#please read it please reblog it it's like several thousand words of complete crack and it''s so good

[sparxwrites]

The Body Shots Incident

A prequel-ish to this nonsense, aka "the origin story of the Hermitcraft server party tequila ban". cw for lots of alcohol consumption and excessive innuendo [ao3]

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” asks Mumbo, fiddling with the buttons of his shirt. He’s trying to delay the inevitable – primarily, being shirtless in front of a lot of people with Scar ‘Godlike Abs’ Goodtimes right next to him for comparison. It’s not working very well. “Just, I can think of, off the top of my head, oh, sixteen ways this could go wrong. At least three of them end with us respawning. At least.”

“Oh, no!” Scar, already reclining across a table in a distinctly louche manner, is nude from the waist up and looking distinctly self-satisfied about it. If anybody present knew who Jeff Goldblum was, multiple comparisons would have already been made. “It’s a terrible idea, and it’s going to go horribly wrong.”

Scar, unlike Mumbo, had taken his shirt off with precisely zero shame and absolutely maximum enthusiasm as soon as the whole concept had been suggested. It had taken three people – Bdubs included, remarkably – to stop him from removing his belt and pants as well.

Mumbo’s unclear whether the nearly-double-digits-worth of brightly coloured cocktails are to blame for Scar’s enthusiastic stripping, or whether this is just a Scar Thing. Probably just a Scar Thing, if he’s being honest. The man’s shredded. If Mumbo had pecs and abs like that, he’d take his shirt off all the time too.

“Okay, both of you, lie down,” says Pearl, officiously. Or as officious as one can be, after multiple bottles of Prosecco and a round of Jaeger bombs – which is frankly not very. She’s wielding a salt shaker in one hand, like it’s a hand grenade; two lime slices in the other, like– some other kind of weapon. Or something. Mumbo’s not exactly sober right now, either. Similes are a little beyond him at this point.

Scar, already draped elegantly across his own table, gestures to Mumbo with a raised eyebrow.

Mumbo, very reluctantly, sheds his shirt.

Grian, loitering next to Impulse, wolf-whistles in what Mumbo assumes is supposed to be a supportive sort of way. It doesn’t feel very supportive. Doesn’t do much to actually support him, either. Mostly, it just makes him go bright red – brighter red than he’d already gone, anyways, at having so much skin exposed in a room full of people.

Though admittedly not that many people, realistically. There’s him and Grian, as a team; Scar and Bdubs, as the opposing team; and Impulse, the judge of this ill-conceived competition. And Pearl, of course, as his self-proclaimed beautiful assistant. But pretty much every other Hermit is on the other side of the room, busy getting drunk and being noisy. Usual server party stuff.

It’s only them over here, with the two tables in the room not currently covered in alcohol and cups, because Grian and Bdubs had had a stupid argument, and decided that clearly the best way to solve it was a body shots competition, of all things. Which, yeah, sure, tracks as far as drunk Bdubs and Grian logic goes, but– Mumbo’s not even sure how you score a body shots competition.

That’s what they have Impulse for, though. Impulse knows how to judge a body shots competition. Probably.

So there’s not that many people watching, by the grace of any god paying attention. It’s just that, well. Mumbo has his shirt off. Right next to Scar Goodtimes, abs god extraordinaire. And Mumbo’s got no abs, and skin pale enough a vampire would flinch from it, and a soft little belly, and enough body hair it probably technically counts as thermal insulation.

And, to put the icing on the misery cake, pert little nipples. It’s not his fault it’s bloody cold with his shirt off but, for some reason, he doesn’t think that’s going to stop anyone from commenting on their pertness.

“Nice nips, Mumbo,” says Grian, as though he’d read Mumbo’s mind in the worst, most malicious way possible. He cackles when Mumbo turns self-consciously pink. “Hey! That was a compliment!”

Impulse clears his throat. “No– no commenting on competitors’ nipples without their explicit consent. Well-established rule of body shots competitions that I definitely didn’t just make up. I mean. Preferably no commenting on nipples at all but–”

“Don’t worry, Grian,” interjects Scar, cheerfully. “You can comment on my nipples all you like.”

“Thanks, Scar. That’s great. I appreciate the offer.” Grian does not, under any possible stretch of the imagination, sound like he appreciates the offer.

“Hey!” snaps Bdubs, immediately, outraged on a reflex. “No commenting on my competition partner’s nipples, okay?! Get your own!”

Grian, moderately drunk and visibly bewildered, flounders. “Get… my own nipples…?”

“Yeah! Get your own nipples, Mister!”

“Anyway,” says Impulse, loudly, clapping his hands together. Several Hermits look over. A few drift over for a closer look. Mumbo’s insides curl up like a dying spider. “If we could, uh, get things started…? Pearl–?”

Pearl crosses her arms.

“–sorry, my beautiful assistant, Pearl, could you do the salt, if our contestants want to lie down…?”

“On it!” says Pearl, with entirely too much glee. She approaches, menacing, salt shaker and lime slices in hand.

Both Scar and Mumbo, rather hurriedly, scramble to arrange themselves appropriately for their salting, and then endeavour to lie very, very still. They get a lime slice placed besides their head for their troubles.

Mumbo is chosen as the first victim for salting. He holds himself frozen on the table – deer-in-the-headlights frozen, even – as Pearl, tongue between her teeth in concentration, begins to tip salt in a line down his chest, right between his pecs. It’s a pretty wobbly line. Mumbo blames the Jaeger bombs.

“This is ridiculous,” mutters Grian, watching his half-naked best friend get salted like a slug by a drunk Australian. This, Mumbo feels, is a bit rich coming from the man who enthusiastically agreed to the idea when Bdubs proposed it.

Bdubs glowers at him by way of reply. Impulse just looks tired.

When Mumbo has had the appropriate salt applied, Pearl moves onto Scar. She wields the salt shaker like a loaded gun, and is doing a poor job of muffling her giggles. Those in her way move out of the way, very quickly, as she heads to Scar’s table.

“Do not get that on my nipples, by the way, Pearl,” says Scar, firmly, craning his head up as she approaches to watch the proceedings. “I don’t want any chafing!”

Pearl, already struggling to keep anything so much as approaching a straight face, barely manages to set the salt down before she doubles over in hysterics. “Im– Impulse–” she manages, wheezing, her grip on the edge of the table the only thing keeping her upright. “Gonna– tagging– tagging you in, mate, oh, oh my–”

Impulse, with an apologetic twist of the mouth in both Mumbo and Scar’s directions, takes up the salt.

His attempt at setting up a line of salt down Scar’s chest goes significantly better than Pearl’s did with Mumbo, primarily because he’s not a bottle and a half of prosecco down and sloppy drunk with it – just a few beers tipsy, instead. In short order, the pair of them are salted, with a lime slice ready to go in their mouths when the competition begins. Then he heads off to fill shot glasses of tequila, with the tongue-between-teeth concentration and unsteady hand of the moderately inebriated.

Bdubs and Grian take the opportunity to approach and examine their victims.

“Cute,” says Grian, and pokes Mumbo in the bellybutton.

Mumbo yelps, raising a hand to swat at him, before freezing when he remembers the salt. “Hey! No– no. I am sensitive. No poking.”

“Ooh,” interrupts Bdubs, peering nosily over at the competition. At Mumbo’s chest, specifically, and the thick fuzz of dark body hair growing across it. Much of the salt has ended up across it – or, rather, beneath it, within it, and amongst it. Mumbo’s not looking forward to tomorrow’s shower. “Look at that. Very nice. Lucky you!”

Grian raises an eyebrow. “Lucky?” he asks, disbelievingly. “I– look, no offence, Mumbo, I’ve got nothing against a good bit of chest hair, but… I’m just not convinced licking it is going to be the best sensation in the world.”

“Lucky,” repeats Bdubs, firmly.

“You want to swap…?” Grian is once more visibly bewildered. Though, admittedly, that’s not an uncommon expression to find people around Bdubs wearing. “Because that’s fine, I don’t mind–”

“I do not want you two to swap,” mutters Mumbo, nervously.

He’s concertedly ignored by everyone involved.

“Aha!” Bdubs grabs Grian by the front of his jumper with both hands. “So it is true. You are trying to steal Scar from me, and you do want to lick his– Scar! Stop laughing, you’ll ruin your salt.”

Scar manages to muffle himself down to stifled sniggers, with what looks like a Herculean effort of drunken willpower. “C’mon, Bdubs. Leave poor Grian alone. We can discuss him licking me when I don’t have salt, uh, perilously close to my delicate nipples.”

“How’re you managing pel– perir– pelirousy after nine cocktails?” demands Mumbo. “You can’t even bloody say that sober!”

He is, once again, ignored.

“I don’t want to discuss him licking you! I want him to not lick you! That’s not his job.” Bdubs sounds aggrieved. He does, however, obediently release the front of Grian’s jumper, stepping back to give the other man the stink eye. “He’s not Deputy Mayor, now, is he.”

Bdubs is, technically speaking, not Deputy Mayor either. It’s several months and an entire world since he was Deputy Mayor. But everyone present is aware that, for Bdubs at least, Deputy Mayor is less a job title and more an eternal-obsessive-crony-to-Mister-Scar-Goodtimes state of mind.

“Since when has licking the Mayor been part of the Deputy Mayor’s job?” asks Mumbo, of no one in particular, though he suspects the answer is since Bdubs got the job.

“I do not want to lick Scar,” says Grian, firmly. “I’d just, you know, prefer not to lick Mumbo’s chest hair. No offence, Mumbo.”

“Some taken, mate, I’m not gonna lie.”

Scar pouts. “You don’t want to lick my–?”

“Ladies, gentlemen, and uh, sentient mosses,” says Impulse, returning with the shot glasses. Pearl has given up on proceedings entirely, sinking down to sit against one of the table legs and looking distinctly out of it. Not out of it enough, however, to have surrendered the prosecco bottle she has in a death-grip. “If we could maybe get back on track with the competition…?”

“How’re we scoring this?” asks Grian, because of course he does. Grian plays to win, after all.

“Uhhh.” Impulse, preoccupied with setting the slightly precarious shot glasses down on Mumbo and Scar’s belly without spilling them, flounders. “I was thinking maybe, like, speed, and style, and… Spanish-ness…?”

“Tequila’s from Mexico, idiot,” interjects Bdubs, helpfully.

“Mexican-ness, then.”

“None of us are from Mexico, though,” Grian points out. “Or Spain. Or anywhere in South America or Europe, actually.”

“Fine! Fine, speed and style, fine, can we just– god, I need a drink. Can we get this over with so I can get a drink?” Impulse’s voice has picked up the whining desperation of a man powerfully regretting several recent life choices.

“Yes,” agrees Bdubs, emphatically. “I would really like to get started, oh yes.” He’s looking at Scar, laid out on the table, as though he’s a slab of particularly well-cooked steak. Scar – somewhat worryingly – preens beneath his hungry gaze.

Mumbo’s relieved when Grian, deciding for reasons known only to himself to be reasonable for once in his life, tosses Impulse a casual salute by way of agreement.

“Alright.” Impulse inhales, and exhales, as though to centre himself. Or perhaps brace himself. Either way, it adds an unexpected gravity to the situation which Mumbo could really do without. Bad enough he’s shirtless on a table covered in salt, without it feeling like some big deal. “Ready, everyone? Right. Lime slices in your mouths, Scar and Mumbo. Bdubs and Grian– On your marks. Get set. Go!”

Grian goes for speed. He’s done the shot, licked the salt, and bitten the lime out of Mumbo’s mouth before Mumbo even really knows what’s happened. He’s kind of grateful for it, honestly – like ripping a bandaid off.

Bdubs, of course, goes for style.

The noise Scar makes as Bdubs drags a tongue up his belly is positively pornographic. Bdubs is flushed red-cheeked from the shot, and Scar is flushed red from a tongue dragged across sensitive skin and taut muscle. By the time Bdubs cranes his head up to take the lime from Scar’s mouth, it’s more of a lewd, open-mouthed kiss than anything else. It’s like watching a train wreck. None of them can look away.

“…Well.” Impulse clears his throat, awkwardly. His nose looks a little pink. Even odds on whether it’s from the alcohol, or the display he’s just witnessed. “I, uh… I think I’m gonna have to call that one for Scar and Bdubs, guys? Um.”

Scar whoops, gleeful. “Yes! Bdubs, it’s official. We’re the best.”

“I,” announces Bdubs, with the smug delight of a man who’s just licked a line of salt off of Scar Goodtimes’s abs and gotten an award about it, “am going to find us some more tequila. To celebrate.”

He’s gone before any of them have the time – let alone the inclination or recovered cognitive faculties – to point out that that’s probably a bad idea.

There’s a long moment of silence, as they all slowly come to terms with what they’ve just done.

“Oh, god,” says Grian, miserably, breaking the quiet. He sticks two fingers in his mouth, and comes back with something dark and wiry clutched between them. “I’ve got bloody– Mumbo hair, in my mouth–”

Mumbo is not looking at Grian. Mumbo is busy staring at Scar, still laid out across the table and looking quite pleased with himself. “Yeah, well,” he says, “I think the rather more pressing issue is that Scar’s got–”

“Absolutely no need to comment on that,” says Scar, cheerfully, finally sitting up. There’s still a little salt clinging to his abs, shimmering and crystalline. It draws the eye to it, and then encourages the eye to move further down, to his happy trail, and then on to his– “Perfectly natural reaction to getting your stomach licked. You wouldn’t shame a man for his natural reactions, now, would you, Mumbo?”

Suddenly unable to make eye contact with Scar, Mumbo averts his gaze. As he does, he mutters something that sounds remarkably like, “Bloody well would.”

He is, once again, ignored.

Scar is saved from having to discuss the particulars of his natural reactions by a loud crash from the opposite side of the room. Grian, sensing trouble occurring that he’s not yet involved with, whips his head around with velociraptor-like enthusiasm and speed.

“Bdubs, please, I just really think you don’t need any more–”

“I won!” Bdubs is yelling, holding the bottle of half-full tequila above his head as high as he can – which, given his height, is not very. Somehow, despite being far taller and significantly more sober, Xisuma’s attempts at grabbing it are going exceedingly poorly indeed. “I won, I licked Mayor Scar so, so good and I won, which means I get to celebrate, okay? With tequila.”

“No– no, Bdubs, you– come on, please, that’s very– you know what you get like when you drink too much of that, please, I really don’t–”

“Let him drink!” yells Keralis, from the sidelines, with both his characteristic lasciviousness and the motivated enthusiasm of a man who had an excellent time last time Bdubs drank too much tequila. “It’s a democracy, Shishwammy. Let Bubbles drink! Or at least let us vote on whether he can drink. I vote yes.”

If it goes to a vote, Mumbo knows, Xisuma will lose. Keralis is not the only person who had an excellent time last time Bdubs drank too much tequila. Far from it, in fact.

“Bdubs–” wails Xisuma, now weeping openly. Bdubs is stanced for combat, knees bent and arms wide like a sumo wrestler, the neck of the tequila bottle gripped in one fist. His moss hoodie and undershirt, somewhere in the proceedings, have vanished from his body. A circle of interested Hermits, sensing the evening’s entertainment, is beginning to gather around the scene.

Scar, Grian, and Mumbo watch from the other side of the room in companionable silence for a long moment – soaking up the general chaos, and attempting to process what’s just happened, respectively.

Then Scar swings his legs off the table, and stands up, with an admirable amount of grace and balance for a man nine cocktails down and counting. It’s an ongoing, server-wide mystery that Scar somehow becomes more coordinated and better with his words when drunk, and it’s always struck Mumbo as deeply unfair. “…Do you think we should go help?” he asks, mildly, watching Xisuma make yet another failed grab for the tequila.

“Absolutely not,” says Mumbo, immediately and very firmly.

As he watches, Bdubs downs two large mouthfuls of the tequila without flinching, and manages to duck Xisuma’s lunge with the poise of a ballet dancer. Xisuma, regrettably helmetless, lunges head-first into a table full of bottles instead. The resulting crash shakes the floorboards. “I do not want to get mixed up in that, thank you.”

“I think we should go and make it worse, actually,” says Grian, brightly. He is, Mumbo notices, holding a prosecco bottle – prised from Pearl’s now-empty hands where she’s slumped half-snoring beneath the table. He takes a sip, directly from the bottle, and hums appreciatively.

“Why,” says Mumbo, weakly.

“‘Cos it’ll be funny. Duh.” Grian offers the bottle to Mumbo, and wrinkles his nose when Mumbo doesn’t take it.

“Excellent point, Grian.” Scar swipes the bottle instead, tilting it up and taking a hearty chug – because that’s the part of the evening they’ve gotten to, apparently. Chugging prosecco from a bottle. “See! This is why you’re the brains of the operation. However, consider– you could also go make out in the bathroom.”

“With who?”

Scar strikes a pose, arms out, abs flexed. “With me, of course!”

“Eww. No,” says Grian, as though he hasn’t made out with Scar at nine out of the last ten server parties. Mumbo should know. He’s been keeping track. For the Boatem Pool, of course. It’s important to have those kinds of numbers to crunch, when you’re trying to work out how and when your best friend and your other best friend are going to have sex for the first time. Which is, of course, a perfectly normal thing to be trying to work out, thank you very much.

“I just want you both know,” Mumbo interrupts, “that I want no part in this.”

Grian turns to look at him, and Mumbo quails beneath the intensity of the mischief in his gaze. “What,” he says, “not even the bathroom makeouts?” as though he hadn’t been objecting to said makeouts mere moments ago.

Mumbo is just a heartbeat too slow in his denial.

“Mumbo. Mumbo!” says Scar, brightly. He’s grinning at him, a salesman’s smile, a snake’s smile, all teeth and smirk. “If you want the rewards of bathroom makeouts, you have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of doing crimes with us! You should know that by now.”

“What does that mean?!” Mumbo’s beginning to wish he’d taken the prosecco when it was offered.

“It means you should come with me and we can both take our pants off in front of Xisuma,” whispers Scar, secretively. “As a distraction. So Grian can do crimes, while everyone’s distracted by our ahmayzin’, uhhh– underwear.”

Scar’s natural reaction, Mumbo cannot help but notice, has not quite subsided yet. And, despite his trousers sitting low on his hips, there’s not so much as hint of underwear peeking out above the waistband.

“Underwear,” Mumbo repeats, slowly. “Right.”

“Absolutely not,” says Grian, but Scar is already gone, sprinting towards the Hermits ringing Xisuma and Bdubs’ ongoing tequila battle. “No! Scar–! Keep your damn pants on!” And then he’s gone, too, chasing after Scar. Or the promise of chaos.

Or, more realistically, both.

In their aftermath, Mumbo sinks – miserable, shirtless, belly hair still faintly damp from being licked – to the floor. Consumed by his own bewilderment, it takes him a moment to realise there’s a hand on his head. Pearl, apparently awake again, is petting his hair gently.

“There, there, mate,” she says, sympathetically. Her eyes are bleary, but her hands are remarkably steady as she pulls a fresh bottle of prosecco from god-knows-where and uncorks it with her teeth in a manoeuvre that leaves Mumbo staring, impressed. “Prosecco?”

“…Yeah, actually,” says Mumbo, as the noises of tequila-based disaster from the other side of the room increase, abruptly, in volume. “Yeah. You know what? Why not.”

They sit in silence for a moment, watching the chaos unfolding. Xisuma is on the floor, weeping. Bdubs is shirtless, teeth bared, wielding a now mostly-empty bottle of tequila. Scar is invisible through the throng of other hermits now watching, heckling, egging them on – but Grian is yelling, “Scar! Put your trousers back on!”, which gives them a pretty clear mental picture.

“They’re going to have sex in that bathroom, aren’t they?” says Mumbo, absently, after a while. The prosecco has settled, warm and fizzy, in bottom of his already thoroughly alcohol-lined stomach. A pair of trousers just flew out of the middle of the Hermit huddle, which is rapidly looking less like a circle and more like an active, good-natured brawl.

“Yeah. Probably.” Pearl pauses, thoughtfully, and makes grabby hands at the prosecco bottle. Mumbo obediently passes it over. “That is, if they don’t just give up and fuck right in the middle of the party.”

Mumbo ignores that last bit, because if he starts thinking about that then he’s a bit concerned he’s going to have a natural reaction of his own. Across the room, Bdubs has begun wailing in misery, in the way only Bdubs can. “I should probably be there,” he says. “If they are. For Boatem Pool purposes, you know?”

“Boatem Pool purposes,” repeats Pearl, solemnly. “Totally.”

She passes the prosecco back, and fist-bumps the bottle in solidarity when he takes it. And then they sit there, in silence, sharing the rest of the drink between them as the sounds of tequila-based disaster fill the rest of the room.

[maiverie]

vice versa — ft. yang jungwon (preview kinda)

you have a date with your crush. you’re also trapped in a boy’s body. what the fuck now?

synopsis: you’ve been in love with park sunghoon for years. five gruelling, torturous years. and barring that one time you sharted (shit + farted, duh) in your pants in front of the whole school, sunghoon has never noticed you — until one day, you finally summon the courage and ask him out to a date. . . and he fucking agrees.

obviously, you completely lose your shit. you’re over the moon. you can’t stop smiling. you even brag to your cat about how you and sunghoon are going to grow old with five thousand children in a cottage home with a white picket fence.

however, in a horrific turn of events, you suddenly wake up on the morning of said date and find yourself in a boy’s body. it’s not just any boy’s, either — it’s yang jungwon’s, who, by the way, does not have your best interests at heart.

pairing: yang jungwon x fem!reader

genres: romance, crack, fluff, light fantasy, high school | oneshot

au(s): body swap au, k-drama inspired, “no no no no this cannot be fucking happening why do i literally have a penis no no no no no WAIT FUCK I HAVE A DATE WITH MY DREAM MAN IN LIKE THREE HOURS???” au, jungwon likes to tease you, crack galore <3

contents: a series of unfortunate events in which u simp for the untouchable ice prince sunghoon but get severely cucked by the fact that u and jungwon swap bodies ☺ —or— you and jungwon are the main characters of a modern fairytale (crack version) and somehow fall in love ?!

warnings: swearing, lowercase intended, some crude humor

spotify playlist !

a/n: yes this fic will be absolute chaos BUT IM SAUR READY FOR THISSSS :DD this is actually my entry into ely’s collab; the theme is ‘k-drama inspired’ so i picked secret garden bc i thought body swap romcom would be funny SKDJF anyway omg i hope u give this fic a chance! :> thank u sm for checking this out ehhe <3

taglist is open for when this is released ! :>

PREVIEW NOTES

full release date tba. definitely before dec 7 (collab deadline) though hehe

est. word count: 10k+

taglist is OPEN for anybody that would like to be notified when this oneshot is released :> just send an ask, dm or reply !

everyone on the perm taglist will be automatically tagged !!

please support me via liking, reblogging w tags & interacting! ♡ thank u sm for reading, hope u enjoy this one :> my other works can be found here.

[morganaspendragonss]

so so many thanks to everyone who read even one of these stories. i am forever grateful for all the support i've received; every comment, every kudos, every reblog, every like - they all mean so much. i'm overwhelmed, honestly, but in the very best way. ily all 🥰

day one: against all odds (we're still here) for @trkstrnd

Carlos will hate himself for it later, but he’s so focused on his task that the screech of tires coming around the corner barely registers as a blip on his radar. He doesn’t notice anything until TK suddenly barrels into him, throwing Carlos to the side just before something else, something heavy, crashes into them with a blinding flash of pain, and then—

Nothing.

*

a simple trip to the grocery store quickly turns to disaster for tk and carlos

day two: out, damned spot for anon

TK wakes up gasping, choking on air. The sheets are suffocating him and, when he tries to free himself, they only seem to get tighter. The hands reaching out for him, trying to calm him, are the final straw; TK throws himself from bed and sprints to the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind him as he collapses against the sink.

On some level, he is aware that the hands were Carlos’s, that the sheets were theirs, that his hands are clean, and that the dream was just a dream.

But they weren't always that way.

day three: the meetings for those in my wake for @freddieholic

For years after the divorce, Gwyn came to learn that any call from Owen was almost certainly bad news, and almost always about their son. Things have been better in the three years since her time in Texas, which is why she thinks nothing of it when he calls just after she’s put Isaac to bed for the night.

“Owen, hey,” she greets. “What’s up?”

The silence she’s answered with is the first sign that something’s wrong.

The sob that follows is the second.

“Gwyn, it’s TK. He's... They think we should say goodbye."

day four: a friend in me for 📍 anon

Carlos has come to see Nancy as a force of nature, a woman who will let nothing and no-one stand in her way, whether that’s out on the field or during a game of Monopoly. But, right now, as she sits hunched over in one of the interrogation rooms, shock blanket around her shoulders, he's never seen her look so small.

or

the story of how nancy and carlos become the new champions of 126 games nights

day five: truth is heavier than fiction for anon

Carlos pauses with his hand on the doorknob, taking a moment to prepare himself before going inside. TK’s shift finished an hour ago and he’d texted to let Carlos know he was home, which means Carlos is going to be walking right into a conversation he’d rather avoid.

Not that he’d have much choice either way; he might be able to cover his cracked and bruised ribs for a little while, but the arm in a sling will tell on him as soon as the door opens. Carlos doesn’t want to hide his injuries—they’ve had enough conversations in reverse on that theme to make him a hypocrite if he did—but he may have made some choices that he doesn’t particularly want to go into right now. Not while he’s tired and aching and just wants to cuddle with his boyfriend.

He blows out a breath, then opens the door, bracing himself for TK’s reaction.

“Hey— Shit!”

day six: slowly, and then all at once for @pragmaticoptimist34

The realisation that he loves Carlos hits him like a bolt out of the blue.

And at the worst possible moment.

We are getting updates on the active shooter situation at the Four Seasons Hotel. Austin Police Department have closed off the area and officers are currently preparing to enter the building to detain the suspect. It is as yet unknown if there have been any civilian casualties, but—

“Paul, turn the damn TV back on.”

“No.”

*

five times tk can't admit his feelings about carlos, and one time he finally does

day seven: the promise of tomorrow for anon

Up until five minutes ago, Carlos had been terrified of never having TK in his arms again. Now, the thought of letting him go scares him just as much, and TK seems to feel the same, if the way he’s clutching at Carlos’s jacket and pulling it tight across his back is any indication.

Carlos hugs him close, sinking down to his knees as TK falls into the chair behind him, letting the rest of the room fade away to nothing as he realises that they weren’t too late—that TK is here, with him, alive and mostly whole.

day eight: we'll hold each other soon for @221bsunsettowers

“Be careful, please,” TK said, smoothing down the lapels of Carlos’s shirt. “Whatever happens out there, whatever you have to do, just promise me one thing. Promise you’ll come back to me.”

Carlos knew better than to promise something like that, and TK knew better than to ask it. But because it was him, and because it was TK, Carlos just nodded and leaned in to press a kiss to TK’s temple.

“I promise,” he whispered, pulling away.

It's the last good memory Carlos has, and he's going to hold onto it for as long as he has left. If he's going to die, then the last thing he wants to see is TK's smile.

day nine: now i am just but the wayward man for anon

Ben is glaring at him again.

Klaus is very familiar with this specific glare—it’s the one Ben breaks out when Klaus is being ‘stubborn’ and ‘stupid’ and ‘a fucking asshole junkie with no self-respect who only cares about the next high and, really, it’s a fucking miracle you haven’t gotten yourself killed yet, Klaus’.

He has to hand it to him. Ben really does have him down to a tee.

*

winter is approaching and klaus has nowhere to go. his siblings are his only option—meaning he effectively has no options.

day ten: i can't imagine my life without you for 📍 anon

It had come completely out of left field—one minute everything was fine, the next Carlos had turned to him with guarded eyes and a clenched jaw, and said six words that sent TK’s whole world crashing down.

“I think we need a break.”

*

nobody likes to be asked 'trouble in paradise?', particularly when the answer is yes.

day eleven: start again from the beginning for anon

Owen trusts his son. He’s watched TK fight his addiction and stay sober for the last six years, and he has faith that he can handle himself.

But when TK doesn’t show up for work the night after proposing to Alex, Owen knows that something is wrong. After all, they've been here before.

day twelve: let me love you when your heart is tired for anon

TK knows it’s going to be a bad day from the moment he opens his eyes. Slowly, slowly, each twitch like he’s moving mountains, he inches his hand blindly across the bed to reach out for Carlos. If he can just feel his boyfriend, if he can just see him—

But, of course. Carlos has a shift today. TK has a vague recollection of him getting out of bed at five this morning, rousing him with a shift to the mattress and a gentle kiss on the forehead.

If this were a normal day, he might smile at the memory.

day thirteen: couldn't utter my love when it counted for 📍 anon

TK takes his time in the bathroom, stopping to stare at his reflection in the mirror for several minutes and trying to talk himself down from any more-than-friendly feelings towards Carlos.

Later, they’ll tell him that this saved his life.

But that won’t be for a long time, until after the smoke has cleared and the dead have been counted and the statements have been taken. For now, TK steels his resolve and nods at himself, then turns to the door, a hand reaching out for the handle.

That’s when the explosion rips through the building.

*

after the boba date, tk lets carlos go. they're friends, which is working just fine, until a horrific accident threatens to take even that away from them.

day fourteen: if i walk out the door (a thousand eyes) for anon

TK gets this feeling sometimes, a sort of prickling at his back, like someone’s behind him, breathing down his neck. At first, it was only a once-in-a-while situation, so he thinks nothing of it; when it becomes an everyday occurrence, he starts to wonder, but he’s probably just being paranoid. The shooting, kidnapping, firehouse explosion, and the fire at his and Carlos’s house had all taken their toll, and TK’s just generally more on edge these days.

He doesn’t tell anyone about the feeling, not even Carlos. There’s no reason to fuck up everyone else’s peace with something so stupid. It’ll go away eventually; TK’s sure of it.

That is, until one of the lots just down from the firehouse gets occupied.

day fifteen: find you here inside the dark for @fanfic-corner

Yaz has walked this room too many times to count now; she’s traced her fingertips over the walls, searching for any cracks or crevices to indicate where there might be a door.

If the Doctor were here, she’d have her sonic out by now, spitting out words, only half of which Yaz could understand. She’d find a way out in no time. Or, if not, at least she’d be here. Talking a mile a minute, probably annoying the hell out of their captors. Yaz can almost hear her now—

Wait.

She can hear her now.

day sixteen: accidents happen for @ilovemosss

So, Jason reflects, it may not have been the best idea to take Pythagoras out training while they’re all suffering from a severe lack of sleep. Being the more logical of them, Pythagoras, to his credit, had attempted to talk him out of it, but Jason ignored him.

He very much regrets that decision now.

day seventeen: you and me (moving through this world as a two-man team) for @laelipoo

TK does not have a crush on the 126's latest hire.

Carlos Reyes: an Austin local, an incredible firefighter, and—objectively speaking—the most beautiful man TK has ever laid eyes on. Which is, in fact, the entire point; TK has eyes and, yes, he will use them to sneak a look or two when he’s suddenly sharing space with a man who looks like a Greek god.

That does not mean he has a crush, Paul.

(and, sure, maybe he does sometimes dream about how soft Carlos’s lips look and the little blush he gets when he laughs and those little flecks of gold in his eyes, but he’s only human)

(how TK knows about the gold in Carlos’s eyes is none of anybody’s business)

day eighteen: in perfect harmony for @anyotherheartwilldo

Here’s the thing—Carlos doesn’t believe in signs. He used to when he was younger, raised on his abuela’s stories, but as he’d gotten older his father had taught him that what mattered was the choices he made. He’s the only one who has a say in the way his life turns out, and if he wants something, he has to put in the work to get it.

But there comes a point—namely, after his fifth thwarted attempt to propose to TK—when he begins to wonder if the universe really does have something against him.

*

proposing to tk proves far more complicated than carlos had first thought.

day nineteen: whatever here that's left of me (is yours) for anon

“Are you…” TK leans closer, peering at the hoodie Carlos is wearing, and—yep. “Why are you wearing my hoodie? Was there nothing in your size from the crew? You should have said something. We can fix this, you don’t need to be uncomfortable.”

There’s a beat, and then Carlos, studiously avoiding TK’s gaze, clears his throat. “It smells like you.”

*

post-2.12, carlos finds comfort in tk's hoodies.

day twenty: can't smile without you for anon

Carlos would be lying to himself if the possibility hadn’t occurred to him before. He has always worried for TK’s safety, and the knowledge that a serial killer is on the loose in Austin has sent that worry skyrocketing. Especially because he’s the lead detective on the case; he’s spent hours poring over horrific crime scenes, examining all the facts until they’re burned into his brain.

Admittedly, the killers seem to be mostly indiscriminate in who they take, meaning the chances of it being TK are slim.

But there’s still a chance.

*

a before, during, and after of tk's kidnapping in a hole where your memory goes

day twenty-one: lately you've been searching for a darker place to hide for @freddieholic

“Can I ask you something else?”

TK stiffens at the sound of Mateo’s voice, a nervous note to it that wasn’t there last time. Something tells him he knows exactly what Mateo wants to ask; still, he turns to lean against the counter, crossing his arms as casually as he can manage. “Sure.”

“Are you…” Mateo trails off, biting his lip and avoiding TK’s gaze. “I mean, do you… I mean—”

“You can say it, you know,” he interrupts, not unkindly. “If you want to know if I’m thinking about heading out and getting high, then just ask.”

*

five times tk turns to unhealthy coping mechanisms when he wants to use + one time he finally asks for help

day twenty-two: know me crazy, soothe me daily for anon

It had freaked Carlos out the first time it happened.

“It was a seizure,” TK explained, after Carlos had finished telling him about it. TK had been disoriented and confused for about ten minutes after, and couldn’t even remember half of their earlier conversation. “I… It’s because of the drugs. They fucked something up in my brain, especially after my first overdose, and now I get seizures occasionally."

*

in which carlos gets a little over-protective and tk is mildly exasperated

day twenty-three: lover, be good to me for anon

Carlos holds his arms out, and TK comes willingly, setting what Carlos now recognises as a tray of food carefully on the bed. “What’s this?”

TK stares as if it’s obvious. “Date night.”

“What?”

TK pauses, then gasps. “You’re right.” He pats himself down frantically, then pulls an object out of his pocket with a dramatic flourish. It’s a little electric tea light—real candles long since banned from the bedroom—and Carlos watches in bemusement as TK flicks it on and sets it down on the tray. “Now it’s date night.”

*

his fiancé being bed-bound isn't going to keep tk from date night

day twenty-four: bring you in from the cold for anon

As a cop, Carlos has always been uncomfortably aware of his own mortality. He’s considered his own death more than is probably healthy, but when you’re facing down the barrel of a gun almost every single day, it’s kind of forced on you.

He’s imagined himself being shot, stabbed, strangled, and everything in between.

But he’s not sure he ever pictured dying in a walk-in freezer after getting trapped there by mistake.

day twenty-five: heaving through corrupted lungs for anon

TK is itching to go home and check on Carlos, to make sure he’s still breathing and actually resting like he’s supposed to be. On the other hand, Carlos would probably kill him if he left work, illness be damned. It’s just… Carlos had looked so ill that morning, skin ashen and voice all but gone, and it had taken a lot of convincing for TK to still go to his own shift. He’d insisted on making sure Carlos had all the blankets and water and snacks and anything else he could possibly want, but even so, he’s still uneasy.

His gut is telling him that something’s wrong, and TK doesn’t think he can ignore it for much longer.

*

when carlos falls ill, they think it's just a bad cold. but when tk goes to check on him, he's in for a nasty shock.

day twenty-six: slowly becoming lovers for @pragmaticoptimist34

Things don’t get fixed overnight. They agree to give them a shot, but that doesn’t change the fact that TK is still reeling from his break-up and overdose, nor that Carlos is still hesitant and afraid of pushing too hard at once.

But, slowly, they get to know each other. And, slowly, they start to fall in love.

*

tk and carlos, getting to know each other and falling in love

day twenty-seven: and curse the gods for @girlwhowasntthere

Jason knows what it is to be cursed.

day twenty-eight: ignoring every warning for @moviegeek03

TK is fine.

He is absolutely, 100% fine.

And, sure, maybe he’s not supposed to be at work right now, and maybe his hand hasn’t fully healed yet, but it’s nothing. His doctor cleared him to go back to work, which means it’s healed enough, and TK is certainly not going to admit defeat no matter how much he's hurting.

day twenty-nine: can you beat back the night? for @girlwhowasntthere

He misses the bard. Geralt won’t admit it, not even to Roach, but he misses him. After months—years—of Jaskier’s constant chatter and the sound of his lute, the silence, once valued above all else, is too much.

It’s been months since the dragon, since Geralt lost both Yennefer and Jaskier in one fell swoop. He’s cursed himself many times over for the words he said—to both of them—and cursed himself more for the mistakes he made to get in this position in the first place.

*

this is the lot of witchers, to be alone.

day thirty: ease my mind for @silvarafael

Briefly, Carlos considers calling TK and telling him about the accident. But… He only broke two of his fingers and it barely even classifies as a minor injury in his book, so there’s really no reason to bother his fiancé while he’s still on shift himself. He pockets his phone then looks around to figure out where the exit is.

Only, an all-too familiar laugh distracts him from his task, drawing his attention to the nurses station.

Where TK is standing, smiling as a nurse swats at him for stealing one of their lollipops.

Carlos is, beyond doubt, fucked.

day thirty-one: scars turn to memories for anon

Their front door is open. It’s wide open, and the wood of the door frame is broken, splinters littering the driveway and the floor of the front room. TK’s heart stops in his chest as he surveys the scene, his brain going blank, struggling to comprehend what he’s seeing.

Everything is quiet in the front room, not even a table setting out of place. TK creeps further into their home, his every nerve on edge as he barely breathes for fear of alerting whoever’s here of his presence.

And then, he remembers.

Carlos was off shift tonight. He was here. Alone.

[fireladybuckley]

A Thousand Knives of Ice

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                                              * * *

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

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

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

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

                                                               * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                                              * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                                              * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

             “Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              “I love you too.”

                                                            * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                                         * * * 

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

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

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

[stiltonbasket]

a not-so-small preview of another twelve moons fic

no seriously this is over a thousand words y’all please comment/reblog this

**brief note for anyone who hasn’t read The Moon Was But a Coin of Gold; Jin Yun is Jin Guangyao’s reincarnation, born about ten years after his death at the Guanyin Temple as Jin Chan’s only son and Jin Ling’s nephew.

Jin Yun often thinks of the day Jin Guangyao's tomb was finally brought back to the Jinlintai, and of how he swayed on his feet and fell into a dead faint when Ling-shushu took him to light incense at the grave, and how he refused to enter the room where Lianfang-zun and Qin Su lay together in state until he was nearly twenty.

And now, faced with the evidence, Jin Yun can no longer deny it. All the proof is in front of him: his gut-wrenching agony whenever anyone called Lan Xiaohui the son of a whore, his strange, almost insistent fondness for spicy foods despite being born and raised in Lanling, where most dishes are mildly sweet, and even the dreams he keeps having of a young Lan Xichen looking at him in nothing short of adoration—and last but not least his own love for Zewu-jun, which was born the instant he first saw the man and has never faltered since. 

Why was that smile so familiar to him, when he only saw it for the first time on the day of his formal naming ceremony? Why was he always so certain that Zewu-jun was a beautiful swordmaster, even though he never once saw him wield Shuoyue until the night he died? Why was he grieved by the fact that Lan Xichen scarcely ever laughed, when his laughter was always a rare and beautiful thing as far as Jin Yun can remember?

He thinks of what his Ling-shushu told him once, that Zewu-jun has been in mourning since Ling-shushu was a toddler, and wonders if Zewu-jun ever knew that the boy he gave up his core and his life to protect was the same man who broke his very soul more than forty years ago. 

"You saved my life, and I repaid it with death," Zewu-jun whispered with his second-to-last breath, on that horrible cold night in the cave just after he regrew Jin Yun's missing hand. "It was all my fault, A-Yun. Forgive me, A-Yao, I...I'm sorry."

Suddenly, Jin Yin remembers being very small, wrapped in a length of embroidered golden silk and cradled in his mother's arms with laughter and talk echoing all around them...and then he recalls the feeling of his mother passing him to someone else, and being frightened when she let go of him. 

But the arms he found himself in after that were just as warm as hers, just as gentle, and his tiny flailing fists had caught on a lock of soft black hair and tugged violently until the man bent down and kissed that little misbehaving hand instead of pushing it away.

He wanted to stay in that soft embrace, listening to a deep, slow heartbeat that was both completely unfamiliar and as well-known to him as his own. But then the warm lips pressed to his cheek were gone, and he was with his mother again: as heartbroken as a baby could be, crying at the top of his tiny lungs for someone he lost long ago before he could try to find them, someone he could never have and never, never keep, because he had broken their bond of trust before he was even born.

Lan Xichen caught that same hand in his and kissed it as he died, the same little hand that once tangled in his hair in a desperate attempt to cling to him when Jin Yun was only a bare month old, and he wonders if Zewu-jun knew what he had died for, and whom—if he would have hated Jin Yun if he did, and let the spider-demon take him, or if he recognized the sworn brother who betrayed him in Jin Yun's youthful face and gave up his life for him anyway.

But Zewu-jun had mourned Jin Guangyao, and it was said that he only ever touched Shuoyue again in the direst emergencies after it spilled his xiao-di's blood. He mourned Jin Guangyao as he mourned Nie Mingjue, whom everyone claimed had been his beloved, though never within Zewu-jun's hearing; and when Jin Yun met him again as a boy of twelve, he was mourning Jin Guangyao still, because Jin Yun saw him visiting the crypt where Lianfang-zun was buried with blue gentians in his arms and Ling-shushu at his side. 

And then, as his grief-stricken dreams cloud over, he finds himself being pulled up into a familiar embrace, because Jin Yun seems to be a child again, cradled in the arms of a ray of moonlight made solid and clad all in white and silver—almost like a cloud reflecting fresh snow, or perhaps a single fallen star suspended in clear, cold water. 

"I will come to you in life and in death, A-Yun," the kindly ghost tells him, wrapping Jin Yun's little body up in his own outer robe like he often used to do with his younger grandchildren before he died. "If you are ill, call for me and I will heal you, and if your heart is heavy, I will help you carry its burdens as well as I can. You were not at fault for any of it, and I would have held you just as dear even if you were."

"I was Jin Guangyao, wasn't I?" he asks, burying his face in Zewu-jun's soft gown and trying not to cry. "Wasn't I? Before, I mean?" 

But Lord Mercy only holds him tighter, blanketing him in a soothing warmth that reaches his very soul despite the touch of his new healing flute on Jin Yun's cheek—a flute made of cracked ice clearer than diamond, in place of his white-bamboo Liebing—and sways back and forth like a willow bending in the wind, or like a sleepy mother too tired to sing her baby to slumber, but whose body took on the task of soothing the precious little son or daughter in her place. 

"Jin Guangyao was my A-Yao, whatever else he was," he says quietly. "And Jin Yun has always been my A-Yun."

Whatever evil Jin Guangyao did, I loved him with all my heart, Jin Yun hears instead. And whoever Jin Yun is, or might have been, I love him, too.

"You should have hated me," Jin Yun whimpers, clinging even harder as a soft, satin cheek presses itself to his little forehead. "Why didn't you hate me?" 

Lan Xichen is silent for a while, and then he speaks in a lulling, lilting voice that is both like and unlike the cadence it had in life; because the very sound of his breath brings healing to those who hear it now, and everything he says brings peace to Jin Yun, too.

"If my hand, of its own will, severed my own feet and left me lame, would I not still want to keep it?" he murmurs. "I could not be whole again, certainly, but I could try to be as whole as I could with what I had left. Do you understand, A-Yun?"

And somehow, inexplicably, Jin Yun realizes that he does.

[iambuckyrogers]

Truly Madly Deeply

Summary: It’s your wedding day and everything seems to be going wrong. Can Tony step in and save the day?

Word Count: 1,967

Warnings: pure fluff

Pairing: Tony Stark x Avenger!Reader

Authors note: Written for @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan playlist challenge. My prompt was Truly Madly Deeply by Savage Garden who is one of my FAVOURITE Aussie bands and this song is so beautiful it took me a while to write something which I felt did the song justice. I hope you enjoy it, likes and reblogs are always appreciated!! xx

Prompt: Truly Madly Deeply // I’ll be your hope, I'll be your love, be everything that you need. I love you more with every breath, truly madly deeply

Your wedding day was supposed to be the happiest day of your life, right? Wrong. From the moment you woke up that morning everything started going downhill. Your alarm hadn’t gone off so Natasha had to break into your room to wake you up. You had several missed calls from the florist and a message letting you know that the flowers you had ordered were delayed due to a storm preventing their delivery from the farm. It couldn’t get any worse, could it? Wrong again. Your parents plane had been cancelled, the celebrant had been involved in a minor accident on their way to the compound making them unable to perform the ceremony and on top of that your veil was missing and sometime during the night your cat had decided that your wedding dress made a good scratching post and ripped the delicate material to shreds. Despite all of these setbacks you pushed on, determined to not let anything ruin your day. Thankfully your make up and hair went off without a hitch which renewed your confidence in the day. Everything was running relatively smoothly until you put your dress on, any hope that the damage wasn’t as bad as you thought it looked was quickly quashed when you caught your reflection in the mirror. You flung yourself dramatically onto your bed Disney princess style as tears threatened to ruin your mascara.

“Y/N/N it’s not that bad you can barely tell,” Nat soothed, rubbing her hand up and down your back.

“Honest, Y/N it looks fine,” Wanda agreed.

“You’re both terrible liars,” you whined, “I’m not getting married, not today, not in this.”

“Y/N, don’t do this,” Nat pleaded.

“Today is supposed to be perfect, the happiest day of my life and nothing about this,” you wave your hands around and gestured to the dress, “is perfect.”

“Ok, fine we’ll give you some space, just please think before you make any rash decisions.” The door to your room clicked shut and as if it was a trigger, tears began falling thick and fast from your red-rimmed eyes. You knew it was weak and selfish to cry, you had everything to be happy about, you were going to marry the man of your dreams in a beautiful location surrounded by your friends and yet here you were, balling your eyes out and ruining your make up. A soft knock at the door pulled you from your self-pitying spiral.

“Come in,” you sniffled, trying your best to hide the evidence of your tears.

“Babe,” Tony’s soft voice came from the doorway. He was stood leaning against the doorframe in a soft grey suit with his white undershirt half buttoned.

“You know it’s bad luck to see me in my dress,” you tried to joke but your voice cracked. Tony laughed softly, moving to sit next to you on the bed. He cupped your face gently in his hand, wiping a stray tear from your cheek with a calloused thumb.

“You should know by now that I don’t care much for rules. Especially when there is talk that my bride won’t be showing up.” You were afraid to meet his eyes, scared of what you might see.

“Come on baby talk to me.” Tony gently tilted your chin up, studying you with worrisome eyes.

“T-today was supposed to be per-perfect but everything’s turning to shit. Why c-can’t anything in our lives just go to plan,” you choked out between sobs. Tony pulled you into a tight hug.

“Baby, I don’t care if you’re wearing a potato sack, as long as we’re together nothing else matters.” You’re overcome by a new wave of tears, “How about you clean yourself up and meet me on the roof in an hour? We can pop the champagne and watch the sunset, what do you say?”

“Y-yeah ok,” you pulled Tony down into a gentle kiss, “thank you.” Tony winked and pressed a kiss to your temple before leaving you alone in your room once again. You did as he had asked, reapplying your make up and changing into a dusty pink cocktail dress you had been saving for the reception. Making your way to the elevator you noted how quiet the compound had been, neither Nat nor Wanda had come back to see you and the usually bustling living room was dead silent, the team must have been making the most of their time off. You took the elevator to the roof, humming along to the soft music that was playing. As the doors tinged open you were lost for words with the sight that was before you.

A shaggy white carpet stretched from the elevator doors, dusted with gold confetti and pink petals. On either side of the aisle were white wooden chairs draped in pink fabric and behind those chairs stood the Avengers, your adoptive family, smiling warmly at you as you took in your surroundings.

“Y/N/N I found this,” Nat’s soft voice came from beside you, in her outstretched hand sat your veil.

“How? Where?” you asked.

“Long story,” she chuckled as she gently positioned the veil on your head, “perfect,” she whispered pressing a kiss to your cheek before covering your face with the silky lace and handing you a bouquet of white and pink flowers. Next to Nat stood Bucky who offered you his left arm.

“I know I’m not your dad but since I’m the oldest here I thought that it would only be fitting that I walk you down the aisle,” he said before quickly adding, “unless you don’t want me to.” You felt tears spring behind your eyes once again.

“Oh Buck I couldn’t think of anyone better,” you replied, pulling him in for a hug. When you pulled back you brushed your hands down your dress to smooth the non-existent wrinkles and straightened your veil. Taking a deep breath your accepted Bucky’s arm and looked down the aisle. At the end was a white garden arch decorated with pink flowers, greenery and fairy lights which twinkled as the sun set behind you. Underneath the arch stood Steve in the place of the celebrant who smiled at you like a proud dad. Next to him, stood in the same spot where you had shared your first kiss, first I love you’s and where he proposed, was Tony. He gasped in feign shock and bit his fist, his eyes crinkling adorably. Peter was stood next to him, a small speaker in his lap playing the wedding march as you and Bucky made your way down the aisle. A metre or so from Tony, Bucky stopped and lifted the veil off of your face before kissing your cheek and taking a seat at the front. Tony took your hands and closed the distance between the two of you.

“How?” you asked, your mind completely lost for any other words.

“Getordained.org,” Steve answered, “but more about that later.” He shut his eyes and took a breath as if to get into character, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the union of Anthony Edward Stark and Y/Full/N in holy matrimony.” Steve continued, reading meticulously from a sheet of paper, after getting through the nitty gritty he finally reached the good stuff.

“Now for the vows,” he said, “Tony?”

“Y/N/N,” he started, “I knew from that first moment you called me a self-centred bastard that we were destined to be together” you laughed, smacking him lightly on the shoulder, “you’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met, and I vow that I will spend the rest of my life trying to be the kind of man I know you deserve. I’ll be your hope, I'll be your love, be everything that you need. I love you more with every breath, truly madly deeply.” By that point you were a sobbing mess, looking up at Tony through tear-filled eyes you saw his own tears gently track down his face.

“Is the great Tony Stark crying?” you joked through sniffles.

“I think your eyes are playing tricks on you, my love,” he laughed as more tears spilt down his cheeks.

“And Y/N,” Steve interrupted.

“Tone, I am reminded every time I wake up by your side just how damn lucky I am to have you. I vow to stay by your side no matter what, whatever crazy shit you get yourself into, I’ll be right here,” you tap his chest where his heart lies, “Always.”

“My gosh guys you’re just the cutest,” Steve whispered, wiping tears from his own eyes. Composing himself, Steve continued, “Now for the rings, Pete.” Peter came forward carrying a plush pink pillow, on top of which sat 2 rings. One ring was a simple band of gold with three stones set into the metal, one red, one yellow and one blue. The other ring was more intricate, a large diamond was the centrepiece of the ring, the band on either side of the diamond curled gracefully, embellished with red, yellow and blue stones identical to the other ring.

“Oh Tony, they’re perfect,” you gasped.

“Nothing less for my girl,” he sighed, relief evident on his face that you liked his designs.

“Tony, repeat after me,” Steve said the lines as Tony took your left hand in his and slid the ring down your fourth finger.

“I, Anthony Edward Stark, take you, Y/Full/N, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, to love and to cherish, from this day forward,” Tony repeated, a cheek-splitting smile gracing his features. Then it was your turn, you repeated after Steve and slid the ring onto Tony’s finger. When it reached the base of his finger the audience cheered.

“You may now kiss the bride,” Steve announced. Tony swept you into his arms, dipping you back and kissing you like you were the last two people on Earth. You’d kissed Tony thousands of times before but something about this time was different, each brush of his lips against yours sent sparks radiating through your body, which started from your lips and spread right down to your toes. Your hands wound themselves into his hair as he swept his tongue across your bottom lip and deepened the kiss.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Steve cleared his throat, “I present to you Mr and Mrs Stark!” Tony brought you back up to your feet without breaking the kiss. He smiled against your mouth before pulling away, you chased his lips only to be met with a soft chuckle.

“Save some for tonight babe,” he smirked, causing heat to flood to your cheeks. Grabbing your husband by the hand you led him down the aisle as your friends tossed confetti and petals overhead. Husband. Now there was a word that you would have to get used to. Pressing the elevator button you turned back around to bid farewell to your family. Wanda and Nat were clutching each other and crying softly, Peter was snapping photos, Steve and Bucky were clapping politely while Sam stood on a chair whooping and yahooing into the night sky. The elevator dinged open and Tony pulled you inside, but not before you threw your bouquet into the crowd. There was a scuffle, a few grunts and groans before Thor came out of the pack victorious. You and Tony laughed at the god brandishing the flowers as the elevator doors closed.

“What now, Mr Stark?” you asked. Tony kissed you on the temple and pulled you into his side.

“Well Mrs Stark, I do believe we have a plane waiting for us.”

[eleanor-writes-stuff]

a language that i never knew existed before - Day 16

For @nancylovesreylo, who requested a canon-compliant ficlet where Ben finds “this state of mind (with Rey's help, of course!), after a lifetime of struggling (...)”, and @lightaroundthecorner, who asked for a redeemed Ben in or after IX.

Here’s a post-IX ficlet in which it takes being a parent for Ben to fully understand how boundless Han’s love for him must’ve been. Thank you both for inspiring this, and I hope you like it! Happy holidays! 🎄🎁❄️

Reylo fam, it’s not too late to get a Christmas ficlet just yet! We’ve got four prompts left, so drop by and leave a request today!

25 Days of Reylo Also available on AO3

The doorbell rings just as Ben cracks two eggs into a pan, and Rey slides off the kitchen counter before he can so much as turn around.

“I’ll get it,” she assures him, dropping a quick kiss on his shoulder as she walks past.

Ben eyes what’s left of the carton of eggs and decides that they have just enough for a kid-sized omelet. He’s pretty sure his mother wouldn’t have let Meira leave without eating breakfast, but she’s a growing girl who’s been known to put away anything her dad makes for her, so it’s best to be prepared.

“Mama!” A precious, familiar voice shrieks in joy from the living room, and he can just about make out Rey’s laugh as their daughter jumps into her arms. Ben braces himself, turns off the stove and steps away from the counter, because any second now–

Meira comes running into the kitchen and barrels right into him, clinging to one leg like the little monkey that she is. He likes to joke that this part is all Rey, but she’s usually quick to remind him that he’s just as clingy and cuddly and really, between the two of them Meira never stood a chance.

“Daddy, daddy, look what gramma did!” she tells him, tugging excitedly at his hand to guide it through the dozen or so little braided loops on her head. It’s an ancient Alderaanian style he’d never bothered to master, one the Crown Princess would only have worn on very select occasions at a very young age; Leia might very well be the only person in the known galaxy who still knows how to do it, and the idea of his mother combing through Meira’s hair and filling her head with stories of their shared heritage warms his heart even more than the sight of his overexcited daughter.

“You look beautiful, starlight,” Ben murmurs with a smile as he bends down on one knee, earning a little giggle when he playfully tucks one loop over Meira’s ear. “Were you good for gramma?” he asks just as Rey enters the kitchen, alone by the looks of it. He would have liked to say hi to his mother, but then Ben’s reminded of the fact that she lives just two floors above them and he gets to see her all the time now, and for a moment that’s almost enough to distract him from the fact that Meira’s suddenly lost her smile and is quite fixated on the ground for no apparent reason.

Rey crosses the room to join them, gets down on both knees and holds her arms wide open. “Your grandmother said there’s something you’d like to tell us,” she mentions lightly as Meira steps into her arms and hides her face in her mother’s shirt.

They share a look over their daughter’s head. She had her first accident, Rey whispers into their Bond, running a soothing hand up and down Meira’s back for a while before she coaxes the uncharacteristically quiet five-year-old to stand back and face her parents.

“You know you can tell us anything, little love,” Rey says gently, pulling free the braid Ben had looped around Meira’s ear just moments before.

“We won’t be mad,” Ben adds reassuringly, holding out one hand for Meira to wrap her little fingers around his thumb the way she would clutch at a favorite toy or safety blanket if she had one right now.

Meira slowly lifts her eyes from the ground. “That’s what gramma told me,” she mumbles, still not quite looking at her parents. “She said you’ll love me no matter what I do because that’s how being a parent works.”

Come home. We miss you.

There was a time when Ben didn’t understand how a parent’s love works, couldn’t fathom how boundless and forgiving it can be. Now, though– “Well, your gramma is a very smart woman, Meira,” he says, pushing the past to the back of his mind. “There’s nothing in this world that could make us stop loving you, okay? So why don’t you just tell us what happened, starlight?”

Meira busies herself with the important task of dancing her fingertips up and down his palm, forever hoping to unlock a secret tickle spot that’ll disarm him the way her tiny hands on Rey’s feet can send her mother into a fit of shrieks and giggles. He and Rey wait patiently, trading wordless waves of reassurance over the Bond until–

“Ibrokegramma’scrown,” Meira confesses in a single breath, and puts up a token amount of resistance when Ben curls a finger under her chin and brings her eyes up.

“I just…” she trails off, squirming under her parents’ attentive looks. “It’s so pretty, and I wanted to see it again after gramma went to sleep, so I snuck into her room and tried to reach for it but it was too far away but then it started moving but it was stuck but I kept reaching and then suddenly it broke and half of it got stuck in the shelf but the other half broke into a lot of tiny pieces and they were all flying towards me and I screamed and then gramma woke up and then she jumped in front of me and all the tiny pieces hit her back and I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I’m so so so so sorry,” Meira sobs miserably, her big, round eyes filling with tears as she flings herself into Ben’s arms.

Will you help me?

As far as awakenings go, it’s a fairly concerning one. Meira has always been Force-sensitive, they’d known that much the second Rey realized she was pregnant without even taking a test, but as the years went by and nothing manifested, Ben had started to hope–

But none of that matters now. Right now he’s got a crying, scared daughter in his arms, and that’s much more important than the ramifications of this incident and the lump of fear sitting heavy in his stomach.

Yes. Anything.

. . .

Later that night, with his head in his wife’s lap, Ben lets his thoughts wander. “Can you imagine how scared they must’ve been?” he sighs as Rey begins to card her fingers through his hair, and sends her an ancient image of his parents, young and lost and utterly unprepared as they watched their colicky child trash a room with nothing but his mind. He shouldn’t have that memory, shouldn’t have been able to retain something from that young an age, but then again there’s a lot of things Ben shouldn’t have been capable of at that age.

But we’re not them, Rey whispers through the Bond, one finger tracing the shell of his ear. “And Meira isn’t you, cyar’ika,” she says out loud, guessing where his thoughts are headed before he can even travel down that route. It’s an old fear, one that had taken root the day Rey first told him about their baby and lingered all the way until the day she carefully passed Meira into his arms, their little bundle of light, and suddenly all of Ben’s thoughts and fears and nightmares were completely, abruptly silenced as he finally understood–

How his father caressed his face even as he breathed his last breath.

How his mother welcomed him back with open arms even after everything.

How there was – is – nothing he wouldn’t do for his child, nothing that could possibly come between them, nothing he wouldn’t give his life to protect her from.

“She’ll be perfectly fine,” Rey utters calmly, confidently, as their newly Force-awakened child sleeps next door, “because her father would never let anything happen to her.”

And Ben knows, with a certainty he reserves for very, very few things, that Rey is absolutely right about him.

True story: it took me longer to write that last bit than it did to write the thousand words preceding it. I must’ve rewritten the ending at least ten times; it’s still bugging me a bit, but I think this is as good as it’s going to get.

As always, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! Please don’t hesitate to like/reblog/comment; ‘tis the season for giving and all of the kindness, support, and encouragement I've received from you guys so far has truly been the greatest gift of the season. <3

PS - In keeping with Leia and Benjamin, I picked the Hebrew name Meira for this particular Reylo baby. I found several meanings for it, but all of them had something to do with light - so Ben's got his Rey of sunshine, and his Meira of starlight.

[jandjsalmon]

Just wondering if you have any advice on how to go break into the Bughead fic scene? It's so hard coming into a new fandom, because you feel like your writing is falling on deaf ears and its so discouraging no matter how much faith you have in it haha

I don’t know if I’m the right person to ask this because I’ve not posted any Bughead fic before - I’ve just read a lot of it and have become friends with lots and lots of Bughead writers - in fact, I felt so unsure about my answer that I’ve actually asked a couple writer friends their thoughts so I can share them with you as well.

First I wanna say - write write write. Start with drabbles. Answer prompts (there is a whole Bughead prompt community!). And write a good summary. That’s what’s gonna draw people in. You didn’t say whether you’re writing for tumblr or for Ao3 - but either way - a summary is what grabs a reader. The ever wise @mothermaple added to my list with her advice not to say “I suck at summaries” don’t say “it gets better I promise” - Seriously - SELL your work like it’s the best thing the readers are gonna read. Take pride in it, dude.

But that’s all just general writing advice. if you want advice on how to crack the Riverdale fandom there are some things you can do:

My beautiful friend @anactualcaseofthetruth suggests that you read a lot of fic. Read what you like, find what these new readers like. If you have a tumblr, follow a bunch of people, especially the @blueandgoldoffice, the authors you enjoy on ao3 who usually have their accounts linked somehow (even if they change their usernames like they change their underwear *cough*), and then write what YOU enjoy reading. Also - review. Review. Review. Review. This is how you build relationships with other Bughead writers. I actually occasionally reply to other people’s reviews of fics I read (especially if they point out something that made me think of the chapter we just collectively read together differently). Maybe that’s weird - but I’d made several friendships within the fandom that way and it’s extra fun when the author gets involved too. I think that’s how I met @mothermaple in fact (commenting on the gloriousness of Tim Horton’s in her fic - and our friendship just blossomed from there!)

Kay also added (and I’m sure it wasn’t just for my benefit - even though she totally is referring to me. lol)  that she found it helpful to find a beta within the fandom too. She had written like tons of other fics for other fandoms (some of which have over a thousand comments on ff.net) and she said that she’d never used a beta before Riverdale but by asking for help it was also a stepping stone to get into the fandom. Suddenly she had a friend to fangirl with and converse on tumblr with, and that made her feel involved and comfortable sharing her work on tumblr too (since she’d never posted here before). 

And I think there is definitely something to that. Maybe other people can share their experiences cracking into the fandom as well - but having at least one person who is already established in the fandom and sharing your fic with them first (and getting their thoughts, having them help outline and fic plan, and having them fix your tenses) is a great way to build friendships. Then they’re there to reblog your fic very first. They’re there to be excited with you as you go through your process. And sometimes it’s not even about Riverdale per se. I know that Kay and I bonded over our mutual love for Dylan (and Dayna *sobs*) and that was separate from our mutual love for Bughead.

Of course, I could be cynical and just say - tag the living crap out of it - and tag it #bughead and #smut and you’ll get readers… and you will! @juggydunes, MM, and I were just talking last night that sometimes it feels like it doesn’t matter if the writing isn’t super developed - if it’s smutty, it gets readers. And it’s really really important to say that there is TOTALLY a place for fics like that in our fandom too! No judgement here. Pure escapism is fun and there are fic writers who write fics like who are super wonderful people and their fics are super loved and subscribed. It’s also true that these are the fic writers who seem to be embraced by the fandom first. So if you write smut, Grayface - tag it - you’ll be read. 

However - slightly harder to crack is the non-smutty or only somewhat smutty fics. Some of my most favourite fics in the fandom use smut as a garnish to an already amazingly well written fic - with deep plots and character development that is so delicious you can hear the words coming out of Lili’s mouth and see Cole’s body language as the Jughead in the fic leans against a door. Their fics are like a visual representation of things that are even better than we get in canon. I don’t know how these writers got their followings… other than just writing REALLY good fic and having people read it and be blown away by it and then share it. I mean for example - @sylwrites didn’t even have a fandom tumblr until Fall In Light was almost completely over and yet there were dozens of posts devoted to that series here that I’d message her about. She didn’t do a thing other than write stuff she loved and sent it out into the world to be read.

So I’m not sure there is a method of cracking into the fandom if this is how you write…. just keep writing amazing fic that people can get excited about. Promote yourself and be proud of your work. Utilize the Submit Sundays on the Blue and Gold. Make friends… and if that’s a scary prospect for you - try to make ONE friend… who can then introduce you to other friends and get other people excited for your work. 

Fandom is supposed to be fun - and you’re right - our Buggie family is generally pretty loving and kind and supportive. We WANT to be friends with you. We WANT new content and I can guarantee I’m not the only fangirl who gets excited when I read a new fic written by a new to me writer and I’m so excited about it that I want to tell the world about it. :)

Welcome to our fandom, Grayface.

ps. if any of my followers have suggestions - please reblog for my Grayface. Or if any of you want to volunteer as a beta reader or even just to be a friend. Since I don’t know who my Grayface is - I can’t introduce them around - but I’m sure they’re super nice and we already know they love Bughead so we know they have good taste at lease. :D  

[canadian-buckbeaver]

The Dust Brother

Morning Reblog!

I will be entering this story in the Fontcest Tumblr contest so please let me know if you see anything!

Hundreds of years ago, humans had fought a strange war.  A war of humankind versus monsters.  These monsters weren’t like those that you can find within the pages of a book or in a horror film.  For what caused this war, I cannot say, although resources and territory has long since assumed to be the cause.  There is very precious little information that can be found on this topic.  History books and scholars do not tell of this war, wishing for it to remain forgotten, buried away except in the ancient words of legends and fairy tales.  Somehow, at long last, humans had won the bloody and dusty war, and had driven the monsters down to the Underground, sealing them away with a powerful barrier with the remains of human magic.  They swore that the monsters shall stay sealed in the Underground for an eternity, or until seven human souls were used to break the magic barrier.  

The years passed slowly for monsterkind, and very rarely did a human fall down the depths of Mount Ebott.  In the years that Asgore ruled, a total of six souls were hidden under his castle, waiting for the seventh soul to fall.  Eventually the seventh did fall, a child with a blood red soul of determination.  Their journey to the castle was one of celebration.  They would be the one to release the monsters.  Soon monsters would be above ground as they once were, free at last!  They would be able to see the sun, to smell the fresh air once again.  No monster was quite as happy as the skeleton monster named Papyrus.  This particular human child was a friend to both him and his brother, Sans.  They had promised to take him to the surface, to let himself see the sun, and Sans the true stars that shone in the night sky.  Sans kept an eye on the child, mostly as a promise to the gatekeeper of the ruins, but also out of his own curiously.  Their history books had depicted humans as cruel, blood-thirsty creatures, jealous of monsterkind’s natural ability to wield magic, and their hunger for more power, resources and land.  

This child seemed to be different though.  Although sometimes scared of the monsters that they met, they never hurt them, not even in their self-defence.  They ever fought, never dusted, though more than a few monsters would have given them reason to.  It was because of this peacefulness that Sans was able to overlook a few… blips.  ‘Deficiencies in time’.

Truthfully, at first he wasn’t sure what was happening.  He had thought to contribute it to perhaps the ketchup he had drank being stronger than usual. He would be walking along, minding his own business or planning some rather terrible puns for his brother’s ears, when suddenly the world would go dark, only for a moment or two, before coming back into the artificial light.  After this darkness, he would be a couple hours back from the ‘current time’, before the darkness had overtook him.  Perhaps he was back at his post, at his favourite spot in Grillby’s, in his bed, so on and so forth.  And it seemed like only he was aware of what was going on.  No one else noticed these changes, and if he brought it up, he was laughed at, mocked, or even told that ‘he must be getting old’.  This wasn’t the first time these time loops had occurred to him.  Years ago he could remember fighting a rather sinister yellow flower, one who was desperate on taking over and destroying the Underground.  Their fights would be long and vicious.  The flower was skilled in the arts of pain and suffering, Sans in the art of war and chaos.  After a while though, these fights eventually disappeared and he had forgotten about them.  Until now.  

Of course, he didn’t fully understand it himself until after he saw the kid battling Undyne.  The human was pleading for mercy, trying to avoid violence while Undyne threw her magical spears at them.  As Sans watched in horror, the inevitable happened.  Three spears struck the human, one after another, blood dripping slowly from their wounds.  As Undyne cackled in triumph and prepared to take the human’s soul, Sans saw the red soul shatter in thousands of tiny pieces.  The last hope of monsterkind, gone.  That’s when once again he saw the darkness overtake everything, even Undyne fading from view.  All that could be seen was two glowing, white buttons.  His body shivered when he read what was written on the two buttons. ‘Continue’ was one, ‘Reset’ the other.  Sans saw the little heart hover over ‘Continue’, making it yellow…

And then he was back at his Hotlands hot dog stand, like nothing had happened.  Somehow the kid was manipulating time, able to go back to before their death.  And he was the only one that could remember it. The more Sans thought of it the more his skull hurt, and the more he thought of a gaping skull with two perpendicular cracks in his eye sockets.  Sans rubbed at his sockets, groaning.  More questions than answers.  But the kid seemed to be using their power for good, as cliché as that sounds, so Sans let them be.

Sans watched as they befriended monster after monster, as they died hundreds of times, but finally, finally they made it to the castle…

And they managed to take everyone to the Surface.

It was even better than what was described in any book in the Underground.  The sun was warm, the breeze fresh and cool, and already he could see the possibilities that awaited them.  Sans and Papyrus would move into a house and, while Sans worked, that way he could ensure that Papyrus went to school to do whatever he wanted to do.  Probably cooking or perhaps some Drama classes, but the world was their oyster.  Anything was possible.

That first night, as they slept Sans let his worried skull relax into a real smile, his dreams full of the impossibly bright future.  But, in his dream that inky blackness surrounded him and he saw two glowing buttons once again.  This time the heart was hovering over ‘Reset’.  The button glowed yellow and there was a sound of rushing wind and static.

When Sans awoke he was back on his bare and dirty mattress, back in his old room, even with Papyrus pounding on the door, telling him to wake up and report to his Sentry post.  Sans didn’t want to believe it, but knew what the kid had done.

They had reset the timeline, back to before they fell to the Ruins.  

Sans had no plausible reason for this.  Why would the kid do such a thing?  Did the human not consider them friends?  Did they want something else from them or the Underground?  Did they think they possibly missed something?  He decided to keep a closer eye on them, just to see if he could somehow prevent these ‘resets’ from ever occurring again.  Hadn’t monsterkind suffered enough?  Didn’t they finally deserve their happy ending?

What he saw in the next resets made no freaking sense to him.

He lived and observed reset after reset.  Every ending being completely different from the last.  They didn’t always make it to the surface again.  And, every so often, a different monster would go missing.  Sans knew of several timelines where Toriel was forced to take back the throne due to the mysterious disappearance of King Asgore, or endings where he and Papyrus acted as Mettaton’s body guards.  Heck, he even knew of timelines where Papyrus of all monsters took the throne as king.

Sans had learned early on not to complain about the endings.  The human didn’t listen to his pleas.  And such endings were always better than the ones where he came across a red scarf, abandoned in a pile of dust.  His brother, the one who always wanted best for the human, dead.

But things never stayed the same.  The human always reset.  Always resetting everything back to before they fell.  And no one, other than Sans, ever remembered anything. Hundreds or even thousands of resets later, Sans was tired.  So very, very tired.  Between the constant nightmares night after night, and the damn kid resetting, had finally taken their toll on him.  His posture had slipped, his sockets dimmed and were underlined by several bags of bones, his hands always hidden in his pockets, fumbling for his secret ketchup packets.  But even those didn’t help him anymore.

Only his brother.  His sweet, innocent brother always knew how to cheer him up on his darkest of days.  Whether it was talking about the Royal Guards, his constant babbling about everything and anything, or cooking some of his ‘famous spaghetti’ just for him, Papyrus was the only one that could make him smile again.

He wasn’t exactly sure when his feelings for Papyrus changed from brother to that of a lover.  It was more than a few dozen resets back was when he first noticed Papyrus’ tall, lean frame.  From there he had started to notice how Papyrus’ eyelights would sparkle in excitement, and how he took such good care of Sans.  Making sure he ate enough of his spaghetti, tucking him in when he fell asleep on the couch, and even making sure that they never ran out of ketchup, despite how much he claimed to hate Sans drinking it.

As Sans realized his feelings for Papyrus, the more his self-loathing grew.  This was his younger brother for Asgore’s sake!  Just what the hell was he contemplating?

Yet, he couldn’t help himself.  He would lay awake at night, listening to Papyrus snore the next room over as he stared up at the ceiling.  Imagining his dirty thoughts.  Pulling that red scarf from around his neck and sinking his teeth into his vertebrae as his hands would dance through those strong, curved ribs…

He always was disgusted with himself when morning came.  He forced himself to stay away from Papyrus, ignoring his soul’s desperate longing pinging.  As a result, his body became weaker and slower, even his magic beginning to deplete.  Sans lost his appetite, even skipping Grillby’s, the greasy food which he once picked over his brother’s lovingly prepared meals.  He still ignored Muffet’s food out of principle.

The days flowed easily into one another as Sans lost track of time.  The human hadn’t fallen yet and that seemed to be the only marker of time that he cared about.  It was still about a couple of months or so before the human was due to fall and Sans had spent the day actually awake at his post, making small talk with those who walked by.  His disgusting thoughts had begun to plague his sleep during the day so he took care to avoid them.  Surprisingly Undyne passed by his station, though she was slightly shocked that he wasn’t sleeping at the station.  She didn’t talk long, just wanted to check in with him and see if he had seen any humans or Doggo, who wasn’t at his post.  Sans had directed her to Grillby’s, where the mutt would undoubtedly be smoking his beloved dog treats.

Shortly after she left his brother came by.

“SANS! YOU’RE… AWAKE?” he asked, complete with some adorably mild confusion.  

Sans smiled at up his beloved brother.  “of course bro.  Undyne came by already to make sure I wasn’t.  told me that Doggo was doggone.” He winked as Papyrus groaned and rubbed his brows, frustrated with the pun.

“SANS… NOW IS NOT THE TIME AND PLACE FOR YOUR RIDICULOUS PUNS.” He said, looking down at his brother, as if he was debating something.  Without warning he bent and picked Sans up off his stool, and walking off with him in his arms.

Sans yelped and instinctively grabbed onto Papyrus’ shoulder.  Very broad shoulders, he realized, the unconsciously adding it to his mental smut collection for later.  “Paps?” he squeaked out.  “Paps what are you doing?”

“TAKING YOU HOME FOR LUNCH OF COURSE.” Papyrus said, tossing Sans over his shoulder and immediately heading for their house in Snowdin.  He was making great progress too, his long legs effortlessly crunching through the freshly fallen snow.

“Paps you know I can walk, right?  I don’t need to be carried like a baby bones…” he squirmed, ashamed at how he was enjoying the closeness.

“SANS, YOU LOOK LIKE YOU HAVEN’T SLEPT IN A WEEK.” Papyrus informed him, still walking.  Two weeks, Sans mentally corrected him. “YOU LOOK LIKE YOU CAN FALL ASLEEP AT ANY MINUTE.  FOR MY SAKE AND SANITY, LET ME AT LEAST CARRY YOU HOME.”

Sans sighed and gave in.  It was sort of nice being carried around by Papyrus.  He could still remember him as a baby bones, when Sans would do the same to him…

“WE’RE HOME SANS!” Papyrus’ voice echoed through the warm darkness.  Sans’ sockets immediately jolted open.  When had he fallen asleep?

Papyrus placed him gently onto his chair before turning back into the kitchen to retrieve their lunch.  Sans looked down at the table and rubbed at his skull, a common question repeating inside of him ‘what would he do without his brother?’  Here Papyrus had made fresh food for them, and had even carried Sans home so he could catch a quick nap.

“HERE YOU ARE SANS!” Papyrus’ voice was close to him, once again interrupting his thoughts.

Sans jumped and looked down at the dish that Papyrus placed in front of him.  To his surprise it wasn’t spaghetti, or even dinosaur oatmeal.  “stew?” he asked.  “no noodles today, bro?”

To his surprise, Papyrus looked a little awkward, if that was even possible for the tall skeleton.  “WELL… YOU HAVEN’T BEEN LOOKING VERY GOOD LATELY, SO I ASKED DR. ALPHYS WHAT WOULD HELP… SHE SUGGESTED A COUPLE BOOKS TO READ AND THEN A NICE, HEARTY STEW.  THAT WAY YOUR BONES GET ALL THE NUTRIENTS THEY NEED IN A SINGLE DISH.” He said.

Well… if that wasn’t one of the kindest things that anyone had ever done to poor, lazybones Sans.  “heh.  thanks bro.  bone appetite.” Sans said, ignoring Papyrus’ half-hearted groan and stirring the thick broth, bringing up a spoonful to his mouth.  It, wasn’t too bad actually.  Had a little bit of an odd aftertaste but that could just be his years of dosing everything in ketchup, slowly killing his taste buds.  To his surprise, when he looked up, Papyrus hadn’t touched his own bowl.  He was staring at Sans, as if waiting for something.  “it’s good bro.  thanks.”  He said, taking another mouthful of the food.

Papyrus smiled, his shoulders relaxing a smidge.  “GLAD TO HEAR IT BROTHER.” he said, finally taking a spoonful of his own dish.  Together they ate, talked and enjoyed their meal, much like they had before Sans had developed his silly infatuation.

* * * * *

As the weeks passed, Sans began to notice small, odd things.  Monsters were slowly disappearing from Snowdin.  Doggo had never been found, then the Annoying Dog, Jerry, and many others had went missing.  It was as if they just disappeared without a trace, walked off the face of the Earth.

By the time that Toriel disappeared, Sans had long since given up on trying to solve this mystery and Alphys hadn’t made any headway either with her cameras.  He assumed that the human child was behind this, perhaps having fallen earlier than they had before.  They had to know where the cameras were by now and how to avoid them.  Just a new game they had developed to toy with his mind.  Picking off the creatures of the Underground one by one. Perhaps hoping to drive him mad with his drives to protect Papyrus at all costs?  Or were they trying to raise their LV pass 20 in an attempt to beat him in the Judgement Hall?  Well, as long as they didn’t harm Papyrus, Sans didn’t really care.  Papyrus was the only one who ever mattered to Sans.  The other monsters were of no concern for him.

Whatever their motives, he was ready for them, especially with his new-old, more powerful magic.  Sans had already saw incredible improvement in himself within the weeks of eating Papyrus’ cooking.  His energy levels rose, his stamina was higher than before the resets started, and even his magic had re-stabilized itself.  And somehow Papyrus’ cooking had even raised his LV from a measly one, to a more powerful three.  Sans didn’t even know that that was possible just through food.  What would he do without his younger brother?  He was truly incredible.

It was a dark, bleary day in the Underground, not even their artificial sun could burn through the fog and clouds.  Sans was watching the trail leading to Snowdin from his sentry post as per normal, his ears pricked for the sound of approaching footsteps.  Not that it mattered.  There were fewer and fewer monsters that traveled along this trail.  Even Undyne hadn’t checked up on him yet.  Which wasn’t surprising, Sans supposed.  With more of her guards going missing, she and the other members had to pick up the extra work, to ensure that there was no gaps in their patrols.  It was ridiculous to Sans that she wouldn’t just ask Papyrus to join in order to stop overworking her exhausted crew.  But that was Undyne, work harder, not necessarily smarter.

Sans didn’t really mind the odd quiet though.  All it mean that he had the time and opportunity to think.  He had to protect Papyrus from the child at all costs.  He couldn’t let Papyrus be picked off.  The human will not kill him ever again, Sans vowed to himself.  

His phone dinged with a text message from Papyrus.  Perfect timing.  Lunch must be ready.  Without reading it Sans teleported directly to their little house, eager to spend time with his brother.  

However, when he entered the house, lunch was definitely not ready.

Sans’ sockets roamed over the familiar-looking armour that was laid out in the kitchen.  It was covered in terrible scratches and dents, looking like the monster who had worn it had crawled their way out of hell.  It was coated in dust.

The wearer, Sans could feel in his soul, was dead.

He could hear Papyrus whistling as he was chopping what sounded like vegetables in the kitchen while something boiling on the stove.  Swallowing hard he peeked in the kitchen.

His beloved younger brother was surrounded by various ingredients.  Cream, milk, celery, potatoes and carrots, along with containers of various spices.  As Sans silently watched, Papyrus, with his back still towards looked into his pot and nodded with approval and whatever was inside.  Papyrus tossed in his vegetables and stirred them before adding thin flakes of white meat and a pinch of different spices.  That’s when Papyrus did something odd.  Reaching up into his chest cavity he pulled a sealed tube from inside.  Uncorking it, he poured the entire fine, grey contents inside the pot.

Fine, grey powder…?

Wait… was that monster dust?

Sans’ sockets widened in shock.  No… this was Papyrus he was looking at.  His baby brother.  He could still see him cooing at him from the crib.  “Paps?” he asked, listening to himself as if from a million miles away, “what are you cooking?”

The effect was instantaneous.  Papyrus yelped and spun around, careful not to knock the large, bubbling pot over.

His own battle body was covered in dust.  Not his own.

“SANS!  YOU’RE HOME EARLY!” he sputtered.  “I… I TOLD YOU THAT LUNCH WAS GOING TO BE A LITTLE LATE TODAY…”

“sorry Papyrus.  I never opened your message.  I just… just assumed…”  Sans was staring at that damaged armour.  He had seen it somewhere!  But where?  “Papyrus?  please… tell me the truth… have… have you been feeding me monster dust, this entire time?”  There.  He said it.

Papyrus gasped and sputtered before sighing.  When his sockets opened again, they were of a cool, collected monster.  One who had resigned himself to his fate.  “IT WAS IN ONE OF THE BOOKS THAT ALPHYS LENT ME.” he explained.  “I’M SURE THAT THAT PARTICULAR BOOK WAS A MISTAKE, THAT SHE NEVER MEANT FOR ME TO SEE IT.  BUT IT WAS HOW MONSTERS WERE ABLE TO BECOME STRONG, VERY QUICKLY…”

Sans nodded encouragingly at him.  Keep him talking, let him explain himself.

“IT EXPLAINED THE PROPERTIES OF MONSTER DUST.  HOW IT WOULD RAISE A MONSTER’S STATS, PARTICULARLY THOSE OF THEIR EXP AND STAMINA.  AND… AND YOU WEREN’T DOING WELL BROTHER.  YOU WERE FALLING DOWN IN FRONT OF ME.  I COULDN’T LET THAT HAPPEN.  NOT WHILE THERE WAS A CHANCE THAT I COULD SAVE YOU…” a dust covered glove suddenly reached out and grasped Sans’ skull, pulling him up to look Papyrus in the sockets.

“I LOVE YOU SANS.  YOU’RE MY BROTHER.  I WOULD, AND HAVE DONE ANYTHING IN MY POWER TO SAVE YOU, TO STRENGTHEN YOU.” a gentle finger caressed his cheekbone, following the movement in the bone while the light in his eye sockets stared down at him intently.  “AFTER ALL, WHAT WOULD I DO WITHOUT YOU?”

Sans slowly chuckled, leaning into the touch to fully enjoy it.  His own brother had done all this for him.  To protect him…

He really was the coolest.

Sans gasped as the finger tugged a little more insistently at his chin, raising his skull further.  With a soft clank, his and Papyrus’ teeth were softly pressed together, magic quivering between them.  His sockets widened.  How… how could this be possible?  After all this time, all this lusting, and Papyrus felt the same for him?  His own sockets slipped shut, enjoying the precious moment.

They finally broke the kiss, standing in the kitchen, staring at one another.  The slight hiss of fluid striking the burner broke the moment, causing Papyrus to return to his cooking, turning down the heat before stirring the pot and adding a few, last minute ingredients.

Sans pulled up a chair to watch him cook.  “so what’s for lunch today?” he finally asked, “it smells good.”

Papyrus hummed in satisfaction as he grabbed two bowls from the cupboard.  “JUST ANOTHER RECIPE FROM THE RECIPE BOOK ALPHYS LENT ME.” he said.  “FISH CHOWDER.”