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alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer · 1 year

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build yourself a citadel amid the foothills of regret

surprise i actually wrote something! maybe the dragon is coming out of its thousand year sleep maybe this is just a one-off, we'll see, though this is just one fic I have planned for a series of COT codas loosely inspired by "how to rest" by the crane wives. anyways, enjoy!

content warnings: alcoholism, alcohol withdrawal, mentions of toxic relationship

Masterlist | AO3

As the dust settled around London and the way of things began to return just as they’d stopped, Alastair left the others to their tearful reunions. He wasn’t sure what to call them, not after they’d survived the end of the world together. Compatriots? Comrades? Perhaps, if he even dared to think of it, new friends?

Sona was still in Idris, Cordelia had joined James in recanting their experiences to his parents, and Thomas had returned to his family to share in their grief. Thus, Alastair returned to the Institute. All of their careful work boarding the windows and doors would need to be removed, but that wasn’t his concern at the moment. Instead, he found a glass bottle filled with a tincture he’d created the night before while Thomas was resting, and set out to find someone else who seemed to have retired from the battlefield a bit early: Matthew Fairchild.

He found him in the wing of the Institute that the group had claimed, back before Tatiana had arrived and turned the world upside down. Alastair knocked gently on the door.

“What do you want?” Matthew groaned.

Alastair took that as an invitation to enter. Looking Matthew over, he was glad he came. In all honesty, he was surprised that Matthew had held himself together so well until the battle was over. Now, he paced back and forth across the room, his skin pale and sweaty, dark circles settling beneath his eyes.

Alastair held up the bottle. “I have something that might make you feel better. Or at least help you sleep.”

Matthew narrowed his eyes.

“I asked Grace to find Christopher’s notes on what he was mixing for you. I figured you must have run out fairly quickly in Edom.”

Matthew’s hand shook as he took the bottle, but he managed to open it without much fumbling. “I- You did this, for me?”

Alastair didn’t know how to respond. He wanted to say that it was Thomas’ idea, which was a lie, or that he only did it because of how Cordelia and Thomas cared for him, which was also not completely true. But the truth was dangerous. The truth was that he cared, but at heart he was still a child terrified of being rejected. So, he said nothing.

Matthew took a weak sip and sat down on his bed. “I don’t understand you,” he confessed. “You bring me this, you save me from a certain, spearful death, you stand outside my apartment all night long in the middle of January-”

“I told Thomas not to tell you that.”

“He didn’t. Did you think I lived in a building that lacked Sighted security?”

Alastair shrugged. “I figured you’d chosen it simply because it has the most arrogant and atrocious architectural design in all of London.”

Matthew rolled his eyes. "It seems as though I've been allowing your poor tastes to color my judgment of you."

"It's an easy mistake, what with all the brain damage that wretched pink siding must be causing." The conversation was reminiscent of their earlier ones back at school, but this time, neither of them meant any true malice. They were bantering .

"Thank you," Matthew said genuinely.

"It was nothing," Alastair deflected. "All of the ingredients were already here-"

"I don't just mean Kit's sedative. Thanks for having my back at Westminster Abbey."

"Anyone would have done it.”

“But it wasn’t anyone, it was you.” Matthew hesitated before continuing, “I’m starting to see what drew you and Thomas together, he is also wretchedly awful at accepting gratitude.”

Alastair hadn’t spent enough time with Thomas to know that about him yet, but remembering how sheepish he’d become each time he complimented him, he could easily imagine it.

“By the Angel, you’re really in love with him, aren’t you?”

Alastair’s shoulders tensed. “What?”

“You’re grinning like a madman, and all I did was mention his name! You’re standing there like a lovesick puppy- Raziel, I’m going to be sick, and it’s not even from the alcohol this time.”

He did his best to avoid Matthew’s gaze. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I mean, Thomas is wonderful, of course, but I don’t- We’re not- It’s not-”

“Why won’t you let yourself be happy?”

Alastair couldn’t think about it for too long. Memories flooded his mind. Elias, telling him he was worthless, a burden, a pitiful excuse for a son. Charles, convincing him that he didn’t deserve to be treated as anything more than an afterthought. There were memories of school, too, of cruel boys mocking him and hurting him and tearing up the letters his sister sent him. Happiness was never worth the risk of someone looking to take it away.

He didn’t have the words to explain it. “I’m trying to- I’m trying.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll quit being a thorn in your side. You can go. I know you’re just doing this because I remind you of your father.”

“That would make sense, wouldn’t it? But you’re wrong. You don’t remind me of Elias; you don’t even remind me of Charles, though the Angel knows your bone structure is nearly identical.”

“If this is your way of flirting with me, you should know it’s never going to work.”

Alastair rolled his eyes. “I’m doing this because you’re a person, and all people deserve to rest, even you.”

“Now, where was this basic human kindness back when we were schoolboys?”

Alastair considered explaining that he always understood the way that his words cut. He knew, but it didn’t matter, because he had just been a boy drowning in an endless ocean, and as the salt water coated his throat and began to fill his lungs, it hadn't mattered to him who he might be pulling under the waves in an attempt to break the surface for another gulp of air. It was instinct, and he was sorry, but he couldn't change the past.

“I’m not looking for forgiveness from anyone, much less you,” Alastair said finally. “You don’t believe that you deserve rest, that you deserve peace, do you?”

Matthew didn’t respond.

“Well, I doubt I’m going to be the one to convince you, but I’ll try anyway. After Charles and I broke up, he sent me letter after letter, he cornered me at every social gathering, and for the most part, all I wanted was for him to leave me alone. But some deeper, more twisted part of me wanted him to suffer. I wanted him to hurt the way that I had hurt, and I know that he’s your brother, but I won’t apologize for saying it.

“And then he did. He nearly died and he was lonely and in pain and it was everything I should have wanted, but it didn’t make me feel any better. It didn’t erase any of my own suffering. It was just more pain. And I think I learned two things. First, that Charles is awful and I am never going to let him back into my life. And second, that a selfish person is just a person. And no person deserves to suffer.

“I think that once you’ve accepted that everyone deserves peace, even your worst enemies - especially your worst enemies - it becomes easier to accept that you yourself deserve peace, too, no matter what mistakes you’ve made.”

“That…” Matthew’s voice trailed off, searching for a quip that he could not find. “That seems wise.”

Alastair nodded towards the bottle. “You should get some rest before your family comes looking for you. You look like something your dog chewed up and spit out on your doorstep.”

Matthew grinned sleepily, the sedative finally setting in. “There’s the Alastair I recognize.”

thanks for reading! if you enjoyed this, I would love to hear your thoughts (or even just that you liked it!) I really appreciate it!

taglist: @life-through-the-eyes-of @astriefer @justanormaldemon @ipromiseiwillwrite @a-dream-dirty-and-bruised @all-for-the-fanfiction @amchara @ddepressedbookworm @wagner-fell @imsoftforthomastair @queenlilith43 @stxr-thxif @lifewouldbebetteronmars @littlx-songbxrd @sheisbeautyweareworldass @ikissedsmithparker @bookswitchcraftandcats @jamesherondaleofficial @livingformyself @anarmorofwords @sapphic-in @fortheloveofthecarstairs @tessherongraystairs @thewarthatsavedmylife-blog @grace-lightwoodd @rainingpouringetc @thomastaircompassrose @kiwichaeng @yozinha-z @skirtsandsweaters @goodoldfashionednerd @have-a-holly-jolly-angstmas @who-beingloved-ispoor-blog @lightwoodsimp @americann-idiot @thomaslightwood @cant-think-of-anything @ibrushmyteeth-donttellanyone

#alastair carstairs #matthew fairchild #the last hours #tlh #fanfic #fanfiction

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suaine · 1 year

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6x15 coda | Eddie goes to El Paso and talks to his mom | 1.5k

read on AO3

Even though he thinks of LA as home these days, El Paso is where he grew up, where he met Shannon, where Chris was born. El Paso has his heart in ways that LA could never understand and never replicate. Eddie sits on his parents’ porch late at night and listens to the noise of late spring in Texas. They are far enough outside the city for nature to replace the sounds of humans and it’s a symphony he knows well, white noise that is working away at the noise in his head.

Eddie knows it won’t drown it out altogether, but maybe if he just sits here for a while, he’ll be able to sleep.

It’s entirely dark when he hears the screen door open and close, a distinct sound that reminds him of a childhood running after his sisters as they start a new game and draw him in. Eddie smiles to himself but it feels heavy somehow, like he’s saying goodbye to something.

His mother sits next to him without a word but she hands him a steaming mug of coffee, the way he used to drink it, a little more bitter and less frivolous than he has come to enjoy it. There’s a softness to him now he has never allowed himself to feel when he was younger.

“Thanks,” Eddie says, eyes still on the horizon. The desert stares back at him with a vastness that would be terrifying if he was here alone. But he’s not alone and that’s something he’s slowly letting himself believe.

His mother hums and takes a sip from her own mug. “You looked like you needed it.”

Eddie has never doubted his mother’s love for him, not the way Buck always struggled with his own parents, but she has a way about her that makes it hard to be truly open. They have that in common, walls so high that no one can climb over them, only knock them down.

“Pepa talked to you,” he says, suddenly certain that this is why she’s been pushing for them to come visit.

His mother sighs. “She means well. Ramon and Pepa and your abuela, they all love you so much. They only want the best for you, all in their own way.” She rests her hand on his knee. “But they don’t know you like I do.”

Eddie shakes his head, but not because she is wrong. There is a connection between them, something so primal it’s hard to put into words. They’re too similar to get along, sometimes, too broken in the same ways to really communicate. “I’ve been thinking about Shannon a lot,” he says and his mother tenses.

“Ah.” It’s a sound that stands alone, that encompasses so much hurt and misunderstanding and guilt.

“I know you never liked her,” he says, weary and unwilling to fight over choices he made long ago.

But his mother huffs. “I liked her fine,” she says, “I just didn’t like her for you.”

A brittle, nasty laugh breaks out of Eddie’s chest. “Yeah, that’s just the same thing dressed up for church.”

“Eddie,” she says. She sounds weary, too. “You are my son.” Her voice suddenly sounds foreign, harder, like she’s speaking from a place far north, half a world away. “You are my son and that’s something I’ve tried to shield you from more than you know.”

Eddie thinks about all of the times in his childhood when his mother insisted to cook his abuela’s recipes, to celebrate their holidays the Mexican way, to hide herself in his father’s culture. How he calls her abuela when he speaks to Christopher and never thought to learn Swedish, a language that was never spoken in this house.

“When I met your father, he was warm and full of life, and I knew that I would follow him anywhere. But I was glad it was here.” She looks out at the desert. “It is easy to say I love you in English.”

Growing up, he and his sisters sometimes laughed about his mother’s accent when she spoke Spanish, but it’s only now that he’s letting himself think about the fact she learned two languages for them and never spoke her own.

“Shannon was a good girl, but you and her were two kids clinging to each other because the world was a scary place and you recognized a kindred spirit. I know, because I saw a lot of myself in her. And there is too much of me in you.”

Eddie is silent. There is nothing he can say.

“She died before either of you could find out that you were walking the same path in different directions.”

Eddie swallows hard, a sudden lump constricting his throat. “Before, uh, before she died. Shannon, she wanted a divorce.”

He’s never told his mother this because he was afraid of the vindication she would feel. Knowing that she was always right and showing it, making him feel young and foolish. But she doesn’t do that now, only sighs and leans closer, wrapping her arms around him. “Oh, Eddie, my poor boy.”

And he doesn’t know why this is what sets him off, that lets the tears finally run freely. But he is burning with it, tears running hot and wet down his face, his every breath a sob that shakes him to the core. “She- she said she needed to learn to be a mother first. That she couldn’t be both.”

His mother is running soft hands down his back and through his hair, humming something that could be a lullaby, but one he’s never heard before. Eddie lets himself be held and allows his tears to fall freely.

It takes hours, years, minutes, a moment. But the weight on his chest is lighter and the noise in his head is quieter. It feels like the desert just after a thunderstorm.

His mother lets him go as he pushes away slowly, but her eyes are on his, searching for something. She nods when she finds what she’s looking for and puts her hands on his face, rubbing the tear tracks with her thumbs. There is a light in her that Eddie has never let himself see, always eclipsed by the Texas sun.

“When you find the one you want to be with, you will know, because they will burn brighter than the sun. They will make you feel warm and safe and loved like no one else ever has.”

She smiles and Eddie feels the way she carefully avoids gender like a punch to the chest. How could she know when he hasn’t let himself even think about that part of himself? Has it always been there? And worse than that, when her words fall on him, each one stings with the knowledge that he has found his person long ago, has found exactly this feeling and is maybe too scared to ever do something about it.

“What if- what if they don’t want me back?” It’s the fear that keeps him locked up tight, running everywhere but where he wants to be.

His mother smiles. “Eddito,” she says, her accent so familiar it wraps around him like a blanket, “anyone would be lucky to have you. When he sees you, he will love you.”

He already does, Eddie knows that, just maybe not the way Eddie wants. And oh.

Oh, his mother knows this, too. Eddie doesn’t talk about Buck to his parents, tries to keep what they have, this weird, fragile little family that is always, always on a deadline, to himself as much as possible. But of course, his mother talks to her grandson and Chris has no such problems gushing about the man that’s taking up so much space in their lives.

What Eddie doesn’t say is as loud as the things he does and his mother has been hearing him his whole life. But she is like him, and he is like her, unable to put words to the emotions that are so heavy and vast in his chest. It’s not that they don’t feel, the two of them, it’s that they feel in ways that are hard to translate.

“Mom, I-” He stops, frustrated with himself and his silence.

She puts a finger to her lips and taps twice, shaking her head. “You don’t have to explain. You don’t have to say anything before you’re ready. But I think you will be ready soon and we will be here when you are.”

A new silence falls between them. It feels lighter, more complicit, like they are sharing a secret in the dark. Eddie drinks the last of his coffee, long since cooled to the ambient temperature. It tastes bitter.

“Mom, I have to tell you something. I actually like my coffee with oat milk and sugar these days,” he says, because he can’t say everything else.

She pats his back and nods. “Then we’ll make another pot.”

Eddie smiles at her. “That sounds like a great idea.”

#911 fic #911 spoilers #eddie diaz #buddie

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paalove · 1 year

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NOT ME FIC MASTERPOST

tumblr prompts: (ao3 link)

gramyok flirting while black seethes, 159 words

nuchgene friendship ep 7 coda, 336 words.

danyok angst, 490 words.

what if it wasn't todd who found white tied up? 125 words.

post-canon gramblack fluff, 462 words.

gram pov post-ep-10 twin reveal, cracky, 834 words.

black pov ep 11, 647 words.

russian mafia-connected white, 344 words.

brother-in-law postcanon sean+black, 220 words.

gramblack with pining black, 898 words.

the note is for black au, gramblack, 689 words.

gone series fusion, seanwhite+gen, 999 words.

NOT ME PROMPT MONTH - tumblr, twitter, ao3

ao3 one-offs:

walking on an edge (that's how i stay alive) - oneshot, 2225 words. au twin reveal where the whole gang sees them together. seanwhite. (original shorter tumblr version here)

now they're going to bed (and my stomach is sick) - oneshot, 2552 words. canon divergence au, cockblock black, seanwhite.

dreams i've borrowed - oneshot, 1683 words. post ep 9 fixit, seanwhite.

get that shit inside your head - oneshot, 1341 words. friends-nearly to lovers, canon divergence au, background gramblack focused on nuchgene.

(i'll be on the way) like a bat out of hell - 2/2 chapters, 4380 words. the insane four post ep 10 fixits i wrote in the four hours after the episode aired, i was DISTRAUGHT 😅. seanwhite.

don't need poltergeists for sidekicks - oneshot, 2145 words. ep 11 fixit. seanwhite

patiently burning - oneshot, 2084 words. black-centric ep 12 fixit, gen.

'cause i still am (and i still do) - oneshot, 1113 words. me shoving black into the van rescue scene because i love him. gen.

answers to questions (you didn't know to ask) - oneshot, 1005 words. eugene actually getting to have a reaction to revelations. background seanwhite, gen.

when it breaks (something you can't shake) - oneshot, 1560 words. black and gram are kidnapped, and gram is injured. gramblack.

you're in the race (to watch the roots corrode) - oneshot, 1225 words. NOT ME WEEK DAY 1 - "what was your plan b?" pre-seanwhite.

but it's much too late (when the storm decays) - oneshot, 1229 words. NOT ME WEEK DAY 2 - outsider pov. seanwhite.

it comforts me much more (fix your heart) - oneshot, 1629 words. NOT ME WEEK DAY 3 - body swap au. pre-seanwhite.

antihero (you look stressed out) - oneshot, 1010 words. NOT ME WEEK DAY 4 - "don't move." gen, black-centric.

you must build an altar where it rests - oneshot, 1027 words. NOT ME WEEK DAY 5 - "when did you notice?" danyok.

let it flood, let it flood, let it wash away - oneshot, 3643 words. NOT ME WEEK DAY 6 - fake relationship au. namogene.

take his body as a relic to be canonized - oneshot, 3137 words. NOT ME WEEK DAY 7 - time loop au. toddblack.

let's dream out loud - 2/2 chapters, 2848 words. didn't know we were dating trope, gramblack. (tumblr ch1, ch2)

you can sleep in a coffin - oneshot, 1000 words. uwma fusion, seanwhite. (original shorter tumblr version here)

rock away this feeling for me - oneshot, 2610 words. 5+1 hugs, seanwhite. (original tumblr version here)

we are the rust upon your gears - oneshot, 2941 words. mission+aftermath fic. explicit, seanwhite.

inside the warm embracing air - oneshot, 2636 words. ropes and piercings, explicit, seanwhite. (original tumblr version here)

feeling helpless to the tide (we fight this war on different sides) - 4/4 chapters, 2049 words. genderswapped ust between seanwhite, toddblack, seanblack, and toddwhite.

world above the ground - oneshot, 3116 words. white and the girls friendship fic, au twin reunion, implied future seanwhite. gen.

and my strings are digging in - oneshot, 1062 words. post-canon short with white getting hurt so sean won't go to prison. seanwhite. (original tumblr version here)

unlocked doors and windows cracked - oneshot, 1446 words. just before canon, black got some information on todd that was so dangerous todd needed to take drastic action. maybe that involved them fucking in the hot tub; here's some speculation. toddblack.

burning up together, baby - oneshot, 1115 words. postcanon gang hangouts! some seanwhite, some blackyok, mostly gen.

found a world worth dying for - oneshot, 1068 words. sean whump in which sean, over a day after some vague incident, stumbles back to the garage covered in blood. white takes care of him. seanwhite.

places inside me that i find you (leave me at the roadside) - oneshot, 25 words. 5+1 fic about sean, yok, and marks. some seanwhite, some more danyok, but mostly sean&yok.

ao3 multichapters:

fall out of the heavens/crawl up from under. 22/22 chapters, 47279 words. the blond!white fic. seanwhite and gramblacknuch

WIP - shape you like an ocean (come alive or come undone) - 16/17 chapters, 21466 words. post-van pre epilogue-y bits, blackyok. (original tumblr prompt here)

still lurk on distant foreign shores - 4/4 chapters, 6027 words. continuation of the mafia!white prompt above, seanwhite.

WIP - bone-dry, bloodshot eyes - 2/? chapters, 4371 words. au where everything's already gone as wrong as possible before white even finds them. character death in backstory. seanwhiteyok.

ao3 series:

i won't cross these streets until you hold my hand: au where sean finds white on facebook by mistake while white still lives in russia, comes up to the start of the canon timeline. total words: 38778.

are we just getting more lost - oneshot, 695 words. pre-seanwhite

i'll show you mine if you show me yours first - 3/3 chapters, 4179 words. pre-seanwhite, other background ships.

the part where the needle skips - 6/6 chapters, 13602 words. developing seanwhite, other background ships.

conspiring by candlelight (shine your light on me) - 4/4 chapters, 20302 words. seanwhite, background toddblack, gramblack, and namonuch.

(garage) of wolves: au where the garage gang are a werewolf pack. total words: 48612.

innocence for days - 7/7 chapters, 7045 words.

you see me creeping up these halls - 5/5 chapters, 41567 words. seanwhite.

you stole my heart but i had it first. established relationship gramblack canon divergence au. total words: 3889.

i dug this pain into my chest - oneshot, 1347 words. established relationship, canon divergence gramblack. (tumblr post here)

you and i drove off the darkest streets - 3/3 chapters, 5040 words. black tries to figure out wtf white has been up to, sean tries to stop him. gramblack, seanwhite. (tumblr)

i will die in this place. uwma fusion fic, total words: 5713.

you can sleep in a coffin - oneshot, 1000 words. the fated couple make eye contact (and so do the non-fated couple).

sometimes you scrape and sink so low - 2/2 chapters, 2101 words. some revelations about how their past selves died, and some meetings. pre-seanwhite, pre-????black.

but honey, what're you gonna do? - 2/2 chapters, 2610 words. car rides, rain, and couples starting to fall together pre-seanwhite, pre-gramblacktodd.

bitter years since i've been seeing - 3/3 chapters, 3238 words. more revelations about their past selves - and who one of them was related to. pre-seanwhite.

#this is the last one!#not me #robfic

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clusterbuck · 2 years

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5x14 coda / part one: in which buck calls bobby

buck wakes up first, blinking in the dim light filtering through the curtains. it takes him a moment to remember where he is—it doesn’t smell like his apartment, no lingering hint of taylor’s perfume on the air, and the light is warmer—but then the familiar walls of the diaz house come into focus, and it all comes back. of course.

he’s the only one awake, but the house is anything but silent around him. eddie calls it character, the way his house is constantly making some noise or the other. pipes, the air conditioning, the fridge, not to mention the quiet hum of traffic on the street beyond and the birdsong slipping in through the cracks between windowpanes.

there is, of course, also the fact that eddie is snoring on the sofa just feet away from where buck is stretched out on the floor. it’s not the most comfortable night he’s ever spent, but eddie had fallen asleep on the couch and buck hadn’t wanted to wake him up and suggest moving, even though they’d spent most of yesterday cleaning the broken glass out of eddie’s bedroom and putting the furniture back together as best they could. sleep doesn’t seem like something eddie gets all that much of these days—interrupting it didn’t seem worth it.

he’s restless even now, even in sleep, tossing and turning on the sofa, but his soft snores come uninterrupted and buck hopes that means he’s getting at least some kind of rest.

there’s a louder snore and eddie’s breath catches, just for a moment, and buck looks over thinking eddie’s going to wake up. he’s already running over a list of arguments for why eddie should stay in bed—well, on the sofa—and let buck take care of the morning routine while he gets some more rest, but eddie just sighs in his sleep and settles back down again.

eddie’s breathing levels out again, a mix of snuffles and snores, and buck reaches for his phone. eddie keeps insisting that he doesn’t snore, that years in the army spent sleeping in a room full of other people trained that habit out of him, but if buck could just get a recording—

but his phone starts vibrating as soon as his hand closes around it, the alarm he’d set to make sure they get christopher to school on time.

leaving eddie to sleep isn’t even a choice he has to consciously make. he knocks on christopher’s bedroom door and finds the kid already waking up, reaching over to silence the old-school alarm clock on his nightstand.

“morning, superman,” buck says, and is met with a sleepy grin. “listen, your dad is still sleeping, so let’s try to be quiet, yeah?”

christopher nods and mimes zipping his lips, and buck gives him a thumbs up.

“alright,” buck says. “pt first?” christopher nods again and climbs out of bed.

“okay, buddy,” buck says. “it’s been a minute since i did this with you, so i’m gonna need you to take me through what we’re doing today, okay?”

christopher leads him through the exercises with an air of great solemnity, taking great care to point out when buck’s arms are at the wrong angle or his feet aren’t pointed enough. buck finishes their morning workout doing push-ups with christopher balanced on his back, and has to pull the plug on the whole operation after three so that christopher’s delighted laughter doesn’t wake eddie.

buck sends christopher off into the bathroom to get ready for the day and leans against the wall in the hallway outside, letting christopher do it himself bht saying close enough to hear if he needs anything. while he waits, he pulls out his phone and dials bobby.

“buck?” bobby asks as soon as he picks up. “kind of early for a day off, are you—”

“no, i’m good,” buck says. “sorry, did i wake you?”

“nah,” bobby says. “athena has an early shift today, she woke me before she left.”

“right,” buck says, “okay. look, i’m at eddie’s—”

“this early?” bobby asks.

“i’ve, uh, kind of been here for a few days,” buck says.

there’s a splash in the bathroom, louder than anything the past few minutes, and buck pushes off the wall ready to head in. but the sounds go back to normal and christopher seems fine, so he sags backwards again.

“buck, are you sure everything is okay?” bobby asks.

“yeah,” buck says. “well—kind of no, but kind of yeah. eddie’s just—eddie’s been—”

“i know,” bobby says. “i saw him the other day, he seemed—rough.”

buck huffs. “that’s as good a word as any.”

“is there anything i can do?” bobby asks.

“yeah, actually,” buck says. “that’s why i called.”

“i figured you weren’t just looking for a chat at this hour,” bobby says. “what do you need?”

and anything he asked for, bobby would do, buck knows. for him, for eddie, bobby would do anything.

“can you come over?” buck asks. “i need to get chris to school soon, and eddie’s finally sleeping, and he’s—he won’t tell me about them but i know he’s been having nightmares, and i don’t want him to wake up to an empty house.”

“of course,” bobby says, like it’s not even a question

maybe it isn’t.

“i can be there in twenty minutes, is that enough?”

“yeah, that’s perfect,” buck says, letting his head fall back against the wall. “thanks, bobby.”

“of course,” bobby says again, and even through the phone buck can hear the warmth in his voice, the way it wraps around him like the comfort of a familiar blanket.

christopher emerges from the bathroom in a stellar display of timing. buck helps him break a tie between two shirts, and they manage to get halfway through breakfast—and christopher manages to talk him into a sneaky second glass of orange juice—by the time there’s a soft knock at the door.

“who’s that?” christopher asks.

“wanna go see?” buck asks, and when christopher nods they head down the hall together. when they pass eddie still stretched out on the couch christopher reaches out to poke at his toes, but retracts his hand when buck raises an eyebrow at him.

they bring bobby back into the kitchen and close the door, and christopher looks at him curiously. “why are you here?”

“i’m just here to hang out with your dad,” bobby says easily.

“but he’s sleeping,” christopher points out.

“he’ll wake up soon enough.”

christopher leaves it until they’re in the car on the way to school, but buck can tell from the look on his face that he’s been mulling it over.

“buck?” he finally asks.

“yeah, buddy?”

“is dad okay?”

buck looks in the rearview mirror and sees christopher looking directly at him.

“he’s—” buck starts, and trails off. how much should he be telling christopher? how much does he already know?

“remember the other night when you called me?” buck settles on.

“you said he was sad,” christopher says. “and scared.”

“yeah,” buck says. “he was. and sometimes when you’re that sad, or that scared, it can take a while to feel better again.”

“you called bobby so he wouldn’t be alone,” christopher says.

“yeah,” buck admits.

“good,” christopher says. “dad always sits with me when i have nightmares. someone should sit with him too. and if you can’t—” he shrugs. “bobby’s good.”

yeah, buck thinks. bobby’s good.

#911fic #911 spoilers #buddie #buddie fic #i was gonna like. write all three parts and post them at the same time but idk if i’ll have time so i’m doing it this way idc #i’ll put them all together on ao3 i think if you want to wait for that but it’s just gonna be three missing scenes so not super connected #idk what i’m doing i’m just vibing and making it up as i go #shush emma #emma writes

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notsowrites · 3 years

Text

Untitled 3x08 Malex Coda #3

Last one before tonight! Why I get inspired to write about these two first thing in the morning when I’m drinking my coffee is beyond me, but here’s some more soft Malex with a bit of fluff.

Enjoy! <3

----------

They head back inside not long after, the cold winter air nipping at Alex's skin. Maria is sitting up near the pool tables, cell phone pressed to her ear, and Alex focuses on the smile on her face, the absolute happiness he can see radiating off her. She looks up as they walk in, waving at them, but their presence is not enough to get her to end the call.

Michael is already back at the bar, leaning against it, knocking shoulders with Isobel, Liz sitting just on her other side. There's a bottle of wine between them, and two half-filled glasses.

"She's on the phone with your brother," Liz supplies as he joins them.

He nods. It's not new, this thing between his brother and Maria. But the two of them acting on the looks that he's known they've shared since high school certainly is.

Sliding into the open seat to Michael's right is easy enough, and it does wonders to get the weight off his hip for now. His fingers dig into the muscle of his leg, gently massaging it as he watches Michael slide another beer in front of him.

"You okay?"

Michael's voice is quiet, almost a whisper in the already quiet bar. The only other people here are people he loves, people he trusts. He nods.

"Just sore."

He goes for honesty, which seems to be the theme of the day for them, and watches as Michael's eyes dart to his leg and further down to where his prosthetic is beneath his jeans. There's nothing he can do right now, not until he's home and can take it off, remove the lining, and possibly soak in the bathtub to ease the tension in it. But that can wait, because being here, with the people he loves and cares about is more important.

It's the most important thing.

"We can leave," Michael replies, as if reading his thoughts, but Alex reaches out, slipping his hand into Michael's, and shaking his head.

Liz speaks up first, her eyes going from Michael to him, and back again. "You don't have to stay. Max is safe, thanks to you. We should take the win and enjoy tonight."

The fight leaves him at Liz's words, and he acquiesces, sliding off the stool, and stretching his leg, one hand on the back of the bar stool for balance. He can feel Michael's eyes on him, watching him, and for once he loves how it feels. It's so easy to reach out, to grab Michael's hand in his own and give it a reassuring squeeze, before he crosses the floor towards Maria.

"So your I guess it's our time vibes were only a couple weeks off, eh?" He hears Isobel ask behind him, but doesn't turn around to look at how Michael reacts, only hearing Liz's shocked gasp instead.

"Greg, hold on, hold on, Alex is here-" Maria turns towards him, pulling the phone away from her ear and wrapping her arms around him. He stumbles a bit, expecting the weight but miscalculating for how tired he is. She immediately pulls back, looking him up and down, assessing.

He presses a kiss to her cheek. "I'm fine, just tired. Michael and I are heading out, but I didn't want to leave without telling you."

She raises an eyebrow at him.

"I'll call you tomorrow." He feels his cheeks go warm, and shifts on his feet, not out of the soreness in his hip this time.

"You better," Maria laughs as she puts the phone back up to her ear, and Alex can immediately hear his brother, just can't make out the words. He watches as Maria smiles, a laugh escaping her lips as she looks back at him.

"Greg says it's about damn time."

With a bit of an eyeroll, he leaves the two of them to their conversation and turns back to the bar, surprised to find Michael is standing near the doorway. There's a feeling that blossoms in his chest, seeing Michael standing there, waiting, for him. And after spending the day together, Alex isn't ready for it to end.

"Can you take me home?"

The car ride is quiet, but not awkward. Alex pushes himself up against the passenger door, and shifts himself so he's staring at Michael as he drives. Something he hasn't done since they were teenagers when they'd get in Michael's truck and drive out to the desert - the only way after the toolshed they could find some time for themselves.

Michael's hat is sitting on the seat between them, and Alex brushes his fingers along the rim. He loves the cowboy look, even if it covers up Michael's curls. Because he really is in love with Michael Guerin any way you slice it.

His house is on a quiet side street outside town, the yard lights on thanks to their automatic timer, illuminating the terrace and the front door. He and Maria had strung them up one Saturday afternoon a few weeks after he'd bought the house, her claiming it needed some ambiance. She'd been the one to help him pick out the patio furniture, and start making the house into some place he could call home.

Michael pulls the truck into the driveway next to his SUV, and Alex reaches for the door handle, before he realizes the engine is idling.

Does he want Michael to leave? He doesn't know. Today was a whirlwind for them - working together, talking, and Michael kissing him. As he'd pressed his face into Michael's shoulder earlier, he'd realized how much he missed this - missed Michael. There had always been something about the way it felt around him, when they weren't fighting, when they had a moment of quiet - an unexplainable calm that would fall over him. For the first time in years, he'd felt it again that morning, and then again later in the truck when Michael had touched his cheek.

He wouldn't label it an understanding, because it felt much deeper than that.

"Michael?"

"Yeah?"

But Michael makes no move to turn off the engine, so Alex tugs on that courage he'd used all day to tell Michael what he wanted. He'd never felt the need to put into words his every day actions - and perhaps part of that was his years in the Air Force, and the work he'd done that required a level of secrecy. But keeping Michael out of the loop recently hadn't done them, or their relationship, any favors. And he hated to see Michael so angry at him.

"Shut the engine off and come inside."

He watches Michael turn to him, eyes soft and beautiful, and Alex doesn't know sometimes, what to do with the way Michael makes him feel. He never has. If he was younger, if he was more agile than he is these days, he'd climb over onto Michael's lap and kiss him here in the truck. So instead he reaches over the cowboy hat, and slips his fingers under Michael's, tightening his grip.

"You sure?"

Alex nods.

But Michael's hesitance doesn't end there, and follows him into the house. Alex coaxes him out of his jacket, his boots, and watches as he slowly walks into the living room, glancing around as if unsure of himself. And Michael has been here before, Michael's been here a lot over the years.

"You got rid of the cameras," he says, nodding up where the one above his bedroom door used to be.

The cameras were something he'd installed under the belief that he couldn't trust his father. There had always been that residual fear he would break in and try something to get one up on Alex. So the cameras had made him feel like he was being proactive, like his father couldn't sneak up on him if he had a system in place.

"Yeah, don't need them anymore." He doesn't want to talk about his dad. Not now. It's not that he wants to brush it under the rug and never speak of it, because he knows there are a lot of things they need to talk about. But Liz's words echo in his mind about taking the win today for what it is, and doing that means not focusing on something like his father.

"That's good," Michael says, his voice low, and Alex doesn't move, just stands still as Michael walks over to him, a smile pushing up on his lips. He feels Michael's hands on his face, palms against his cheeks and lets Michael kiss him.

He feels the scratch of Michael's beard and the soft press of his lips and Alex presses forward just a little, his hands moving to Michael's hips, bracing himself. The kiss is slow and gentle, and Alex feels like he's falling. There's no rush in either of their actions, Michael's fingertips lightly scratching at the nape of his neck, their noses bumping, and their foreheads end up pressed together as their lips separate.

"I want-" He pauses, pushing back just far enough so he can look up at Michael. He doesn't want to not be looking at him when he speaks. But he thinks of Michael's reluctance to come inside, and he thinks of the words Michael had once expressed to him about going where Alex wants, and he needs to make sure this is what Michael wants too. "Will you stay the night?"

----------

In the morning, he wakes up tangled up in Michael. There's no panic that sets in, no worry about one of them leaving, even if they haven't talked about the future yet. Because there's time for that now. And Alex knows, believes, they both want one together.

He opens his eyes to find Michael already awake, eyes open and watching him. It should be creepy, but instead all Alex feels is love.

"Morning," Michael says, leaning in and gently kissing his lips.

"Been awake long?"

Michael shakes his head. "I've never watched you sleep before. You always-" He cuts himself off and Alex can fill in the rest himself. He knows this story too.

Last night had been different though, from anything they'd ever done in the past. It felt like a new beginning for them, the way the whole day had. Michael had drawn the bath while Alex had gone through his nightly routine, finally getting the chance to remove his prosthetic. And as Alex had laid back in the tub, letting the hot water soothe his sore muscles, Michael had sat on the floor next to the tub, resting his head on his arm, and they'd just… talked.

Talked in a way they never had before. Alex had listened as Michael had finally told him everything he'd learned from Jones - from the white lies to the discovery of his own origins. He'd been unable to stop himself from taking Michael's hand as he talked about his mother, the way he'd started to doubt his own feelings about her, and the things she had done. Most shocking of all was when Michael asked to show him something, and Alex had just nodded before he was watching as Michael pulled a lighter out of his jeans and held the flame to the skin of his palm.

Instinct had him snatching Michael's hand, pulling it away from the flame - but his skin was perfect. The flame hadn't harmed him.

"I want to make you breakfast," Michael says instead.

Alex laughs, immediately burying his face into Michael's shoulder, because while a great idea, he doesn't exactly keep a fully stocked kitchen. Especially since he's a terrible cook himself, and restocking the fridge after his year spent cleaning up Project Shepherd messes hasn't been a huge priority.

"I'd like that except…" he lets his voice trail off, but leans up and kisses Michael. "I'm not sure there's much in the fridge to cook with."

Michael shakes his head, laughing, and Alex kisses him again, pulling himself up so he's leaning over Michael, his fingers stroking Michael's curls, gently tugging on the ends and watching as they spring back into place.

"Another time then."

Alex leans forward, their lips almost touching as he smiles. Because another time is a future they now have together. It's tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. "Tomorrow."

"Yeah?"

"I don't want - I meant what I said all those months ago. About starting over. And-" He pauses, thinking about every night he's spent with Michael that ended with one of them leaving, the other never staying. "We've never had breakfast before."

They trade lazy kisses, neither of them able to stop smiling, and it's slow and perfect, and Alex thinks he could stay wrapped up in Michael Guerin forever. But he gets an idea, and it's a good one. And he knows Michael will be okay with it, that Michael will agree to it. Because now he knows Michael feels the same, that Michael wants the same things for them.

"Let's go to the Crashdown," he says against Michael's lips.

Michael pushes back, not away but enough so he's looking at Alex. And there's a flicker of something on his eyes, an old hurt resurfacing that Alex can see. Another thing they need to talk about.

"Like a date?"

Alex rolls his eyes, but kisses Michael again. "Like a date. Like two people having breakfast. I just - I want to do these things with you. I want us to be able to do these things."

"Okay, Manes," Michael replies, pushing up quickly and kissing Alex, like he can't get enough. "Let's go have pancakes."

#roswell new mexico #malex #alex manes #michael guerin #malex fic #notso writes fanfic #ummm have some soft malex this morning #before the episode tonight #because my brain has been nonstop

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emotionallyits2009 · 3 years

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deancas fic rec list!

hello everyone! happy christmas to those who celebrate it, my gift to you is my fic rec list that i said i would make like a month ago. the only thing it is organized by is canonverse vs alternate universe. tried to cover a variety of subjects but there are in particular many fics of the genre “postcanon where cas is human and he and dean live together and slowly finally get their shit together” because i know what i’m about, son. HOPE U ENJOY. and if you wanna talk about any of them or rec me other fics please do. :)

Canonverse:

where the weeds take root by deathbanjo, 30k, explicit “Are you happy? Y’know. Just—being here,” Dean says, gesturing to the yard with his beer bottle. “Being with—I mean, you used to fight in celestial wars and—and save the world. Now you’re growing vegetables and talking about chickens.” There are many fics set in a post-canon universe where Cas is human and he and Dean live together and slowly fall into a relationship. Imo this one is the best of the best of that genre. This was one of the first fics I read back in July when I was getting Back Into Supernatural where I was like oh fuck I’m like in this. Dean builds Cas planters and bookshelves and a chicken coop and they fight and work through it.

Cuckoo And Nest by komodobits, 10k, explicit For a long time, Castiel thought that every earthly possession other than the immediately necessary was excess to requirement. But Dean – Dean who named his car, who keeps a photograph of his mother in his wallet, some thirty-plus years after her death, who still has the crumpled ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign with a sleeping pelican emblazoned on it from the Microtel outside of Roanoke where he first kissed Castiel, clumsy and unsure, under the unsteady fluorescence of an exhausted bathroom bulb – is sentimental. It puzzles Castiel, where Dean draws the line between what is meaningful and what it is worthless. Really Gets the dynamic of Cas doesn’t think Dean wants him to stay/Dean thinks Cas will leave the first chance he gets. Also a nice example of Cas thinking he’s not wanted if he’s not useful/powerful and being told otherwise. Another all-time fave!

lonely hearts by outphastthemoat, 4.5k, gen He thinks he might give up having his own anything just to be able to step foot inside the room next door and sit on the edge of Dean’s bed instead. This one is for the CAS GIRLS who know what LONELINESS feels like.

Helionneiros by aeli_kindara, 24.2k, mature In which Dean visits his mother, and Claire takes Cas on a hunt. I’m always on the lookout for more fic with Claire and Jack. Jack doesn’t show up until the end here but the relationship between Cas and Claire is really nice.

Crawl by aeriallon, 11k, explicit It’s been almost four years since Castiel left Kansas; he'd eventually settled in an island town where he has a job, a house, and a life without the Winchesters. Every winter, Dean drives down to the coast to see him. Another fic where Cas is human but in this one he took some time for himself and got some distance from the Winchesters! He gets to be competent and weird as a human and we love that for him. I must warn you all that this fic contains one use of the phrase “making love” which would normally put me right off but it’s still worth reading. The first of a three-part series.

home where you hold me by microcomets, 1.6k, gen Cas and Dean, in the moments between their battles, ache for quiet spaces. Technically this is a coda to 10x20 but you don’t need the episode for context. Short and very sweet.

Build a Home by domesticadventures, 20.1k, teen After they save the world, Dean expects Cas to come back to the bunker with them. He doesn’t. This one is so cute it’s like what if once they were done saving the world Sam and Dean actually invited other hunters to move into the bunker with them. Obviously Dean wants that to include Cas but doesn’t know how to use his words.

the taste of gravel in the mouth by deathbanjo, 22.4k, explicit This is what Cas gave up Heaven for: greasy diner food, shitty motel rooms with even shittier cable, long car rides spent in complete silence except for the same six tapes playing over and over again, and a burnt-out husk of a man who can barely hold a conversation anymore. Angst fic! They go on a road trip and Dean is severely fucked up post-Mark of Cain.

Unknown Quantities by xylodemon, 8.6k, explicit No one ever tells Dean anything. Another nice getting-together fic.

Creature of Habit by trinityofone, 5.2k, teen The more you love someone, the more you want to kill them. Or: How Cas developed some bad habits, and Dean coped surprisingly well. This one is ancient by destiel standards (written during season 5) but it manages to nail the married couple vibes they give off in later seasons. Cas is a bitch and Dean likes him so much. <3

The (Mostly Accidental) Courtship of Dean Winchester by Tuesday, 11.2k, mature Angelic marriage rites were never intended to go quite like this. Another old one that is a lot of fun! They get Accidental Angel Married and if you don’t enjoy dumb fanfiction tropes like that I don’t know what to say to you.

Vena Amoris and Other Old-Fashioned Bullshit by pyrebi, 4k, teen In which angelic marriage bonds are apparently stupidly easy to trigger, Cas wages multidimensional war in Heaven, Dean can't catch a break like ever, Sam rather enjoys being a dick, love saves the day, and nobody consummates anything. The OTHER accidental angel marriage fic written in 2010.

Crazy Diamonds by pantheon_of_discord, 24.8k, explicit A week ago, Dean was pulled out of Hell. Now, he’s apparently woken up in 2018, and the angel that a mere twenty-four hours beforehand had threatened to chuck him back into the pit is sleepily pouring himself coffee and wearing Dean’s second-favourite Zeppelin shirt. It all seems like a perfect happy ending, but with Hell’s scars still so fresh, Dean can’t imagine how he could have possibly gotten there. At the same time, the Dean who went to sleep in the bunker, right next to Cas, wakes up on Bobby’s couch in 2008. He’s instantly bombarded with questions by a Lilith-obsessed brother and a man who’s been dead for years, and must decide between keeping his finally-perfect life intact, and the lives he could save by re-writing history. Regardless of these choices, both Deans are trapped in the wrong decade, and their only way back lies with a Castiel still very much under Heaven’s thumb – one who might find the future Dean describes difficult to believe. Time travel is FUN. There’s an excellent part where (minor spoilers) future!Dean is like, “Guess what, asshole? You like me so much you marry me!!!!!!!!!!!” to 2008!Castiel that made me laugh out loud the first time I read it. Also just a good reminder of how most problems in life are temporary and if you could go back in time to talk to your younger self you’d be like, “Hey man. Chill out. You get through it.”

The Path of Fireflies by museaway, 63.7k, mature After his humanity is restored, Dean wakes up in bed with Castiel, a wedding ring, and no memory of the past twelve years. There’s a lot of amnesia fic and djinn fic out there were Dean wakes up ~suddenly together with Cas~ but I like this one in particular because he’s initially very confused and kind of a dick about it until he acknowledges that being with Cas makes him happy.

take the long way home by dothraki_shieldmaiden, 95k, explicit Three months ago, when Dean decided to retire, he thought his life was going to end up differently. He'd thought that he might get to have it all, Sam, Cas, Jack, and nice little place to live. Instead he gets Sam and Jack off on their Summer of Love Tour, radio silence from Cas, and a never-ending road trip consisting of himself. Still reeling from the loss of his grace, Castiel travels the country in search of hunts. Driven by a need to prove his usefulness, he pushes himself beyond all limits of endurance. Together, with the help of a few friends, a crumbling Victorian house, and a stray cat, Dean and Castiel patch themselves back together and create a home together. Do you wanna read almost one hundred thousand words of Dean and Cas having extremely intense feelings but refusing to voice them aloud? Haha of course you do that’s why you’re here. There’s also a lot about Cas adjusting to being human and being depressed about it which might resonate if you’ve ever felt weird about having a body. To be honest the author could stand to use a few more commas but there were also half a dozen moments that made me put my phone down and drag my hand slowly over my face and whisper “oh my god” to myself which is like, the ultimate measure of a good fanfiction so it gets to be on the list.

like moses and batman and james dean by saltyfeathers, 31.6k, explicit dean used to turn tricks. over a decade later, he met cas. Have you seen the fanon (apparently pioneered by Mr. Jackles “Original Deankin” Ackles himself) that Dean used to prostitute himself to feed himself and Sam when they were younger? Are you interested in exploring that concept in fanfiction? Well, this is the only fic you need. Mind the tags on this one! It’s not what I’d call happy but it’s good.

Some Assembly Required by narrow_staircases, 47k, mature It’s September of 2005, and Dean Winchester, in an attempt to outrun old mistakes and painful memories, finds himself in southern Kentucky on a wild goose chase. He’s completely certain this weird religious movement he’s “investigating” is a hoax, despite the miraculous healings people report, and he’ll be back on the road in a day or two. Things are looking up when he meets Cas, an awkward (and gorgeous) graduate student who’s actually doing honest-to-god research into the local tent revival meetings. When that research takes a weird and personal turn, Dean’s left to face two very serious realities: one, this may be a real case after all, and two, he’s fallen way harder for Cas than he should ever have let himself. Stanford-era AU of Dean trying to avoid his father and getting in over his head on a case.

Alternate universe:

And This, Your Living Kiss by opal_bullets, 57k, mature Only a very few people in the world know that the celebrated and reclusive poet Jack Allen is just Kansas mechanic Dean Winchester, a high school dropout with a few bucks to his name. Not that it matters anymore; life has left him so wrung out he never wants to pick up another pen. Until, that is, a string of coincidences leads Dean to auditing a poetry course with one Dr. Castiel Novak. The professor is wildly intelligent, devastatingly handsome...and just so happens to be academia's foremost expert on the poetry of Jack Allen. Mundane AUs in this fandom have to be really, really good to catch my attention and this one is! It’s exactly what it says in the summary and the characterization is spot-on.

Out to Drift by deathbanjo, 20.9k, mature Dean drives a black car with a loud engine. He lies too easily. He keeps a gun in the back of his jeans, and Castiel isn’t sure, but he wouldn’t be surprised if Dean has killed someone before. Two people in fucked-up unstable situations meeting and forming a connection. Honestly guys I really just love deathbanjo.

#fic #deancas #destiel

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caitlesshea · 3 years

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no grave can hold my body down

4x13 Coda

Buck can’t breathe, Buck can’t think, Buck can’t see anything other than Eddie falling to the pavement. He has to get Eddie’s blood off of him, somehow.

Buck doesn’t know how long he’s been scrubbing at his hands. Long enough that they’re red and raw. Not red from Eddie’s blood. No. Just red from scrubbing. Vigorously. In the gross hospital bathroom.

He hasn’t looked at himself yet.

How can he? How can he be focused on himself when Eddie was lying in the street dying and Buck was watching?

How can he when he ripped Eddie’s shirt open to apply pressure to a wound that should’ve never been there?

How can he when he watched the doctor's wheel his best friend into surgery and all Buck’s left with is Eddie’s phone and necklace?

He reaches up to touch his face and nearly recoils at the tacky feeling he finds there.

He knew the blood, Eddie’s blood, was on his face. How could he not? But he hasn’t realized that meant he’d have to clean that, too.

He reaches for a paper towel and soaks it, then scrubs away at his face. Scrubs until his face is raw, too.

Then reaches down and scrubs at his throat.

He barely makes a sound. He doesn’t want to talk.

He’s all talked out.

Making calls he never wanted to make. First to Bobby. Then to Carla. Then to Eddie’s Abuela and Pepa. Then to Eddie’s parents. Bobby had said he’d make the calls, but no, Buck had to be the one.

He was waiting for Pepa to show up at the hospital when a nurse pointed out he may want to get cleaned up.

He moved on auto pilot and he’s been in here ever since.

“Buck. Buck!”

Buck stops scrubbing at his face, the paper towel ripped to shreds, and stares at Taylor, who’s somehow in the bathroom.

“Taylor?”

“Hey, Buckley.”

Buck shakes his head and wants to ask what she’s doing here, and how she got in, but it’s a public restroom, so he says nothing.

She takes the paper towels from him and shuts off the water.

“C’mon, Bobby brought you some clothes.”

Buck nods and is about to follow, when he finally looks at himself. He immediately flinches and thinks it’s best if he changes his clothes and never looks at this shirt again.

Buck takes the clothes from Bobby and changes quickly, walking outside with Taylor for just a moment.

“What are you doing here?” Buck asks, voice raw.

“You didn’t think I’d check up on you?”

Buck shrugs, because no, he didn’t.

Taylor sighs and he knows he was right.

“Please.” Buck doesn’t even really know what he’s asking but she seems to.

“This isn’t my story.”

“But it is a story.”

“Buck.”

“No. Thanks for helping me, but I’ve gotta get back inside.” Buck walks away without looking back.

When he gets back inside he sees Bobby talking to Pepa, and he nearly collapses in relief.

Pepa takes one look at him and hugs him and he feels Bobby patting him on the back, saying something about heading back to the station, so Buck nods.

“Sit. You look like you’re going to fall over.”

Buck chuckles, but it’s a hollow sound.

“Family of Eddie Diaz?”

Buck jumps up and Pepa follows, and then they’re told that Eddie survived surgery and is being moved into recovery.

Buck feels like all of his strings have been cut, feels like maybe he can breathe again without an ache in his chest.

“I was so scared,” Buck whispers and Pepa squeezes his hand.

“He had you the whole time, I knew he was going to be okay.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“I do,” Pepa says with a conviction that has Buck pausing.

He wants to say something, anything, but he doesn’t know what to say.

He doesn’t have to because they’re finally allowed back to see him and they both go, Pepa glaring at the staff to allow them both back there.

“Where’s Abuela?” Buck asks before they get to the room.

“At the house with Chris and Carla. She knows we’ll be there later.”

Buck nods, touched to be included, even though he knows he would be.

“Go,” Pepa pushes him through the door. “I’m going to call his parents, my nieces.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure he wants to see you and not me when he wakes.”

“Josephina.”

She just shrugs and walks away and Buck gets his first look at Eddie.

It should be easier to breathe knowing Eddie is alive and that he’ll be okay, but it isn’t.

His shoulder is bandaged and if it wasn’t for the IV’s and machines it would almost look like he’s sleeping.

Buck takes a step into the room and then collapses into the chair next to the bed. He grabs Eddie’s left hand and just relishes in it being warm.

He squeezes it gently, overcome with every emotion.

Love, gratitude, fear.

“Eds,” Buck sobs out as quietly as he can. He leans his head down against the bed, close enough where he can smell all the hospital disinfectant but underneath it all, Eddie.

He almost wishes he was the praying type, or at least the “thank god” type because he doesn’t know what he would’ve done if he had actually lost Eddie.

Before he gets too deep into a spiral the hand he’s holding squeezes his and Buck shoots his head up so fast he feels dizzy.

“Eddie?”

“Buck?”

“Yeah,” Buck sobs. “I’m here.”

Buck watches as Eddie’s brown eyes open, such a contrast to them closing on the pavement, and Buck just smiles at him.

Eddie looks around before his eyes land on Buck, his whole chest exhaling, like he can breathe now, too.

“Chris?”

“At home with Abuela and Carla.”

Eddie nods and Buck can tell he’s relieved.

“You’re okay?” Eddie asks it like a question and Buck can guess it’s because he still looks like shit but he nods anyway.

Eddie rolls his eyes and Buck chuckles.

“I’m okay. I wasn’t the one who was shot.” Buck points out.

“Wasn't the one who saw it,” Eddie whispers.

“Eddie.”

“Thank you.” Eddie squeezes his hand and Buck knows he’s not only talking about getting him to safety, or the ambulance ride, or even for sitting with him now.

“I told you I’d always have your back,” Buck says through tears and Eddie nods.

“I haven’t always made it easy.”

“Eddie.” Buck shakes his head, wondering where Eddie is going with this.

“It’s just…”

“Just what?”

Eddie doesn’t say anything, just looks at Buck like he’s imploring him to understand.

And Buck does.

“Loving you is easy, Eddie, easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

Eddie’s breath catches and Buck is glad he realized what Eddie was trying to say.

“The rest though? It’s worth it. You and Chris. You’re worth it.”

#buddie #911 on fox #blood tw #gunshot tw #evan buckley #eddie diaz

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shortsighted-owl · 1 year

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Seven Sentence Sunday

Tagged by the Outstanding @alyxmastershipper @rewritetheending @mellaithwen @spotsandsocks @comaboybuck - Thank you my lovelies!

A bit late with this; I’m so close to finishing my 6x12 ‘Sleep outside your door’ coda, so close!!!

Rightly as he had guessed, Buck is lying there in Eddie’s bed, arms clutching two of Eddie's pillows with a single socked foot poking out the duvet. ‘To regulate heat’ Buck always replied when asked.

Following a well-worn path, Chris rounds the bed, trailing a hand gently over Buck's dangling foot, traces his duvet covered leg, all the way up to his arm, before encircling Buck’s wrist in his smaller palm.

From his view by the door, Eddie watches as his son remains there for a few seconds, nodding to himself before moving to place a hand on Buck's stubbled cheek, his fingers drumming softly in turn, so delicately that Buck reacts with only the slightest snuffle.

For a moment, all Eddie hears is his son's breathing mingling with the bassier tones of buck’s snores, before, in a lull there drifts a hopeful whisper, “he’s gonna be okay.”

This time he can watch, observe his son, his… their Buck from this vantage point safely by the doorframe, no longer in a hospital room where the mere thought of looking at that tube meant acknowledging it may never come out.

Right now all Eddie wants to do is go over to that bedside, crack open his ribcage and stuff Chris and Buck behind his heart, turn himself inside out and stay there - nestled together.

Safe, alive.

Tagging: @hippolotamus @spaceprincessem @elvensorceress @chaosandwolves @loveyourownsmiilee @the-likesofus @bigfootsmom @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy @thosetwofirefighters @mumucow @thekristen999 @buddiefication @swiftiediaz @jobairdxx @ghosthunterbuck @putijeansdiaz-ronordmann @monsterrae1 @rogerzsteven - Feel free to save this for another tag game/next weeks! Not long till 6x13 everyone!!!

#6x12 coda #sleep outside your door coda #buddie #911 on fox #evan buckley #eddie diaz #seven sentence sunday #911 fox #owl hoots #owl wips #owl writes

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quillquiver · 4 years

Text

a damn good place to start

DeanCas Coda to 15x15, Dean POV, subtextual references to the Empty deal

“…And I know,” Cas is saying, “that things have been a little strained between the two of you, so…” He trails off, looking down at the truck’s keys as he fiddles with them. “I thought it best I go on my own.” He punctuates the end of his little speech with a shrug, surreptitiously looking up at the entrance like it’ll get him outside any faster.

Dean forces a smile to his face, and a nod, and raises the bottle of whiskey to his mouth.

“Dean—”

“Nah,” Dean says, waving him off. “You were just gonna leave, weren’t you? Without telling me? You prob’ly woulda called tomorrow and dropped the bomb and then that’s it, right? I see you when I see you—unless I don’t, ‘cause y’know.” Dean takes another swig. “Death.”

Cas watches him warily.

“I mean, it’s not like you’ve spent every damn moment leaving me lately. First trying to find Amara, now this…”

“That’s not fair.”

“Yeah,” Dean sighs. “Life ain’t fair. Hey, you ever think I might wanna come with you to save the kid?”

“You’re still angry at him—”

“So?” Dean demands. “He’s my kid, too. And you’re—and what, you think it’s just cool that you just take the choice away? That you make the decision? That you throw yourself on the sword every damn time an opportunity rolls around? You need to be here—”

“You’re the one who celebrated our child’s birthday without me, practically pushed me out the door to find Amara, and insisted Jack and I work a completely separate case!”

“Because you do stupid things, Cas! You’re safer here.”

“Well, I wasn’t here when you had that woman over, was I?” Cas rounds. “Mrs. Butters? It seemed you were all doing exceedingly well without me—”

“What the hell are you talking about—”

“Christmas!” Cas explodes. “New years and Thanksgiving a-and whatever other holidays humans have come up with these days to honour family and togetherness! Your complaints are noted, Dean, but as much as you needed me in Purgatory, my presence was clearly not required to celebrate family—”

“That’s fucking bullshit—”

“—At the end of the day, Jack is my son and my responsibility, and I will not stand by—”

“THEN GO!”

Cas freezes.

“…Fucking go, then,” Dean says, swallowing thickly. “You don’t think you’re a part of this family? Fine. I dunno how else to prove it to you. But just know that you left this time. Okay? You left. Not me. And I didn’t push you away.” He scoffs, shaking his head. “Oh, and just for the record: Mrs. Butters was forced labour for the Old Men—she showed up out of the blue, and she had real fucked up ideas about family. She didn’t trust us. She didn’t give us space. She wasn’t—anything.”

Cas’s eyes fill with tears and Dean forces himself to watch. To look. Because the last time they talked like this, Castiel walked out the door and didn’t come back, and Dean doesn’t want to miss a second of him, this time. He wants to remember the furrow of his brow and the way he clutches at his keys and how he shuffles in place.

And Dean realizes, suddenly and emphatically, that he can either watch him walk away again, or…

Or.

He takes a deep breath. Steels himself. Tries to remember that this is what you do for people you care about: you help. “Do you have a lead?”

“No, but—”

“Then just…” It’s fucked up, how scary reaching out his hand is; he’s killed more nightmarish shit than any normal person could shake a stick at, but holding out his hand for Cas to take feels like willingly throwing himself from an airplane without knowing his damn parachute works. “Stay tonight,” he says, praying his voice doesn’t shake. “We’ll see if we can get you a lead, and you’re out of here at first light, alright?”

Cas stares.

“I get wanting to save the kid. I do. But you’re no good to anyone dead, and you got nothing to go on. Just—let me help you.”

More staring.

“Cas,” Dean says, verging on begging with the way he wriggles his fingers. Come on come on come on.

“…Okay,” Cas says. He sounds more quietly suspicious than anything else, but all Dean hears is yes, as nimble fingers skate over his palm and grasp his forearm. A warrior’s pact. “First light.”

“First light,” Dean agrees. He carefully steps back towards the library, half-scared that if he turns around Cas’ll just make for the exit. Cas’s hand slips downdown until they’re holding hands.

Dean’s heart leaps and butterflies zing in his belly, and he tries to remember to be grateful of what he has, instead of upset by everything he doesn’t.

***

They cut it close, but Cas has a whisper of a ghost of something potentially useful to go on by the time Dean is walking him to the shitty old truck. He wants to sleep for a year, but even that isn’t as important as this; as Cas throwing arms around Dean’s shoulders and squeezing, murmuring his thanks, itching to get on the road. Dean holds him for just a moment longer. “Hey,” he says, his voice soft with a lack of inhibitions only bone-deep exhaustion can bring. “You’re not replaceable, okay? You gotta come back.”

Cas’s breath hitches. He nods. And Dean’s too tired to stop himself from petting a hand through his soft, dark hair, and too weak to keep himself from smiling after. “Knock ‘em dead, huh?”

When Cas pulls away, his blue eyes are bright with tears. His mouth twists into something agonized, moving like he’s trying to speak but mangling all the words before they get out. “I—Dean, I—”

And, somehow, this part isn’t scary at all.

It’s nothing for Dean to lean in and kiss him, the thing soft and almost absurd in its simplicity. In its sweetness. It’s probably the gentlest kiss Dean has ever given another person, ‘cause—well, Cas shoulders the weight of the world, and this isn’t something else for him to carry. This is something for them to share, even as he clutches at Dean’s robe, even as he cries harder. Even as he pushes forward, Dean keeps him gentle. Soothes him with a hand in his hair and another thumbing at his jaw until they’re kissing in earnest once, twice, three times; again and again and again until Dean loses count.

When Cas pulls away, he wells up again, and Dean shakes his head. He thinks he should be more worried about this—Cas crying is something he’s only ever seen twice before, and it’s never been like this. But the alarm bells are overshadowed by everything else: God, Amara, Jack… if Cas wants to cry, he’s damn well earned it.

He puts his own hand to the one Dean has pressed against his stubbled cheek, squeezing his eyes shut. “Dean, I—”

Dean hushes him. Presses fingertips to Cas’s lips. “Later, okay? When you get back.”

Cas’s face twists into something painful even as he nods, tears spilling once again onto his cheeks as Dean wipes the wet tracks away. He looks beyond agony, like something’s tearing him up from the inside out, and it’s all Dean can do to assuage his fears by kissing him again, saying, “Hey, I know, okay?” And then, “…Me too.”

Cas’s fingers dig into Dean’s biceps. “I wish we had more time.”

“We do.” Cas is clutching at his hands, now, touching him, always touching, as Dean throws caution to the damn wind and presses a kiss to their tangled fingers. “You’re coming back,” he murmurs. “We’re gonna go on dumb dates and you’re gonna have to sit through my Star Wars marathons and I’m gonna make you watch tentacle porn with me. You’re gonna hate it.”

Cas barks out a laugh, sniffling.

“Seriously,” Dean grins. “You’re gonna regret ever letting me kiss you.”

When Cas leans in for the first time, he’s a little clumsy; catching the corner of Dean’s mouth in a kiss so earnest and sweet Dean doesn’t know what to do with himself. When he pulls away, he looks at Dean with intent. “Nothing could ever make me regret that,” he says lowly, seriously. “Nothing.”

It takes another while for Cas to get actually get into the truck—a lot of kissing and promising dumb shit like they’re the leads in a harlequin romance, only separated by the cruel whims of the Universe until they’re reunited for their happily ever after. It’s stupid, but as Dean watches Cas’s rickety old truck drive away, he thinks… maybe it isn’t. Maybe he’s fucking owed that; a life with Cas and Jack and Sam, all of them under the same roof—no one suffering or lying or worried for their lives.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and Dean grins when he sees a heart emoji. Pressing the ‘call’ icon, he holds the thing up to his ear wearing the dumbest grin to ever grace his own stupid face.

Cas picks up on the first ring. “I thought you were supposed to be asleep.”

“I thought you weren’t supposed to text and drive.”

“I pulled over.”

Dean beams at his slippers, phone clutched to his ear, blush heating his cheeks. Fine. Okay; maybe they don’t get all the bells and whistles of a harlequin happy ending. But this, right here?

It’s a damn good place to start.

#destiel #deancas #destiel fic #angst #fluff #hurt/comfort #spn spoilers #s15 #15x15 #15.15 #spn 15x15 #so just to be clear #when cas is really upset he's upset because of the Empty deal #because Dean has made him beyond happy #but he knows that if he finds a way to save Jack it's over for him #this whole deal thing hurts so much fuck me #adventures in fanfic

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ravenwingdarkii · 3 years

Text

BNHA Ch 303 Coda Todoroki talks to Bakugo

(because we didn’t get the one sided bakugo and deku convo we were hoping for. Oops, it’s whump)

Moments after Best Jeanist and Hawks left Endeavor’s room, the atmosphere, well, it didn’t relax, this was the first time the (majority of) the Todoroki family was in one room together after all, but it settled into a heavy tension Shoto was accustomed to.

Then there came yelling and screaming that Todoroki was also, unfortunately accustomed to.

“DEKU YOU FUCKING BASTARD!!”

The yell jolted most of the Todoroki family slightly, but Shoto simply turned to look in the direction of the door. It seemed Bakugo was awake as well. He’d heard from Kirishima and the others that he was going to be fine, but hearing him screaming was another matter. He’d expected a few more hours before...this.

“WHY THE HELL AM I AWAKE WHEN YOU’RE STILL SLEEPING, HUH?!”

Then there was shouting from a host of their other classmates, and what sounded like a scuffle broke out. Shoto listened for the pop of explosions as he headed toward the door, but there weren’t any. By the time Shoto had entered the hallway, Bakugo had been dragged down the hallway, presumably back to his own room, tied up in Asui’s tongue.

So he was looking for Midoriya, then. Shoto closed his eyes as the image of Bakugo pushing Midoriya out of the way of Shigaraki’s tendrils pierced his mind. The confusing amalgamation of relief and pure terror-

He shook his head. He almost wanted to stop his classmates dragging Bakugo away. And if Bakugo could force his way in to see Midoriya, then Shoto could probably get in by following Bakugo’s wake of destruction. But it wasn’t as if he could stop or even get the attention of his classmates, short of using his quirk in the hallway.

He lowered his hand and watched blandly as Bakugo was dragged back to his room by a force of over-protective classmates as Bakugo continued to yell incoherently. Just as they rounded the corner, Bakugo managed to get a hand free and pointed straight at Shoto, yelling something he couldn’t make out over their classmate’s raised voices.

Shoto stood in the hallway for several moments, considering his options. The threshold back into his father’s room was seeming to be an unpassable barrier. He saw Natsuo watching him out of the corner of his eye. Endeavor was still collecting himself. His mother was inside, calm and placid as a frozen sea. His instincts still told him he couldn’t allow himself to leave them in the same room together. Just as he was gathering the strength he didn’t have to rejoin them, his sister leaned forward to give him the shoo-ing motion.

Bewildered, he watched her repeat the action again, more forcefully, before his feet were leading him down the hallway toward his room. The meaning was clear in a way only a school teacher could be- get out of here. He technically shouldn’t have been out of bed either. If the nursing staff weren’t so brutally overworked at the moment, getting caught might have actually been a concern.

He didn’t make it to his room, only because he found a window, and from that window he could make out the street, which, of course, was full of reporters. Reporters because of the message D--Touya had put on national TV. Possibly the biggest hero scandal of all time. He watched the figures move and shift for several long moments before continuing on, past his own room in a haze. He wondered how long it would take for them to abate, weeks, months, or if the shadow of his father’s doings would shadow him his whole life, as he’d once feared.

He couldn’t leave the hero wing, or even the secured floor, media and all. He knew he shouldn’t have even left his room. There were injured heroes on this very floor that would be very angry at his family. People who lost friends by his brother’s hand. His fist clenched, the bandages squeezing painfully across his burns. His head began to swim. Burns his brother- that Touya, who was alive-- who had burned himself alive, who had tried to burn him to- he was alive. And because Shoto had been born, he’d burned-

“Half and half? You fucking lived, too, huh?”

Shoto only became aware of his own harsh breathing when he heard Bakugo’s voice from the room he’d been trying to pass. He passed a rough hand across his eyes quickly, trying to clear the haziness and dizziness that had encroached. He took a few seconds to recollect himself before he backed up a step to be in view of the open door and peer in.

It was Bakugo’s room but the others who’d dragged him back into his room were gone now and he seemed to have cooled off marginally, though it easily could have been due to blood loss. He was at least sitting up in bed, and though most of his body was unscathed, Shoto knew the major damage was to his torso, after all, he’d been trying to keep his blood from soaking the battleground just two days ago. The blond boy had a breathing mask on his side table that he was clearly meant to be using, judging by the fact the machine was still on. But seeing as he didn’t seem to be following any medical orders, he didn’t know why this one would be different.

Shoto pointed to the machine questioningly anyway. Bakugo’s face scrunched up in a unique mix of outrage and confusion only he could achieve.

“What the hell are you doing, half-face?”

Shoto sighed inwardly and stepped into the doorway. In his quietest voice he managed. “You...sh-should-” he cut himself off when what felt like ash crept up into his throat.

“Eh?! What was that? I can’t fucking hear you?!”

Inwardly rolling his eyes, Shoto walked up to Bakugo’s beside and tapped insistently on the machine. He hadn’t intended on being the hospital police but here he was anyway.

“We-ar,” Shoto managed quietly. He hadn’t intended on speaking anymore but his throat closed up on him anyway leaving him trying to very calmly breathe out of his nose and wait for the pain in his throat to pass. He’d overdone it badly when talking to his father, but his voice was his least concern in that situation.

Bakugo was looking at him like he was trying not to yell some more and was piecing something together, because of course he was. He was scary smart.

Shoto rolled his eyes, which did wonders in releasing some of the tension building in his body, and took a seat before his shaky body could decide to take one for him. He’d powered through where he’d needed to though, so he didn’t have regrets there. But his adrenaline was spent and now he was sitting silently in Bakugo’s room like a wallflower as the other boy fumed.

“What’s wrong with your voice? Did your shitheel of a brother do something?”

Shoto just stared levelly at Bakugo, inclining his head slightly in agreement. Then, as an afterthought, pointed to the bandages on his neck.

Bakugo stared back for a few long seconds, which made Shoto suddenly feel self-conscious about how he looked like he’d just climbed out of a furnace, and it wasn’t too far from the truth.

“Don’t expect me to pull out any JSL knowledge or anything, Icyhot. It’s your own fault for coming and following me and the nerd into that shitstorm,” Bakugo grunted, finally turning away.

Shoto didn’t know much either, and his hands were damaged enough he couldn’t write well, so he certainly couldn’t sign clearly either. He wished he could, or that he hadn’t been so in shock to see his mom visiting that he’d remembered his phone. Suddenly the prospect of getting his phone, literally one room over, was too much to consider.

So he couldn’t say anything he wished he could back and instead tried to see if he could get some answers. He tapped the side table with a finger to draw Bakugo’s gaze again. The looking away wasn’t going to work right now. Shoto had a hundred questions floating around in his head, mostly about Midoriya, mostly ones Bakugo couldn’t answer. He sat there helplessly for a moment before he pointed at Bakugo and tilted his head.

“I’m fucking great, asshole. I’m pissed that worthless nerd isn’t up yet. The gall of that bastard, sleeping in like this.” Bakugo started getting up again and Shoto rose and held out a hand in front of him, which Bakugo pushed past to stand up.

Shoto sighed inwardly before scrubbing his face with a hand despite the discomfort it brought.

“Well as much as I enjoyed what must have been our worst conversation yet, I’ve got fucking places to be, namely shaking some consciousness back into Deku.” He glanced back slightly to look at Shoto. “Go fucking crash or something, you peppermint-haired mime bastard.”

Shoto shook his head, joining Bakugo in the hallway and pointing in the direction Midoriya’s room was in. He wanted along for the ride. It was probably going to be his only chance until Midoriya was well on his way to recovery. And he’d been in such bad shape…

“You’re following me, the hell?! This is a stealth mission, I need to get past Deku’s fucking goons. They’re like patrolling the hallways or something.” At Shoto pointing blandly to himself, Bakugo unprickled a bit. “They’ll let you by. Alright, fine. We’ll give it a shot.”

Badly injured, they were making progress, though admittedly slow progress down the hallways to the other side of the hero wing. Bakugo’s eyes glanced over to the name plate once they were walking down the hallway he’d been apprehended in.

“Enji Todoroki,” Bakugo ground out, “that’s the room you were leaving when I saw you.”

Shoto shrugged helplessly.

“Everyone fucking heard. I’ve been awake for an hour and even I’ve seen Dabi’s propaganda shit,” Bakugo started.

Shoto suddenly found the corner of the hallway to be the most interesting thing he could be looking at.

“The country, if not the world, is gonna be airing the Todoroki dirty laundry,” he continued.

Shoto thought about the news crew that hadn’t dispersed yet outside. Wouldn’t, probably, until they got pictures, a status update on him or his dad, or a statement. Books would be published about the event and the implications of the hero industry. The victims of Dabi would rightfully hate them. He leveled an exhausted stare at the other boy. Bakugo must have been too busy using walls as a handhold to glare back at him.

Another burning question pushed to the forefront of Shoto’s mind. Not a question, really, an acknowledgement he desperately wanted to address. He gestured to Bakugo’s torso.

Quietly, he wheezed, “Sa-aved Midori…” his voice cut off on its own and he had to stop walking for a moment to let a round of wheezing, wet coughs shudder through his body. That couldn’t have been good, but then again Bakugo had been coughing up blood half an hour ago, so it was the status quo.

“Oi, shut the hell up! Don’t even try with that shit, you sound like lungs were cooked!” He yelled, pointing at Shoto. Shoto gave him an impatient look, still holding his painful throat and blinking the tears out of his eyes. He hadn’t gone through that just to have his question ignored.

“Christ. Fine, yeah, I shoved him out of the way. I knew I could handle it better than shitty Deku and did you see him, anyway? He was out of his fucking mind. I did what I had to. I figured we were all gonna bite it anyway.” Bakugo said. “Clearly I missed some things in the fight though, because you weren’t this fucked when I went down.”

Shoto nodded. Yes, he’d missed a few things. Midoriya losing any semblance of sanity for one, Dabi for another.

“Ah! Bakugo, you shouldn’t be up! Allow--” Iida appeared from around the hallway, in Shoto had no choice to believe was in fact a patrol route. The class rep broke off when he noticed Shoto a few steps behind. The ice and fire user gave the other boy a small smile in greeting. “I- Hello, Todoroki. How are you--it’s to say-” Iida fumbled for words, arm knifing the air.

“Engine legs, shut the hell up and quit pussyfooting around! It’s fucking annoying to listen to you blab,” Bakugo ground out. “We’re going to see Deku.”

Iida ran up the Bakugo to put a hand on his shoulder, but Shoto walked over to meet him, putting a hand on his shoulder and shaking his head. Iida met his eyes, and the fight started to leave Iida. He quickly diverted his gaze, a droplet of sweat beading on his forehead. “Well, if Todoroki is going to keep an eye on you, I don’t see why I should refuse...but I must insist you two get back to bed as soon as you’re done!”

After that, Iida beat an even hastier retreat than usual. Shoto let out a sigh. Another of his friends, treating him differently now that they knew. How much would this shake Class 1-A to its core? Was it salvageable, or were they going to think of him as the boy with the not-dead villain brother from now on? He just wanted to find Touya and figure out the rest later.

“Oi, Icyhot. Get over here,” Bakugo called. While Shoto had been in thought, Bakugo had pulled ahead, and he looked pissed about waiting. “You’re my fucking get out of jail free card, since know one wants to say ‘no’ to the abused kid. You’re gonna follow me around while we’re here, got it?!”

Shoto leveled Bakugo an annoyed stare but followed anyway. It didn’t have the same hurt, coming from the class loudmouth, somehow. At least there was one person he could rely on not treating him differently.

Might become a series...

#bnha spoilers #bnha ch 303 #bnha 303 #mha 303 #todoroki shoto #todoroki shouto #bakugou katsuki #bakugo katsuki #whump #h/c #hospital arc #post paranormal liberation arc #todobaku #friendship #bromance #todobaku friendship #gen #no pairings #icyhot

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blouisparadise · 4 years

Photo

Here are some amazing bottom Louis fics posted or completed during the month of July. We really hope you enjoy this list and that you give these fics a lot of love.

Happy reading!

1) Your Good Time | Explicit | 3070 words

Louis nodded along with what the guy was saying, apparently his arousal taking over his brain to mouth filter as he said, “Who would want to hide a fit bloke like you? That guys an idiot.” Louis scoffed, dramatizing the word ‘idiot’, giving the guy a sly smirk. The guy leaned an arm against the bar, turned his body to Louis and fixed him with a curious look before he held out a hand.

“M’Harry.”

Louis and Harry meet in a bar when Harry's date is an ass. Inspired by Temporary Fix by One Direction.

2) I Push You To The Limits | Explicit | 3846 words

Louis is a brat who likes seeing his boyfriend get jealous and possessive over him.

3) Overkill | Explicit | 4354 words

Louis was never going to get over how fucking attractive Harry was. How glorious his big, tall, curvy body was. The feeling of Harry behind him, hot and heavy, trapped on the tube after they’d been somewhere during rush hour. His thick hands, full of pretty rings sometimes, handing Louis a cup of coffee, then getting one for himself.

4) Too Nervous to be Lovers | Mature | 6445 words

Louis doesn't want to spend quarantine with Harry, his straight roommate, who doesn't even acknowledge his existence.

5) Fratboy In Love | Mature | 6830 words

Harry Styles was a frat boy who loved to sleep around and flirt with boys and girls. Louis was a good uni student who loved to stay in and study and wasn't much of a partier.

Insert his best friend Niall who talks him into going. Louis gets drunk and ends up sleeping with harry. The next day he leaves before Harry wakes and tries to avoid him at all costs. Thinking Harry wouldn't care since Louis was just another conquest. But what if Harry did care. And actually have a crush on Louis. Read and find out

6) My Sunflower | Mature | 7057 words

Louis would rather be sunbathing at the beach with his friends, not slaving his spring break away in his father’s flower shop.

7) Waiting | Explicit | 8023 words

Louis Tomlinson was Harry’s omega, of this Harry had always been sure. Unfortunately for Harry, Louis seemed to think they were just best friends. The six weeks that Harry has to live with Louis were going to be rough.

8) Shine Light Upon Your Ground | Explicit | 8506 words

Note: The fic pairing is Louis/H, which the reader can picture as Harry or Henry Cavill.

Louis sighs again and fiddles with the bracelet on his wrist, twisting the charms around and petting the fake diamonds.

“How much for a night?” A deep voice suddenly asks him. The man who approaches him is already pulling out his wallet and flicking through a bundle of bills. Louis, who had been sitting at the bar completely innocent and minding his own business, lets out an offended, strangled sound.

“Excuse me?” He demands, straightening up in his seat. The hem of his dress creeps further up his thigh but he pays it no mind.

9) Glistening Under The Sun (You're My Honey Soaked Love) | Mature | 8996 words

“Oh Petal,” he picks her up nuzzling the top of her head with his cheek as she nibbles on the lavender, “How lucky are we? I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy, the only thing we have to be sad about is that soon I won’t be able to hold you like this,”

10) Connected To The Heart | Explicit | 9059 words

Note: This is an coda scene for this fic.

“Your stage cue is way too close for you to be wearing that look you’re wearing,” Louis informs him. He can’t stop himself from looking up at Harry through his eyelashes, the silk of Harry’s dress shirt brushing against the backs of his knuckles.

“Twenty minutes,” Harry agrees. His breath is minty from the gum he was chewing earlier, fresh and warm. “Twenty minutes can be a long time, baby.”

This time, Louis has to force himself to roll his eyes. “Not nearly long enough for the way you always want to fuck me.”

11) Fuck U Betta | Explicit | 11438 words

There’s something about having Louis like this, exposed and desperate, that makes a primal urge bubble up from deep inside Harry’s chest. Desire mixed with something else, something unquantifiable. It’s the thing that makes them want this, need this. Nothing else will satisfy them or quench their thirst.

OR the one where Harry likes the thrill of the chase, Louis likes to be chased, and everyone gets what they need… in the end.

12) Kiss Me In Your Chevrolet | Explicit | 11569 words

"Yes, Lou?" Harry asked, rubbing his tired eyes. A gust of wind came through the open windows, sending chills down Harry's arms as a light rain began falling outside. He closed his eyes again and let his head fall back to the couch arm rest.

"Can we go there?" Louis asked, probably pointing somewhere. Harry opened his eyes and felt his heart jump in his chest, a magazine page a couple of inches away from his face. Startled, Harry closed his eyes and breathed heavily, trying to collect himself.

Harry blinked a few times to focus his eyes on the page Louis still held in front of his nose. "You want to go to the Grand Canyon?" He furrowed his eyebrows, tilting his head to the left to look at Louis' face.

13) Pull The Trigger | Explicit | 12007 words

Note: This fic is a sequel to this fic, which is #16 on this list.

Louis has never been alright with killing. Will that change when he learns what it's like to be the one holding the gun?

14) Open All Night | Explicit | 12537 words

It’s six in the morning when Harry finally makes it back home.

Harry's a bartender, Louis' got a nice ass and a shit taste in men. They make it work.

15) Among Other Things | Explicit | 16073 words

“Harry, it’s 7:45, oh my god, my class starts at 8:15,” and Louis wants to cry. Harry’s busy under the bed trying to find the tiny silver key but Louis knows that fate just hates him and he needs to find a way to get up. “Harry, I—fuck,” Louis whines. Harry stands up in a rush.

“I can’t seem to find them. It. The key.”

Or, Louis’ the teacher of Harry Styles’ daughter. Their paths shouldn’t cross like this. This meaning Louis showing up to school handcuffed to a headboard.

16) A Bullet And It's Gun | Explicit | 18156 words

Note: The sequel to this fic is #13 on this list.

Louis’ parents arrange his marriage with Harry. He’s fully ready to accept that he’s going to be a sad and lonely person for the rest of his life. But then Harry starts proving himself as more than just an asocial man with money.

17) By Such Slight Ligaments | Explicit | 26764 words

Note: The fic pairing is Louis/Henry Cavill.

A late night visit to a patient sets off a series of events that will turn Louis' world upside down.

... Here there be monsters.

18) At Your Fingertips | Explicit | 27384 words

He finds himself wrapped up in sheets in bed on Thursday night, staring at the familiar name on a new story that was posted the night before.

His fingers twitch, ready to hit play and surrender to his impulses, saving the regret and turmoil for later.

And still he hesitates, internally praying that he’ll somehow gain the strength to exit out within the next few moments before he inevitably loses his patience and hits the button.

Three…

Two…

One.

Play.

19) Forgot My Roots Now Watch Me Bloom | Explicit | 28334 words

Lonely transit worker Louis pulls his longtime crush, Peter, from the path of an oncoming train. At the hospital, doctors report that he's in a coma, and a misplaced comment from Louis causes Peter's family to assume that he is his fiancée. When Louis doesn't correct them, they take him into their home and confidence. Things get even more complicated when he finds himself falling for Peter's brother, Harry. Loosely based on the movie "While You Were Sleeping".

20) Push You Out, Pull You Back In | Explicit | 31544 words

Harry hates feeling vulnerable. Louis is set on breaking through his tough facade.

21) Baby Blue | Explicit | 39439 words

Harry Styles takes his time coming out to greet them. Louis only knows what he’s seen on file and what he’s heard them talking about, but he fully lives up to the image he had inside of his head.

He saunters down the front steps of the farmhouse in his Levi’s, brown snakeskin boots curving out from underneath the denim Louis’ sure he had specially made. He’s got on a plaid button-down tucked into the jeans because of course he does, curls spilling out from either side of his cowboy hat around his sunglasses and country-tan skin.

“Harry Styles,” he drawls, extending a hand to Louis’ manager, “Pleased to meet ya’ll.”

22) Lidocaine And Palm Trees | Explicit | 44653 words

Heat, fake tans and lots of traffic.

Harry never expected to earn his living this way when he moved to LA.

Louis didn't think he could ever be the same after his divorce.

A lighthearted story about two guys trying to find themselves in the vibrant, sprawling city of Los Angeles, with a side of technical porn industry stuff.

23) Sleeping On Our Problems | Explicit | 67369 words

Louis sleeps with Harry and they have more than just catching feelings to worry about.

24) Truth Would Be | Explicit | 91869 words

“You want me? I’m not a… a thing to be owned!” Louis stuttered, still very angry and confused.

“Hmmm…” The alpha tapped his lips as if he was contemplating something. “Last time I checked, the debt was paid off and the only thing I had asked in return was… you. So technically I do own you.”

“You are crazy…” Louis muttered as he began to back towards the door. Harry’s impossibly green eyes turned a shade darker, but his tone was still teasing and light when he said, “Maybe I am…”

The I-paid-off-all-your-debt-so-you-are-mine AU in which Omega Louis wants to be left alone by Alpha Harry but it's super complicated when he starts to not hate the alpha all that much.

25) Collision | Not Rated | 224594 words

Note: This fic was finished in 2018, but two new epilogue chapters have been added.

Mythology/Fairytale!AU in which Louis is a dainty fairy with a temper who wants to be intimidating and Harry hurts people. Naturally, they hate each other.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

You can find other monthly roundup fic rec lists here.

#bottom louis #top harry #blp fic recs #monthly fic recs #fic recs #blp #larry

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deliberatelyvague · 4 years

Text

You Do Deserve It (obey me brothers x fem! reader)

Started: May 16, 2020 at 5:55pm

Ended: May 16, 2020 at 7:01pm

Pairing(s): (obey me brothers x fem! reader) (oc!mc x fem! reader)

Trigger Warning(s): suicide talk, loneliness, being ignored, confrontation, maybe some more.

Author’s Note: hey! I can’t answer your ask since you dm’ed me (which is totally fine 🥰) so I’ll tag you here: @leowillbefine . Also for the fem MC I decided to just insert myself, nothing will really change other than using they/them pronouns 🥰 I hope you like it!

Prompt/Request:

————

The lights of emergency rooms are blinding. You had always been told that, but you never really believed it until you experienced it after you tried to end your own life. The fluorescents were so bright, it was almost as if the doctors wanted you to stay longer because you had ended up blind.

“Hey! You’re finally awake,” a voice came from beside you, and you turned your head to see another figure sitting up on a bed, hunched over what looked to be an embroidery object. “Your parents were just here, but they had to leave because visiting time was over.”

You continued to sit there, looking around the room and the person coughed and leaned over the side of the bed a little bit, spitting into a trash can. You winced a little bit, and they took notice.

“Sorry about that. I guess having your stomach vacuumed will do that to ya,” they giggled a bit before turning back to their embroidery. “My name’s Esther, but that name is too biblical, so I go by Coda. I go by any pronouns, but I prefer they/them. Whatever’s easier for you.”

You continued to be quiet, before looking over at them and seeing what they were working on.

“Oh! Do you want to see what I’m working on? Hold on, I’ll come over,” they offered, and moved over to you, kneeling on the ground beside your bed. “Look, I’m trying to make a flower, but I’m new at this, so I don’t know if I’m doing well.”

“I think it looks good, Coda,” you complimented, and they lit up.

“Really? Thank you,” they cheered, before moving back over to their bed. “I would stay over there, but I got in trouble last time I tried to move around without someone in the room with me.”

“I’m in the room with you, though?” She looked thoughtful for a moment before smiling again.

“Good point, but I don’t want the doctor informing my parents I wasn’t cooperating again,” they explained, and then looked up from their embroidery. “What’s your name?”

You looked over at them, frowning slightly. They could’ve just read the patient info at the end of the bed. Or asked your parents.

“My name’s [Y/N]. Did my parents not tell you?” You asked, and they shook their head.

“Nah, they tried not to look at me much. It probably didn’t help that I was dry heaving when they were in here, anyway,” they answered, putting one final stitch in their work before setting it to the side. “They seemed kind of.. off. Of course, I can’t really judge how I would react if my child tried to take their life,” they thought some more. “What am I talking about? I don’t have children.”

You laughed a little bit, and their eyes lit up. You two sat in silence for a little bit, until you looked over at them. They had been heaving a little bit, but it was gradually becoming less and less as the night went on.

“So,” you started, and they gave you their attention. “You mentioned you and your stomach pumped? Sorry if it’s too personal, but what happened?”

“Oh, it’s fine. I just tried to overdose,” they said lightly, but it held a sad undertone to their voice. “My big brother caught me in the act, but I had taken them already, so he drove me here.”

“Oh,” you mumbled. You didn’t look at them again, and you thought back to earlier that day when you had tried to kill yourself. You two were such different people, it was hard to imagine someone like Coda feeling what you felt, and you felt bad for them. You wouldn’t wish anyone to feel like that, not even your worse enemy. “I also tried to off myself.”

They nodded, smiling a little bit.

“Yeah, but hey! We’re both still here, that has to count for something, yeah?” They offered, trying to cheer you up. “Beside, judging by how they roomed us, we’ll probably be together for a few days.”

After that, the two of you became good friends. You exchanged numbers, and kept in contact, talking often.

But the day that you were transported down to the Devildom, you were filled with sadness. They had taken your phone, so you couldn’t talk to them. You felt dread, but that feeling quickly changed when you met the other exchange student.

It was them, dressed in the same jacket as you, but with a button up, small tie similar to Asmodeus’ and pants. They were talking with Diavolo, about something, but the prince laughed often, which didn’t surprise you. Finally Diavolo’s eyes landed on you, and he pointed to you, and they turned.

A squeal was heard, and you were quickly bear hugged by them.

“[Nickname]! I can’t believe you’re the other exchange student! Fate, right?” They let go of you before assuring Diavolo that you would be well taken care of and that they would personally introduce you to the boys. They sent a jolt of anxiousness through you, and they lovingly put their arm around your shoulder. “It’ll be alright, I’m right here. If those boys even try anything, I’ll let them know what up.”

On the way to the House of Lamentation, they explained to you what you needed to know, and about the brothers, so you wouldn’t have to learn it yourself.

“Yeah, I heard the last exchange student I think their name was.. [MC]? Yeah, they had to learn it all by them self, evidently almost died a couple of times? I dunno, that’s just what I’ve heard.”

You didn’t know what to make of the brothers, they seemed to be pretty doting on Coda, even when they kind of brushed off the advances and tried to get the attention back onto you. They was more frusterated today than you think you had ever seen them, and finally they showed you to your room.

“I hope you don’t mind, but they wanted us roomed separately. Of course, they can’t really stop us if you want to room with me, but-”

“It’s fine, Codes.” They looked over at you concerned.

“You sure?” They asked, and you nodded, opening the door to your plainly decorated room. “Alright well, if you need anything, remember I’m always here for you, ya know?” You nodded again, and they hugged you goodbye. “Oh! Also my room is just down the hallway, the last one on the right. My door is always open.”

With that, they left toward their room, taking off their jacket and shoes, leaving the shoes outside the room. You found that peculiar and remembered to ask about it later, but right now you just wanted to lay in your bed.

This day had been weird enough, and you never dealt with change easily. So you tore off your clothes and changed into some clothes that happened to fit you perfectly and crawled into bed.

———

The boys ingoring you (pretty much) didn’t just happen the first day. It spread into the next day, then the next, almost like an infectious disease you couldn’t stop. You wanted to say something about it, but you didn’t want to be needy. But one day, you didn’t need to worry about bringing it up.

You all were sitting in the lounge room, you sat on one of the big chairs playing a video game you had bought off of Akuzon, and Coda sat between your legs on the ground, continuing the embriodery project they had been working on for the past few days. Now they was sewing leaves and what looks to be a cat.. holding up middle fingers? Anyway, it was calm, with Satan also in there, but reading a book and Belphegor sleeping.

At least it was calm before Mammon and the other brothers came in and started pulling Coda in every which way. Coda was started to get frusterated, before they ripped their wrist from Mammon’s hand.

“Why don’t you guys ever dote on [Y/N] like this? She can get attention from y’all too.” They explained, frusterated at the boys.

“She’s fine, she’s been more than fine in her classes and getting used to RAD,” Lucifer answered as that was the most obvious answer in the universe.

“Plus, she’s kind of quiet, anyway,” Mammon explained more, and Coda’s eyes snapped over to him.

“Shouldn’t that be more of a reason to talk to her? She’s quiet, get to know her,” they scolded. They then looked over at Lucifer. “And how do you think Diavolo would feel if he found out you all were neglecting one of his beloved exchange students?”

Coda grabbed your hand and lifted you up, leading you to the threshold of the room.

“Now, is you’d excuse me, I’m going to spend a lot of quality time with my.. friend, for the rest of the week, or until y’all get your priorities in order.” They declared, before being stopped by Lucifer’s voice. You dug your face in their back, trying desperately to stop the tears from coming. You didn’t really like showing emotions, but you also didn’t really like confrontation, whether it was between you and another person or two people.

“Who do you think you’re talking to with that attitude?” He asked, and Coda’s head whipped around.

“You, Lucifer. I’m talking to you. And Mammon. Each and everyone one of you that ignored her for the first week of her being here, but decided to give me all the attention like she was worth less than me. Which by the way, she isn’t.”

They then turned and led you to their room, locking the door behind them and putting you on their bed. Their room was decorated in greens and blues, a light colors, with books and miscellaneous embroidery designs and threads here and there.

They knelt down to your level after you say down.

“Are you alright?” They questioned, and you nodded, not looking them in the eye. They frowned, and cupped your face, but you smacked away their hand before standing up, hunching over in a corner and covering your face, hiding the rivers running from your eyes.

“[Y/N]-”

“Esther, why did you help me?” They flinched a little bit at that name before telling you that you were their friend, and they couldn’t stand the look on your face anything the brothers would talk to them but not you.

“I don’t like seeing my friends in pain, and they were obviously causing you that. So I put them in their place.”

“Coda, I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve to be treated like that, I don’t deserve any acts of affection you try to give me, I don’t-”

“I swear to God if you saw one more thing about you not deserving something that you do in fact deserve, I will cuddle you until you realize your worth.” They threaten, crossing their arms over their chest. “[Y/N], you deserve to be treated like how they treat me. And any acts of affection I give you, I give you because you do deserve them.”

You just looked away from them, and you heard them sigh and walk toward you, wrapping their arms around your waist from behind.

“[Y/N], c’mon. Let’s watch some Netflix and cuddle. I need to show you a lot of love to make up for the amount that you’ve been missing out on, obviously.”

———

It’s not needed to be said, but the boys started to treat you a lot better. It’s not like all of them were mean to you, Satan talked to you everyone once in a while before that as well as Asmodeus, Belphie also slept with you in the room occasionally, but the others didn’t really.

Now they included you in everything, and you felt a lot more included, but you sometimes felt like they just let you be there to please Coda. When you felt like this, Coda knew almost every time, and would grasp your hand and tell you to stop thinking like that. Nothing good would come out of it, and that you could rant to them later tonight about what was bothering you.

The rest of the year was great.

————

This was written by me in no way trying to romanticize mental illnesses. I try to write what I feel would help me in the moment. I completely understand that mental illnesses don’t just ‘disappear’ when you’ve figured out that someone loves you or someone helps you once- that’s why I don’t write what happens after in most cases. If you are struggling, please reach out to anyone you trust, or call a hotline.

#obey me #obey me x reader #obey me oc #obey me imagine #obey me oneshot #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me belphegor #obey me satan #obey me angst #obey me diavolo #lucifer #mammon #satan #belphegor #tw suicide

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dastardlydandelion · 3 years

Note

Please post the sickfic prompt turned corpse disposal. 😂

sure! that one’s p bloodless, i can post that one.

ao3 link

content warnings: implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced spousal abuse, minimally described fresh dead body, illness description

Billy isn’t sick.

Billy doesn’t get sick. He really doesn’t. Hasn’t had so much as a cold in years, albeit he’s claimed one as cover here and there whenever coke overuse made him maybe sorta sniffly and Neil started to eye him up like he might be suspicious.

Billy isn’t sick.

If he’s feeling achy, well, he’s just sore because Neil laid the belt on him pretty hard two days ago after he got sent home from school midday Monday, written up and suspended. If he’s coughing, well, it’s just because he’s been smoking more than usual. Neil’s been stressed out lately, so that means Billy’s stressed out too.

“No,” his father says sharply when Billy takes a seat at the breakfast table.

And Billy blinks at him, confused but careful.

“You’re not going to sit with us and cough all over the food like a human biohazard. I raised you to show more courtesy than that.” Neil gives him a stern look. “Go back to bed.”

“I’m not even—“

“Go back to bed, Billy.”

Billy hears the warning heighten in his father’s tone. He doesn’t argue. He hauls himself back to his bedroom and it’s whatever. He wasn’t really hungry anyway.

* * *

Okay, so Billy is sick.

He got himself suspended because he felt something coming on. He knows his body. He was feeling off kilter and sluggish, uncomfortable in the chest when he inhaled too deeply. So he put his boots on the desk in history class and flipped the teacher the bird when she asked him to sit properly. Even went the extra mile and sneered, told her to blow him when her jaw hit the floor.

He figured it’d buy him enough time to recover without having to call in sick, or get in trouble for skipping class. A suspension was one indiscretion and only likely to invoke one punishment. Skipping multiple days would’ve been multiple indiscretions and more likely to invoke multiple punishments.

In retrospect he should’ve just called in sick because the whole point of avoiding that route was avoiding having to admit it, but he can’t really hide it. Whatever he’s got came on hard and fast, doubled-down by Monday evening. It hasn’t gotten any better. Billy feels bad all over, the cough is near constant, and he’s shaking with chills. Puts his leather jacket on before he buries himself under the blankets and still can’t get warm.

And the coughing, ugh, the fucking coughing. Billy knows he’s being loud. He tries to hold it in but he just can’t. Spasm after spasm squeezes his lungs until they’re aching for air. His chest feels like it’s full of swamp muck and all he can do is ride it out, clutch at his ribs until he makes it to the oxygen on the other side.

Billy should get up. He should make himself get off his ass, go buy some cough drops or at least refill his glass of water. He’s going to make it happen. He’s definitely going to make it happen…just maybe not yet.

He never really gets around to it. Spends most of the afternoon slogging through coughs and trying to get comfortable even though it doesn’t really matter which way he tosses or turns, he’s still cold to the bone, chest stabbing with every burdened breath. The day drags and Billy catches snippets of the other members of the household moving about, knows it’s evening when Neil sticks his head in.

“I dug this out of the cabinet for you,” he announces, holding up a blue container. “Vapor rub. It’ll calm your cough down. Help you sleep.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

His father pads across the carpet, sets the container down on Billy’s nightstand, right within reach. He hovers uncertainly, eyes narrowed. Opens his mouth to say something and maybe he does, but Billy doesn’t catch it, snapping upright to bury another flurry of coughs into his closed fist. It’s a forceful fit and before he knows it, his father’s thumping him on the back. He’s probably trying to help but the heel of his hand connects with one of the bruises the belt buckle left and Billy can’t stop himself before he flinches.

Neil retracts his hand, leaves without another word. Billy rakes in breath at the coda of the coughs, air scraping against his roughshod throat. He goes as deep as he can even though it hurts, snatches the container of vapor rub.

Billy begins to unscrew the lid and notices some of the ointment is crusted under the lid. It flakes off. This stuff looks old. Billy checks the date on the label. Sure enough, it’s been expired for close to a year.

He throws it across the room in frustration, watches it bounce off the wall. Lies back down and pulls the covers up to his chin.

At some point Neil bangs on his door and demands he cut out the racket, probably thinking Billy rebuffed his generosity. Billy’s too exhausted to bother explaining the shit’s expired. Instead he turns his face into the pillow and smothers his fits into the fabric, hoping it muffles the sounds.

* * *

Sometime later Thursday morning, Susan knocks on his door. Billy contemplates pretending to be asleep. Really, he wishes he was. He’s feeling pretty rundown but he can’t seem to get more than a wink before he wakes up coughing.

But if he doesn’t answer it now, she’ll probably just bother him later. So Billy plods to the door and pulls it open.

“What?”

“Um,” Susan begins eloquently, blinking at him as she fiddles with the thin object in her hands. A thermometer.

“Neil tell you to do this?”

“N-No, but, uh. It’s probably a good idea to check your temperature. No offense, Billy, but you don’t sound so good and you’re awfully flush…”

“If I cared, I’d check myself,” he snorts irritably. “Try to stick that under my tongue and I’ll break it in half. Save your mother hen shit for Max.”

With that, he slams the door in her face. They’ve no love for each other. On infrequent occasions Susan will forget this and make some half-assed attempt to get closer to him. Billy’s always quick to remind her where they stand. It doesn’t take much.

Afternoon rolls around without Susan bugging him anymore. Billy isn’t a big reader but he doesn’t feel up to much else between increasingly productive coughing bouts that leave him hacking up gross, greenish globs into his small wire mesh trashcan. So he flips through some music magazines and the book he’s supposed to read for english class until he gathers enough energy to kick himself into gear.

He didn’t bother changing out of his clothes yesterday so he doesn’t need to change now. Just sprays himself with some cologne, figures he probably smells because he’s sweating nonstop. Discomforting drenching cold sweats like getting caught outside in icy rains, an experience Billy was blissfully unfamiliar with until Neil decided to leave sunny California behind.

He browses the small medical selection at Melvald’s, grabs a couple bags of cherry flavored lozenges and a bottle of cough syrup. Covers a couple fits with the crook of his elbow on the way to the counter. He swallows the gunk that comes up because there’s nowhere to spit it into and scrunches his nose in disgust, feels like freaking slime sliding down his throat.

It’s the town cuckoo who rings him up. Or that’s her reputation anyway but she doesn’t seem particularly nutty to Billy. Hell, seems less weird than Susan does when she’s doing shit like talking to the spiders she takes outside.

“Time to go, Little Creepy Crawly,” she’d singsonged last week, shaking a daddy longlegs out of her tissue on the front porch. “Go be free.”

“You need fucking friends,” Billy had told her after the fact. Sound advice, he’d thought. Susan only ducked her head and disappeared into the next room.

Town Cuckoo gives the amount. Billy digs through his wallet and comes up two dollars short. Ugh. Fucking brandname linctuses. Shit’s a ripoff but there was no generic equivalent on the shelf.

She tells Billy it’s on the house, forehead crinkling just a bit as she studies him, eyes all melty with sympathy. Screw that shit. Billy isn’t anybody’s charity case. He gives her a pointed glower as he stamps a five down on the counter, takes the two bags of lozenges, and leaves.

He eats through half of the first bag until his throat tingles with menthol and artificial sweetness, and actually manages to sleep for a few solid hours. He knows it’s been hours because when he wakes himself coughing, it’s dark out. Nighttime.

Billy curls inward with the spasms, tries to catch his breath between stabbing pains. This sucks so much. He’s hacking up more gunk. Attempts to rub some of the discomfort from his heavy, congestion leaden chest to no avail.

He just keeps coughing and coughing and he knows before long, Neil’s going to get in his shit about the noise so he forces himself to throw off the covers. His bruises are still healing. He doesn’t need any more.

Billy crams his feet in his boots and drags himself down the hall. To his surprise, Susan’s sitting at the kitchen table. She’s crying. The sobs wrack her whole body the way the coughs wrack his and her cheeks are blotched cherry red just like his lozenges, tear tracks shining under the kitchen light. It throws him, really. He’s lived with Susan for years and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her cry. She just. Doesn’t show much emotion at all, let alone displays like this.

Billy watches it the way he’d watch a car crash. Susan doesn’t even notice him until he’s coughing again. He curls his fist around his mouth, muffles them as best he can. Fumbles for his car keys when he’s made it through to the other side.

“Where could you possibly be going?” Susan asks, her voice thick, like there’s a bubble in her throat.

Maybe Neil hit her. Billy’s seen it so he knows it happens sometimes even though he’s pretty sure it’s not often. Not like how Neil hits him. Or hit his own mother. Susan is probably Neil’s favorite, obedient like a well trained dressage horse following all of his cues. Isn’t anything like his own mom who defied Neil like a wild mustang he couldn’t tame, who went braless and smoked hash with the hippies, screamed her lungs out at Neil in furious harpy volumes and called him names no matter how mad it made him. Who did her best to give back as good as she got even outmatched, even if it made him madder, throwing things or fists or swinging Billy’s Little League bat.

Susan is submissively behaved and tepid tempered, always wears her bra under the clothes Neil buys her in the fashions he prefers her in. Susan speaks softly and sweetly, never stays out unscheduled and doesn’t smoke anything at all, always smells like floral perfumes and lotions, never ever, ever like cigarettes or marijuana or other men’s cologne. When Neil hits Susan she goes slack and sloth and silent, and does not lift a finger to fight. It is the only thing she and Billy have in common.

“Nowhere,” he answers. “Gonna sleep in the car before Neil gets on me about making noise.”

“Billy, it’s too cold for that…besides, Neil isn’t going to wake up yet.”

“How do you know?”

What, does Susan think she’s a fucking fortune teller now?

Sure enough, she doesn’t have a straight answer for him. She stumbles over syllables that don’t shape into sentences and the last thing Billy feels like doing is indulging her.

“Pfft. That’s what I thought. By the way, you’re ugly when you cry.” Billy glares at her until she turns away, timid, bowing her head. He heads out to the Camaro, gets in the driver’s seat and pulls it back.

Yeah, it’s cold out but he can’t get warm inside under the blankets anyway. Neil’s already in a bad mood. He’d only barked about the racket last night but his father’s bite is worse than his bark and Billy knows better than to expect a second warning.

* * *

Friday morning, the frosty air scrapes Billy’s throat raw and makes him cough so, so hard. He’s beyond done with this shit, fuck everything. He takes shallow breaths to avoid the pangs of going too deep. The coughing still brings up gunk he spits out and he can feel the congestion crackling in his chest like thick, goopy molasses drowning his lungs, sticking between every rung of his ribcage.

It’s actually. Kind of. Beginning to concern him.

Is being sick normally like this?

Billy hasn’t been sick in so long, he seriously doesn’t know. But it’s been days and he’s not feeling any better. He feels worse. He really does. Breathing has become a grueling travail. Even to his own ears, his exhales sound wet and ratty. The coughing was a nuisance when it first came on but now it’s just downright exhausting.

But.

Well. He’s gotta be okay. He’s too young to be like, seriously sick. It’s probably just one of those things where it’s going to get worse before it gets better. A lot of things are like that, right?

Everything gets worse before it gets better. He’s fine. He’s definitely fine.

Billy goes inside. Everyone’s at the breakfast table and he doesn’t take a seat because he’s a biohazard and Neil already looks dour. Susan’s pouring him coffee. Max nibbles at a piece of toast. She has a cut on her cheek that wasn’t there when Billy saw her yesterday. Doesn’t look bad, just a simple scratch stretched under her eye, but when he peers closer is that…is that a bruise?

Yes. It’s pretty small. Faint. He would’ve missed it entirely if the thin red thread of her cut wasn’t so stark against Max’s pasty skin.

He’s smart enough not to ask in front of Neil. He doesn’t say anything. Gets the juice from the fridge and pours himself a glass. He’s two sips in before he has to set it aside, covering his mouth as another fit takes hold.

Neil is glaring when he makes it through. Right. Don’t cough around the food. Billy isn’t even sitting with them but whatever. He’s not gonna poke the bear. Heads off to Max’s room and waits.

Eventually she comes in to get her backpack, frowning at his presence. “What’re you doing in here?”

“What happened to your face?”

“Geez, Billy, you sound terrible.” Her nose crinkles.

“I asked you a question, Max.” Billy impatiently twirls his finger, slightly annoyed. He already knows he sounds bad, doesn’t need to be reminded.

Max turns away from him with a shrug, starts stuffing her textbooks into the bag. “I fell on the pond yesterday when I was playing with my friends. Where I fell…the ice wasn’t smooth. It was rough and it scratched.”

Billy narrows his eyes and measures her up. It isn’t a particularly unlikely story. But he wants to be sure.

“You’d tell me if it was Neil, right?”

“…of course I’d tell you if it Neil.” Max looks up from messing with her stuff and faces him with clear resolution in her gaze. “Neil hits you all the time so if he hit me, you’d be the first person I’d tell.”

Billy keeps his eyes on her as he goes over what she said. She doesn’t look like she’s lying. She doesn’t sound like she’s lying. Besides, Neil’s striking hand probably would’ve left a bigger bruise and he can’t place anything on it that would’ve scratched her skin like that. Neil’s fingernails are short and blunt, smoother than Billy’s, which get jagged when he bites. He doesn’t wear rings beyond his wedding band, and his is smooth silver, no shiny rock cut in the middle like Susan’s.

“Alright,” he concedes, turns to leave.

The coughing fit hits heavy, like a wrecking ball to the chest. Billy hangs onto the doorframe with one hand, covers his mouth with the other. It’ll pass. It’ll pass. It’ll pass.

Christ, he’s sick of being sick.

It passes. Billy keeps his grip on the doorframe as he works on drawing in air.

“You okay?” Max asks from behind.

And he can’t actually answer that just yet, still catching his breath.

“You sound really gross, like you’re literally dying.”

“I’m not…I’m fine…even run you to school, if you want.” Billy relaxes his grip on the doorframe and turns back to her.

“Oh.” Max perks up at that, eyes bright. “Yeah, can you?”

She lowers her voice as she adds, “I’m mad at my mom. I don’t really wanna ride with her.”

Billy doesn’t ask what for. It’s probably something stupid. Susan getting after her for not zipping up her coat or touching yellow snow or some other dumb shit. He’s too tired to care, really.

“Sure I can, s’what I just said, isn’t it? Finish getting your stuff together, bus leaves in five.”

* * *

Billy does’t go home for a long time. After dropping Max off, he just sits in the parking lot for awhile, rests his head against the steering wheel while the heat blasts from the vents. He’s got it all the way up and he’s so sweaty his hair’s plastered to the back of his neck, but he’s still freaking cold.

He doesn’t know what he did to deserve this.

Or.

Okay, maybe he does.

Eventually he pulls out of the parking lot, drives around listening to music just to be doing something. Winds up in another lot, an empty lot, where the rumor is they’re going to build a mall next year. Billy hopes so. Hawkins is mind-numbingly boring. Sometimes he just wants to scream about it, set fire to the fucking cornfields and scream at the top of his lungs.

His lungs aren’t really up to screaming right now though. Neither is his throat, really, tender from coughing spasm after coughing spasm tearing it up. Billy doesn’t know if he’s even been this sick.

He’s even considering bringing it up to his dad, maybe even. Asking Dad for help. And that.

That means he’s either desperate or delirious, and neither is a particularly reassuring thought.

Fuck.

Billy despises the fact it even crossed his mind. He can’t go to Neil. He won’t. That’s stupid. Neil would probably just dig him out some more expired vapor rub. Definitely wouldn’t take him to a doctor, at least not until the bruises heal. Maybe he’d compromise and get him the cough syrup Billy didn’t have enough cash for…

Between musings, Billy finds himself squeezed in another fit that pummels his chest like invisible fists. It’s so bad he’s left battling for just a breath of air, so forceful for one very scary second he’s even worried he won’t get it. That the coughing will go on and on, and he’ll never take another breath again. That they’ll find his body right here in the empty lot where maybe the mall will be one day.

Except the coughing eventually does subside and Billy does manage to get some air. But the fit spooks him a little. Takes enough out of Billy that he decides he’s probably going to have to go to Neil. Shit.

He puts it off as long as he can. Doesn’t even go home until he knows everyone is done with dinner. To his surprise, Neil isn’t watching tv. Billy heads down the hall. The light is on under Max’s door. The light is on under the master bedroom door too. Billy hesitates before knocking.

Does he really need to go to Neil?

Maybe he was exaggerating when he was worried earlier. Billy’s hand retracts from the door. It's promptly clamped around his mouth for what must be the hundredth time. He’s hacking hard into his palm, chest throbbing.

He doesn’t actually mean to open the door. But he grabs the knob for support and jerks when the metal is shockingly cold under his fingers. The next thing Billy knows, he’s stumbling over the threshold.

Susan whips toward him, eyes as wide as dinner plates and mouth frozen open in horror. At first Billy thinks it’s him. She’s so disgusted she’s horrified by him and his biohazard germs and any second Neil’s going to pick his head up from the bed and bark at Billy for intruding without so much as a knock, and then—

Then his eyes fall to the long bloodied baiting needle in Susan’s suddenly trembling hands.

“S-Self d-defense,” she quavers, backing away, that needle outward in her shaky, shaky hands almost like she thinks Billy’s going to advance on her. “It was s-self defense, B-Billy, I had to.”

Because Neil’s still motionless, facedown on the bed even though his son’s still coughing, making a racket and expelling biohazard bacteria in his very bedroom. He’s still coughing, fuck, his eyes are watering, but they aren’t so watery he can’t see what’s right in front of him. Billy plants a hand down against the dresser and tries to breathe.

“Self defense,” he rasps at the end of the fit, blinking at the acupuncture kit open inches away from his hand on the dresser.

“S-Slightly preemptive self defense,” Susan amends, swallowing. “Make no m-mistake, I had to. I had to, he— he was right on the verge of a b-blowup. You know your father, Billy.”

That is true. Billy knows his father well. He doesn’t speak to Susan as he shuffles up to the bed. Gulps down some of the gunk in his throat, grazes his father’s cheek with his fingertips. There’s blood welled up in a hole at the base of his skull but he’s warm, kinda, so maybe Susan didn’t kill him after all. He moves his fingers to feel for a pulse.

It isn’t there. Neil’s dead? Neil’s really dead?

“Dad?” he tries. It comes out a hoarse squeak. He clears his throat and tries again. “Dad? Dad, c’mon.”

Billy jostles his father’s shoulder. It yields no response. The bare skin is still warm, deceptively so. There’s not so much as a flicker of life beneath it.

“Holy shit,” Billy gasps.

Susan presses back against the wall, eyes still very wide, clutching that baiting needle so tight her knuckles are blanched. Her hands shake and shake.

“What are you going to do?” she asks in a whisper.

“What am I going to go?” Billy echoes. “I— I don’t know! What are you going to do? Call the cops?”

Because even if her self defense was preemptive, to use her description, maybe it’d still fly. Billy has bruises. Maybe Susan has some too hidden under that deep cranberry dress.

“Cops?” Susan’s mouth tightens as her head gives a firm shake. “Of course not. Don’t you know what police are like? Your father would’ve fit right in.”

Billy considers this as he coughs, stuffing them into the sleeve of his leather jacket. He can’t say his own experience with the law has ever been positive. And Neil was a security guard. What’s a security guard if not a wannabe cop?

“You planned this,” Billy heaves out when he’s done coughing.

“I’m….I mean, y-yes, but I—“

“What was your plan?” Billy interrupts. “Where were you going to go from here?”

“I didn’t expect you to show up,” Susan says, soft and frowning.

“I live here,” Billy points out and he laughs. Strange, strained laughter peals out of him until it triggers another bout of coughing because. What. The. Actual. Fuck.

“Oh, Billy…do you want some water? Maybe you should sit down.”

“Where?” he rasps between coughs. “Next to my dead dad?!”

“Keep your voice down,” Susan urges, waving the needle like a conductor’s baton. “Max is still awake.”

Billy wipes the perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand. Stares at Susan as he does his best to take even breaths.

“You’re wheezing.”

“You’re deflecting,” he fires back. “What are you going to do?”

“Um, uh…chop him up,” Susan admits quietly. “I’d p-planned to chop him up.”

“That’ll make a mess,” Billy blurts out, blunt.

“Messy, yes, but it’s the easiest way. I can’t exactly carry him.”

Billy touches the small of Neil’s bare back, skims his fingertips between hair thin acupuncture needles. He probes at the small of his own back, winces when dull pain pulses through the bruise. His throat is thick with something other than phlegm and his heart is racing rabbity fast. In this moment, Billy makes a decision.

“Not by yourself.”

Susan gapes.

“Where we taking him?” Billy asks.

“I…I honestly didn’t have an exact location mind, but farther away. Not here in Hawkins, the town is too small.” Susan swallows again and tugs at her sleeve. “I planned to bag his parts in pieces and drive a few hours out and spend the night disposing of the bags in different areas.”

That makes sense, he thinks.

“Sometimes I go to this gay bar about two hours away. Pretty big dumpster in the back.”

Billy tries to hit it at least once a month, if he can save up enough of his allowance for gas. Sometimes he collects enough chump change from idiots at school who forget to close their lockers, and isn’t above duping people outta their dough by turning on the charm, either. His interest in girls isn’t exclusive, he finds a helluva lotta guys interesting too. It’s just nice to get out of fucking Nowheresville even on the nights he doesn’t end up fooling around with anybody.

Susan looks absolutely bewildered.

“Gay bar,” he repeats slowly. “You know. Pride pub, homo hub?”

“I know what a gay bar is, Billy. Why on earth are you going to one?”

“Gee, I don’t know, maybe it’s because I’m secretly a drag queen bingo champion,” Billy scoffs in annoyance and it turns into a cough. The one sets off a fit.

“Billy, um…I don’t, um. I’m not judging your preference in partners or your private life, but you’re too young to be going to the bar. Any bar. It’s not legal, you’re a teenager.”

Jesus, he can hardly breathe. He feels like he’s going to fall over. Maybe he actually should’ve sat down next to his dead dad.

“Oh dear. I’m— I’m going to get you some water.”

Billy doesn’t fall over. He has good stamina. He’s hard to knock over, prides himself on that fact. He makes it through the fit upright. His chest is sore from the stabbing and he’s a little dizzy, perhaps from fatigue or breathlessness, but he’s steadfast.

Billy accepts the glass Susan holds out to him upon her return. Her fingers feel like icicles as they brush his and he suppresses a shiver. Takes slow sips and finds a little relief. Eventually sets the glass down on the dresser when he’s done.

“Technically, it’s not me who goes to the bar. You’re right, I’m not twenty-one yet. But Jason Scott on the other hand, well, he’s twenty-five.” Billy fishes his wallet out and frees his fake ID from its fold. “Looks pretty legit, right?”

Susan silently studies the piece of plastic and worries her lip between her teeth.

“But we don’t actually have to go into the bar to put my dad’s body in the dumpster anyway. I mean, going inside would really be a pretty bad idea…”

“Indeed it would, but I’m glad you showed this to me. It wouldn’t be smart to put Neil anywhere you or I associate with at all. But if you’re not actually associated, it’s an option.”

“It’d take less time than the way you were gonna go about it. Cleaner too.”

Susan nods her agreement. “However, I still might…mm, Billy. I’m not sure if you’re going to like this. But in order to prevent him from being identified, I think I’m going to chop off his head…and his hands. Well, perhaps those I’ll just burn with the clothes iron, um. Either way, his fingerprints need to be destroyed.”

Billy’s gut lurches as he soaks it in. It sounds logical. He can’t deny that, but something about the idea of his dad’s decapitation doesn’t sit. Kinda gives him the heebie-jeebies. And that’s weird. That’s really weird because he’s okay with everything else.

Well.

Okay, maybe he’s not okay with it, but. He understands it. It’s Neil. Of course he understands the bruises she may or may not be hiding, the fear in her heart regardless.

“Do you have to chop his head off? Can’t you just smash his face in?”

“I considered that,” Susan says, nodding again. “Those cast iron lion bookends on the shelf are nine pounds each. I weighed them this morning.”

Billy likes the sound of that better. Neil is going to be dead and disfigured either way. He’s not sure why it makes a difference. Maybe it doesn’t, really. He thinks he might have a fever. Maybe the fever’s just getting to him, making him a little loopy and pulling his thoughts in less than rational directions.

“I could do that part,” he offers. It’d probably take him less time to bash Neil’s face in than it’d take Susan. He has more physical prowess, after all, more power to put behind the blows.

“Are you up for that?” she asks, eyeing him skeptically.

“Yes,” he snaps, somewhat defensive. He’s sick but he’s not helpless.

Billy’s claim isn’t undermined by the brief bout of coughing that overtakes him. He halts the reflex to clutch his ribs. Not now, not in front of her. Especially not with what they have to do.

“There’s two bookends,” Susan points out, seems a little nervous as she watches him cough. “We could take turns.”

With that, she disappears from view. Billy hacks some more gross globs into his hand and for convenience’s sake, just wipes it off on his jeans. When Susan comes back, she has one of those big black contractor trash bags. Spreads it out on the bed beside Neil’s form.

They roll him together and Billy doesn’t know what to make of what he feels when he actually sees his father’s face, features devoid and dead. Very, very dead. Tears do not sting his eyes. They just well up watery because he’s coughing again, battling for breath again, so, so wrung and exhausted, lungs like sodden sponges sopped with sputum.

Then he’s holding the bookend, cast iron artistically sculpted, the maned king of the jungle bearing his teeth in a roar. Billy looks at his father’s dead face and hesitates for only a heartbeat. When he brings the heavy object down, he puts all the force he can muster behind it and it makes an utterly atrocious noise Billy will never forget, but—

Some part of him has always wanted to do this. For that part of him, it is the only thing he’s ever truly wanted. And when Susan takes her turn Billy watches her face and realizes, oh, going slack and sloth and silent with the taste of Neil Hargrove’s hand isn’t the only thing they share at all.

* * *

They wait until late to don gloves and roll Neil up in the shower liner. They stuff him in the bed of his own truck for transport. Billy takes the torso end because it’s heavier, Susan hefts him under the legs. Billy drives because he knows the way even though it’s the last thing he feels like doing.

It goes mostly okay. He only has a paroxysm bad enough to make him pull over once.

Susan reaches across the seats and rubs his shoulder. Billy’s too busy getting his breath to shrug her off.

“I’m sure you’re not going to love this idea, but I think it’s time to see a doctor. This could be bronchitis, Billy, or even pneumonia.”

“Pneumonia isn’t real,” Billy grouses tiredly. “It’s like the boogeyman. Just some story old people made up so their grandkids wouldn’t play in the rain and track mud all over the house.”

“Uh…um.” She blinks owlishly, forehead creasing. “No, that’s not quite accurate…”

“I’m screwing with you, Susan.” Because that’s easier than conceding to her.

It would’ve been one thing with Neil. As fucked up as things were, Neil was his dad. Neil was supposed to take care of him.

But Susan. Susan is different. Susan is mostly Max’s weird mom who displays about as much emotion as a mannequin whenever she isn’t (wasn’t) dancing on Neil’s puppet strings or talking to the spiders as she shakes them free from soft tissues. Albeit tonight is a game changer. They’re very literally partners in crime now.

“We could even go to the ER after this,” she suggests uncertainly, wary edge to her tone.

“That’s for emergencies. I can wait.”

“If you’re sure.” Susan hums in her throat and draws her hand away.

They have good timing. The bar’s been closed for almost an hour by the time they get there and all the cars have cleared out. Billy backs up to the dumpster so he and Susan can stand on the bed and lift Neil in that way, rather than having to drag his deadweight out and struggle to raise his cumbersome bulk up over the side.

He doesn’t want to be out here any longer than he has to. Whole thing gives him the heebie-jeebies. He feels like a cop is about to pull up any second now and frankly, it’s cold as fuck. He’s cold as fuck.

Not as cold as the unearthly chill that seems to pierce through the plastic liner when Billy lifts his father’s trunk for the second time tonight.

“Do you feel that?” he irresistibly asks Susan, watching her adjust her grip on Neil’s legs and searching her face for the eeriness he’s feeling.

“Feel what?” Susan asks, frowning.

Death itself? Billy doesn’t know.

“Nothing, it’s…just cold, I guess.”

“Oh, Billy, I think you have the chills.”

And he knows he does but it’s not the same thing. He doesn’t comment any more on it. Together they get Neil up on the metal rim of the open dumpster, push him over. Garbage crunches and crinkles beneath his deadweight. Billy feels another coughing fit coming on and manages to suppress it until he gets back inside the truck.

“Do you want me to drive home?” Susan asks.

“No. I know the way better, it’s easier if I do it.”

“You could, um. I mean, you could direct me if I get a little turned around. You’re looking pretty tuckered out.” It’s dark but Billy can hear the frown in her voice.

“Alright,” he sighs out. “Fine.”

Because she’s not wrong. He’s drained at this point. Shoving his dad’s body in the dumpster spent the last store of energy he had. He and Susan swap places. She doesn’t have much trouble once she actually gets back on the main road.

“Thank you,” she murmurs eventually. “If I had to do this myself, I’d still be in the middle of it.”

“Yeah…sure thing, I guess.” She killed his dad. No big deal. Billy blinks, isn’t sure what else to say.

“…so, um…you like the fellas, huh?” she asks, voice light and not a bit unkind.

“Uh-huh." He shrugs. "Guys, girls, I mean, I'm not that picky. A hole’s a hole, a mouth’s a mouth, fingers are fingers.”

Susan chokes on a scandalized gasp and Billy gets a chuckle out of it, even as it turns into a cough.

“That’s, uh. T-That’s certainly crude.”

And it’s funny really, that Susan seems more creeped out by a boorish comment than she did by holding his dead dad’s corpse legs.

By the time they get home, Billy’s so beyond spent he knows he can’t even make it to his room. Doesn’t bother to try. Collapses on the couch cushions without attempting to take his boots off. Smothers what has to be the goddamn millionth round of coughs into the throw pillow.

When he picks his head up, Susan’s standing there, fiddling with the thermometer again, fretful expression on her features. Oh, fuck it. Fine. Billy bites the bullet and takes it from her, begrudgingly jamming the thing under his tongue.

#billy hargrove #susan hargrove #neil hargrove #my fic tag #anonymoose #can't get enough of these two as a murder duo

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deafaq · 4 years

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Comprehensive guide to writing deaf characters

Despite not being intented as a blog resource for writers, we get a lot of questions regarding how to write deaf characters. (and by a lot, I mean like half of questions are about writing)

Since lot of these questions are similar anyway, I wrote up this guide for anyone intending to add deaf characters into their writing. From now on, we shall only answer questions related to writing which AREN’T covered in this guide.

Please, keep in mind that deaf people aren’t a hive mind and this guide is based on our personal experience. We recommend a sensitivity deaf reader if you plan to make any deaf character a big part of your story.

Rest of guide under the cut.

Medical basics

- Deafness can be caused by many factors.

- For people born deaf, common causes are: genetics, illnesses of mother during pregnancy (and meds taken), complicated birth, premature birth, etc.

- For people who become deaf later in life: old age, noise damage, several infectious illnesses (for example meningitis), medication (cancer meds or certain antibiotics), tumours on auditory nerve and in brain, chronic inflammations of middle ear, etc.

- Most people with hearing loss still have some degree of hearing

Terminology

- “deaf” – person with hearing loss

- “hard of hearing” – person with hearing loss, still has some degree of hearing

- “Deaf” – person with hearing loss who is proud of their deafness, is member of Deaf community and culture, communicates in sign language

- “deafened” – person who lost their hearing in later life, often as adult

- “deaf and dumb” – old terminology, now considered insulting

- “hearing impaired” – medical term, often disliked by deaf people

Compensation

- Most hard of hearing and some deaf people wear hearing aids. Their function is similar to glasses, they enhances the remaining sense.

- Hearing aids are often pricey, not covered by insurance and need batteries to recharge

- They can be colourful, however most people use brown to make them less noticeable

- They need to be taken off for sleeping and bathing

- It’s considered rude to touch another’s person hearing aid. Hearing people should not try them out, as they can damage normal hearing.

- Cochlear implant are more complicated, require surgery to insert. They compromise of two parts – inner part (under skull), which stimulates hair cells in cochlea, and outer part (outside on the head and ear), which is sound processor, microphone and battery. Both parts are connected via magnet.

- Hearing via CI is more electrical than normal hearing and doesn’t sound same. After the operation, users must train their hearing and attend many sessions where CI is adjusted. It can take years for users to hear speech or use telephone. Success is very individual.

- CIs are often disliked and criticized by Deaf community as they are seen as a threat to Deaf culture and language. There is also a question of consent – for CI to be successful, children must be implanted at young age (1-7 years) and the decision is usually made by their hearing parents.

- Other compensation: Vibration and light alarms, alarm clocks, baby monitors, door bells. Special phones and headphones. Etc.

Communication

- Children who are born deaf cannot naturally acquire spoken language. (aka from their parents/family) It cannot be learned by lip-reading. They learn it as a second language, often at school.

- Despite the stereotype of deaf people being also mute, most deaf people can speak. However, they often have so called “deaf accents”, because they cannot hear themselves speak. Because of that, some deaf people prefer not to talk, to not be mocked for their accent.

- Natural language of deaf people are sign languages. They are not universal, they have their own grammar and rules, they are not simple pantomime and they are not easy to learn. (see Sign Languages)

- Not all deaf people use sign languages, especially those who become deafened later in life.

- There are specific communication system, which combine spoken languages and sign languages, often used in education. They usually use signs from sign languages and spoken language grammar. The most common is Pidgin Signed English (PSE) or Signing Exact English (SEE). Some deaf people use them instead of sign language, since they grew up with it.

- SimCom is simultaneous communication, speaking and using sign language at the same time. As its basically using two languages at one time, it’s difficult and one language often starts following grammatical structure of other.

- Lip-reading is taxing, difficult and often based on talent. It must be taught. To properly lip-read, there must be good light conditions and you must be able to see the face of speaker.

- Some deaf people use writing to communicate with hearing people – either with paper and pen, or on phone. This way of communication is often time-consuming.

- Deaf people often use interpreters to help them communicate. They usually accompany the deaf person to doctors, authorities, important meetings, etc.

Sign language

- Sign languages are natural languages and not created by one person. They appeared organically over time.

- Every country has their own national sign language. The ones most known and researched are ASL (American Sign Language), LFS (French Sign Language), BSL (British Sign Language), AUSLan (Australian Sign Language). There is about 137+ sign languages in the world.

- Grammar in sign languages is based on 3D spaces and use of face expressions and movement of body. Signs are composed of hands in specific shapes, their movement and placement on the body.

- Most sign language have their own finger alphabet. Most common are one-handed (ASL, LFS) and two-handed (BSL, AUSlan).

- Sign languages are not inferior to spoken languages and can express the same things.

- It takes time and dedication to learn any sign language. Usually at least 3 years for being able to communicate properly and more than 5 to be fluent.

- You can sign with just one hand (that’s how deaf people communicate while eating or holding something, for example)

Education

- Until 1970s, the most common way of teaching deaf children was oralism, a teaching tradition which supressed and forbid the use of sign language and insisted on deaf children learning to speak. It is still often used, despite the fact that many studies prove it fails to properly educate deaf people.

- Modern research has proven that use of sign language in education is beneficial for deaf children and helps them to better understand the material.

- Deaf children can either study at school for deaf or be integrated into regular school. Deaf schools used to be very common in past, as they were only available means of education for most deaf people. Kids lived in dormitories. Whether sign language was/is used there depends on the school. Some even had/have deaf teachers.

- Nowadays, most kids study in regular school along with hearing kids. If the school is good, they offer proper compensation – eg. interpreter in class, note taking services, hearing devices, etc. Some schools still sucks, however.

- Integrated kids can suffer from isolation, bullying and discrimination from teachers.

- There are colleges in USA which focus on deaf students and sign language. The most famous is Gallaudet University, Washington, D.C.

Family

- 90% of deaf kids are born to hearing parents. Hearing parents often struggle with the disability of their child. In general, lot of hearing parents prefer to give their kids CI, to make them more “hearing”.

- Deaf parents generally have hearing kids. Those kids are then called CODA – children of deaf adults. CODA often speak sign language well. In general, they are either very involved with Deaf community or not all and avoid it all costs. Lot of CODA children become interpreters.

- Every family is different in how they communicate. Some use sign language. Some only spoken language, requiring the deaf member to lip-read. Some use combination of two or create their own home signs. If only certain members of family learn to sign, it’s usually mother or some other female family member (sister, grandmother).

Deaf culture/community

- A community of Deaf individuals who use sign language as their primary means of communication, are proud of their deafness and their culture. They do not see their deafness as disability/disease, but something that connects them, makes them different from others.

- Deaf people often meet up in clubs, there is big emphasis on community, meeting together, communal experience, etc.

- Term “Deaf gain” is used – what deafness gives us, instead of the usual what deafness takes away from us. What is important is “seeing”, not “absence of hearing”.

- Deaf culture has its own set of social rules/etiquette. Deaf people are generally more blunt and to the point than hearing people. There are special rules for getting attention – eg tapping on shoulder, turning lights on and off.

- There is a big tradition in storytelling and poetry in sign language, especially ASL. Other visual art – videos, paintings and sculpture are also popular.

- Deaf community has lot of members who are LGBT+ and has its own deaf organizations for said people. Generally, deaf community is more accepting when it comes to LGBT+ issues then general public, although exceptions exists.

- Not every country has a strong Deaf community – the biggest one is in USA. In some countries, deaf people are isolated.

Discrimination

- Specific term for discrimination against deaf people is “audism” (not to confuse with autism). General term for discrimination against disabled people, “ableism”, is also used sometimes.

- Deaf people often face discrimination especially when it comes to access to information and unwillingness to offer proper accommodation to them.

- Movies/Tv shows/videos lack subtitles or closed captioning. Video games have no alternative way of showing audio cues. Lectures, festivals and public events are often without interpreters.

- There have been numerous cases of arrests and deaths of deaf people after encounters with police due to communication.

- Hospitals and doctors are often without interpreters and neglect to inform the deaf patients properly. Access to authorities and courts is also problematic.

- Deaf people have difficult time finding employment due to prejudice. Even if they do find a job, employers often refuse to offer proper accommodation.

- Many deaf people also struggle in education – see above.

Common mistakes and stereotypes when writing deaf characters

- Lip-reading as a superpower, which makes deaf person basically hearing anyway

- Wearing Hearing aids at night and/or other people touching them and taking them off.

- Cochlear Implants presented as “cure” or “miracle” which makes a deaf person into hearing person

- Being able to learn sign language in record time (aka in several days)

- “Happy” ending being deaf person losing their deafness via cure/miracle/magic

- Deaf people being bitter and lonely (yes, there are deaf people who are bitter and lonely, but it’s not our defining trait and it’s not *that* common)

- Using deafness as a “cute” trope to increase angst levels in your story because being deaf sucks, right? ( -_________-)

- Deaf person only having hearing friends (it’s often the opposite, aka most friends of Deaf people are also Deaf). Same goes for dating.

- Superpowers or magic that basically cancels out deafness

- Creating your own Name signs for your characters (pls really don’t)

- Sign language = English with signs

- Framing the narrative as a “person overcoming their disability”

- Including deafness as a punishment for the character

- The only deaf character in the story is the villain (“bonus” points for ‘deafness turned them evil’)

- Inspiration porn – see the link

Also, keep in mind that:

- Deafness isn’t a disease and isn’t actually contagious (can’t believe I have to say this)

- We very rarely date people who don’t bother to learn how to communicate with us.

- Deaf people can and do drive. We also travel. Use internet. Swim. Read.

- “Shockingly”, we can tell apart yawning and screaming.

- People who were born deaf think in sign language and asking about it really doesn’t make you a philosopher

#deaf #hard of hearing #sign language #writing deaf characters #writing #mod t

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