#I can write

[saveyourblood]

Pretty Boy - Ch 1 (Evan Buckley x Reader) (Eventual Evan Buckley x Eddie Diaz x Reader)

Summary: You can feel Buck staring. When your eyes meet his, you realize he’s staring at your hand, which is still on Eddie’s knee. You slowly retreat, which makes Buck turn his attention to your face. You smile softly. He just looks out the window. The one where you're an advanced paramedic, Buck and Eddie are firefighters, and you think you might be in love with both of them. Originally posted to AO3

Chapter Summary: Your new(ish) co-worker has a special talent: getting on your nerves.

A/N: This is such a niche story and I am desperate for validation, please tell me if you enjoyed reading! Word Count: 3.5k Warnings: Swearing (if that even counts).

You’re ending the first half of your 24-hour shift the same way you always do—dinner with the team. Well, at least that’s how you try to end the first half of your shift. Of course, that’s also assuming that both the fire and medical teams are actually at the station and not on a call.

All things considered, this probably only happens once a week, if that.

When it works out, though, it’s a good time. You already spend a lot of time in the rig with Hen and Chim, being an advanced paramedic and all. When it comes to the firefighters, though, you aren’t as well-versed, so it’s nice to have a weekly ‘getting to know you’ session. It seems like these days, it’s a 50/50 shot if they’ll make it to next week's dinner.

The firefighting crew at the 118 is a revolving door of macho men. When you first started, it was Chim, Tommy, and Sal. Chim became a paramedic, so he didn’t exactly ‘leave.’ Sal got relieved of duty, so he didn’t really have a choice. Tommy left, but for something better. Maybe it isn’t so much the job that makes people leave; maybe being a firefighter at the 118 is a stepping stone for bigger and better things.

There is one firefighter that, if he left, you wouldn’t be heartbroken. In fact, it would probably make your shifts a whole lot better.

Evan Buckley, aka ‘Buck.’ God, even thinking his name makes you want to gag a little.

He’s a decent kid, but he’s just that: a kid. He’s a Probie; he’s only been on the job for about 4 months, and no one would assume otherwise. His heart is in the right place, but his brain hasn’t caught up yet. You’re starting to fear it never will.

“I know exactly what that polite, distant smile means: she’s bored,” Chim says as he leans over the counter, pulling you right out of your thoughts and back into reality. “This woman is so far out of my league, but she’s once-in-a-lifetime… I can’t let her go.”

“Lots of fish in the sea,” Bobby, your captain, chimes in. He leans over to pull something out of the oven.

“Not with the bait he’s using,” Hen remarks as she walks by. Her arms are full of dishes to set the table with.

“Amen, sister,” you agree, hot on her heels. She gives you a small smile and hands you the plates, which you accept with a smile of your own.

“Cruel, but true,” Chim sighs. “I met her on this new dating site, just for cops and firefighters, RomancingTheUniform.com. She’s an adrenaline junkie, so foreplay is me telling her stories about running into burning buildings and jumping into icy lakes and…”

“I’m sorry, wait,” Hen interrupts, “remind me: when was the last time you ran into or jumped over anything?”

“...I embellish a little.”

“Oh, noted.”

“So is she a cop or a firefighter?” You ask.

Chim gives you a look. “Why would she be?”

“Well, you said the website is for cops and firefighters,” you repeat. “Doesn’t that make her a cop or a firefighter?”

“Okay, it’s not just cops and firefighters,” Chim cedes, “it’s also for people that want to date cops and firefighters.”

“Ohhh,” you smile, “so cops, firefighters, and badge bunnies. What could possibly go wrong?”

“I’m telling you, the uniform is a major aphrodisiac,” Chim continues as he brings a salad to the table.

“Yeah, hence the term ‘badge bunny,’” you remark.

The conversation is interrupted by one of the engines backing into the station. You probably should have noticed it was gone, but frankly, as long as your rig is in the bay safe and sound, you don’t care what the meatheads are up to.

Speaking of meatheads…

“Oh good, PB is back,” you remark sarcastically.

‘PB’, aka ‘pretty boy,’ aka Buck. You started calling him Pretty Boy his first day, and over the months, you shortened it. He jogs his way up the stairs and dips a finger in the communal spaghetti bowl. You roll your eyes and take a sip of your coffee.

“Wash your hands!” Hen scolds as she pulls the bowl out of his reach.

“What if there’d been a call?” Bobby asks as he brings the last dishes to the table.

“I was in the neighborhood!” Buck defends himself. He takes one of the plates from Bobby’s grasp, but instead of passing it around like a normal person, he starts eating the food off the plate with his dirty hands. Sometimes, you wondered if he was raised by a pack of stray dogs.

Bobby starts lecturing Buck, and you smirk with a little satisfaction. Bobby’s going to write him up, and truthfully? It’s a long time coming.

“First infraction, two more, and you’re out,” Bobby says as he steals back the plate. “Wash your hands.”

“You know, you're not helping him by going easy on him,” Chim says once Buck is out of earshot.

“He just needs a little direction,” Bobby replies.

“I’ll remind you of that when he gets us killed,” you mumble.

The alarm bells start to sound through the station. Everyone groans, including yourself. So much for dinner.

Chim decided to catch a ride with the boys in the truck, so that leaves you and Hen in the rig.

“I’m sorry, dispatch,” you say into the radio, “118 RA responding: did you say the baby is in the wall?”

“10-4, 118,” the dispatcher responds. “Caller reports hearing a baby crying in his walls.”

“Copy that, 118 RA clear,” you say before hanging the radio back up. “Well, this will be fun.”

“You think you can play nice with Buck?” Hen asks, a smirk on her face.

“Hey, I’m always nice,” you reply.

“Not to him!” She laughs. “Don’t think I didn’t see you roll your eyes the second he got back to the station.”

“I can play nice and still think he’s a raging idiot,” you defend. “Besides, since when are you his biggest fan?”

“Trust me, I’m not,” Hen chuckles. “And I love you, but you don’t know how to play nice.”

“Why be the bigger person when you can be the bigger problem?”

That remark gets a full belly laugh out of Hen. “Yeah, that sounds like you.”

Hen parks the rig behind the engine in front. The boys come pouring out immediately, grabbing various tools and equipment. You make your way to the back of the ambulance, tossing Hen her med bag before picking up your own.

You follow the rest of the crew upstairs, and before you know it, the five of you are standing in some random guy’s apartment, listening for something that probably isn’t real.

“Look, I'm telling you, I heard a baby crying,” the man says. “Someone flushed a baby down the toilet.”

Hen picks up a bong off the counter and gives the man a look.

“I’m not high.”

You both raise your eyebrows.

“Okay, I’m pretty high, but it’s Sativa,” he says. “It makes you happy. It doesn’t make you hallucinate.”

“It could’ve been a rat,” Chim shrugs. “Sometimes rats get stuck in the walls.”

You frown. At the end of his sentence, you swore you heard a cooing sound.

“Shh,” you say to everyone, walking over to the bathroom. “Did you guys hear that?”

They're hot on your heels, watching as you take your stethoscope from around your neck and put it into your ears. You place the bell on the wall and wait. When you hear nothing, you begin rapping your knuckles on the tile until you do. Once again, it’s a faint cooing sound, not unlike a baby.

You then knock your knuckles on the wall until you hear a hollow sound. You take a marker from your pants pocket and mark an ‘x’ over it, knowing the space behind it is hollow. You take the stethoscope out from your ears.

“We need to open up this wall,” you say, pointing to the ‘x.’

“No, we’re being punked,” Chim disagrees. “It’s a tape recorder or something.”

“Maybe not,” Hen says, stepping forward. “Maybe a mother gives birth on the toilet and flushes it.”

“Okay, first of all, that's awful,” Chim says. “Second, do you know how pipes work?”

“If the baby is premature, its bones can bend and compress like sponges,” Bobby mentions. “We need to get in there.”

“Stand back, I got this!” Buck says, swinging his fire axe over his shoulder.

He runs up towards the wall with full intentions of swinging. Hen and Chim move out of the way and shout while Bobby tries to grab him. Ultimately, you’re the one to stop him, and you do it by placing both hands on the axe.

“Hey! Did you even stop to consider that you might hit a baby?!” You shout, adrenaline pumping through your bloodstream.

Buck just stares at you with wide eyes.

“Yeah, didn’t think so,” you spat, pushing the axe out of the way.

“Buck, go get the saw,” Bobby directs.

“Try to find some common sense while you’re down there,” you call after Buck as he walks out.

“Nice catch,” Bobby says, looking at you.

“How nice of me to save the baby from one of the LAFD’s finest first responders,” you reply bitterly.

You can’t help but look at Hen, who quickly looks away. Her avoidance gives you a small sense of victory because this? This shit right here? This is why you can’t play nice with Buck. His head is screwed on backward, and it can get people killed. Playing nice isn’t going to fix that.

Thankfully, Bobby takes the saw from Buck once he brings it up. He makes a few small cuts in the wall before he and the other boys are pulling at the drywall. They quickly expose a massive pipe running behind the toilet.

“That thing is huge,” you remark to Hen.

“It probably connects a bunch of the toilets in the units above this one,” Hen returned.

“So… even with the water turned off…” you start, a sense of dread filling your stomach.

“If someone above us flushes the toilet, it could drown the baby,” Hen finishes. Almost before she finishes the sentence, she’s running into the hall, yelling for people not to flush their toilets. The boys make a few cuts into the pipe, and in no time, they’re taking it to the floor.

“Guys, I can see the head,” you say, joining them on the floor.

They make a few more cuts until the pipe is one straight segment.

“Get the head out,” Chim instructs.

“Yeah, you gotta push from below,” Buck chimes in.

You try that, but the baby isn’t moving. You look to the corner, then at Buck.

“Bring me the defibrillator,” you instruct clearly.

Buck scrambles over, picking up the case.

“Just the lube, Buck,” you rephrase, but he’s already coming back with the whole thing.

“Take it, take it,” Buck says, passing it off to you.

You let out a frustrated sigh before grabbing the lube out and tossing the rest of it to the side. You pour some lube on the baby’s head, then down by its feet.

“Work that in,” you tell Chim.

You move your index finger around the circumference of the pipe, brushing the baby’s legs with lubricant as you do so. Then, you gently apply pressure to its feet, and slowly, you can feel it move forward.

“This is gonna be a scoop and run,” you mumble.

“Hen, get the ambulance ready,” Bobby tells her. You’re not sure when she got back, but when you look up again, she’s gone again.

Slowly, the baby’s head emerges from the pipe, and the rest of her body follows.

“She’s not breathing,” you quickly note, “starting CPR.”

You place your index and middle finger in the center of the baby’s chest and press down fast and hard. “Looks like her airway’s obstructed.”

“Buck, get the bulb syringe,” Chim demands. A few seconds pass. “Buck, come on!”

“I’m coming!” Buck barks back, clearly in a panic.

“Come on, pretty girl,” you say quietly as you continue compressions. “Come on, sweetheart.”

Buck returns with the bulb syringe and uses it, but it doesn’t help.

“Dammit,” you curse. “You’ll have to try a blind finger sweep.”

Buck looks at you, then Chimney, then the baby, then back at you. “Me?”

“You gotta learn somehow,” you remark. “It’s easy: just turn her head to the side, curl your pinkie, and see if you can scoop anything out.”

Buck is hesitant initially, but he eventually does as you tell him. It takes a few seconds, but he manages to clear the obstruction, and the baby begins crying. Everyone laughs with relief.

“Let’s get her wrapped up,” you say, reaching for a towel.

The four of you rush down the hall, you with the baby in your arms. The pit in your stomach returns.

“No one held the elevator?!” you yell.

“Dammit,” Chim curses.

“Give her to me,” Buck says, nodding to the stairs.

You stare at him.

“Come on, I’m twice as fast,” Buck pleads.

“Screw this up, and I’ll kill you,” you threaten before carefully handing her over.

Buck takes off down the stairs, but you follow after. There’s only so much that can happen in a few flights of stairs, but you aren’t willing to risk it.

“I got you,” Buck says to the baby, “you’ll be okay.”

A faint smile crosses your face. Maybe Buck isn’t so terrible after all.

“Come on, move it!” Buck shouts as you both make it out of the lobby and out to the rig.

You climb into the ambulance with him, but before either of you can even sit down, you hear someone yelling to wait. It’s not just anyone: it’s LAPD Sergeant Grant, or as you’ve heard Hen calls her, Athena.

“Wait, is that the mother?” Buck says, looking at the young woman with blood-stained pants in someone’s arms. “Yo, screw her! Look what she did!”

Never mind. Buck is still terrible.

“Sit down and shut up!” You yell at Buck. “This is not your call! She is a child, and she’s bleeding out!”

“Look what she did!” Buck repeated.

“Come on, let’s get her up here,” you say to Athena and the man carrying the young girl, disregarding Buck’s protests.

Bobby and Chim made it down, so they help haul the young girl up into the rig. Chim stays at the head while Bobby sits next to Buck, the spot you were about to sit in mere moments ago.

“If this baby dies, it’s on you,” Buck says, staring at Athena.

“Stop talking, Evan,” you snap as someone closes the ambulance doors.

Using his actual name seems to shut him up.

“What’s your name, honey?” You ask the baby’s mother as you cut away her shirt to place EKG leads.

“Marika,” she whispers. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“I know you’re scared, Marika, but you just have to keep breathing for me, okay?” you say. “My friend Howie is going to start an IV so we can give you fluids and medication. You’re bleeding a lot, so I have to do what’s called a fundal exam, okay? I have to press on your stomach to make sure your uterus is contracting back down normally.”

She stares at you, eyes filled with tears, before eventually nodding.

Using one hand to stabilize over the pubis, you begin pressing down the other into Marika’s stomach, a few fingerbreadths below her belly button. She lets out a few whimpers. You don’t feel the fundus, or the top of the uterus, like you should.

“Marika, you’re bleeding a lot because your uterus isn’t contracting. I have to make it contract by doing a fundal massage. It won’t feel that good, but it could save your life.”

Once again, Marika looks at you before nodding. This time, she closes her eyes.

Using firm and consistent pressure, you push one hand down where the fundus should be and make small circles. Marika lets out a few more cries of pain. You notice that, after a few minutes, the bleeding starts to slow, and her uterus firms up beneath your hands.

“Hospital ETA 5 minutes, hang in,” Hen chimes in from the ambulance's cab.

“Something’s wrong,” Buck says, staring at the baby in his arms.

You quickly move over to him. “Put her in your lap so I can see.”

Buck listens, moving away the towel so you can look at the baby. She’s cyanosed around the lips. You flip open a compartment and pull out the neonatal ambu bag. You hand it to Bobby, and you don’t even have to tell him to start bagging.

“I’m so sorry,” Marika says. “Is she gonna be okay?”

Bobby squeezes the bag every other second, delivering a breath to the baby. Her color is starting to look better, but she isn’t very responsive.

“Here, let me try something,” you say.

You gently pick up the baby and set it on Marika’s bare chest. After a few moments, the baby begins to move and cry out.

“Oh my god, why did that work?” Marika asks, wrapping her hands around her baby.

“Skin-to-skin can help babies regulate bodily functions, like temperature and breathing,” you reply as you place a towel over them.

You look over to the men sitting next to you. Bobby gives you a nod, and Buck avoids eye contact, but you can tell that he’s pissed. Fuck him, he doesn’t know his head from his ass anyways.

Once the rig pulls into the ambulance bay, you and Chim help the ER staff get the gurney out of the ambulance. Bobby and Buck follow suit, only Buck tries to follow them into the hospital. Bobby stops him before he does.

Bobby gives Buck some lecture about how we did our jobs, and now it’s their turn; it’s the speech every overly excited first responder gets at least once at the start of their career.

A cop car pulls up, and Athena comes out. She clearly found the person she was looking for, because she starts yelling at Buck.

“You do not get to choose who lives and who dies,” she lectures.

“Really? Because I was under the impression that kind of was my job,” Buck retorts.

You could seriously slap him.

“That mother was no less of a child than her baby,” Athena continues yelling, pointing a finger at the hospital. “You’re gonna get someone killed.”

“Well, maybe, but not today,” Buck says with a cocky head tilt.

You laugh humorlessly. “You know what, Pretty Boy?” you say, turning to Buck.

Fuck it. Bobby won’t put him in his place, and Athena isn’t allowed to, so you take matters into your own hands, literally.

Before you even fully comprehend what you’re doing, you’re wrapping a hand around Buck’s throat and pushing him against the ambulance. You aren’t choking him, but you don’t move your hand because keeping it there is your only leverage.

“I’m getting real tired of this tough guy bullshit,” you growl, your face only an inch from his. He’s quite a bit taller than you, but when you bounced him off the rig, his footing faltered, so he’s crouched at your eye level. “You wanna get real, Evan? You didn’t do a goddamn thing today except get in the way. While we were busy saving lives, you were shitting your pants and dropping the ball, not exactly what a tough guy is supposed to do.”

“Okay, enough,” Bobby says, trying to break it up. You’re far from finished, though.

You move your hand from his neck, but only so you can point it in his face. “You aren’t a god — you don’t decide who lives! You didn’t even save a life today: we did, because you kept fucking up. And if you keep fucking up like you did today, you definitely will kill someone, and your little jokes and midday booty calls and your shitty little grin won’t change that!”

Bobby ends up physically pulling you away while Athena makes some room between the two of you.

“Aren’t you going to arrest her or something?” Buck says, rubbing his neck. “She assaulted me!”

“She didn’t say anything that wasn’t true,” Athena counters. “I promise you, Buckley, the next time you screw up? It’ll be your last.”

Athena casts Bobby a glance before she walks away.

“You,” Bobby says, looking at Buck, “in the truck. Now.”

You start to walk over to the passenger’s side of the cab when Bobby calls after you.

“I want you in my office the second we get back,” He orders.

You clench your jaw. “Yes Captain.”

Ch 2

[suchine-toki]

About Takasugi's abuse

The other day (totally not months ago) we were talking with @sakukaguxxi about how Takasugi’s relationship with his bio family is overlooked in character analyses. While Sorachi didn’t delve deeply into this aspect, which isn’t inherently bad, I think it’s important for understanding why he turned out the way he did.

We know two canon facts: (1) he comes from a low-class samurai family, and (2) he’s the firstborn. This suggests his family held noble status but struggled to maintain it. As a result, they relied on him to preserve their standing, enrolling him in a military academy and being strict about how he interacted with higher-status classmates.

To enforce this, they employed harsh punishments, such as starving him, tying him to a tree and leaving him in the cold for hours, or physically hitting him with enough force to draw blood when he was just a child (~10 yo?). On top of this, the threat of disownment loomed over him constantly.

These actions indicate they didn’t see him as a person or a child worth protecting but rather as a means to an end (maintaining their status). Consequently, he grew up devaluing himself and lacking the tools to express love in a healthy way. This likely explains why he became so attached to Shouyo and Gintoki.

For Shouyo, he was probably the first and only parental figure to treat Takasugi with genuine respect. While he disciplined him, it was always treated lightly and without causing him any real harm, unlike his bio father. Shouyo provided basic necessities like food, warmth, care, but also a sense of belonging.

Regarding Gintoki, a lot can and has been said. On this topic, he may’ve downplayed or misunderstood the extent of Takasugi’s abuse. This can be inferred from his comments before meeting Sakamoto, where he jokingly implies that Takasugi is still a “daddy’s kid,” even though he knows Takasugi was disowned.

This is interesting because Takasugi mentions being disowned long ago, yet for Gintoki, it doesn’t seem so distant. The timeline is unclear, perhaps Takasugi’s father disowned him during childhood, or maybe he tried to bring him back for years until eventually giving up when Takasugi was a teenager and considered irredeemable.

Moving into non-canon territory, if we consider Takasugi Shinsaku (the historical figure) for inspiration, some gaps can be filled. He was the firstborn, had three sisters, and bore the responsibilities of being the sole male heir. His father reportedly tried to steer him away from radicalism, even arranging a marriage for him to settle down.

This aligns with a seemingly banal joke, that Takasugi owned The Portopia Serial Murder Case and a console to play it (a Famicom?). At first glance, it’s odd that an abusive family would buy him such things. However, abusive individuals aren’t cruel all the time. They can oscillate between being harsh and showing kindness, creating a cycle of manipulation and gaslighting. This could explain why it took Takasugi some time to leave, perhaps he realized they needed him more than he needed them or that they would never truly love him.

The lasting effects on him are evident. Takasugi struggles to express himself in ways that don’t involve violence, and saw himself as disposable, with no strong sense of self. He fought for Shouyo’s freedom, for Gintoki’s tears, and later, for Gintoki’s happiness. While these were his choices, they were never about himself, they were for the people he held close to his heart.

[theythembehavior]

School was school, as school probably should be. A shame Qiu found it tedious, these people should just disappear. Or Qiu could, they didn't have too much of a preference. Same people, all going through their own thing were a bit much. Girls trying too hard for attention, boys who could have better personalities.

Welcome to freshmen year, everyone is a mess and can't see it.

What annoyed Qiu the most is that everyone thought they were "cool" and "mysterious." They were tired, tired of people messing up their pronouns, tired of teachers acting like they knew them, tired of people trying to talk to him, and tired of not being around their neighbor. Even if lunch period was around the corner, Qiu needed a moment to recharge, maybe a little nap, eating could be done at home. The second the bell rung, Qiu made a deadline for the door, leaving those who wanted a chance to speak unheard.

Damn Ren, being pulled out of school for being sick, leaving Qiu to search for their phoneless neighbor on their own. It didn't take long, sitting by your next period classroom. Qiu immediately took the chance to sink next to you on the tiled floor. It was noticeable enough for you to turn away from your sandwich, as delicious as it was, Qiu was definitely brooding.

"Hey pal, what's"

"Shut up."

Qiu's snappy response only made you smile fondly. They brought their knees to their chest and their hood over their hair. You knew the moment the teacher was back to unlock the door that Qiu would immediately be clinging onto you. It seems that they have had a hard week so far. And it was tragically only Wednesday.

The door was opened soon by the teacher and Qiu practically dragged you in, you almost dropped your precious sandwich. They were quick to drag you into a corner that the teacher won't see you both easily in, you doubted she wanted to even see you both anyway.

"I almost dropped my sandwich, you know." You smiled as they sat down. You crouched to their level before making yourself a place on the ground.

"You mean I almost saved everyone from your shitty condiment taste?" They smirked as they dragged you along the floor so they could finally hide their face in your nape.

"Hey! My choice of sauce is amazing."

"Mhm." They mumbled into your neck.

Your hair softly tickled their nose. They sighed softly.

"My que to be quite I suppose?" You smiled at your own joke.

Jokes aside, you felt Qiu swat you on your arm. You laughed a bit, apperently it was contagious as you felt Qiu smile just a little bit. You were content and kept your attention on your mostly eaten sandwich, determined not to let your perfect condiment mixture go to waste.

Qiu, on the other hand, could slowly feel the life returning to their soul. They didn't even know how tense they were before having you in their arms. But it felt strangely perfect. No one to interrupt. Ren wasn't here, Tamarack having the different lunch period, and not having to be around any other people. The teacher was quite, she may have even left the classroom all together. It wasn't a nap, but sitting was good too.

[vee-lociraptor]

I DID IT I DID THE THING

[boyakishantriage]

Alien: "... Why is your humans are space orcs fandom filled with military things and human exceptionalism??"

Delta: "..."

A: "..."

D: "... Y'know how your Hidean(I know it's wrong. Fuck you.) are space Rack (Space orc, if you're dumb) have a lot of military things?"

A: "... Yeah?"

D:

A:

D: *silence intensfides*

A:

D: ... Aren't Hideans smart?

A: "Yeah. We are."

D: ...

A: ...

D: "IT TOOK YOU TWENTY MINUTES."

A: "..." *Stares at wall in shame*

D: "Hideans are smarter than humans."

[a-f00lish-saint]

Okay so I fell off the face of the earth for a while there- anyways I kinda forgot have to draw/write for a good bit there but I’m back for now! Yay, anyways here’s a small snippet from the early-mid way through something I’ve been writing between Tanya & my Boss but it isn’t the start because I don’t like the start a 100% just yet!

CW: intox(? Idk if it counts but just incase!!) anyways this isn’t openly nsfw but it’s implied to end up that why & I don’t want minors on my blog.

Tanya’s other hand still holding onto that bottle of their two favourite alcohols mixed together within a almost sinful but still amazingly passionate taste, she brought the opening of the glass bottle back upon Yera’s lips, lovingly pouring it into her mouth ever so slowly as a slight smile tugged on her own red coloured lips, the mixture of wine and vodka soon began running down the Saints bottom lip and then side of her pale cheek, then finally and slowly down her chin before Tanya pulled the bottle away once again.

Yera would just lick her lips soon after the top of the glass bottle was moved away, seemingly trying to savor the moment…savor the taste of the drink, the things she has let this woman do with her in the past, her right hand moved downward and to her hip while the left remained on top of her wooden desk of her office as her pointed fingernails gently dug into the covered skin as she felt Tanya’s own fingers pulling her hair back and she melted into her pulling touch with a small gasp-like noise leaving her mouth.

She wanted her touch, she wanted her closeness and the heat of her body, she wanted her love..or at least whatever could even be considered ‘her love’ nowadays, not that Yera would care about it-..no, no she wouldn’t care, not openly that is, she truly never did even within their younger years, but her closeness? Her relationship with her? That’s what she cared about for all this time, all the times they have spent together and away.. she has always craved the attention she has given her over the years and in return Yera has always tried to give Tanya the same attention no matter what, even if she has been lacking in that aspect of things.

She was desperate for the touch of another woman, even more so when said touch was from Tanya, even in more simple situations like this..if you could even call a stranger sitting like this a ‘simple’ one, but maybe because between them it technically was.

Tanya’s mostly bare, upper leg was soon enough found itself in between Yera own thighs as she herself leaned her lower back up against the wooden desk, a smaller, almost mumbled sounding chuckle leaving Tanya’s lips as she brought that bottle to her own mouth this time around, opting to have tease of the liquid herself before she would give it back to the infamous gang leader that was a melted mess in front of her, she has always associated the taste of vodka with Yera in all honesty, it was the only alcohol that she knew of her drinking throughout her life thus far, it being mixed up with her own favourite made it even better for herself truthfully..

[alphathechaotix]

Tree Children & an Old God

Auther comment: This was made a while ago and it's formatting is a bit of a mess, a little...

What path has led me here, the artist thought aimlessly. Currently, the mighty God of Creativity, The Protector of the Scripts, is being used as a pillow by two young teens. Hell, one of the kids was on TOP of him, using Ink as some sort of bed! 

Wait–

Ink cranked his neck to the side. Ew, Nightmare was drooling on him. Sighing, the artist tried to move Nightmare over, the teen wouldn’t budge, instead hugged the artist tighter in response.

“looks like you got your hands full, little brush.” A voice called out. Ink snapped his skull up to the voice, seeing it was simply Reaper, he relaxed. 

Ink chuckled. “Yeah, you could say that.” he smiled at the other God.

“so, you remember why you summoned me?” Reaper crossed his arms on top of his scythe, relaxed on it.

“Right.” Ink glance over the other sleeping teen, Dream, who was currently snoring peacefully. Ink looked back over at Reaper, “Can you teach Dream on how to fly?” the artist asked, his eyelight was yellow sun and an orange question mark.

“he… he doesn’t know how to fly?” Reaper sounded confused.

“Reaper,” Ink paused, “his mother is a tree. So no, he doesn’t know how to fly.”

“y-you mean that tree-” The God pointed at the tree with golden and midnight-colored apples. “-the one you three are laying under?” Reaper questioned; he was extremely confused. “also, how is his mom a tree?”

“Reaper, just answer the question, please.” Ink exhaled a sigh.

“sure?” Reaper answers, finally.

It was sunrise by the time the Nightmare and Dream woke up, Mister was still asleep, purring. Nightmare tried to get up but got pulled back down. Groaning, Nightmare harshly pokes Mister cheekbone over and over, trying to wake him up.

“Huh?” Mister grumbled under his breath.

“Can you let me go?” Nightmare asked, laying the side of his head on Mister sternum. The brown cloth felt soft and fuzzy on Nightmare's bones.

“Right, sorry kiddo.” The skeleton let go of the teen. Nightmare slid off of Mister, standing up and held a handout for him, in which Mister took and pulled himself up.

“So, what are we gonna do now?” Dream piped up, he was already up and standing.

“Brush our teeth first, then we can head to the nearby village.” Mister said, walking over to the stream. The Apple Twins followed him and chatted to each other.

“Do we have to?” Dream complained, he hated brushing his teeth; the “toothpaste”, as Mister called it, was spicy.

“Yes, Soleil (Sunshine), we have to. You don’t want your teeth to look like Mr. Deck? Do you?” Mister tilts his head to the teen.

“...No…” Dream shook his head.

“If it helps, I can get you another flavor, when I leave.” Mister suggested, he really should’ve given both the twins different flavors.

“Can I get a different flavor too?” Nightmare sheepishly asked.

Mister sighed. “Yeah, I’ll get you both different flavors.”

Ink had his hood up, shadowing half of his face; currently he was at the village’s plaza, trying to pass the time and probably get a few things for the twins. Speaking of the twins, the duo was holding hands, pointing at the stalls, and simply chatting away. The artist looked over the two, smiling fondly.

“Mister!” Nightmare called out, taking Ink out of his thoughts.

“Yes, Clair de lune? (Moonlight), did you both need something?” Ink asked.

“What’s your favorite color?” Nightmare asked, titling his head.

“Hmm, that's a tough question…” Ink paused and thought for a bit, “I guess, light greens and yellows…”

“Huh, didn’t think you were a green person.” Dream mumbled.

“I’m just full of surprises.” Ink chuckled.

Ink was paying for three small wooden jointed dolls, wanting to paint the twins and himself on the dolls later. The artist smiled at the salesperson, handing them a few coins and taking the dolls. He heard shouting and turned around, seeing a human raising their fist to his twins.

Something twisted in the artist's empty ribcage.

Speed walking to twins and the stranger, Ink asked “What seems to be the problem, sir?”

“Get your kids under control!” The human shouted at Ink.

Ink walked in front of the twins, standing right in front of the human. The artist's eyesight's were a bright red crosshair and a X.

He grabs the human shirt and drags them down to his level, whispering, “If I ever catch you threatening them again, I won’t hesitate to boil you alive, do you understand?”

The human nodded furiously.

“Good.” Ink sweetly says, letting go of the human’s shirt. Turning around, walking down the path that leads out of the plaza and into the forest. 

“C’mon kids, let’s go back to the Tree.” He called out to the teens, which in response, followed the artist.

Dream and Nightmare were racing down the old dirt path, skirting to a stop once they saw a figure by the tree. The twins glanced at each other nervously, they started walking toward the figure. As they got closer to the figure, they realized that the “figure” was a person.

The person was dressed in a black robe, with a rope tied around their waist and neck. They were wielding a scythe.

“Is that the Grim Reaper?” Dream whisper to Nightmare.

“Hey Reaps!” Mister called out to the Grim Reaper.

“Mister, you know the Grim Reaper?” Nightmare asked, startled from this new information.

“Yes, Mister is a very good friend of mine.” The Reaper replied, 

“What.” Dream blankly said.

“Anyways, your caretaker asked me to teach you,” Reaper pointed at

Dream, “on how to fly.”

“What.” Dream said, again.

Credits:

Ink!Sans - Comyet

DreamTale - JukoBlog

Reaper!Sans [ReaperTale] - Renrink

[ssa-dado]

FREEEEEEEDOM!!!! I'm all yours now loves

[dontbelasagnax]

trying to write fic after taking my sleeping pill has me considering sentences such as "her pussy was as hot and wet as macaroni in a pot"

[anothertorturedpoett]

[saveyourblood]

Pretty Boy - Ch 18 (Buddie x Reader)

Summary: Buck’s hands trail down to your hands. He takes his in yours. “Do you love him?” “Buck.” “I know you love me,” Buck continues, playing with your fingers. “You know I love you. But I’m asking if you love him.” The one where you’re an advanced paramedic, Buck and Eddie are firefighters, and you think you might be in love with both of them.

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9 | Ch 10 | Ch 11 | Ch 12 | Ch 13 | Ch 14 | Ch 15 | Ch 16 | Ch 17

(Gif by me) Word Count: 3.5k Warnings: *are spoilers*, listed at the end

Adrenaline replaces your blood. An unpleasant sensation washes over you. The same three words keep bouncing between your ears.

Buck is dead.

Buck is dead.

Buck is…

“V-tach!” Someone shouts. “Everyone clear!”

Buck’s chest jolts upwards as the shock is administered.

“We got a pulse!”

You heave out a breath. You feel helpless as they wheel him away.

“H-he has a history of blood clots,” you eventually call out. “He’s not on any medications, but he’s allergic to naproxen.”

“Got it,” A doctor calls in response, “we’ll do our best.”

“Do more!” Eddie shouts as they turn the corner.

You turn to Eddie, limbs numb from shock. “What the hell happened?”

“It was so quick,” Eddie whispers, still staring straight ahead. “One second, he was up on the ladder, and the next, he was just… dangling. He was dead.”

You set a careful hand on Eddie’s shoulder, which prompts him to pull you into a hug.

“He’s gonna be okay,” you whisper.

You don’t know what you’ll do if he isn’t.

Buck awakens slowly, blinking a few times before fully opening his eyes.

“It’s about time,” you say softly.

Buck figures out quickly that he’s in a hospital; the air is stale, his usual pajamas are replaced by a gown, and the sheets beneath him are stiff instead of soft. The only problem is, he doesn’t know why he’s in the hospital. If anything, he should be there for you, since your due date is quickly approaching.

“What happened?” Buck asks, rubbing his forehead as he slowly comes to.

“You fell off a ladder, hit your head. Thankfully, it wasn’t anything too serious. Daniel will be back with your discharge papers.”

“...Daniel? My brother?”

You were there for Buck when he learned about his older brother. He has no clue why you’re talking about him now.

“...yeah?” you say with a confused smile. “I’m going to start packing stuff up.”

You stand up, and Buck’s eyes widen.

“You’re not pregnant,” he whispers.

“Thank god for that,” you laugh out, putting a few things into your purse.

“W-what happened?” Buck chokes out. “D-did you… oh, god…”

“What? Whoa, hey!” You spin around, quickly moving to Buck when you see how panicked he is. “Baby, I was pregnant. Two years ago.”

Buck lets out a sigh of relief. “Katie.”

You smile, setting your hands on his cheeks. “Yes, Katie, our daughter. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Buck has a daughter. He’s never been more okay in his life. He relaxes, running his hands up and down your arms.

“What about Eddie?”

Your smile turns into one of confusion. “What about Eddie?”

“How… How is he?” Buck asks dumbly.

You shrug, your hands falling to your sides. “No clue. I haven’t talked to him since be moved back to Texas.”

Buck’s head feels like it’s spinning. “...huh?”

“His parents got full custody of his kid, and he moved to Texas to be closer to them,” you explain casually. “You don’t remember that?”

How can you sound so calm about it? Eddie is a huge part of both of your lives. Hell, he’s one of Katie’s parents … isn’t he?

“We… we’re not… he didn’t…”

Buck cuts himself off with a few gasps. He tries to take a deep breath, but his lungs feel constricted. He’s panicking, and he has no idea how to stop it.

“We need a nurse!” Eddie shouts before you can.

You’re supposed to be one in a few months, but you’ve never felt so out of your depth. You had a single lecture about ventilators in nursing school, most of which you didn’t retain. All you see is that the top bar — the volume of air delivered — is alarming. You see Buck’s chest rapidly rising and falling.

“Buck, if you can hear me, you need to breathe, okay?” you whisper in his ear as you run a hand over his face. “Just breathe, baby.”

A few nurses rush in, and you step back before they have to push you out of the way.

“His sats are dropping,” one nurse notes while the other puts a stethoscope to Buck’s chest. “We need to take him off and a bag him.”

You keep backing up until you hit something. A pair of strong arms wrap around you, one resting across your chest while the other cradles your stomach. Eddie.

“He’s gonna be okay,” Eddie whispers in your ear.

All you can do is grip his arm like a lifeline.

“Buck, can you hear me? …Buck!”

Buck looks around, his eyes landing on you.

“Where’d you go, babe?” you chuckle.

“Sorry, I was… I don’t know. Sorry.”

The details come back to him slowly: his parents and Daniel came over for family dinner, along with Maddie, her daughter, and her husband. Her daughter and husband, Genevieve and Doug. A bitter taste fills Buck’s mouth.

“I can’t believe she stayed with him,” he says quietly. “He’s gonna kill her.”

You sigh sadly as you gather some plates. “I think I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve told her that. I mean, hell, we work in an ER together, for god’s sake. She’s seen what men are capable of. I know leaving is easier said than done, but…”

Buck’s memories are hazy, only occasionally coming into focus. As you turn on the sink, he studies you.

“You’re a nurse,” he says.

“Sure am,” you return. “It’s not like that’s how we met, or anything.”

Oh, yeah. Buck stopped by after school let out to check up on a student he had to call EMS for. The poor girl had a seizure, scared the crap out of her classmates. She had already transferred to the pediatric floor for monitoring by the time he got there, but in the ER, he ran into you. He asked Maddie for your number, and the rest was history.

A student… Buck’s a teacher. 5th…? No, 6th grade. On his first date with you, he explained that 6th grade is the best because you get to see children growing into their personalities before the awkward teenage years. God, he loves his job. He knows you love yours, too, and though they aren’t in the same profession, it’s something you both quickly bonded over.

“Just testing you,” Buck jokes.

You face him with a hum, wrapping your arms around his neck. His brows knit closer together ever so slightly. You pick up on it.

“What’s wrong?” you ask softly.

“Something feels… off,” Buck replies, unsure of how else to phrase it. “It’s like all the pieces of a puzzle are falling into place, but one is missing.”

“Poetic,” you remark.

“I’m serious,” Buck insists. “...Why did he move away?”

You sigh as you move your hands down to Buck’s shoulders. “We’re not seriously talking about Eddie again, are we?”

“It just… feels like it never really ended, right? Like he’s a loose end.”

“Oh, he’s something alright,” you scoff as you turn back towards the sink and start washing dishes.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

You set down a plate with a clatter. “You remember what he did, Evan: he almost destroyed us.”

A little while after Eddie’s shooting, the three of you sat down and wrote your Advanced Directives and assigned each other as Power of Attorneys in case of… well, something exactly like this. So when Dr. Becker asks to speak to you and Eddie privately, you know it’s to discuss further treatment options.

Turns out, there aren’t very many. They already have him on a paralytic drip to keep him compliant with the ventilator, but his lungs still aren’t pulling good tidal volumes. She says that proning— or laying him on his stomach — could maybe improve things, but considering the cause of his respiratory failure, it’s unlikely.

“...which leaves us with Extracorporeal Membrane Oxygenation as our best option.”

“ECMO?” you ask.

ECMO is another topic you had a singular lecture on, but you know enough to know it’s not good. You also know it’s not good because you, Eddie, Dr. Becker, and Buck’s nurse are all sitting in a secluded conference room. You don’t get good news in a hospital conference room.

Dr. Becker nods. “It would be Veno-Venous, meaning it bypasses the lungs instead of the lungs and the heart.”

Eddie nods a little. “Well, that’s… good, right? I mean, bypassing one organ sounds better than bypassing two.”

You keep staring at Dr. Becker. “There’s something you’re not saying.”

Eddie frowns, glancing between the two of you. “What? What aren’t you saying?”

Dr. Becker sighs. “ECMO is known as a ‘Hail Mary’ in the world of medicine.”

That’s how you remember your instructor phrasing it — ECMO is an absolute last-ditch effort. It’s only considered when every other option has been explored.

“It’s not a cure: it’s a bridge,” you say, trying (and failing) to keep your voice level.

“It can give him the time his lungs need to heal,” Dr. Becker explains.

“And if it doesn’t, he’d need a transplant,” you continue. “And if he can’t get a transplant…”

“...he would stay on ECMO indefinitely.”

“...Or he would…” you start but cut yourself off with a sob. You clasp a hand over your mouth, forcing yourself to take a breath. “...or he would die.”

The words don’t sit right on your tongue. Your lips twist as they make their way out, like you ate something sour.

Dr. Becker’s face stays even, but you catch a glimpse of something in her eyes: pity. “Yes.”

You scoot back in your chair, making a break for the door. The protests of Dr. Becker and Eddie make it to your ears but not your brain. All you can focus on is the bile that’s climbing to the back of your throat.

You slam open the door of a single-stall bathroom, barely able to lock it before you collapse to your knees in front of the toilet. You gag several times, only spit and stomach acid eventually making their way up. Now that you think about it, you can’t remember the last time you ate something.

You eventually sit on the floor, resting your head against the tile wall. You take a few breaths, rubbing your palm over your chest. Then, you feel a sudden gush between your legs. Against your better judgment, you stay seated, eyes wide and heart pounding.

No. No, no, no. Not now. Not with everything going on.

Not without him.

Eddie said he was in love with you, and you said you were dating Buck. Buck’s pretty sure that’s part of why he moved to Texas: to get away from you. Something about it doesn’t sit right in his stomach.

“That���s not how it was supposed to happen,” Buck murmurs, setting his hands on the counter and leaning into it.

“How exactly was it supposed to happen?” you counter, placing your left hand close to his.

Buck sees a ring. It’s a diamond, probably not a real one, but it looks convincing enough. His eyes move to his own left hand, and sure enough, a gold band is wrapped around his fourth finger.

“We’re married,” he says, almost inaudibly.

“You proposed after a year,” you recall fondly. “I thought you were crazy, but… it’s our five-year anniversary next week.”

Buck should be happy. He should be overjoyed, really — he has everything he’s ever wanted. He has a beautiful wife, an amazing daughter, and a fulfilling career. Still, his gut twists and turns.

“He was in love with you,” Buck eventually says.

“And I’m in love with you,” you state, “so nothing else matters.”

“But it does,” Buck argues, pushing against the counter until he’s standing up straight. “It does matter.”

“Why?” you frown. “Eddie is long gone, Buck. That chapter of our lives has been closed for a while.”

“It’s not supposed to happen like this!” Buck shouts.

You go still, swallowing. “What does that mean?”

“It’s… it’s supposed to be the five of us!” Buck says as he starts to pace. “It’s supposed to be me, you, and him, raising Katie and Chris.”

You look at him like he’s speaking French. “What the hell are you talking about, Buck?”

Buck halts his pacing and turns to you. “Are you in love with him?”

You snort. “What?”

“Are you in love with him?” He repeats.

“Buck, I love you,” you counter.

“I know you do, and you know I love you,” Buck says, a sense of deja vu washing over him, “but I’m asking if you love him.”

You and Eddie ultimately consent to the ECMO cannulation. Buck’s struggled his whole life, and he’s always taken it in stride. He deserves the chance to walk away from this.

That being said, he drew some strong lines in the sand in his Advanced Directives, and you and Eddie have no intentions of erasing them. Buck specifically refused the placement of a tracheostomy and gave a general timeline of two weeks for his status to improve before medical efforts should be ceased. He also said that if at any point it’s suspected he won’t make a meaningful recovery, care should be withdrawn. You’re not at that point yet, but with each hour, you can feel it getting closer.

You went home after agreeing to the cannulation, too emotionally and physically exhausted to stick around. Besides, Chris should have at least one of his parents send him off to school that morning. You briefly explained Buck’s condition and that children aren’t allowed to visit in the ICU before kissing his cheek and seeing him off for the day.

When you finally get a chance to change, you notice the gush you felt earlier; it’s the ‘bloody show’ your OB warned you about. It’s a mix of the mucus plug and some frank blood, normally passed anywhere from days to hours before active labor. You still have time.

Then, as if the universe is playing a trick on you, you feel a contraction.

You lean against the dresser, inhaling slowly. Braxton Hicks are noticeable, but they’re short, normally lasting only a few seconds. By the time you’re done exhaling, it’s over. Or… it should be over. This one continues.

“Come on, Katie,” you mumble, rubbing up and down your tight belly, “not now.”

You count to twenty before the contraction ceases. The paramedic part of your brain screams, but the overly tired part takes over. You don’t panic. You don’t call Eddie. You don’t call anyone.

You go to sleep.

“It… it doesn’t matter,” you repeat, tripping over the words.

“It doesn’t?” Buck challenges. “Because I love him.”

“Why are you doing this?” you whisper.

The look on your face hurts Buck’s heart. Still, he persists.

“This isn’t how this is supposed to happen,” Buck says softly. “This… it isn’t real.”

“Buck, I love you,” you cry. “We have a family.”

“This isn’t real,” Buck repeats, mostly to himself. He squeezes his eyes shut and buries his hands in his hair.

This isn’t happening. This isn’t real. This isn’t happening. This isn’t real. This isn’t —

When he opens his eyes, there’s nothing. Quite literally, nothing. All Buck can see is black. He takes a step forward, almost expecting the ground to ripple beneath him. It doesn’t.

He starts running. He doesn’t know if he’s running away from something or towards something, but either way, he’s running. Normally, he’d run until he was out of breath. That doesn’t seem to happen, though, so he just keeps putting one foot in front of the other.

“You figured it out,” a voice cuts into his head.

Buck spins around. There’s no one there.

“You were always too smart for your own good.”

The voice is familiar, and not in a comforting way, like the softness of an overworn hoodie. It’s more like being haunted by a ghost.

“You could’ve been happy.”

“It wasn’t real!” Buck shouts into the void.

“It could’ve been,” the voice counters. “If only you’d let it.”

You get back to the hospital later that evening. You plan on switching out with Eddie. What you don’t plan on is seeing Christopher in the waiting room.

“Buddy, what are you doing here?” You ask.

Hen shoots you an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, but he insisted on coming.”

“I need to see Buck,” Chris replies. “I have to talk to him.”

“They don’t let kids in the ICU, Chris,” you say softly.

“I don’t care!”

You sigh, running a hand down your face.

“...Maybe we can find a workaround,” Hen offers.

By some miracle, Hen distracts the nurse long enough for you to sneak Christopher into Buck’s room. Eddie’s eyes widen as he stands up, approaching you both.

“I couldn’t say no,” you say weakly with a shrug.

You both watch as Christopher takes a few steps forward, looking at all the devices.

“Is he sleeping?” He asks.

“Something like that,” Eddie responds, voice thick.

“He’s resting, so the machines can do all the work to make him feel better,” you explain.

Chris nods. “Can he hear me?”

You look over at Eddie, who’s wiping away a few tears.

“I bet he can,” you whisper, not trusting your voice to stay level.

“Hey, Buck. It’s Christopher. I know you’re sick, but it’s only temporary. You’re going to be okay,” Chris says, reaching out to touch Buck’s arm. “Wherever you are, you have to come back.”

Wherever you are right now, you have to come back.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” Buck says. He doesn’t know if he’s talking to the voice or to himself.

“You can’t go back,” the voice says. “It’s too late.”

“I’m running out of time,” Buck says quietly.

He catches something in the corner of his eye. He turns around to face a mirror. It has to be a mirror — he’s staring at himself.

“You’re dying,” the voice says. Only, it isn’t a voice; it’s his reflection. “Turns out, your parents were right: you aren’t invincible. Weren’t, I guess.”

“This isn’t how it ends,” Buck argues weakly. “I have a family out there.”

“What, your parents?” His reflection scoffs. “The people so caught up in grieving their son that they forgot they still had one left? Or your sister, who’s so busy with her own kid that she won’t even notice you’re gone?”

Buck doesn’t like this version of himself. It’s probably who he’d become had he never joined the 118. It isn’t even Buck… it’s Evan.

“My family,” Buck argues. “My partners. My son. My daughter.”

“It’s sad she’ll never get to meet you,” Evan says, tilting his head. “It’s probably easier that way, though. The other three… that one’s gonna hurt.”

In a mere twelve hours, Buck turns a corner. The ECMO is already titrated down to a level that could warrant decannulation. They discontinued the paralytic and are currently running a spontaneous breathing trial, which involves Buck doing all the work of breathing. He’s an hour in and doing great.

You sit in an armchair beside his bed, picking at a sandwich Eddie got you from the cafeteria. You feel Eddie set his hands on your shoulders.

“You have to eat something, mi amor,” He murmurs as he kneads your neck muscles.

You let out a sigh, setting the sandwich aside and leaning into his touch. Then, you hiss out a breath and grab your stomach involuntarily.

Eddie’s hands stall. “Is that a contraction?”

You close your eyes as you focus on your breathing. You feel Eddie brush past your arm, and when you open your eyes, he’s kneeling in front of you.

“Don’t worry, they’re still 15 minutes apart.”

“...You’ve been having them regularly?!”

“15 minutes means I’m still in latent labor, not active.”

“You’re in labor, ” Eddie parrots, standing back up.

“Yeah, and I’m not having her until we know Buck is okay,” you say definitively.

Eddie runs his hands down his face. “How long have you been in labor?”

“...15 hours, I think.”

Eddie’s eyes widen.

“People can be in latent labor for days , Eddie,” you argue. “Besides, I checked myself earlier, and I’m only like, three centimeters dilated.”

“You…” Eddie cuts himself off with a heavy sigh.

“This is not a big deal!”

“How is this not a big deal?!”

“Because I’m not having her until Buck is okay,” you repeat.

It doesn’t make sense. The rational part of your brain knows that. However, the rational part of your brain is taking a hiatus. In its place is an irrational, scared shitless pregnant woman running rampant with hormones. You simply cannot fathom Buck not being there for his daughter’s birth. And so, you don’t.

“Babe…” Eddie says, exasperated.

“What?” you say, standing up. “We probably have days before we need to worry about this. Lets focus on Buck for now.”

Eddie’s eyes trail from your face down to your legs. “Babe.”

“What?” you huff.

“Your water just broke.”

You look down. Your pants are stained with an obvious wet spot, and you can feel something cold trickling down your leg.

“...Fuck.”

Warnings: mild depictions of early child labor/childbirth

[xunsue]

I wanna write. I really don't know why it's hard for me to write these days, it's just that I read so many great works and I tend to subconsciously compare myself then I start thinking 'this isn't good enough' and I get demotivated like a fragile little bitch

Problem is, if I don't write, there's no way it's gonna get any better. I'm better off writing shit then writing nothing at all. Writing the most amateurish poor sentence ever will get me closer to being good at writing than not doing anything ever will, so why am I so afraid to try?

I need to learn to be okay with writing 'bad' writing. I need to be okay with not being automatically great at something, because that's not how masterful writers are made.

Skilled writers, good writers come to be that way because they continue without stopping. They write, scratch, write, write some more and scratch some more and give up and do it over and over again.

They're good not because they haven't written anything bad. They're good because writing something bad did not stop them.

Not because they haven't fail. But because they pushed through despite failure.

[suchine-toki]

Top 10 Gintaka moments

(Arranged chronologically because it was too difficult to choose. Spoilers ahead.)

1. Takasugi's laugh

After many encounters challenging the dojo, Gintoki sees Takasugi laugh for the first time, which becomes a core memory of his, a symbol of how things used to be and what he wants to preserve (ch. 517).

2. The promise

Surrounded by enemies, Takasugi asks Gintoki why he decided to join the war, to which Gintoki replies that, like him, it was not for a noble cause. At this, Takasugi recognizes that the two are good-for-nothing warriors, but asks Gintoki to take care of their sensei in case he dies. Likewise, Gintoki asks Takasugi to stay alive (ch. 516).

3. Gintoki's tears

Right after their sensei's death, Takasugi furiously runs towards Gintoki until, for a split second, he sees him crying. This becomes the last thing he saw with his left eye, a core memory that reminds him of the pain and grief they experienced (ch. 520).

4. Reunion at the festival

After 10 years of not seeing each other, Takasugi sneaks up behind Gintoki and threatens him with his sword, commenting on how easy it was and that he has become weak. He also tells him about his plan to kill the Shogun, claiming that within him there is a black beast that seeks revenge. At the same time, he confronts Gintoki for looking away from the past, making him unable to understand his feelings. To this, Gintoki responds that it's a shame that he underestimated him, which can be read in both a physical and emotional sense. It's assumed that they separate without another word (chs. 30-31).

5. They were the same

During a conversation with Nobume, Oboro asks her if Gintoki and Takasugi look like their sensei, to which she answers no, that the true resemblance was between them, since both had eyes full of sadness. As she says that, Gintoki and Takasugi can be seen passing each other, but only the former turns around to check that the latter is gone. It's worth mentioning that Gintoki warned Takasugi to be careful if he saw him walking down the street in chapter 97, but in the end he decided to not do anything (ch. 398).

6. Confession and realization

After their fight, with both of them on the floor, tired and full of injuries, Takasugi opens up to Gintoki about his suffering. He confesses to him that his face was the last thing he saw before losing his left eye, how devastating it was to see him cry, and the enormous survivor's guilt he feels, because he understands how much Gintoki loved Shouyo. To this, Gintoki responds that he didn't choose him, but simply knew what was important to theirsensei, thus lifting the burden from Takasugi's shoulders. Not only that, but Gintoki also confesses that, despite everything, he continues to see him as a fellow disciple of the Shouka Sonjuku and a comrade, whose soul he will protect (ch. 520).

7. Sword exchange

After a long coma, Takasugi awakens in Rakuyo and throws his sword to save Bansai. Likewise, Gintoki launches his bokuto to save Shinpachi, leaving them both unarmed. This is when they decide to take each other's sword and protect what is important to the other, reinforcing the message that a sword is made to protect the soul, and on other occasions that it even embodies it. Afterwards, they pass through hordes of enemies in order to see each other again, defending the other from an imminent attack and retrieving their weapon while locking eyes and making snarky remarks (ch. 573).

8. Pep talk

While everyone on Earth seems defeated, Gintoki hears a familiar voice over the radio. Hundreds of kilometers, far up in space, Takasugi tells him that they have everything under control and encourages him to continue fighting. Likewise, Gintoki assures him that on his side they haven't lost yet, and playfully encourages him, asking if he has already been reduced to junk. Despite being injured, Takasugi tells him to be ready when he comes for him, to which Gintoki smiles (ch. 650).

9. Let's rescue sensei

The greatest tragedy in Takasugi's life is not only the death of his teacher, but also that Gintoki had to be the one to kill him. Aware that he has little left to live, he admits that now he can be a little more honest with what he really wants to do. After fighting Gintoki as a way to punish himself, he's now able to recognize that he wishes to fight alongside him, while also wanting to alleviate his suffering by sharing the burden of his actions that day. Upon hearing this, the serious expression on Gintoki's face turns to astonishment at being able to achieve mutual understanding and once again have a common goal that is deeply personal to both of them (ch. 682).

10. Born under the same star

While Gintoki's eyes reflect the despair he feels at having to strike Takasugi's body, he remembers their childhood together. Gintoki fought very hard to protect everyone, but Takasugi fought even harder to protect him, and although Gintoki was definitely not ready to lose him, Takasugi was content with the idea that he had prevented him from killing their sensei once more. Knowing that he has little time left, it's Gintoki's turn to be more sincere. He embraces Takasugi and reassures him, acknowledging that he did indeed manage to protect him and that he wished they could have drunk together more often. But Takasugi tells Gintoki he doesn't want to hear him like this and he asks him not to send him off with a sad face. Mustering willpower, Gintoki smiles and tells him to wait for him in hell, which becomes the last sight from Takasugi's right eye as he smiles back before dying. No longer able to restrain his emotions, Gintoki weeps as he watches the sunset (ch. 703).

Part (1) (2) (3) (4) (Bonus)

[olteacup]

gimmie two months plus weekends and i will cook this fic up 👽🔥🔥🔥

[nosleep83]

Someone should draw MM!Leo in a suit going to his autism diagnosis appointment please it would be so fucking funny