s line of sight. At the end of your run you slide to the earth, landing a mere few feet away from the group in front of you as you place both palms on the ground.

The invisibility drops as you recite the incantation for Stone Shape and the earth beneath you bursts forth into a large stone wall, at least five feet tall, another five feet wide. It leaves a crater in its wake, pulling from the ground to materialize.

It seems to form just in time as the heat of a Fireball collides with the wall, flames burst out of both sides. Excitement surges through you as you realize your plan worked. You hear shouts behind the wall, the vampire hunters eating a face full of their own fire.

You remain on the ground, now visible, sure that the group on the other side is still alive if their shouts are any indication. Oh this isn’t a good place to be, you think belatedly.

It certainly isn’t, as you hear the hunters make their way around the brand new trench in the ground. I need to get out of here . “Inveniam viam!” Your whole body turns to mist as you step further back into the keep, still feeling naked in how visible you are.

You take a single moment to assess the situation. The hunters have gotten around the wall, though if their singed armor is any indication, the Fireball certainly helped weaken them. The mage seems no worse for wear, too far back to truly be hurt, but their eyes are now trained on you.

There goes my element of surprise, you think. And they probably did prepare Counterspell…

You try not to think too hard about how disastrous this wizard-on-wizard battle may prove, trying instead to find which group you may be able to support. That’s when you lock eyes with the exact pair of red eyes you had been dreading this entire time.

You’re too far to hear him, but it's easy enough to see his lips mouth your name. He looks angry, angrier perhaps than you’ve ever seen him, and his next stab seems particularly erratic.

Oh gods, he’s going to get hurt if I distract him too much, you think in a panic. I need to get out of here, give him a chance to calm down.

“Evanesco!” you call, trying to call forth the magic for Invisibility once more. But of course, you wouldn’t get the chance to try the same trick twice.

You feel the Counterspell more than see or hear it. It’s like your body rejects the magic as it tries to come out, and you’re left awkwardly standing there as the group of hunters close in on your position. Shit.

For the first time in your life you feel it for yourself: real, unfiltered fear.

You had always been horrified at this possibility. That when faced with actual danger, you would not rise to the occasion. But now that you’re here, you want to smack your legs, you want to jostle your own shoulders, push yourself into the action that you had craved.

RUN, damn you, you think, willing your shaking legs to move. All of those dreams of combat, of fighting by Astarion’s side, could all come true right now if you just moved.

Then you hear a cry.

It’s not bloodcurdling, it’s not particularly painful, rather a soft “argh” coming from the man you’d stupidly followed into danger. He’d been reckless, gotten himself nicked in his fury. But it’s all you need to jolt into action.

You’d promised Astarion that you wouldn’t cause any undue damage, no Evocation in the house and what not. But all of your promises were tossed aside the second he uttered a single pained sound.

Holding out a hand, you call out your most destructive spell.

You can feel the mage try to Counterspell you once more, as your magic wavers ever so slightly. But his attempt fails and a massive wall of fire rips out of the ground, like the hells themselves have torn the earth asunder.

You’d controlled yourself well enough, and you’re almost certain you haven’t trapped any unsuspecting vampire spawn in a fiery blaze. The hunters, on the other hand, were not nearly so lucky. They’d been approaching you in such a way that they all got caught in the Wall of Fire, all save that damn wizard.

Their cries are high-pitched, desperate things, as they run through the wall, stumbling toward you like some sort of twisted Fire Elementals. They refuse to go down without a fight.

Your legs stumble back, as you narrowly avoid a few of their attacks, one glances off your Mage Armour, another catches your robe, leaving a single bleeding line on your arm. You’re not sure how readily they will fall, but you certainly won’t let them take you with them.

“Tormentum!” you shout, as a stream of glowing darts shoot out of your fingers. You strike each of them as you pour more and more of your magic into the spell. Distantly, you can hear Astarion calling for you.

With your unoccupied hand you grab the Sending Stone, “Don’t come for me. I’m fine.”

His response is immediate, “Like hells I will, you bloody fool!”

You don’t have the wherewithal to know where Astarion might be at this point, but when a single blade bursts out of a man’s neck, you suspect that you have a good idea. A second later a second man collapses, clutching at a dagger twisting between his ribs.

Astarion stands behind them, silver hair streaked with bloody red strands, his face dappled with scarlet as well. He may be stabbing them, but his eyes are trained on you, fury not diminished in the slightest.

You want to thank him, tell him you didn’t need the help, appreciate that he’s still alive, standing in front of you. But you can’t because another spell is being fired at you– the wizard’s Magic Missile is about to hit when you reflexively put up a Shield spell.

Turning back to the damnable wizard, you call to Astarion, “Yell at me all you want later. Focus on the wizard!”

“That’s probably what they’re saying,” he retorts, but does dutifully turn his attention to the mage.

As he runs and vaults through the wall of fire, landing behind the stone you shaped. All the while, you shoot off a returning volley of missiles, hitting the remaining hunters and the mage in an attempt to provide cover.

You wish you had more in you, could summon another blazing wall right on top of the enemy wizard, but you’re reaching your limit. You can feel your magic waning– you likely only have a few spells left in you. Better make them count.

You shoot one last magic missile, assuring that the hunters in front of you are well and done. As you do so, Astarion reaches the mage, stabbing at them in two fluid motions. You see the mage Shield in response, hear Astarion’s annoyed grunt.

I need to give him an opening, you think. You’re growing lightheaded from overexertion, and you can barely feel the Weave as you try to summon your next spell. “Non movere,” you whisper, pointing a finger at the mage.

The spell overcomes them and the mage is frozen in place. Astarion takes prompt advantage of the Hold Person, stabbing him in several vital areas, likely killing him in place.

Fantastic, you think, swaying on your feet as your knees start to give out from under you. The world fades to black as the magic dissipates from your fingertip. The last thing you see is Astarion’s panicked face, slowly drifting out of your view as your body collapses.

___

You can’t recall the start of your seventeenth day in Astarion’s house. At least, most of it.

Everything aches, you hear voices, you feel healing magic, but your mind retains nothing as you slip in and out of consciousness over and over again. The only things you can recall are the sensation of sheets surrounding you, pillows beneath your head and the whisper of your name on Astarion’s lips.

You’re an elf– this kind of sleep is unnatural to you. Could you be dying? You have a moment of panic during a short burst of clarity, Am I already dead? Is this it? But you fall back into the darkness before the thought can take hold.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity in a ceaseless cycle of consciousness and unconsciousness, you open your eyes to the back of a familiar silver-haired vampire tending the fireplace. He’s dressed once more in his comfortable, luxurious attire, and you briefly wonder if the previous day had been a dream.

You blink, confused at the sudden change in environment. The last thing you remember was letting loose your spell then– well, you suppose you don’t know what happened next.

“Oh good,” Astarion says, walking toward you and sitting on the edge of the bed. “You’re awake." Distantly, you remember him waking you up just yesterday with those words. Feels like a lifetime ago now.

You sit up, a bit groggily, stretching out your limbs. They all seem intact, and you don’t even feel injured, all of your aches magically gone. “I am– is everyone alright? What… happened?”

“Everyone is fine. Well, save for the vampire hunters,” he answers. “Your destructive little wall kept them from getting too far. Nothing a few nights of healing and some rebuilding won’t fix.”

Your whole body aches from disuse and you wonder how long you must have been resting. Likely longer than you ever have before. “What time is it?”

“It’s late,” he replies, gesturing toward the darkness outside. “Dal’s been tending to your injuries, and luckily they’re minor, but you still needed the rest. Seems like you used more magic than you were used to, mm?”

His words chastise you, but the look on his face is so muted, his posture incredibly stilted– you have a momentary alarm. Is this really Astarion? “I must have. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he says, crossing his legs and turning away from you.

It’s hard to believe him when he reacts like that. “You don’t seem fine.”

“I just…” He takes a breath, and you can see the way his back rises and falls with a tremble. “I was worried.”

“About… me?” you hazard the question. You know you’d grown closer in the last few weeks, but you also don’t want to presume.

Now he turns back to you with a glare, his red eyes sparkling with rage. “Yes, you! For being a wizard, you’re such a gods-forsaken dunce. I told you not to join us and did you even pretend to listen?”

You had not, so you bear the brunt of his anger with what you hope is grace. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, genuinely apologetic despite your initial gusto at joining the fray. You’d felt the fear in those moments, the first time in your life that this body, that you could have genuinely died. You’re not too proud to say that you hated that fear. “I just wanted to help.”

“That’s always the case with people like you, isn’t it?” he says, leaning toward you menacingly. “Always playing the hero and neglecting to even consider the danger they put themselves in? Did you never once consider that I was trying to keep you safe?”

Every word brought Astarion closer and closer into your space, and you start to sink back into the pillows to get away from his fury. “I know you were,” you say, voice still naught but a wisp. “I tried to be careful.” You had, you swear you had– why does it look like that doesn’t matter to him?

“Careful isn't good enough,” he hisses, his face mere inches from yours now. You can feel the next breath he exhales as he continues, calmer now, “I told you already. I refuse to get attached to you only to lose you.”

Is he attached to me? you think, eyes darting between his ruby ones. He’s dangerously close to you and he’s waiting for something. Your response, you idiot. You think back to what he said, trying to ignore the way his body is angled over yours. “I promise. You won’t lose me.”

An impossible promise to keep, surely. But it’s exactly what he’d been hoping to hear.

“Good,” he murmurs. Then he closes the distance between you, crashing his lips on yours in a desperation you thought reserved for the starving.

You should pull away, push him off of you, at the very least protest. But after a life or death situation, you can’t help it. Something in you wants the very same solace he seeks. So you close your eyes. You twine your fingers into his hair. You press your lips to his in the same ravenous fervor.

He drinks in your reaction, lips chasing yours as cages you in with his arms. A moment later, you feel the blankets that had so carefully been tucked around you tossed aside, you feel one of his hands find your hip.

Oh gods, what am I doing? I can’t do this. Your mind is racing, trying its best to keep up as Astarion climbs over you.

Why not, you’ve done this so many times in your dreams. Your hands move of their own accord, leaving his hair to run down his arms.

We're not ready, you tell yourself. Astarion shivers at your touch and you feel his hands pulling at the neck of your robe to expose more of your flesh.

Will you ever be? Your head rolls back and Astarion dips his head down to touch his cold lips to your collarbone.

Maybe, given some more time… His fingers pull at the front ties of your robe, as you begin to unbutton his silk shirt.

What's the use of more time? You could have died yesterday. You could die any day. Ties undone, Astarion tugs at your robes a bit more, leaving your chest exposed.

I don't want to ruin this. Your breathing comes out a bit erratic as his lips trail up your neck, sucking hungrily but never drawing any blood.

What's one night of passion? Your past-self had this and more before they so much as spoke a single word of love. Your hands tug at his sleeves, all but tearing off his delicate shirt in an effort to touch more of him.

I'm not them, you think. Halfway through stroking his exposed chest, Astarion’s hand catches yours, pinning it above your head as he pulls you into another searing kiss.

You may as well be. His hand in yours, the way his leg presses into you– it all feels so familiar. So what's the harm in being the Hero of Baldur's Gate? Just this once?

That’s how, after years of silently judging your past-self for their loveless trysts with Astarion, you find yourself in much the same predicament. Only you’re not sure how you feel. You only know that there’s no way that this man, who’s driving force right now is likely fear, will love you come morning.

Who cares? the deepest, most primal part of your mind asks.

As Astarion finishes disrobing you, you wonder vaguely if this is what the hero felt. If near death had brought them to the brink of a terror that they couldn’t overcome, a terror that only Astarion’s cold lips, slick tongue, and nimble fingers would fix.

And by the gods above do they feel like the solution to even the most complex of problems.

His lips suckle at the ridge of your ear, sucking on its tip in such a way that draws a soft, unintentional whimper from your mouth. "Oh darling," he whispers, voice low and taunting. "I knew those dulcet tones would be my undoing.”

You want to retort, to shut his clever mouth up, but before you can so much as collect yourself, his lips are on yours again, opening them in a single, languid movement. His tongue, like the rest of him, is chill to the touch, a refreshing burst of cold as he explores your mouth.

Complaints all but forgotten, you relinquish yourself to him. His fingers leave you squirming under him as he traces the lines of your bare body. They never seem to stop moving, searching for each new piece of your skin that requires attention.

And sweet hells is he relentless in his search. Even if you didn't already know of his vast experience, this would have been a clear indicator. His probing fingers know how to play a body like an instrument, and he was tuning yours to play only the loveliest melody for him.

Astarion finally pulls his hands, his lips away. You want to groan in protest, but you’re enraptured by the stretch of his torso, the way his shoulders flex as he removes the last remnants of his clothing. His form laid bare before you, you can’t help but think that surely you’re paying witness to another’s lurid fantasy. Surely this beautiful figure bathed in firelight, celestial in his loveliness, could not be for you?

But he is, if for the moment.

Even if his movements are too perfect, his kisses too sweet– he feels real in the moment, simply because the sheer desperation never leaves him. His hands squeeze, his teeth bite, his words of passion come hurried and breathy between nips. It's abundantly clear what his goal is to you, as it’s similar to your own. He wants to feel you under him, around him, alive. You’re only too happy to oblige.

So you ensure that each of his movements is matched with one of yours. That when he bites, you lean into it; when his fingers probe between your legs, you buck into him; when he chuckles into your ear 'my, you're an eager little treat', you moan his name into his ear without shame.

You'd been with Astarion in more dreams than you would have been comfortable to admit. But, as with every experience you'd had since arriving here, it was nothing compared to living through it with your own body.

It’s not long before you realize that this body feels each touch differently, its sweet spots new treasure troves for Astarion's searching fingers– ones he seems eager to find for you as new indecent sounds pass your lips.

He seems to devour each sound, eager to consume any bit of you that’s ripe for the taking. That’s when you see past his need to feel you alive. No, he wants you to be his. He wants your noises, your body, your soul for his own.

As he expertly strokes between your legs with one hand, the other squeezes your hip, all but pinning you to the bed. In that moment, it doesn’t feel like he’s loving you. It feels like he’s keeping you in place. Like he doesn’t know how else to make sure that you won’t slip through his fingers, like your past-self before you.

You wish you could reassure him, tell him that you would never make the same mistake twice, but both of you know that’s not true. So instead you allow yourself to delude yourself, for at least this one night.

His body asks the question, “Will you really, truly stay with me, live for me?”

Yours responds with a sonorous, deceitful, “Yes.”

Astarion rubs his length between your thighs, almost teasing in its slow, rolling motion, but his hand never leaves your hip.

He palms himself with one hand, ready for you, but the other never leaves your hip.

Even as he thrusts into you, setting a brutal, punishing pace, his hand never leaves your hip.

It doesn’t bother you, this constant reassurance, but it does stoke the fear that already grips your heart. Despite the kisses he lavishes upon you, despite the sweet words that drip from his mouth to yours– you can’t stop thinking about the fact that you could have died. You could very well have left Astarion alone, again, wondering why he ever let another into his life.

Something about that thought pushes you forward to seek your pleasure, to give him every piece of you that you can, lest you lose it by tomorrow.

You don’t know how many times you lose yourselves in each other. By the end of it all, it all feels like another one of your dreams. But you do know that, for the first time since you regained consciousness, you don’t feel that fear any more– only his body, your own, and the beautiful music that they play together.

The night ends with both of you exhausted, laying on your backs and staring up at the ceiling to the room you used to call your own in a past-life. After two days of some of the most you’ve ever exerted yourself, your nightly meditation comes all too easily. Before you slip into your reverie, your last, fleeting thought is of Astarion: I don’t know how we got here, I don’t suppose it truly matters. But thank you for caring about me, in whatever way you can.

#astarion #astarion x tav #fanfic #astarion fic #astarion x reader #astarion fanfiction #astarion fanfic #astarion masterlist #gn reader #astarion x gn reader #astarion x gn!tav #astarion baldurs gate #bg3 astarion #when he's all but forgotten how to love again #whabfhtla #reincarnation trope #elf!tav #astarion x you

37 notes · View notes

noonaishere · 7 months

Text

Online/Offline [C.S] - thirty | a loudmouth with no sense of self preservation

You sighed as the elevator doors opened and you walked down the hall to your apartment.

Yeosang, seated on the floor outside your door, sprung up, excited to see you.

“Thank god, you’re home!”

You laughed at his reaction. “Why are you out here?”

“I left my keys home this morning and couldn’t get back in after I came back from work.”

“Oh my god, Yeosang. You still lose your stuff constantly?”

“Hey, I didn’t lose them, I just left them home.”

“So you’ve just been sitting out here all afternoon?”

“No, I stuck around the main office for a while and got a bunch of lesson planning done.”

You chuckled as you opened the door to your apartment. “I’ll get your spare, hold on.”

He nodded and picked up his bag.

You put your bag down in your apartment and grabbed Yeosang’s spare key. When you walked back out, he was waiting for you like an innocent puppy.

You sighed as you unlocked his door for him.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, a customer yelled at San’s girlfriend today.”

You pushed the door open and he walked in and turned the lights on.

“Wait-- San’s girlfriend?”

You nodded. “Apparently the new worker is his girlfriend.”

“How do you know? He told you?”

“He called her ‘baby’.”

“Oof,” Yeosang said emphatically.

“Yeah, big oof.”

He looked like he wanted to ask how you felt about it.

“Anyway, good thing I didn’t ask him out or anything. Enjoy your apartment, I’m going to go eat dinner.”

“You can say if you’re upset by it.”

You opened the door and turned around. “There’s nothing worth getting upset over. He’s a great guy and she seems like a sweet girl. I’m sure they’re happy together.”

He shot you a look of disapproval.

“Ah yes, I remember that face.”

“You used to be on the receiving end of it a lot when we were younger.”

You chuckled. “He’s just the kind of person who’s nice to everyone. It’s easy to get confused by that.”

He continued to make the same look of disapproval at you.

“Well, enjoy making that face, I’m going to go eat.”

“Enjoy ignoring your feelings.”

“I… will not be ignoring anything. Because they’re already gone. Nothing to ignore.”

“Uh huh.”

You opened your eyes wide at him and then pulled the door closed. You heard him laugh on the other side as you went back to your apartment.

Were you jealous of Minsoo, having the kind of boyfriend who goes around like a gentleman thanking people for helping you?

…Maybe.

Just a little.

previous | main cast | masterlist | next

Send an ask or leave a comment if you want to be added to the tag list! 🧋

#San #Choi San #Ateez #Ateez smau #Ateez fic #Ateez au #cafe au #streamer au #fake dating #reader fic #ᴏɴʟɪɴᴇ/ᴏғғʟɪɴᴇ

15 notes · View notes

factorialsotherfandoms · 3 months

Text

11k words of Ordem Paranormal fic, with spoilers up to and including the end of OPC? With 7 chapters worth of giving Rubens a hug? (Everyone needs them but I picked him out). Well, here you go.

AO3 version is here!

Plus all the thanks in the world to the people who got me through writing this. I... don't have anything else ready-ready rn but we'll see.

TWs: referenced canonical character death, panic attacks, trauma, hallucinations, flashbacks, grief, implied disordered eating, alcohol

genre tags: families of choice, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, fluff

And a full version of the fic under the cut...

Chapter 1: 1 - Dante

Around eight in the morning, Rubens stumbles into the Order’s base. He does not want a coffee but he wants the idea of a coffee, something to blame for the way he wants to crawl out of his skin. It is early, earlier than most people ever arrive, but he could not sleep, could not think, could not hear the electric hum and the silence all around his bedroom walls.

There is noise here, people here; Rubens taps in the code with fingers that barely respond, too busy trembling, and enters the base.

Senhor Veríssimo should have work for him. He usually has work for him.

But it might be too early…

It’s fine, it’s fine, someone will have left some half-finished paperwork on the desks last night, it’s fine, Rubens will find his distraction - it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s-

“Morning!” someone calls.

Rubens jumps, darts his eyes around, just about manages to pull out a thumbs up and oh fuck there’s people here. There are a lot of people here.

He didn’t want the apartment all alone, but… But he’s only used to one person, still, even now, and there’s a lot of people here.

Still he sits down, grabs random paperwork, starts sorting through it. Irrelevant, irrelevant, irrelevant, his hands are shaking the paper too much to read it, irrelevant, potentially useful, irrelevant-

“Rubens?”

Rubens’ eyes dart up to find Dante’s peering down at him in complete darkness.

“Could you help me with something?” Dante asks.

Sure? Sure. Rubens can help with something. Dante would not have saved his life - Rubens touches his throat, just for a moment - only to kill him later. He- He can do something, yes - he nods, not daring to open his lips, just in case…

“Thank you,” Dante nods back. “I just need to pick it up; could you meet me in Agatha’s room?”

He can do that. Rubens can do that; he nods.

Dante goes one way, and Rubens the other. He hates to be relieved with how Agatha is missing, glad to take a moment away from the eyes. Here, and only here, he can hear people without being seen.

Breathing gets a little easier.

His vision gets a little less dark.

Rubens leans against Agatha’s shop counter, from the visitor’s side, and forces himself to remember how to breathe.

It isn’t… it isn’t going well, his mind still swaying on the edge of full panic. But he can’t, he can’t, he came here to avoid thinking about-

“Ah, Rubens,” Dante again, the door swinging open and shut. “My apologies. I just thought, perhaps, you would like the privacy…?”

And Rubens might, here where he can hear the chattering in the main room, but it’s hard to tell. It’s really hard to tell. He cannot even give a thumbs up; if he takes his arms from the counter he is absolutely certain he will fall.

“... Do you want to sit down?” Dante tries. “You’re not looking well, I can-”

“Fine,” Rubens tries to tell him, a snap of a word as his head blurs and reality warps and his chest hurts and he still cannot. Breathe.

“If you’re sure.”

Dante sits down, not too close but still nearby.

Rubens… Rubens stays standing - just about, shaking and trembling as he desperately tries not to think about-

His knees buckle.

Getting down is not graceful, but he makes it to the floor - sat facing Dante - without hitting his head.

Dante looks at him some more, with his oddly black eyes, before putting something on the floor and scooting it over.

“Water?” he offers. “I find it helps most problems.”

Dante’s voice is shaking a little, too. Slightly too high pitched, wavering at the ends.

There is no way that Rubens could pick up the water like this - he leans his head back against the counter, trying very hard to breathe. It’s not… It’s just panic, it’s just a bad night, it’s just… it’s fine, it’s just fine. Just a bad night. Fine. Whatever.

The water gets nudged again.

“Please?” Dante asks.

Rubens cannot remember enough to try.

Somewhere, somewhere in his mind he remembers that, if you are feeling faint, you should bend forwards. Put your head below your heart and hope for the best.

He’s not… it’s not faint, not really, but leaning back isn’t helping, and maybe smaller would keep them away, and maybe…

He tries it, tucking his arms beneath his legs and clinging hard as he does.

“Rubens, it’s okay. Just, can you name me three things that are red?”

Stop. Blood. Death.

None of those words escape his lips, but a sob does.

“Okay, okay,” Dante is fretting, Rubens can hear Dante fretting, but Rubens… Rubens cannot help, he’s just trying to calm his heart, trying to convince it what is real, trying so very hard to breathe.

“Can I touch you?”

Can he? Rubens doesn’t know, but neither does he care; he attempts a nod with his head still tucked in his lap, panting in a desperate attempt to get air in.

Dante’s hands touch his back, awkwardly pressing circles into his shoulder-blades. It does not really help with trying to breathe, but it does break out the tears Rubens had desperately been holding back before.

Last night he dreamt of blood on his hands, of wrists without a pulse - or ones beating too slow. Of organs on display, and limbs hacked off, of broken necks and broken bones, of Kian’s hands tight about his neck. Of gunshots, and fingers, and pain.

Worst of all, he dreamt of laughter in purple, of a giant blade, of a woman sobbing with a gun in her hands and a civilian at their backs. Buttons, and neon, and masks, and roulette wheels, and energy, and blades, and screaming, and cross-crossed wires, and drowning in blood, and a skull that fit in the palm of his hand, and watching the one person he loves die beneath his hands.

Johnny isn’t dead - he isn’t - but sometimes he forgets that. Sometimes... Sometimes it's just hard to remember, when you're in an empty house with nothing to prove otherwise. Just the snores of the old lady next door - the snores you want to hear are missing.

He tries to grab at his chest, to soothe his heart and relieve the pain.

All he can feel are the neon-bright wires beneath his hand, and his breathing shudders again.

“What’s wrong?” Dante tries to ask him. “Rubens, please, what is wrong?”

How can he answer when he cannot breathe, when the memories that mix in are somehow worse than any dream?

Dying hurt. Rubens isn’t sure if it hurt for Dante, too, but when Joui stabbed Amalia it really, really hurt.

He chose it, but it hurt.

… Did Johnny hurt too? Rubens likes to think his sleep is happy, or at least nothingness, but the blades… It hurt Rubens. It must have hurt him too.

“Hurts,” he manages to crack out. “Hurts.”

Dante only hesitates more as Rubens sobs harder, the hands stilling against his back.

And then… they move, slipping downwards as Dante moves closer. They loop over themselves instead, a hug around his back as Dante presses himself over Rubens.

It is a little slow, a little hesitant, but it is a hug all the same.

On instinct Rubens shifts. He turns his face, hiding it in Dante’s robe as he continues to cry.

Dante doesn’t say anything just remains there, holding him until his tears run dry. And then he pulls away, and picks up the water, and holds it out.

Rubens, still more than a little shaky, takes it this time. His limbs feel weak as he cups one hand beneath the glass and the other around it, slowly sipping as he tries to find himself again.

Dante waits.

Rubens suspects he spends a lot of time waiting.

Eventually, he finishes the glass. He hands it back, now empty, and Dante rests it in his lap.

“Is everything okay?” Dante asks him.

Rubens pauses, then shrugs, “bad night.”

A nod, “if you tell Marcela, she’ll usually let you sleep a little in the infirmary.”

Infirmary? With white, and ceilings, and disinfectant and - Rubens shakes his head, “will be fine.”

It is pretty obvious that Dante does not believe him. Still he nods, and shuffles back to his earlier bit of floor. With the tears finally out and no longer alone, Rubens finds it a little easier to breathe.

They sit in quiet company, just listening to the sounds of the base waking up. It is quiet, and Rubens can calm down, and it’s okay, he did… they all did what they could. Those left are safe, now, they’ll be okay…

And then the door slams open.

Rubens and Dante both jump, looking up to see Agatha staring at them.

“What are you doing on my floor?!”

Dante is first to his feet, taking it all in his stride. “I was just waiting for you,” he tells her. “I wanted to ask you about some rituals…”

Agatha’s entire face lights up, suitably distracted. As she drags Dante behind her desk, Rubens takes the opportunity to slip away.

There’s still that paperwork to be done, after all.

Chapter 2: 2 - Balu

It is a Wednesday afternoon, and Rubens is trying to get some work done - ideally before he gets chased up by the person paying him for it. It’s not hard work, it’s just tedious, and sometimes that is worse for it.

At the moment, ‘trying to get some work done’ mostly consists of staring at his screen and rewriting the same few lines over and again. The code he is being paid to debug is slowly starting to work, though he thinks the actual problem might be higher up than where the error codes are directing him.

It’s fine, though, he’ll check there just as soon as he is absolutely sure the issue is not down here’ there’s a few thousand lines of earlier code to check, and he would really rather not sort that all manually if he does not have to.

Home is still too quiet, but the base is too busy today; Rubens has escaped upstairs to the bar, where Ivete is restocking and a few Hell Hunters are playing pool. He ignores them to continue poking at lines of code, stealing Ivete’s electricity and far enough from a wi-fi hotspot that it’s not his fault if nobody can email him.

At some point, Ivete left him a glass of something and a plate of something else. Rubens is only tangentially aware of either of them; he’ll get around to it once he’s just sorted this one thing… And this other thing… And maybe found the roots of another few problems…

He has decided that this specific problem is most likely caused by a misdefined integer, or perhaps a variable name being used twice, and that the fix will involve scouring the entire code in an attempt to work out what it was supposed to be, when there is a sudden pressure against his back.

Pressure on his back, something at his sides.

Rubens does not think; he teleports to the other side of the table. He grabs at his chest, ducks below its level, and pulls out his revolver.

Only then does he hear Ivete’s shrill laughter.

No danger, then, no danger.

He still doesn’t look just yet, rubbing his thumb over his heart as he begs for it to return to a normal pace. His breathing comes back into line a little easier, but the adrenaline spike is still surging through his veins.

One moment, two moments, and Balu is crouching opposite him before Rubens has had a chance to calm down.

“Rubinho! Hello!”

Rubens manages a small glare, but does not quite have the breath to correct him.

“Sorry for scaring you, I just wanted to see how close I could get; thought you were playing along.”

If Balu could get that close, then Rubens was far, far too distracted. In theory the base and bar above are safe, but in practicality… He has heard rumours of rumours of prior attacks.

It’s fine, though, it’s just Balu, and if Balu could sneak up on him then Rubens really, really needs to pay more attention.

“You doing okay?”

Balu sounds a little nervous now and, ah, right, people usually like responses.

Still a bit shaky from the adrenaline, Rubens raises one thumb. “Alright. You?”

"Good enough, already finished for the day," Balu hops back up onto his feet and offers Rubens a hand.

He takes it.

This proves to be quite the mistake when Balu not only pulls him up, but into his chest as well; trapped again.

The hug is less sudden this time, and Rubens is expecting it a bit. He gives Balu a quick squeeze of his own before pulling back.

Balu lets him go, only to grab one of his hands.

“Come on, we’re going on lunch break. There’s a restaurant I’ve been meaning to show you not too far. Your work can wait, right?”

Rubens nods; even if it couldn’t, he somehow suspects he isn’t getting much of a choice.

Chapter 3: 3 - Arthur

The apartment is too cold, too empty, too quiet. Rubens has thought it so ever since Johnny was… hurt, but it’s even worse now. No Johnny, the old lady next door is visiting her grandkids, he got used to being around people in Italy…

He doesn’t really want to go back there, not right now.

He doesn’t dread it, it’s his home - it’s Johnny’s home - but it’s just… Hard.

Really he could leave the base, there’s nothing left for him to do. It’s just waiting now - more waiting - for someone somewhere to find a lead. Most of the Order have gone home already, most of the team Rubens worked with in Rome too. It’s… Quiet here, too, but at least there are a few people around.

Rubens doesn’t really like talking to people, but he likes the absence of them even less.

Arthur is still here, though. And Rubens does not know Arthur well, but… He knows him better than anyone else at the Base. He looks busy, sorting through all sorts of paperwork. Rubens should probably just go home and handle himself, but…

Has Rubens ever seen Arthur alone before? He doesn’t think so; it looks wrong.

That’s enough of an excuse, really. Careful not to disturb the leader of the team to which Rubens was once assigned he pulls out the stool on Arthur’s good side, and sits down. It is not as subtle as Rubens would like; he sees Arthur glance over to him, saying nothing but his scowl lessening a little.

Arthur lost someone in Rome, a very precious someone. Maybe his house is too lonely too?

Rubens doesn’t like to think about that; he pulls out his laptop, and starts typing up some thoughts from the earlier meeting.

For a little while they sit side by side, each absorbed in their own work. Rubens is done fairly quickly, soon switching tabs to play games in his browser.

He has been doing that for around half an hour when finally Arthur speaks.

“Rubens?” he asks. “It’s getting late.”

Well, not really a question as such - just a statement. Rubens looks up, nods because yes 11pm is getting late, and returns to trying to help the mouse escape the cat.

“... Wouldn’t you rather do that at home?” Arthur asks him. “You’ve got to have better chairs than these.”

He doesn’t, not really. He and Johnny had moved in together for the sake of money and their mission, and most of the furniture was also bought with their expenses allowance from the Order, not wages. They do - he does - own a couch, but it’s a tired old thing where you can feel every spring. What money they saved is lost, now, between medical bills and being one income down and soaring electricity costs and the other minuscia of the day to day.

So, no, Rubens would not rather play games in his lonely, uncomfortable home.

Rubens looks up, just meaning to shake his head again. As he does, however, he catches Arthur’s eyes and… He looks tired. So tired, like the world has imploded in around him.

Perhaps, all things accounted for, it has.

“Do you want a hug?” Rubens asks, in lieu of any of the things he actually wanted to communicate.

Arthur stares, and blinks, and asks “pardon?”

“A hug,” Rubens repeats. Does that not make sense? Maybe he should back down, he thought… “Want? You… like hugs? Are sad. Do you need one?”

He is only stared at more, quickly growing rapidly more uncomfortable. Does Arthur only like hugs from people he knows? It would make sense; Rubens likes Johnny’s hugs best, but he isn’t here to give them, so… He would rather not have people that close. Sometimes it’s wanted, sometimes it’s needed, but without expectation or warning…

He messed up, didn’t he?

Rubens looks back to his laptop, desperately trying to hide himself from the faux pas.

Just as he is about to restart the game - the cat caught the mouse in his distraction - Arthur’s arm makes its way around Rubens’s shoulder. It is not quite the surprise it could have been; he allows Arthur to pull him a little closer, and lets him burrow his face into his neck.

Hesitantly, still unsure, Rubens reaches up and wraps his arms around Arthur’s back.

Arthur does not say anything, but the arm behind Rubens’ shoulders squeezes a little harder.

And that’s fine, that is also fine, but then Arthur starts crying and Rubens - he doesn’t know what to do. Being cried on is a new experience, and he knew Arthur was not okay, and he wants him to be okay, but…

Okay. Try to remember how this works…

Rubens squeezes Arthur a little tighter still - pressure is comforting, pressure means you’re not alone, not even when your heart is hurting. And then… He feels like he should say something, but words are annoying and hard and he would rather not be misunderstood. So, instead of speaking, he tilts and turns his head to press his cheek into Arthur’s hair.

He also feels a bit like crying; this hug is for Arthur, so he does not.

If anyone is staring, Rubens pretends not to care. He instead focuses on Arthur’s tears, because they are real, and they are there, and neither of them are alone even if Rubens’ heart screams for his best friend over and over and over again.

He squeezes harder still.

A sob catches in Arthur’s throat. For a moment Rubens thinks he messed up, only for bubbling words to fall from Arthur’s lips.

“I miss them,” the admission is quiet, so very quiet between the tears. “I miss them so much.”

Rubens remembers the funeral, remembers hearing that Arthur had held out hope for months, begged the universe that his friend was alive, kept going on and on and on...

There is not hope any more. Not for Kaiser, and certainly not for Joui.

“Miss them too,” Rubens whispers back.

He doesn’t mean the same people Arthur means; he barely knew Joui long enough to miss him, however much he could have come to like the man, and he did not know the others buried in that graveyard at all. And Johnny, who he misses more than anyone else, isn’t even dead! It is not the same at all, not when the details are so different, not when they never really met each other's dearest friends.

…

The technicalities does not stop his tears from falling into Arthur’s hair.

Chapter 4: 4 - Carina

The airport is crowded. Airports are always crowded, but it does not make the experience any more pleasant. Rubens would rather never fly anywhere again, and thankfully this time it is not him on the plane; Carina travels to and from Rome semi-regularly, balancing Order work with helping her sister reinforce the Leone family's influence.

She’s back now, though, and Arthur had had the bright idea to gather everyone up to greet her. Rubens isn’t sure this is the best place for it, but arrivals is where they gathered anyway. He cannot see anything around the crowd of people awaiting various flights - problems with the baggage claim system have backed about three hours worth of arrivals together - and so has chosen to just go sit nearby.

Dante and Arthur have joined him, also too short to see anything, while Balu is using his ridiculous height to keep an eye out for her. Those two are talking while Rubens plays games on his phone, keeping his fingers busy as much as anything else.

The loud sound of Balu calling Carina over is pretty obvious; Rubens quickly finishes the level, tucking his phone back into his jacket pocket.

He has succeeded by the time Carina and Balu wander over. Balu is carrying her suitcase, while Carina has a backpack on. They wave, and Rubens waves back, slipping off his seat and trailing a little behind as they go to greet them.

Arthur slaps Carina on the shoulder and pulls her into a hug, while Dante asks about her flight. Rubens stands there, listening.

“It was fine,” she answers Dante’s questions. “We were delayed a bit setting off, but they gave us extra snacks.”

“How’s Clara? And everyone else?” Arthur is already trying to steal Carina’s backpack, and she isn’t having any of it.

“Clara’s okay. Stressed, but we all are. She’s managed to get all of the business into her name and working again, so it’s one weight down. Guiseppe is overseeing it while she works the rest out,” Carina expertly dodges Arthur’s attack, giving Dante a quick hug as a distraction. “Zio, he’s - allora, he’s… He’s doing better. Antonella took me to visit; we talked a little. He’s really not well, the doctors say it'll take years to even recover enough to assess his condition, but he's doing better.”

“He’s awake?”

“Has been for a little while, but they didn’t want to say on the phone - too easy for someone to hear and take advantage.”

Dante nods, and Arthur picks up the conversation. Rubens scoots himself over to Balu’s other side, keeping a tight grip on his phone; it happened once. It could happen again, but… Rubens would rather not think about that. He would really rather not think about that

He’d rather not think about Fabrizio dying under his hands, either, with nothing he could do but make sure he could breathe, and that the neck wound would get no worse.

He would rather not think of a lot of things.

“You’re alright, Rubinho?” Balu is not quiet about asking.

“Rubens,” he replies, half teasing but quite serious, then answers the easier problem to explain. “Busy.”

It’s enough of the answer to get a slightly too hard slap on the back, but also a laugh and a hand remaining firmly on his shoulder. It also draws Carina’s attention over.

“Rubens! Sorry, I missed you too. Just distracted with the others,” it seems Arthur did manage to win her backpack, though his lack of even a complete shoulder blade means that Dante is the one wearing it. “Hug?”

She holds out her arms, waiting.

It’s a question, but it isn’t really one; Rubens steps forward and into the hug, his arms around her waist and squeezing, just as she squeezes his back.

“Hi,” he tells her. “We missed you.”

“I missed you guys too,” she tells him, the hug lasting a few seconds longer than comfortable before Rubens is released. “Anything happen while I was gone?”

Not much has happened at all of late; it’s slow as they try to find a lead on what to do next. Seeing Carina’s eyes still on him he shrugs, and tells her “books.”

She turns back to Arthur, looking at him for help.

“Senhor Verissimo is having us search old records for leads,” he explains. “We haven’t found anything, but there’s a lot to go through.”

“Okay,” she replies. “I can help with that. It cannot be worse than sorting old financial statements.”

“Home first,” Arthur tells her. “You staying at the same place again?”

Rubens isn’t sure who starts corralling them towards the exit, but slowly they begin to move. It’s kind of nice, once they’re somewhere less busy, to just follow and listen to everyone else catch up.

Chapter 5: 5 - Ivete

A glass is set down on the table beside him, hard enough to make noise. Rubens jumps, pulled from the screen before him, and follows the arm up to find Ivete frowning at him.

“Sorry,” he tells her, pushing his laptop screen down; it’s late, she probably wants to close up the bar.

“It’s fine,” she tells him, pushing the glass closer. “I know that damned look, been doing this job long enough. You want to talk? I’ll be at the bar and we’ll do it properly. You just want to drink? This bottle is on me. Either way, you aren’t leaving my bar looking like that.”

Rubens looks at the bottle. It is half full of whisky, the label stuck over three or four times. He stops looking, takes the shot glass, and downs it.

He chokes a little on the burn, and hears Ivete laugh as she walks away. Looking up, Rubens can see Ivete taking a place behind the counter, a bartender where there is rarely one at all. She even takes to washing the glasses, even if the bar isn’t really used, occasionally glancing back at him.

She looks… Rubens isn’t really sure what she looks.

Instead of thinking about it, he opens the laptop back up. He stares at it for a little while longer, the information no longer going in. Instead he closes it, and sighs again.

He looks at the bottle and… He doesn’t want that.

So he tucks the laptop back into his bag and… He doesn’t know what Ivete means by talking, but she offered talking or drinking. Part of Rubens wants to leave, to ignore Ivete's demand and go home to nothing but memories. Part of Rubens wants the company, desperately doesn’t want to be alone, willing to talk if it means avoiding the silence.

None of Rubens wants to finish the bottle.

Picking up his bag Rubens hesitates, then pulls it over one shoulder and steps over to the bar.

Ivete stops pretending to clean. Instead she pulls out another two glasses, pouring out a measure of something labelled this time.

“Drinks are on the house tonight,” she tells him. “Just don’t take the piss.”

Rubens nods, and looks at it, and doesn’t know what to do.

There is a prolonged silence before Ivete sighs, and downs her own glass. As she pours herself another she speaks, not making eye contact, just casually.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she tells him, right after she downs the shot. “But are you alright?”

He… doesn’t know how to answer that question. He thinks he is, all things considered. He’s just… He doesn't sleep well, not since Johnny, and worse since Rome, and the anxiety gets exhausting when he's jumping at every little thing every single day.. But it's fine. It's just being tired, he's just... well, tired.

So that isn’t really an answer, and he doesn’t really want to be alone. To not be alone he has to engage in the conversation, and so he shrugs in reply.

He does not look up to see Ivete’s response, but he does hear her move.

And then she just… stands there, quietly, not really saying anything just… chasing the nothingness away.

And Rubens just sits in it, in the quietly not being alone. Takes it in, rests for a moment in another human being. He does not know Arthur's mother well, but they've circled near each other well enough that he... trusts her. To keep watch, perhaps, or just enough that he can hide beneath her and breathe.

Rubens grows tired as he plays with his glass, but then he was always tired. Still he does not look up, just... Permits the time to pass.

“I’m sorry,” he eventually says, as time stretches on and on and on.

“If I didn’t want to be here I wouldn’t,” she replies. “Arthur is perfectly capable of cooking an edible dinner.”

He’s keeping her from her son and her food. He’s keeping her trapped behind the bar, just because he wants some semblance of not being alone, to avoid going to a home which should be inhabited just a little longer. But he can’t say that - even if he wanted to, he isn’t sure how.

“You’ll get home okay?” he asks instead, glancing to the windows where the sky is already growing dark.

“It’s not far. I’ve walked it before, and I’ve got a shotgun,” she replies.

It doesn’t sound right - it sounds very wrong. It’s not…

“But Arthur…?”

“But Arthur is an adult. He can handle it,” she pauses for a moment, and Rubens can almost hear her thinking. “He’s been worrying about you. When I look, I can see why.”

It should feel like an insult. Instead it feels… he isn’t sure. Someone noticed? Someone has been watching? And waiting before they talk?

He really, really is not sure how to respond to that. Johnny would notice, but Johnny would just scoop him up and say he looks like shit to his face. This is unfamiliar territory, for people to dance around the concern.

Again, all he can do is shrug. Vaguely aware that that isn’t a reassuring response, but it is all that he can find within himself to give.

Ivete sighs again, and he feels her leaning on the bar.

“I never did thank you for saving me,” she says, instead of continuing her earlier line of questioning. “Not properly.”

“No problem,” he replies, because it’s easier than thinking, than remembering the fear as the sphinx reached down over him, and his ally, and his patient, and Arthur’s beloved, injured mother.

“It seemed like a lot to me, saving my life - or at least my neck,” she tells him. “Sorry I snapped at you then. When I saw you without Arthur...”

Rubens shakes his head; people do that all the time. He works in stressful situations, and only really useful when things have gone desperately wrong. People snap when that happens - he barely even noticed it.

All she wanted to know was if Arthur was okay. Rubens would snap to know about his family, too.

“And Carina’s… cousin? You saved his life, the poor boy.”

And Rubens really, really, really doesn’t want to think about that; he turns the thought away with a hum, shuts his eyes and pushes it all to one side.

Ivete seems to realise, for she stops pushing there. Moves around, readjusts, socialises just like Carina fights.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks. "That, something else, whatever's in your head. Booze and talk are what my bar provide, and you don't seem much for drink."

And Rubens… doesn’t know. His insides scream, torn in two, unsure if to curl harder around the wound or let it open, and risk an almost-stranger poking inside.

His fingers trace his neck, gently running along where the bruises used to be.

But that’s not… That’s not…

“I nearly left,” he tells her instead of anything else. “Johnny… Had to come back. But nearly didn’t.”

Ivete is quiet, reaches over and gently touches a hand to his. “You came back,” she tells him. “It’s what I would tell my boys - it doesn’t matter, so long as you come back. The idiots.”

There’s fondness in her tone, but sadness too. Rubens cannot parse it, but he tilts his head to her.

“Joui and Cesar,” she tells him. “After we moved here, they were… They and Arthur are everything I could have asked for in children. There were four of us, then. Now there are two.”

“I’m sorry,” Rubens says, as he thinks of a grave, of many graves, filled with Ivete's kin - thinks of Johnny who does not have one, and how he’ll give him a slightly bloodier knife back one day.

“It’s what happens,” she says. “Whether your family is a biker gang or monster hunters, sometimes they just don’t come back.”

It’s true, but Rubens doesn’t like to think about it. Some sort of truth lies between them, unspoken and unwhispered.

Rubens…

“You would have saved him if you could,” Ivete’s voice holds such conviction that Rubens is surprised by it, almost cannot doubt himself. “To hear Arthur tell it, none of them would have come home without you.”

It sounds like a massive exaggeration; Rubens looks to the floor, and fiddles with his sleeves.

“I have to come back,” Rubens tells her, the words feeling like poison on his lips - he came back, but Joui didn't, and the failure tastes... bad. “Johnny…”

“Your friend?”

He nods.

“He’s… hurt. Badly hurt. Just us. If he wakes… There’s nobody else. He only has me.”

Ivete seems to light up. Rubens isn’t sure what it means, only that she thinks she worked something out.

“And you only have him?”

Her voice is a little sharp, but yes, that’s true - Rubens nods.

“You think… You think you only have a man in a coma, and that’s it. Nobody else. And you think if he wakes up and you’re not there, nobody will care for him?”

Think? It’s true; Rubens nods again.

“Rubens…” Ivete sounds tired, runs her hands down her face, has another shot before leaning across the bar. With the back of her nail she flicks the badge on his shirt, the pin Arthur gave him that first day they worked together. “Do you know what this means?”

“Team,” he tells her, because it is. He isn’t sure if that team is disbanded or not, but he would like to cling to at least some semblance of other people as long as he can.

“It means you’re a Vulture,” she tells him.

Which, sure, that’s the name of the team…

“A Scoundrel Vulture,” she tells him. “It’s family. We die for those we love, but we live for them too. Arthur gave you that badge? He lets you keep it? It means you’re his.”

And now she’s lost him. Rubens tilts his head, echoing back “Scoundrel Vulture?” to her.

“They were a biker gang first,” she tells him. “I ran the bar they frequented. Brulio - my best friend, Arthur’s father - he led them. I never married, can’t have kids, Arthur’s mother and brother died years back - they were my family instead, and I was their’s. But there was a rival gang and… Well, it’s Arthur’s story to tell, really. In short, thirty six god-damned hours and everyone I loved was dead. Everyone except Arthur, who lost his arm and was barely hanging on. And he lost everyone but me, and his new friends. Lost some of them, too. He’s the last Vulture now - I was never one, not really, I just ran the bar. He named me one later, said we were family. The team he was with, then? He named them Vultures too. Him, Joui, Cesar. And Liz. We were all family, and they died for each other. But everything they did - everything, not just dying - it was for each other, too.”

“Sorry,” Rubens tells her, because what do you say to all that death? It feels wrong on his lips, to even apologise when the gulf between them is so wide. Who has he lost? Nobody, it is just that the gulf feels too wide.

Ivete takes a deep breath, and more alcohol, and tells him, “Arthur has deemed you a Vulture. You are ours, now. Whether you knew what it meant or not, you still saved me, and Arthur, and everyone else. Vultures… A lot of us don’t live long, but we look out for our own for as long as we can. You’re not alone, not if you don’t want to be. And if anything happens? We’ll look after what you love. I don’t want you to die, kid, but if you do… We’ll make sure your friend is looked after, okay? He’s your family? Well you’re our family, so that makes him ours too.”

And Rubens… He’s not sure he gets it, a shot of whisky in and sitting with another glass of something alcoholic. There’s certainty in her voice, though, like she believes what she says. That it really is that simple, to just… Decide that someone is going to matter to you.

The team - they matter to him.

… He wants to matter to them, too.

“Promise?” he asks, because one thing there matters, one thing matters more than anything, and that is that no matter what happens to him, someone will be there for Johnny. Balu might, now he knows he knew him, but it’s only a might. Rubens does not like working in mights.

“I promise,” Ivete replies. “So long as I live, nobody you love will suffer alone. And should you need anything? We’re right here. We want to help, okay? You need anything, for the love of god just tell someone.”

“Okay.” Rubens says, like he knows quite what is going on.

Ivete looks at him, like she’s expecting something else.

… Like she’s expecting him to ask for something.

Rubens… He doesn’t even know what to ask for. He’s just empty, and tired, and does not want to go back to their flat alone.

Ivete sighs, and leaves him be, turning back to her glasses.

He uses the time to gather himself, to try piece together what exactly it is he wants to say. Slowly, slowly he puts it together.

“The Host…” he begins, pauses, rethinks his words. “Johnny and me. Our investigation. Got caught, Johnny was hurt, bad. In the Colosseum… He was there. Games, again, games like before, told us him or me, I took Johnny and ran. This time… Joui - Celestine - we were at the end. He killed me. I let him kill me. I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want to win. Then… Then we were fine, but the Host… We fought. Arthur - Dante saved Arthur. Then Balu… Twice. He fell twice. I was getting the button. Dante saved him the first time, but second didn’t know how. His… His heart stopped. I… I had to…”

Ivete reaches over, and taps against his hand. He doesn’t look up, but he can still hear a bit of horror in her words, “it was bullshit. But you made it. You did it. He’s okay.”

“Then Kian. Didn’t… Ate, but no rest. And Kian, he-” Rubens can’t say it, he can’t - he just places his hands over his throat, shielding it from another attack. “Came back. Always come back. Johnny… I want Johnny. I want my friend.”

Ivete shifts, and holds his hands properly, squeezing them gently as she waits.

“Can’t have him. I see him, but… Don’t want to go home. Don’t want to see it empty again. Don't want more dreams. I want Johnny.”

“I'm sorry, I can’t give you Johnny,” Ivete tells him, and of course she can’t, Rubens knows that. “But if you just need some company… That’s easy. We can stay over here, if you like. Or I can tell Arthur to make more dinner and get the couch made up as a bed. That’s easy enough. You can stay over tonight, get some sleep, go back rested. If you’ve got nightclothes in a locker, we’ve got spare toothbrushes.”

Rubens hesitates, then tugs at Johnny’s shirt - he’s worn it to sleep in before, and he can certainly do it again.

Ivete smiles, but she looks sad when she does.

“One more thing before that,” she tells him.

One more thing? Rubens… isn’t sure what she wants as Ivete comes around the bar. She stands beside him a moment, before reaching over and hugging him.

“You did well,” she tells him, as she holds him tight. “It was a shitty time, but you made the best of it. Everyone you’ve lost? They’re proud of you. You did it. You - all of you - did it. You stopped them from hurting anyone again. No more Kaisers, no more Jouis, no more Johnnys. And when your Johnny wakes up? He’s going to be so fucking proud of you, Rubens. Prouder than you understand.”

Those aren’t Ivete’s words to say, but then he doesn't think that he's actually the one she's talking to.

Regardless, Rubens hugs her back as tight as he can.

Chapter 6: +1 Team

It’s a bad night. It’s a really bad night. Memories and fears and horrors collide in Rubens’ brain, twirled together in a mesh of nightmares and dreams. There’s blood on his hands and burns under his fingers and two broken necks and pressure on his throat and a gash through his chest to match the one he puts pressure on and he can’t-

He doesn’t even try to run, not like this. It’s reflex, now, to pull on the Other Side and have it lead him to where he feels safe; just the other side of the wall, not far away at all, just the other bedroom in their little apartment, eight floors up.

Without even thinking he throws himself at the bed, clawed fingers, clawed hands, the drip, drip, drip-

But Johnny isn’t here. Johnny hasn’t been here for a long time.

A sob in his throat - blood, blood, pain, agony, blood, is Johnny even alive? - Rubens grabs one of Johnny’s pillows and pulls it to his chest.

It no longer smells of Johnny; Rubens hugs it harder, and tries to remember to drip a little of Johnny’s shampoo on it in come morning.

He holds it, and clings, and- and it isn’t working, it doesn’t work any more, not without Johnny here for him.

Still, Rubens curls up on Johnny’s bed, and hugs his pillow, and begs himself to remember…

It doesn’t work.

Tears streaming down his face he finds his phone, tucked even into his pyjamas ever since Johnny started needing him. He opens it and finds the lockscreen - Johnny and him, at the hospital, alive.

Inside his phone are the reminders, and Rubens doesn’t want to remember. He doesn’t want to remember yesterday, or three days ago, or last week. He doesn’t want to remember Johnny waking up, screaming despite the tube in his throat, begging for Rubens, yelling for him to run, to escape, to survive.

Usually, if he is there, Rubens can calm him down, show Johnny that they’re both safe, that they’re no longer in the game. He is never awake for more than that, but Rubens can hold his hand and Johnny can slip away again in peace.

Yesterday… Yesterday…

Yesterday Johnny didn’t even realise that Rubens was there. No matter what he tried, Johnny just kept screaming and screaming for him - so long and so damaging that the doctor had him sedated rather than risk injury. Nothing Rubens did, nothing he tried, nothing... Nothing helped. He could just hold his hand while he screamed, but only because Johnny was too weak to pull his own away.

It happens sometimes, the nurse told him. It’s okay, he’s just confused and scared.

Johnny being confused and scared does not make him feel better.

In fact, it makes him feel much, much worse.

Again and again he sees Johnny fall, feels him slip away even as desperately tries to stem the bleeding. Again and again he puts his fingers to Balu’s pulse and finds nothing there. Again and again he desperately fights to help Carina’s cousin breathe. Again and again there’s hands around his neck and he knows he will die, he will abandon Johnny, that nothing and no one and-

And again and again he knows he can only be with Johnny so many hours of the day, which begs the question - how often is he left screaming with no reply?

The nurses say his consciousness lasts thirty seconds, maybe two minutes at most. Once or twice a day, seemingly at random. It’s good news, it’s an improvement, it means he is healing, but-

But asleep Rubens could tell himself that Johnny was happy.

Now he knows that isn’t and was never true - Johnny is hurting, and scared, and the only thing he always remembers is that Rubens was with him and also hurt.

And Rubens… Rubens… He can’t.

He clings tighter to the pillow.

Even now, even awake, the dreams keep creeping in; one second he’s trying - failing - to stop the burns on Balu’s neck from swelling and choking him, the next it’s Johnny beneath his hands again - Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, and they’re alone in the dark - it wasn’t dark before, it wasn’t dark then, it was neon and purple and bright, but now it’s so so so dark its dark why is it dark - and the room starts filling and filling and filling as more and more blood pours from Johnny’s wounds, more blood than he has, more blood than any person has, filling the small room they are in.

No, not a room.

A coffin - a shared coffin.

A coffin, filling with Johnny’s blood.

Higher and higher and higher and Rubens closes tight his mouth but still it comes through his nose and- and-

And he remembers Amalia drowning in the blood.

This is just like that, except Johnny’s.

And that it isn’t real, it cannot be real, it-

Rubens clings to his phone, to the photo of him and Johnny. Balu took it, in the hospital. They’re safe, they’re safe, they’re all safe, he’s just-

He’s just pulling the duvet up and over to hide himself. Here there’s still a little of Johnny left, even after so very long. Rubens hides himself in Johnny’s blankets and Johnny’s mess, and continues to stare at the photo on his phone.

Okay, okay, they’re okay, Johnny is getting better, it’s all okay…

No matter what he tries, his heart doesn’t stop racing, his breathing doesn’t even, the dark spots in his vision don’t leave, the cars below don’t stop making him flinch.

It’s… it’s a bad night.

It’s a really bad night.

A really, really bad night.

And Rubens… Rubens… he promised…

Unlocking his phone is like wading through sludge, not impossible but feeling it every step of the way.

It unlocks, and there is his whatsapp, 99+ notifications.

Between the tears and the encroaching black Rubens can barely see as he opens a chat. He aimed for the group chat, doesn’t know if he missed, doesn’t even know if he spelt ‘help’ correctly before hitting send.

He drops the phone, curls tighter around the pillow, and sobs into Johnny’s bedding. He doesn’t see answers, he doesn’t see questions, he doesn’t see anything as he screws shut his eyes and tries to drown out the nightmares in his brain.

Death and death and blood and the choked screams of his best friend in all the world - choked by life, choked by death. Blood on his hand, in his throat, across his body as impossibly strong hands press into his neck. He can’t see, he can’t breathe, there’s just him, and the sobbing - now dry, when did the water run out? - and Johnny’s bed.

And the blood, and Dante’s heartbeat dropped to near nothing, Balu’s gone entirely, Johnny’s-

There’s blood on the floor and Rubens can’t tell what is his and what isn’t, but that doesn’t matter because wires hold him together while Johnny is dying, dying, dying, and Rubens learnt this, he practiced this, but to see it, to touch it, to have to save his friend, it’s…

Rubens remembers the blood, and the burns, and he cannot, cannot-

Somewhere, a door slams open. To Rubens’ mind it is a distant thing, bubbled and far away. The scream of his name pulls him from sleep, but only to confusion. He knows the voices, panicked, but they aren't Johnny's, they shouldn’t be -

He’s under Johnny’s blankets, where nothing can hurt him, except that everything can hurt him, because Johnny is gone, and all that is left is blood, blood-

Another door opens, closer this time. There’s footsteps, and more yelling, and all Rubens can think of is a dusty floor and an arm crushing his neck as he’s punched in the face again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and-

“Rubens?” the word is quieter than the previous panicked ones, a little gentler as something puts pressure on the blankets.

It knows his name? He knows his name. They never could have won; they knew Johnny all along, from the moment they got there it was just a game, he-

The pressure doesn’t hurt, though, it just rests over him, gently pressing circles into his back.

There’s the noise of something being set down, and then someone peels the blanket back - not far, not the whole way, just enough to reveal his face and rest on his shoulders.

“Rubens, what’s wrong?” a new voice says, as the first one yells something to elsewhere in the house.

What’s wrong? Can’t they see what’s wrong? Rubens is the one refusing to look, taking comfort in Johnny’s pillow and room. Johnny’s posters, Johnny’s plants that Rubens keeps alive for him, Johnny’s pile of clean laundry he never put away - Johnny’s room is safety, in a way Rubens’ own will never be.

“Rubens!” the voices are more insistent now.

There’s a long pause before someone lays down besides him, wrapping an arm over his back. Someone else cups his face, pulling it up from the pillow.

Rubens doesn’t want to go, doesn’t want to leave the skin of his neck unprotected, but the hands are insistent, gentle but demanding.

“Come on, Rubens,” they say. “Look at me.”

He lets his face be turned, but keeps his eyes shut. If he cannot see, if he cannot see-

“Rubens!”

The sharper call of his name forces his eyes open, and for heavier, louder sobs to fall from his chest.

There’s more footsteps, orders given, someone leaving on light feet.

His eyes meet blank black, and Rubens isn’t sure what that means.

“There,” the eyes say, panicked, scared, and yes everyone should be. “What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t know how to answer, not but for the word always ready in his mind, “Johnny.”

“Johnny?” there’s a pause, and then. “Did something happen? Did the hospital call you?”

No, no not that, please not that; Rubens’ tears grow heavier as he shakes his head, tries to hide only to be teased open again.

The steps come back, and the arm around his back tightens. Someone else kneels, and guides the hands on his face away.

“It’s alright, Rubens,” a voice that should not be so gentle says. “It’s alright. Everything’s alright”

He knows it though, it haunts his dreams; Rubens reaches out a hand, scrambles around, finds a wrist and finds the pulse hiding there. A little fast, but not bad. Just there.

Fast enough, good enough, just once he was enough to save someone.

“Oh,” it’s not Balu who says it, not- not Dante beside him, Carina awkwardly standing with a glass of water. Instead it is Arthur, tucked behind him, the second voice. “Hey, Rubens? It’s okay. We’re all okay.”

“He- He,” Rubens finds a little more of himself, in clinging to Balu’s pulse. “Johnny.”

There’s some shuffling about, and then Dante has a hand on his cheek again. “Did something happen?”

“He didn’t-” Rubens doesn’t know what to say, his body still choking on the tears. “Scared. He’s scared. Screaming. For me. Now, I can’t-”

Arthur clutches Rubens tighter as his words fail, pulling him nearly as closely and as tightly as Rubens holds Johnny’s pillow in his arms.

“You’re safe,” Balu tells him. “Johnny too. We all are. You’re at home, and we’re safe.”

It doesn’t feel like it, not at all.

…

How do they know Johnny’s safe, when he isn’t here, when he isn’t where he is supposed to be?

Seeing they will get no response that way, everyone backs off. They give him a moment, safe in Arthur’s arm. Two moments even, perhaps three; Rubens is not really sure how long it is that the four of them sit with him, staying close around him until he can more easily recognise the world around him.

Another moment. He needs another moment.

And another.

And they are there, they are still there, Arthur snoring only to be elbowed awake, Carina reading on her phone, Dante hovering with more water, Balu still holding his hands…

He’s so tired.

He looks up anyway, and finds Balu’s eyes first through the tears. The man relaxes a little, scowl shifting into a somewhat relieved smile.

“You with us, Rubens?” Balu asks, making an obvious effort to keep his voice from booming.

For the first time that night, Rubens can nod a yes. The relief in the group is visible, tension draining from them. He wants to apologise - for scaring them, for dragging them out so late - but instead they turn his words aside before they can even form.

“Do you think you can sit up?” Dante asks of him. “Carina bought water for you.”

There’s a noise of agreement from her; Rubens doesn’t think he can drink, not still crying like he is, but he tries anyway. The others guide him and suddenly he is swarmed - Arthur remains at his side, an arm over his back, but Carina steals the other side just as soon as he takes the water. He keeps clinging to Balu’s pulse as Dante helps him with the cup, guiding it gently to where he can sip at it.

It’s hard, at first, to swallow between the tears.

By the end of the glass his throat no longer tastes of blood, and he can finally wipe his eyes.

“Sorry,” he tells them. “Nightmares.”

His hands squeeze tighter on Balu’s wrists. Nobody objects.

“Must have been some nightmare,” Balu says, making comforting patterns with his thumb on Rubens’ hand.

“Hm,” he replies with a nod, flopping a little more onto Arthur’s side.

All of the arms around him get a little tighter, and a little more protective. He stares at Balu’s fingers, watching them massage into his skin.

“You scared us,” Carina tells him, squeezing him tighter. “Tell us it's a nightmare next time, so we don’t bring guns.”

With bleary eyes he can see that they did, indeed, bring guns.

“It’s fine,” Arthur tells her. “The important stuff got across.”

Did it? Rubens doesn’t know.

“Rubens,” Dante calls for his attention, a little sharper than before. Rubens looks, listens for what is to come. “Thank you for telling us.”

Rubens doesn’t know what he feels to hear that, so he just hides himself again.

And then Balu yawns. He does not even try to pretend that it is real, merely continues bulldozing through the conversation, “alright, bed time again. Where do you want to go, Rubens?”

Where does he want to go? Johnny’s room with the glaring omission, or his own with its lack of anything at all? He doesn’t, he doesn’t-

“We could all go to mine,” Arthur offers. “Ivete won’t mind; she’s probably worried too, now... Did kinda wake her up running out.”

He worried everyone? Even Ivete? Over his silly tears? Over just a nightmare.

“Sleepover!” Carina calls. “I’ll get us some snacks. If you want?”

Everyone is looking at him. Everyone, all four of them. And Rubens…

The idea of his room or of Johnny’s room is too much right now - the thought of anyone leaving is worse. He does not have the arms to cling to everyone, especially not when he keeps the pillow wrapped tight in both, but he does not think he can ever let them go.

“Okay,” he tells them, words lost as always. “Okay.”

Dante leans forwards, giving him a quick hug. Balu does the same, lasting a little longer.

He’s still not sure about a sleepover, but if it means he doesn’t have to face it alone…

Blood still taints the corners of his vision, his hands still tremble with the adrenaline they know from before. Nothing is right yet, his heart hasn’t settled, but…

But Balu just scoops him up and holds him tight, and the others stay close as Rubens is as good as carried down the stairs.

The embarrassment almost, almost drowns out the deep horror in his soul - almost, almost, almost.

Twenty minutes later he’s curled up on a pile of mattresses and furniture cushions, covered in blankets and his team pressed around, Johnny’s pillow still tightly grasped in his arms… Everyone has found a way to cling to him, everyone is holding each other, with Rubens at the centre of the knot.

And that, that, might just be enough to keep the nightmares away as his exhausted body demands rest once more.

Chapter 7: +2 - Johnny

It has been a few weeks since Johnny started waking up, now. Sometimes Rubens manages to catch him, but it is frustratingly rare that the few minutes coincide with visitation hours. Two minutes here, five minutes there… It took three weeks for him to get it through his thick skull that Rubens is okay, and another still before he stopped waking up screaming his name as a matter of course.

He still wakes confused and looking for him, though. Always searching, always trying to find where Rubens is, if he’s okay, if he’s hurt.

How is Rubens supposed to stay away when he knows that, at any time of the day or night, his best friend might be confused, and scared, and looking for him? He cannot, simple as that. Every minute the hospital and Order will allow him to be he is there, now, even working from his laptop as he sits beside him.

Rubens already failed Johnny once - didn't slow the bleeding fast enough, didn't get him out fast enough, didn't get him to help fast enough, selfish selfish and healed himself first, even if Johnny insisted it was the right thing to do - and now he fails him every. Single. Time.

There's been a few more times he's been there when Johnny woke, where he managed to help him calm down. By the time he does Johnny is rarely awake long, and coherent for even less time. It gets longer, and longer, and sometimes shorter again, but never enough for more than the basic facts, and rarely long enough for the doctor to even arrive for their tests.

The others stopped coming into the room with Rubens when Johnny started waking up. Rubens isn't too sure how he feels about that. He likes the privacy, the time with Johnny, but… Sometimes it is very long, and he is very alone, just him and the medical staff as they do their jobs.

This time is different, though.

This time the nurse at the desk asks him to wait - normal enough, even as he shifts from foot to foot and winds his fingers in the sleeve of Johnny's shirt. Sometimes he’s early, sometimes the doctors are running late, and either way they need to work. He will not begrudge them their work, not when without it Johnny would be dead.

It is just a couple of minutes, and then he's shown to Johnny's room. By now he knows the way, but he lets them lead anyway, a constant war between needing to see Johnny and needing him to be okay. If Rubens interrupted something important and Johnny got hurt because of a slipped needle - or worse - he isn't sure he'd forgive himself.

So he follows the nurse and is allowed into Johnny's room and- and blinks.

This time is different. And… it’s different because…

Johnny is…

"Rubens?"

Johnny's voice is perfect. Low, still cracked and muffled by dryness from the oxygen mask - not on his face, where did it go? They took the tube out when he started waking longer, but he’s still supposed to have the mask - but perfect all the same.

"Johnny?"

He's sat up. Propped up, maybe, but Johnny is sitting up!

In a daze Rubens walks to the bedside, only just managing to find the chair as he sits and takes Johnny's hand.

He squeezes.

Johnny squeezes back.

"Johnny," Rubens repeats. It's the only word he has, but it's the only one that matters all the same. "Johnny, Johnny."

Brown eyes skim over him, look over him and actually see him. Rubens knows there are new scars - the worst hidden, but not all - and his jacket, and his chicken has moved, and - but Johnny is looking, and Johnny is seeing him. Checking him over, eyes looking for changes, looking for harm.

"You're okay?" Johnny asks, a little quieter than he should.

The tears bubble up. Rubens tries to stop them, he really, really does; he wants to talk to Johnny, not cry! To tell him its okay, that the Host can never hurt them again. To let him know he helped kill it, and didn't lose his team. To tell Johnny that he matters, and he cares about him, that he'll always come home for Johnny no matter what happens.

He wants to tell Johnny about his new friends, and that, despite those new friends, Johnny is still his world.

But he cries.

"Rubens…" Johnny looks a little lost, glances at the nurse and Rubens doesn't see the rest as he tries to dry his eyes with his jacket sleeve. "Hey, it's okay, nobody died! Given we were told one of us would that's doing good, right? Beating the odds is our special talent."

Johnny, Johnny, infuriating Johnny.

In the past, Rubens would have rolled his eyes to hide the amusement, or perhaps just in plain exasperation. They would have laughed about it later, Rubens would have called him reckless, and they'd have carried on the same.

But it's not the same now, is it?

The oxygen mask might be gone, he might be sitting up, but Rubens knows it will come back as soon as Johnny sleeps. The heart monitor is still wired up, and his waking is too sporadic to risk removing the IVs and tubes for nutrition, medicine, and fluids.

It's not… It isn't…

Rubens cannot roll his eyes. He can only bury them in his hands, curling inwards as he shakes even harder and his body threatens to give in.

"Rubens," Johnny's quieter, gentler, but more exhausted too. "Shit, sorry, see, I'm all good. You saved me. It's okay. See? Give me a day or two and we’ll be okay."

It isn't okay. It won't be a day or two, it will be weeks and weeks if not years until they're both okay, until Johnny is okay. And it might never happen! Rubens knows, he knows that full recovery is unlikely, that even this much is defying the odds, that to even be able to converse again is more than Rubens could have asked for. It's not okay, and it won't be okay for a very long time yet.

But if Johnny wants it to be okay…

Rubens cannot stop his tears, but he can swallow them. With a few shuddering breaths he manages to pull out his phone, and bring up a photo of their team.

He still cannot speak, but he turns and points it at Johnny.

Johnny looks at it, and then back to Rubens.

"Team," Rubens manages to choke out. "Friends. Family. Not you. But, Vultures."

"They're good to you?"

Johnny's not supposed to sound soft, but he's not supposed to sound tired either. Johnny is supposed to be life and energy and laughter, not still half-dead and barely able to move - Rubens can see how it is only the cushions stopping his head from lolling even now - in a hospital bed.

Rubens nods anyway. He means to give their names, or talk about the mission, or about this cool website about pink chickens he found the other day, but-

But Johnny won't be awake long, he doesn't think. Not much longer at all. And the stress of having to say everything in a few short minutes, only for most to be forgotten all over again…

Rubens cannot do it. He opens his mouth to speak, and nothing comes out but those tears he tried to drink.

It is Johnny, always Johnny - except for when it isn't, except for when it is Balu and Arthur and Dante and Carina - who saves him.

"Do you want a hug?"

Rubens looks at the wires and equipment still attached to Johnny, and knows just what they mean. He knows, he knows, and he wishes he didn't because then he could just say yes, but he's hurt Johnny enough, he's hurt Johnny more than enough, how can he say anything but no?

"Nurse said mimed for me to do it," Johnny answers, cutting through the thought and trying to gesture for one. "So long as you're careful, yeah?"

And he's lying, Rubens is sure that Johnny must be lying because the universe never gives them this much of a break. He's lying, Johnny is a lying liar who lies but-

But he's also Rubens best friend.

His family.

His whole family, until very recently.

Careful of every tube and wire, Rubens leans himself against Johnny. He is careful, so very careful, not to put any pressure against his body, not even as he tucks his face into his neck.

He is managing, succeeding, managing to hold him and keep Johnny safe both the same. And then-

And then arms fold around him.

They are weak, far too weak, clumsy and awkward in a way that Johnny's arms were never supposed to be. But they move. They still move, Johnny breathing heavily from the exertion just to drop them onto his back.

Rubens clings tighter, trying desperately not to cry on scarred skin. He doesn't have time to cry, knowing that the clock is ticking before Johnny passes out again, or the nurse keeping an eye on them decides this is enough, but for now, for now… Rubens has him. Rubens has Johnny, and Johnny has Rubens, and for a moment everything just might be okay again.

For after all these months, after all this time, he can finally, finally hold his best friend again.

#opc #op fanfic #opc fanfic #rubens naluti #.... just check the top for tags there's too many words #ordem paranormal #ordem paranormal calamidade #spoilers

9 notes · View notes

starlightshore · 1 year

Note

explain Danny phantom to someone who’s never seen it before?

uhhhhh so i can only talk about it as the most insane kinda fandom person because

i was obsessed with this show when it first aired when I was 8 years old. it was my first fandom. i read fanfic for it before i even knew what fanfic was. its HEAVILY tied to my nostalgia and I've been engaging with the fandom on/off for literally 19 years. at this point DP is in my DNA.

while it's not my main hyperfixation (thats undertale) its the one tag i visit regularly and the one fandom I'll jump to every few months and binge fics for. i don't even read UT fics anymore but the DP fandom is always doing something. its very active!

under the cut I talk about my thoughts on the show, the fandom and explain the premise. It's a wild ride.

TLDR; i have a lot of THOUGHTS on this show and i do not actually recommend it. MAYBE if you're curious explore the fandom and some fics but be careful about it, it's a bit gratuitous with its angst.

If you want a basic premise: local 14 year old accidentally lets loose hell but also has become part ghost. This kid can fit SO much trauma in him.

first off: I fucking love Danny Phantom.

And I'm going to spend the next two segments complaining about it. Feel free to skip if you're already aware of this /or don't wanna linger on it.

Second off: This show fucking sucks*

* Ok fine yes sometimes it can be good, but it will always have an asterisk next to it.

it has NOT aged well. it was created by an asshole who's got a long shitlist of things he's done and still does that's all terrible. i am not one to hate someone publicly unless its for something like this. Feel free to google what Bitch Fartman has done if you're curious but I'll warn you: he is a horrible person and he disgusts me. I only acknowlege him when its to mention how awful he is and how I do not want to support him.

This is not like with FNAF where supporting that franchise supports Scott. Danny Phantom first aired 19 years ago. The show was written, directed, and sure as hell animated by a team of professionals. It is not his sole creation. Studio Animation is not the sole work of an individual. I respect (most) animators and the hard work they've done and do. IIRC Shitfartman doesn't even have the rights to the IP anymore. I assume he gets residuals though. That said the only canonical piece of media we've gotten is a graphic novel that was released last month. Up until then, supporting DP was just not literally a thing you could do!

Its not just the creator who sucks. There's a lot of BS in the show too.

the show is very early 2000s (and even then thats no excuse) and it has a bingo card worth of shit in it. racism, bigotry, ableism! you name it. I do not condone and i do NOT recommend this show because of this! its horrible with what they did with this show and its shocking it was acceptable enough to put on TV. you literally can't do shit like that anymore.

I'm not going to go list every detail of every horrible, fucked up thing the show has done. The list is too long and I haven't watched the actual show in a few years now. by god, I know there is a list out there though.

Anyway outside of my obligatory "fuck this show actually" rant aside

i do love this show because it DOES have a lot of good and cool stuff outside that. but also. its so much wasted potential.

the core premise is:

Hey what if a pair of paranormal obsessed mad scientist parents punched a hole into the after life hell dimension- and what if their son was basically spiderman-ed about it?

youtube

And here's the core part of the premise: Danny only keeps his identity a secret to the humans. Ghosts learn like, pretty much straight away that he's a Halfa (half human, half ghost). He's if spiderman's worst fear wasn't the villains but if like. Aunt May was going to rip him apart.

Oh yeah that's. a thing. Danny's parents literally want to rip his ghost identity apart from, and I quote, "molecule to molecule."

For a an comedy-action show its WEIRDLY morbid and dark at times but then has the tonal whiplash to make you question what the fuck did they just do. How'd they do that and then not care they just wrote that in. Seriously. It'll just lore drop or hint to dark things and then brush it aside because it's main focus is comedy.

Anyway back to explaing what the show even is about. the show likes to say Danny got his DNA merged with ectoplasm but that's stupid af i'd rather say he died but only stayed half dead. He can transform between the two states: living and dead. But he's not just two halves that make a whole -the two sides blend together. He can use his ghost powers as a human -and early on he couldn't control them so he'd just. go intangible or invisible at the worst moments.

The show just. jumps right in. You don't get to see the accident outside the intro (at least until season 2 when they retcon some stuff) you just have it thrown into your lap. He has powers now. He sucks at it. Deal with it.

I think it's important to acknowledge that this show was written before Netflix did streaming. Before Plot heavy cartoons were a thing. (Not to say they didn't have reoccuring plot, it justw asn't the same thing as it is now.) You had to write the show with the limits of:

Comedy being a major focus

You have to write it with the expectation that anyone could jump in and (reasonably) understand most things going on. While there's some continuity and plot progression, the status quo is god.

because streaming wasn't a thing yet, you could only watch the show by jumping into whatever the fuck episode was playing. I doubt it played in order all the time. You just couldn't make a cartoon that had weeks upon weeks of plot developments and expect people to keep up.

The show is, in fact, meant for kids. While it does dive into some darker stuff (being ya know, a ghost show) its still going to be overly silly.

So while YEAH i'll complain about the very very shitty things the show did but I can't soley blame Fuckhateshitman for all of it. It's the restrictions it was made under + likely a lot more circumstances I don't understand. I am a hobbiest animator. I have no real world experience in the animation industry. I can critique the final product but I can never understand what shaped the cartoon. If shitheadmcgee wasn't involved and the studio gave the show more room + had you know, more POC and women on team + animation (even for kids) was respected more then who KNOWS what the show could of been! But like. its a 2000s show. It is what it is. I think the show has its good and bad and i'll harp a lot on the bad rn because I think its important to acknowledge especially to new people, but I do want to frame it by saying it really is the product of its time.

I want it to be better and I hope if it gets rebooted its better. We expect a lot more from cartoons now then we did then. (I know this was a long tangent + kinda over simplifying things but whatever, moving on.)

The (Ph)Fandom

19 years later and here we are. Enter the Phandom (called that before that phill and whoever used the term, idc i'm still going to use the term.) We, the fandom, almost completely just retconned the show's finale. (obviously SOME people still like it but its like. an incredibly small percentage) Like. we straight up pretend it didn't happen. i don't even want to get into it rn. It was SO BAD that the graphic novel that just released literally (spoilers) retconned everything about it aside from a ship pairing.

Anyway the Phandom- personally I think it goes a little TOO harsh in its angst. LIke, maybe a bit too much. But it DOES add nuance and explores the themes and lore that the show just flat out refused to engage with at all. It really digs into the premise of "hey wtf this 14 year is half dead. hello? hello??? thats fucked up.... lets explore that." and i'm here for it.

As long as its not like, masochistic and gratuitous for no real reason. 😬That is my biggest complaint with the fandom is that sometimes it goes over board.

But yeah outside of that, it can also be VERY silly so expect tonal whiplash here too! We got memes. We got fandom holidays and events. Whacky stuff.

OH AND OCs. We have fandom OCs like Wes. The best nonexistant character ever. Love that lil weirdo <3. His whole schtick was "What if Danny had another human villain? What if this random background classmate knew his secret and was trying to expose it?" and its spiraled from there. No one ever believes Wes and he's tortured by it. Some make him out to be a conspiracy nut while others make him more of a threat. (or a joke, as I do) Considering this show has a ghost-version of the Men in Black (Guys in White) conspiracy actually lines up accurately for what Wes does. And, you know. The Fenton's have a portal to the afterlife in their basement. Honestly pretty reasonable.

so like the fandom just kinda... picks and chooses the canon. It does have an edge of "we can do better" but in fairness, as I just discussed, there's an awareness that the version we make is not restricted by the environment the show was made under. I would hope most of the fandom understands this and doesn't say it in the sense of like "oh yeah I know better than professional writers and artists fuck the show 1000%" instead of acknowledging Yes He Fucking Sucks but its also more complicated. I don't want to foster an environment of superiority and disrespect to any media/creators (with exceptions ofc) cause. Jesus christ we live on the internet in 2023 you have to know why I feel this way by now.

Anyway with that in mind, I do think it's a positive thing! I mean, fuck, the show had no new content for almost 20 years I think its obvious by now we'd just make our own doll house out of it by now.

So yeah the Phandom is like this:

We're oddly consistent with the phandom lore we've built around from the canon's lore. We expand it, we make it more queer, we do our own thing. And I really enjoy it! I partake in it! It's pretty cool.

So while there's some merit to the OG show I would not recommend it on account of the amount of BS I mentioned at the start of the post. But I would recommend the fandom! As long as you got a strong black list with trigger warnings in place. Again, I think the fandom is a lil too gratuitous. But oh my god I love so much of what the fandom does. There's so many fics that just stick with me and (ha) haunt me. There's a reason I still come back after all these years. there are SO many good fics.

also the fandom got adopted by the DC fandom a year or two ago. personally i have to have like 80 tags blocked so i can even navigate the tag. Its not my thing but i'm happy people are having fun!!

#personal stuff #dp talk

20 notes · View notes

spicyvampire · 2 years

Text

2022 : a summary

Post your favorite or most popular edit from each month this year (it’s okay to skip months!)

Tagged by @talays-portkey Thanks for the Tag!

January

Most Popular : [x] the Yok liking Dan in a very normal way

Favorite : [x] Yok skills gifset really was the start of an era, loved that insane guy and he was funny af, first time I was starting to make huge gifsets with little captions on them I think? ; [x] Y’all remember the raccoon meme? Man, I forgot I made that for Bad and Crazy but it was fun, and different from anything I’ve ever made because I tried to make it look like posters and yeah I like that

February

Most Popular : [x] Yok defending Dan in front of Sean, tbf this came out during a heartbreacking episode people needed a laugh

Favorite : [x] y’all remember Sean vs Yok who is the fastest gay alive? these guys were insane, also this inspired Vegas vs Kinn later that same year ; [x] Yok + Greek words for love, the amount of love I have in my heart for that boy isn’t even half the one he has in his for like everyone, he is just SO full of love

March

Most Popular : [x] Yok edition of who is the fastest gay alive, that bad boy took so long to make ugh glad people liked it

Favorite : [x] my danyok goodbye gifset using stucky quote ajgdhashdfgsh the purple looks great on computer ; [x] Live slug MoD reaction, it was just fun to do something MoD again

April

Most Popular : [x] Porsche not connecting the dots on Kinn homosexual activity, I just learned how to animate a gif and boy did I want to have fun with that

Apparently I gifed like almost nothing in april, it was exam period afterall

May

Most Popular : [x] Vegas vs Kinn, trying to find neon looking fonts and neon looking overlays was a pain in the ass but it was worth it, I hope I do that type of gifset vibes again soon it was fun to make

Favorite : now it is very hard to chose my fave gifset there because it was the month I was doing Not Me Appreciation and I really like that I should probably try to do again but I really think those are my top 2 so here [x] Yok; [x] DanYok sunshine & Rain

June

Most Popular : [x] Pete’s BDSM duality, which is very surprising cuz I thought it was gonna be the [x] Family Braincells gifset seeing that people even requested that for the bodyguards afterwards but oh well

Favorite : [x] Vegas Hidding out Magazine which weirdly is one of my less popular KP gifset but I love it so much “pathetic is the new chic” like come on I literally peaked there, if I ever make shirts out of the one liners this one is gonna be the first one at for sure; [x] TanBunn relationship developements finally went back to my MoD roots for pride month MaxTul if you reading this pls come back 😔

July

Most Popular : [x] Porsche fear of ghosts, we love a little scared cat

Favorite : [x] KP goodbye gifset, truly the end of an era, I’m forever changed

August

Most Popular : [x] Shadowhunters edits that reminds me I have not gifed SH in months

Again I did nothing really that month

September

Most Popular : surprisingly the most popular gifset isn’t a KP one, it’s [x] akkayan hoodie, 2nd is [x] PorschePete bitches stage tho so eh

Favorite : so end of september & start of october was kpweek and boy did I come there ready cuz I spend the entire month before doing like nothing and I had all these pent up ideas, I have so many favorites really I had fun with KPweek [x] Kinn [x] Pete [x] KinnPorsche

October

Most Popular : [x] Main and Minor family (minus the parents), that was one long boi wasn’t it

Favorite : [x] Ayan + Debbie’s monologue what can I say I just love the addams family and I rewatch the movies almost every year so I know a lot of these lines by heart; [x] KP Halloween cuz I forgot to put the side story in my Porsche fear of ghost gifset so Halloween gave me a reason to dedicate a gifset to it

November

Most Popular : [x] Cherry Magic, god the way I ran when it dropped on youtube oof

Favorite : [x] MoD 2 years anniversary gifset, cannot believe it’s been 2 years MaxTul WHERE are you 😭😔💔

December

Most Popular : [x] SamMon right in front of everyone salad

Favorite : December is exam month and this time I really tried to gif almost nothing till like the very end but shoot out to [x] Bodyguards braincells gifset

I think I did one of for 2021 too and it was fun going back through the stuff I did, a bunch of these I literally forgot I made last year so that’s why I wrote so much for a lot of them

Tagging (if you want to no pressure & also idk who has done this already sorry) : @luna-lina @winteams @kinnsporsche @thelaziestmotherfucker @fangrui @guzhu-furen @laowen @sunsetandthemoon @pavel-chekovs @liyazaki

#gifmaker tag #I ACCIDENTALLY DELETE THIS POST WTF #thank god i did reblog it on my sideblog before the incident so i just had to copy paste god

14 notes · View notes

hoppipolla · 2 years

Text

↳ 8 Shows To Get To Know Me

Thank you @jyuubin for tagging me <3

I don't know if the shows I'm about to talk about will make you learn things about me but they're pretty much my favourites so i'm happy to talk about them ^^

18 Again

This drama was thought-provoking and beautiful in such an authentic way. Seeing a father learn to know his children through the eyes of someone their age was so tender yet so heartbreaking. This drama shed a light on how complex the human condition is and how people have more than one layer to their personalities. Hence the need to always be kind to one another. I don't remember all the details of that drama but that's the drama which made me discover Lee Do Hyun and his amazing and detailed acting ^^

Kimi no Koto Dake Mite Itai

One of the most beautiful kiss brought to screen. If you know, you know. Such a heartfelt drama :(( The absurdity of life doesn’t seem too insuperable when that life is lived while having the well-beings of others in mind. (Yes I am quoting myself, that's embarrassing. That phrase is from the review I wrote on MDL). That's basically what this series is all about. Loved the cinematography and the gentle vibe of the show (that makes no sense but it's hard to put into words what this series made me feel ><).

Avatar: The Last Airbender

The characters' developments in that show!!! I love well-written shows and this one was a blessing. I don't think any animated series can top this one. There is so many good things about it: flawed yet likable characters, thought-provoking dialogues, amazing story arcs, genuine friendships etc. (Iroh's the best character and we can all agree on that ^^)

You're My Sky

Such an underrated series!! Please do watch it, it's amazing! The three main couples all have different stories and everyone acts so well :( A well-written show with a beautiful cinematography? Count me in!

The Untamed

Oh my! Where to start? The Untamed was my first Asian drama and I've never moved on from it. I tend to hyperfixate a lot and so I usually quickly move on once I've finished a series/movie/book etc. but I could never move on from this show. The angst here is peak perfection. Wei Wuxian is one of the best character ever written and I love him to pieces. So many heart-breaking story arcs, so many amazing characters... Just so much pain but it's beautiful???

Weak Hero Class 1

One of the rare series which showed how genuine male friendships could be. WHC1 was really hard to watch but it was worth it. I am still trying to recover from it tbh... I just hate how cruel and brutal the human kind can be. I don't want to start any discourse but I liked Beom Seok. It doesn't mean I was ever okay with what he did but he is a much more complex character than most people think.

Beyond Evil

THE most amazing drama ever produced. I have written so many in-depths analyses on this drama — it's ridiculous — but it just gives you an idea of how impressive this drama was (both acting-wise and script-wise). I'll stop there because I won't be able to stop myself from rambling otherwise ><

180 Degrees Longitude Passes Through Us

I've written such an emotional review on MDL... Loved it so much. Brilliant performances, amazing dramatic references, stunning dialogues, gorgeous cinematography and a realistic plot. This drama sure felt like an out-of-time experience. I'm still sad I can't get my hands on HQ scenepacks because I would have loved to make some edits :(

So I'm basically someone who loves well-written series with nuanced and flawed characters. I like analysing things and I greatly appreciate subtle acting. I'm also a big softie lol so I like slow-burn relationships full of gentleness.

I'm tagging @ohmybitna <3 (I hope you haven't already done it. Feel free not to do it if you don't feel like. No pressure!)

#Have I done this correctly? It feels as if missed the whole point lol ><#tag game #about me?? I guess ^^#Thanks again for the tag Jyu!#I could have put so many other series now that I think about it ><

7 notes · View notes

what-yadoking-likes · 2 years

Note

Sooooo since we clearly established that you’re a wolf/hox shipper, I wanted to know if you got any other (payday) shippings going on and if we might see some in “The Cell” any time in the future?

Also what’s your personal take on Wolf and Jacket having a “father-son”-like-relationship?

BAHAHA 'since we clearly established that you're a wolf/hox shipper' LOL is that a read?? /jk

Okay SO OTHER PAIRINGS YOU SAYYYY... o h b o i

Well, when I first started out in this fandom I was a fan of Sokol/Dallas (MasterGrinder). I've always been a fan of age-difference relationships and, well, the fact that they're both extremely handsome men doesn't hurt. Another thing that drew me to this pairing was how the dynamic would work in practice - Dallas being the crew chief, the one who has to keep shit together, and Sokol being younger and probably hornier and being more likely to throw a spanner in the works of whatever carefully-laid plan Dallas had. Oh, and let's not forget @neomineom's insane fanart of the two - that really, uhh, got me into it. I also have an in-progress-on-hiatus fic where they have a first date together and Sokol gets jacked off in a jacuzzi.

Nowadays though, I'm way more likely to imagine Dallas with Bain (MasterGuide or NaviMind). I have a fair few ideas floating around for them already and some in-progress-on-hiatus Tumblr ficlets that are mostly PWPs that somehow became something bigger (kinda like The Cell L M A O ) - not to mention the odd fic on AO3 with them as the main pairing.

I think... again, they're both handsome dudes. And I see them as having a lot in common - Dallas finding it harder to feel connected with the crew as he takes on this role as crew chief - Bain deliberately putting distance between him and the gang as a whole to ensure their safety. But... doesn't this all sound very lonely? So I like to imagine they'd stave off that gnawing loneliness by being together - in secret, mind, so that when Bain gets kidnapped it gets extra juicy and ANGSTY (or I just AU it and Bain doesn't die or get reincarnated).

I’ve... dropped some hints about MasterGuide in The Cell, but it hasn’t been anything super obvious or really worth tagging. In a perfect world I would love to write more stuff with them as the main focus... but I just don’t know if I have time between work, adulting, other creative pursuits, AND finishing one of the two novels I began like two/three years ago in the hopes of getting published. So... never say never I guess?

Now I figure if I keep going on like this for every pairing we’ll be here all day, so I’ll try to give the TL;DR version of the next few (but feel free to Ask me about them another time if you want to know more!).

Sokol/Jacket (Socket) - all that aggression! All that violence! Not typically an enemies-to-lovers fan but here we are.

Wolf/Dallas (MasterTech) - nyaaw crime daddies!

Dallas/Hoxton (MasterFugitive) - angsty potential re: imprisonment, and also handsome menses :3

Jacket/Vlad (UkrainianChicken) - a meme pairing I conceived of when trying to think of who would make the most chaotic pairing in the Payday universe.

Vlad/Locke (GolfGoat) - started as a meme pairing now kinda like it ngl LOL, even the contractors need love! Plus they contrast with one another really well and would be very fun.

I’ve probably missed some out here but oh well. ON TO YOUR 2ND QUESTION.

Wolf and Jacket as having a father/son relationship... well that makes the fics about them a bit raunchier ngl!

I think for me I find it hard to see Jacket as having a role of a leader in any way, shape or form. I feel that a father is a kind of leader or role model and I’m not sure if that’s Jacket’s vibe, I guess. I will say though that my perception of fathers is grim at best due to my own experiences, so there may be something I’m missing here. I’d be open to hearing other people’s thoughts about it, for sure.

I do, however, see the two as sharing a bond because they’re both perceived of as being the most unstable/unhinged in the Payday gang. A kind of ‘nobody understands us and that’s awesome’ vibe.

#phew #Yado replies #Yado answers #thanks for the Ask!#sorry this was long #various relationships mentioned here #links to other posts

11 notes · View notes

whimsicallyenchantedrose · 2 years

Text

Thanksgiving Reruns--Day 3: Black Friday Chapter 1 of 3

I would like to wish a very happy Thanksgiving to all my followers who celebrate it, and as a thank you, here are a few of my past Thanksgiving stories. Enjoy!

Title: Black Friday—Chapter 1 of 3

Rating: G

Words: 1442

Summary: CS as single parents AU. As the holidays approach, Emma’s son Henry and Killian’s daughter Alice ask for a specific storybook which will ONLY be available for purchase on Black Friday.

Tagging a few people who may be interested (Let me know if you want to be added or taken off the list): @sailormew4 @annaamell @flslp87 @emmateo26@bethacaciakay @ultraluckycatnd @ineffablecolors, @ilovemesomekillianjones @kat2609 @brooke-to-broch @missgymgirl @galadriel26 @the-lady-of-misthaven @charmingturkeysandwich @jennjenn615 @laschatzi @kimmy46 @snowbellewells @iamanneenigma @daxx04 @nickillian @a-rose-for-a-savior @in-spirational @gillie @britishguyslover @ginnyjinxedandhanshotritafirst @kmomof4 @linda8084 @golfgirld @captain-swan-coffee @searchingwardrobes @hollyethecurious @laughswaytoomuch @allyourdarlingswans @winterbaby89 @facesiousbutton82 @therooksshiningknight, @lfh1226-linda @tiganasummertree

Other Chapters: 1 2 4 5

Black Friday—Chapter 1

One week before Thanksgiving

“Do you really think it’ll work?” she asked, leaning forward, eyes bright and delighted.

“It’s perfect!” he answered. “Trust me! Our plan will work like a charm. Just make sure you give him Miss French’s flier and make him see how much you want it. I’ll do the same with her. By Christmas, we’ll be celebrating our success.”

She grinned. “Oh, I hope you’re right! Can you imagine? If we pull this off, everything will change forever!”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The morning after Thanksgiving

The alarm clock roared to life as a way, way too enthusiastic version of Jingle Bell Rock blared from the speakers of her clock radio. Emma groaned, reaching blindly over to slam the button on the top of the alarm and make the noise stop.

3 am. It was entirely too early for any sane person to be awake. Even the early birds were still peacefully snoozing in their nests. It was only the crazy humans, intent on getting the best deals on the best Christmas gifts who would submit themselves to this kind of torture.

She hoped the payout was worth it.

Her bed was so warm, so comfortable, that for a split second, Emma considered just forgetting about the whole thing and going back to sleep, but then she thought about Henry.

It had been a difficult year for him, for both of them really. They’d had a great life in New York. Her bail bonds gig had paid well enough that they could afford a wonderful apartment. Henry had lots of friends at school. She’d had a guy she loved, a guy she really thought was the one. He’d seemed great with Henry, and Henry had really liked him.

Walsh had proposed a week before Halloween, and Emma had really considered saying yes. Granted, she didn’t feel the epic, sweeping, melt-into-a-pile-of-goo passion you see in movies, but she did love Walsh, and he could be a wonderful addition to the little family circle she and Henry had put together.

At least that’s what she thought.

Emma had made up her mind to accept the proposal when it all went south. Turns out Walsh wasn’t at all who he said he was. He’d been playing a long con on her, doing his level best to steal her money and assets right from under her nose, and she felt like a fool for buying into it his b.s. She was smarter than this! She ran the honey trap on bail jumpers; she knew the playbook. How did she fall for it?

She’d just so badly wanted that perfect, white-picket-fence life for herself, and especially for her ten-year-old son, that’s how.

After everything had so epically crashed and burned with Walsh, Emma had just wanted to get away. She’d wanted--needed--a new start, and so when her brother David had mentioned the opening for a deputy in the tiny town of Storybrooke, Maine, where he lived with his wife Mary Margaret, Emma had jumped at the opportunity.

Within a week, she’d uprooted her whole life--and her son’s whole life--and moved to Storybrooke. For the moment, she and Henry were crashing with David and Mary Margaret in their tiny loft apartment until Emma could find them their own place.

The move had been the most difficult on Henry. All he’d ever known was back in New York--friends, school, entire lifestyle. Small town Storybrooke was like a totally different world than the booming metropolis he was used to. Her normally happy, vivacious kid had been quiet, almost withdrawn since they’d arrived in Storybrooke.

Emma knew kids were resilient, that Henry would bounce back, but she felt so damn guilty for causing him stress.

And so, naturally when Henry had come home a week ago, excitement bumped up to a level ten, talking a mile a minute and waving a flier in her face, Emma had taken notice. Turns out the school librarian Belle French--who was also the owner and proprietor of “A Tale as Old as Time”, Storybrooke’s best (and only) bookstore--was holding a special Black Friday sale on a very special storybook, entitled Once Upon a Time. She had one copy, and one copy only, and the rare book would normally sell for an exorbitant price--somewhere between an arm and a leg. On Black Friday, however, she was offering the book for dirt cheap, but there was a catch. The price was only good during the special, Black Friday early bird sale. Doors opened at 4 am. First person to touch the book had the opportunity to purchase it.

Henry had always loved stories, and he’d been particularly fascinated with fairy tales. Naturally, a book chalk full of them would be right up Henry’s alley. Faced with the prospect of getting Henry the perfect gift, the gift that would finally bring him some joy after the difficult last few weeks, it was a no brainer.

Waking up a few hours before the crack of dawn was a small price to pay for her kid’s happiness.

Emma pushed aside the covers and got up, throwing on the first pair of clean clothes she could find, twisting her hair into a messy bun, and then downing the strong coffee her sister-in-law had set to brew for her. By the end of her second cup, she was feeling almost human, and she was ready to brave the hordes of Black Friday shoppers to attain her prize.

It was a quick, five minute walk to the center of town where “A Tale as Old as Time” was located, and Emma made it just as the cheerful brunette proprietor was unlocking the doors and letting her first customers in. Emma knew just where her target was. She’d scoped out the bookstore over the weekend, getting the lay of the land and mapping out her plan of attack. She knew just where to go, and within sixty seconds of the store opening, she’d reached her target. It was right there, in sight.

Emma reached for the book, her hand made contact--just as another hand did as well.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Killian Jones had lived a difficult life. He’d seen more heartache and tragedy in his thirty-five years of existence than most people did in a lifetime. Aye, it had been an incredibly difficult life, but it did have one bright, shining spot.

His daughter Alice.

His one-night-stand with Alice’s mom, Eloise, had been a mistake of epic proportions, but Killian would never regret it, because it gave him the greatest blessing of his life, his precious little starfish.

Nine months after their dalliance, Eloise had suddenly showed up on his doorstep, placed their newborn daughter in his arms, and then walked out of their lives forever. For himself, Killian couldn’t have cared less. He felt nothing but revulsion for the woman who’d gotten him blind drunk and then taken advantage of him that night nine months ago. In the bright morning light, he’d been disgusted with her, with himself, and with the entire sordid affair. He’d have been more than happy if he never saw her noisome face again.

No, he didn’t care if she walked away from him, but his heart had broken at the fact that his tiny, perfect daughter had been abandoned by her mother. Killian knew from first hand the agony of being abandoned by a parent, and it tore him up inside that his beloved daughter had to deal with it as well.

Though having a child was the farthest thing from his mind at the time, there’d never been any doubt what he would do. Alice was his daughter, his precious child, and he would do right by her no matter what.

Ten years later, he thanked his lucky stars every single day that he’d made the choice to raise her. Alice was the most important person in the world to him, and there was nothing he wouldn’t do for her.

So naturally, when she came home from school all excited about the book Miss French was selling, Killian knew exactly how he would be spending his very early Black Friday morning.

He’d arrived at “Tale as Old as Time” just as Miss French opened the doors. He rushed to the back of the store, his prize in sight.

He grabbed the book just as a gorgeous blonde made contact.

“Um excuse me,” she said with a frown. “This book is mine.”

It appeared this shopping expedition was going to be more difficult--although possibly more intriguing--the blonde truly was breathtaking--than he’d expected.

Killian grinned. He’d never backed down from a challenge, and he didn’t intend to begin now.

#cs ff #cs fluff #cs au ff #thanksgiving reruns 2022 #Black Friday

6 notes · View notes

amazingmsme · 7 months

Note

Omg that tag vid 🤣 I can completely picture the main trio just spinning around the watch post and feigning going left or right at the cafe tables, tossing chairs to try to slow down each other. As for your most flustering fics hmngh so many of yours put me in Lee mood, and this got long and turned into my rambling like a nerd- apologies in advance!

I'm gonna say the Stanley Parable fics Disobedience Shan't be Rewarded, and Is the Bucket Worth it, Stanley? are some of the ones that get me the most. I think it's the way you right the Narrator. I have a weakness for Gods using their powers to mess with someone helpless and those fics scratch that particular itch for me wonderfully. Also, mock sympathy, and condescension fuck me up so bad in Lers and you write it so well? 🫣

Ooh Hands To Yourself gets me bad though 😭 Pretty sure that fic made me hide my face in blush multiple times; Essek especially took me out in that good Lord I haven't even met him but you made me frightened to haha as an easily flustered Lee. 🤣 There was also quite a few neck and ear tword focus and given those are some of my own worse spots, I was scrunching up reading certain parts there lol. Oh! Another thing about Essek's characterization I loved- how he feigned genuine anger, because I would absolutely panic and trip over myself to people please out of fear and fall right into his trap 🤣 Then after it comes out he's not actually upset and my bad anxiety would go away and turn into anticipation, like right before i go on stage for a performance. I think I'd more just get flustered, jumpy and skittish.

I thought your Castlevania fic The Moderator and the Monster are One in the Same was also super cute; I also wrote an Alucard/Reader fic a while back based on the library scene since it took me out. Still haven't finished the show because I don't want it to end/make me sad haha.

Fuck Off and Let Me Sulk took me out jfc, just found that now and we have similar tword thoughts lmao- Alucard calling Trevor out? I am always down bad for mean, teasy as Hell, Alucard. His voice and mannerisms kill me, and his adorable back and forth with Trevor at the end was so cute?

Okay no more rambling I swear! Hope you had a good rest and that this is semi-coherent; I'm gonna pass out now cause it's nearing 7am 🤣 Getting creative in the middle of the night is both blessing and curse

LXGSMAHSKD THIS IS LIKE THE NICEST THING ANYONE’S EVER SAID OMG THANG YOU ILY!

I remember having so much fun with the Stanley Parable ones, especially the first one! It was pure self indulgence rewarded by an unexpected shower of attention lmao. & omg my sweet baby boy Essek, trust me you’re gonna love this prissy bitch once you meet him! I was literally like a horse trapped in that box before the race & once I officially met him I shot off like a rocket! I really need to write more critickle role tbh cause I have so many ideas! Although I gotta admit, I’m not sure that one’s mine, so can’t take credit for that one, but I do have a long ass shadowgast fic that just so happens to have a very teasy Essek. & don’t get me started on castlevania! Omg I fell so hard for those boys! Their dynamic is so fun & their banter is hilarious! They need their own get along shirt, I feel like it would end badly lzavakdhkq but yeah, Alucard is a teasy bastard & he loves to bother Trevor, & the human is just too cute for his own good

Please don’t apologize for rambling! This made me really happy & it’s so cool to hear about what fics y’all really like! Especially when they’re ones I really enjoyed making! Wish I got better sleep, but the fucking construction woke me up & bug man is coming to spray, so fuck it, we ball. But omg please get some sleep! I mean, I’ve definitely been there after a night of endless creative flow, so I absolutely feel you. Sleep tight, & hope you have sweet dreams! & to everyone else… good morning! 😂

#asks #thelaughtercafe #tfb community #fic hall of fame

1 note · View note

art7crafts · 8 months

Note

First! (I think)

First off, did you just put your work down in your pinned post? 'It's not worth...' Why put yourself down? What if your bestie did that?

Next of all, you pfp and Header are wonderful.

Also, I love the fact that you are naming your artwork. I follow your main blog, and I think that you embody Ravenclaw in everyway. It's also cool bc then we can talk about your artwork by their name.

Also, I don't think I've asked before, but can i call you RMShah? Like in any/all of your blogs it'll be easier if we become friends (also gimme a name I wanna see what you come up with) Oh and I've asked you stuff on your blogs before (you haven't answered all but I mean if that's bc you were hyping yourself up to post your artwork then it's cool) (no I have no issue take your time)

Hey!!

You are first, what to call you? Imma need sometime to figure it out but till then enjoy. And yes, you can Call me R.M Shah (or RemSha [not my irl name]) or Rose or Melody or Rose Potter or whatever you want.

Wait I got it. I'll call you Remsha!! I like that name. But this'll mean you can't call me that...

And I was busy making a fair few stuff so.. I'll answer them when I open my laptop.

Now for the other things in your ask..

Yeah I put myself down, nothing keeps one modest as much as reminding yourself you're not worth much (but don't do that, I know for a fact that it's not a healthy thing)

And the bestie thing. Did you mean my bestie put me down? Or did you mean my bestie put my bestie down?

The first one, well @lostwriter--xx3 is too good to me to do that, it would hurt I suppose. She's my bestie so it obvi means more than the general view of 'people', shall we say?

The second one would cause a war. Blood, tears and sweat would be shed (I'd make sure of it). And it would end up in some 30 minute long convo of @lostwriter--xx3 telling me everything/one that ever hurt her and then us cosplaying ourselves (meaning us cosplaying as James and Sirius). Is that the right term? And me telling her how perfect she is and telling her about thay juicy thing that is coming in that WIP that was supposed to take one week but oh well.

And yeah message me bout stuff and stuff and stuffs Remsha (if you accept the name [now it sounds as if I'm gifting you a title {am I?} lol])

And uhh. Send me tips, tricks, hacks/ways to improve bc @lostwriter--xx3 wants me to not die and actually focus on life and will only tell me stuff on/aft 23rd (you care bout me so much girl 😭😍)

Wait was writing poetry things in the tags (didn't I declare I wouldn't do poetry here?!¿¿¿¡¿¡¡) and 'Badr' could be your name too..

#asks #answering asks #remsha the anon #we'll get along like a cannon #a smile from on to another #as we both stare at badr

0 notes

noonaishere · 9 months

Text

Online/Offline [C.S] - seven | above minimum wage. like, *way* above

You sat across from Seonghwa at a table in the café, his mouth set in a firm line as he read your resume.

“So,” he started. “You’re a streamer?”

“And video editor.”

He put the resume down. “And why do you want to work in a café?”

“Well, your ‘Help Wanted’ said you paid above minimum wage. Like, way above.”

“Mhm.”

“And I wouldn’t mind having a real reason to get out of my house a few times a week.”

“Mhm.”

“And… there’s a few video editing clients I have that I really want to drop.”

His eyebrows ticked up. “Can I ask why?”

“One of them keeps hitting on me, and the other ones don’t pay enough. Only one of them is really worth it.”

“Well, I’m sorry for the first one, that’s very unprofessional.”

You nodded.

“And for the other ones, that makes sense.”

You nodded again.

“Your resume says you worked in a café a few years ago; do you remember how to make all the basic drinks?”

“Mostly. I could probably use a refresher, but, it’ll come back to me soon enough.”

He nodded and folded his arms.

“And, uh, just between you and me: I was the only reason the café I used to work at was sparkling clean.”

His brows ticked up. “Oh?”

You nodded, self-assuredly.

“Well, I suppose that I have to hire you.”

“I-- really?”

He chuckled.

“Were the people who left that bad at cleaning?”

His eyebrow raised again. “How did you know that someone just left?”

“I-- uhh…”

He smiled.

“I… heard it by accident? I mean, you and uh, the one guy--”

“Wooyoung?”

“--yeah. You were kind of having a conversation about it where customers could hear it.”

He nodded.

You nodded. You were in the clear.

“I thought you worked with headphones on?”

You were not.

“Ummm…”

“I’m not mad. I told him I didn’t want to have that conversation where anyone could hear it and he didn’t listen. It’s a good thing it was only you who heard it and not someone who loves drama.”

You nodded emphatically. “Hate drama. Don’t want it in my life. Try to stay as far away from it as possible.”

Seonghwa chuckled.

“I am sorry though. Once I heard the intrigue, I couldn’t help but listen. Can I… ask what happened?”

“Nothing more than what you heard: two of my employees who were involved romantically appeared to have convinced themselves that I was oppressing them in some way and left. They left a note likening themselves to Romeo and Juliet… driven by their passions, I suppose.” He shook his head.

“...They know that they both died at the end, right?”

“I’m assuming not.”

You laughed. “Well… hopefully it goes better for them.”

He nodded. “I bear them no ill will, I just wish they would have given me two weeks notice instead.”

You nodded. “Well, maybe they’ll both take poison and die and have learned their lesson.”

He looked at you blankly.

“That was a Romeo and Juliet joke.”

His eyebrow quirked and he chuckled. “Sure.”

“Sorry, I sort of just say things, sometimes. Sometimes it's dark humor.”

“That’s fine, just don’t do it in front of the customers.”

“Not a prob-- wait, you’re hiring me?”

“I don’t see a reason why not. You can work mornings, which was Juliet’s shift time, and you live close enough that if I somehow mysteriously run off with someone, one of the other guys can call you in.”

You laughed.

“When can you start?”

“Whenever’s the earliest.” You smiled. “Oh my god, I’m so happy I can drop that one guy.”

Seonghwa smiled and held out his hand. “Welcome to the team.”

previous | main cast | masterlist | next

Send an ask or leave a comment if you want to be added to the tag list! 🧋

#San #Choi San #Ateez #Ateez smau #Ateez fic #Ateez au #cafe au #streamer au #fake dating #reader fic #ᴏɴʟɪɴᴇ/ᴏғғʟɪɴᴇ

16 notes · View notes

firesoulstuff · 2 years

Text

I posted 544 times in 2022

125 posts created (23%)

419 posts reblogged (77%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@swiftiebuckleys

@nixie-deangel

@boopsterliv

@maswartz

@queenofseelie

I tagged 283 of my posts in 2022

Only 48% of my posts had no tags

#captain canary - 35 posts

#fic writing - 22 posts

#911 fox - 22 posts

#buddie - 17 posts

#writer asks - 14 posts

#legends of tomorrow - 13 posts

#oh my god - 12 posts

#911 spoilers - 11 posts

#fic rec - 9 posts

#yes - 9 posts

Longest Tag: 74 characters

#when all adults have fun drinks and teenagers are stuck with a can of soda

My Top Posts in 2022:

I just realized Ava was to Legends what Felicity was to Arrow. Both characters had such potential, but then the writers decided to use them to spearhead equally toxic relationships with each of their respective show’s central protagonists, rather than respecting and developing them as individual characters.

34 notes - Posted May 28, 2022

Relatives are family friends or neighbors but the main characters have never met and buddie for the au thing if it strikes your fancy :) <3

Buck is homesick, so sue him. He's never lived anywhere outside of Pennsylvania, in fact he can count on the fingers of one hand the amount of times he's left it in his entire life. Sleep-away camp in New Hampshire one year, a family trip to Disney the summer after Maddie graduated high school, and few other odd day or weekend trips over the course of his childhood. But he's never really left Hershey. Except now he has. He drove right out, with no destination in mind, just hell bent on getting away from his parents and starting over. So far he's rolled his way through a few states, worked a few odd jobs, but nothing worth putting down roots for. He's been missing Maddie lately. He's been sending her postcards, but postcards aren't going to bring her to him. At least, so far they haven't. It sucks, because he could really use a friendly face to turn to right now.

Which is why he's driving into Texas.

He reached out to a cousin of his dad's. Her and her husband used to come up and visit every couple years, he hasn't seen them since high school but... well no other family to visit. Anyway they seemed excited enough to have him come, invited him to a church picnic.

So here he is, pulling into a church parking lot, where he knows no one aside from some cousins whom he hasn't seen in ten years.

Maybe he should just keep driving.

No, he said he would come, and it was his idea in the first place.

He gets out of the jeep and starts walking towards the field at the back of the church, crowded with people with picnic blankets, baskets, lawn chairs, hula-hoops, kids running around... All the makings of a tight-knit community picnic.

"Now Christopher the field is a little bumpy so just make sure you're watching out."

"Ok Abuelo."

"He knows dad."

The conversation is on the other side of the car he's walking by, and as he passes said car he almost bumps smack into a family. They stop, for about half a second.

"Sorry." The older man says to him; there's him and who Buck assumes is his wife, a boy walking just ahead of them with crutches, and a guy about Buck's age who looks like he would much rather be anywhere that is not here.

The kid and the older couple keep walking, and Buck's pretty much right next to the guy and he can't help but feel like maybe he's intruding on something here.

Yet the guy is really hanging back from his group.

"Uh..."

The guy seems to jumpstart himself, shaking his head and starting to move along.

"Sorry." He says, and Buck really should hang back a bit, but that would leave him standing in the middle of this parking lot like an idiot.

"Um, no worries." He says, awkwardly ambling along side this, admittedly good-looking, guy. "Crowded place, right?"

"Yeah." The guy sighs, "Crowded place. Kid's been in crowded places before, plays outside all the time, and whose to say I didn't tell him to be careful before we left the house?"

Buck nods, and the guy sighs again, this time scrubbing a hand over his face.

"I'm sorry man." He says, "You didn't want to know any of that."

Buck chuckles, feeling himself start to relax for the first time since he decided to come here.

"It's uh, it's ok. Meeting family here but uh, I mean they might as well be strangers, but they're the only people I sort of know."

The guy laughs. "Good luck. If you need to hide, I don't plan on socializing much. Name's Eddie."

He holds out a hand, and Buck hopes his cheeks aren't too flushed when he accepts it.

"Evan."

40 notes - Posted April 23, 2022

Warning: 911 Spoilers ahead.

When Lucy’s character was first described as “The Female Buck” I was... confused. I was confused because when we first met Taylor all the way back in S2, Chimney laughs and tells Buck he has found the female version of himself, even calling her “Buckette”. We still have Taylor, and arguably she is still “Buckette”. She’s taken a very similar journey to Buck in the aspects of learning to trust and lean on people. She’s taken risks on a whim for the greater good with the mindset that she can handle whatever the repercussions are (like when she was investigating Sue’s being hit by a car). Currently, she is in what is likely her first stable relationship in a long time. So, if she’s never veered from being “Buckette”, then why make Lucy so similar?

Then it hit me that Lucy isn’t only a female Buck; she is also a female Eddie.

She is literally standing in for Eddie. She is meant to replace his position on the team as Buck’s partner. So she is, essentially, a question to the fandom. Everyone all these years has been shipping Buddie so hard (and for good reason), and some people have been against Taylor simply because she isn’t Eddie. So Lucy is a question; what is the attraction we’ve been seeing all these years? Is it Eddie? Or is it the trope of partners to lovers?

What’s really interesting is this is contrasting with Eddie’s ongoing breakdown. Like really, for years, we have seen Buck beating himself down, desperate to be the glue that holds his little makeshift family together, and through it all gravitating to Eddie; who has been rock solid in who he is and where he stands in the world. But now things are changing. Eddie’s world is falling apart and he doesn’t necessarily know what the problem is. He knows he wasn’t in love with Ana, he knows Christopher was worrying about him at work so he quit, but that didn’t fix things. Everyone keeps asking him about when he got shot and he is fine from that. He is. But for the first time everyone is asking him if he’s ok and he’s not, but it has nothing to do with the bullet that went into his chest, and how the hell is he supposed to explain that? For the first time Eddie is the one who needs someone to help him sort out the pieces, he needs Buck, but he has no idea how to say that.

For the first time, Buck’s world is coming together while Eddie’s is falling apart. Buck is in a stable relationship, Buck has a partner at work who he can trust to have his back. Things aren’t perfect, but he is OK. And none of it is Eddie. He is OK and he isn’t depending on Eddie. So Lucy poses the question; is it enough for Buck when he has everything he needs/wants, but it’s not Eddie?

Personally I believe the answer is no. Taylor isn’t Eddie. Lucy isn’t Eddie. And that’s the point. They can both fill the role and be there for Buck. They can both make him happy. But they aren’t Eddie. This time it’s about Buck choosing Eddie. It’s about Buck doesn’t need Eddie, he has Lucy, who is everything he loves about Taylor and fills Eddie’s slot on the team. But he still wants Eddie. He will still choose Eddie. Even when he has everything, it isn’t right if Eddie isn’t a part of it.

44 notes - Posted March 23, 2022

For the au thing: Waiting in the same lobby for different appointments every week for Buddy

Buck has noticed over the course of his life that, generally speaking, counseling offices tend to try and avoid wait times. He's been in and out of therapy since he was eight years old and he can count on the fingers of one hand the amount of times he's sat in a waiting room with another person.

Still, needing the waiting room is just unavoidable sometimes, and they only overlap by a few minutes. He shows up close to the mark for his 11am appointment every other Monday, and this guy is always standing against the left wall and on his phone. They nod to one another, and Buck passes him, pays his co-pay, and takes his seat in one of two beige chairs where he will be for approximately three minutes before the middle-aged woman who has the appointment before him comes out. They don't speak, not really the place for that.

So really, Buck has no reason to be disappointed when the guy isn't there today.

Still, his heart sinks a bit, and in his three minutes of sitting he wonders where he is, what came up, and that's when something else out of the ordinary happens; the second office door opens.

A boy walks out with the aid of a pair of crutches. He looks about eleven or so, and happy, but his smile falters when he looks around the small waiting room and then back over his shoulder into the office.

"My dad isn't here yet. He said he might be late today."

"That's ok," Buck hears the doctor in the next room, "You can wait here for him."

The kid nods, then looks around again, but there is only one other chair; and it's next to Buck.

He gives the kid a smile and a half-hearted wave. The kid grins back and starts to make his way over. Huh. So, now he's solved the mystery of why the guy never sits down; he's here to pick up his son. It also explains the consistent overlap; it isn't really overlap. Buck usually goes in before this kid comes out. There aren't two patients waiting at the same time; there is one patient and one dad.

Right as the kid sits down in the empty chair the door to the other office opens, and out comes the woman before Buck's appointment. He doesn't get up right away, gives her time to get by and Frank time to move from one file to the other.

"Are you a firefighter?" The kid's sudden voice pulls Buck from his thoughts, and he's confused... until he remembers he's wearing his L.A.F.D. t-shirt.

"Well that depends," He answers with a grin. "Do you like firefighters?"

The kid snorts, "Yeah." He laughs, "My dad's gonna be a firefighter."

Huh.

"Oh really?" Buck finds himself asking, curious, but he really has to get to his session, even as the kid is nodding.

"Mhmm." The kid says, "That's why he's late. He had to take a test this morning. A certification."

"Oh really?" Buck asks, getting up, before Frank can call for him to get a move on. "Well you tell your dad firehouse 118 has an opening."

The kid smiles, Buck smiles, and later he will realize that working with this man he has been fascinated by for the past five months both is and is not one of his better ideas.

57 notes - Posted April 19, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Buddie + look, i know this is fake and all, but the fact that you’re on a date with someone else is really making me jealous, and now i’m sitting here, in my apartment, watching bad television while eating KFC wishing you were Next to me

"What am I supposed to say?" Buck asks, hoping to end his and Maddie's little 'discussion' as soon as possible. "I know this is fake and all, but the fact that you’re on a date with someone else is really making me jealous, and now i’m sitting here, in my apartment, watching bad television while eating KFC, wishing you were next to me?"

Maddie doesn't respond right away to that, thank god, because Buck isn't sure he can take any more of her pleading and 'tell Eddie how you really feel' crap.

Yeah, tell his best friend with a history of only dating women that he's in love with him. Yeah, that'll go over well.

Of course, he had tried saying exactly those words to Maddie, and what had she come back at him with?

"So you've told him about Andy?"

No, for the record, he is pretty sure he has never mentioned to Eddie his boyfriend from freshman year of high school. Why would he? They were only together three months.

He'd told her that too.

"What about Connor?"

He hadn't been interested in Connor, but the poor kid was a closet case with no reason. Not anymore. He deserved a confidence boost.

He hadn't wanted to get into that with Maddie.

"Any of the guys in Peru?"

And that brought them here. To "What am I supposed to say..." etcetera, etcetera.

"Ok, maybe now isn't ideal." She admits, sinking down next to him on the couch. "But Buck you have to tell him at some point, soon, otherwise you're never going to be happy."

He knows that, but again, what is he supposed to say?

"He's not on a date." Christopher's voice suddenly interrupts and Buck whirls around. Chris is staying with him while Eddie's out tonight.

"Hey Buddy, you're supposed to be in my bed." He says, and in reply Christopher shrugs and starts making his way to the couch.

"Lily's from the army, and married." He says, plopping himself down between Buck and Maddie. "Dad just wanted to catch up with her."

"Yeah buddy-"

"He's gonna tell you at the wedding." Christopher says, and that silences Buck.

The wedding is Maddie's, and Chim's, and the very one Eddie is posing as his boyfriend at for the dual purpose of pissing off his parents and warding off their potential setting him up with the daughter's of family friends'.

"What?" He finally asks.

"If he doesn't lose his nerve." Christopher continues with a laughing grin, "He's gonna tell you he loves you, and he wants to date you for real. He told me."

"Huh."

"Huh?" Maddie asks, "That's all you've got to say about that?"

Truthfully, Buck hadn't realized he'd said it aloud.

78 notes - Posted February 7, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #you can see my captain canary obsession slowly turn to buddie #it was a slow year this year #maybe I'll post more next year

1 note · View note