#but taking care of me is probably at the bottom of my list of priorities | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tongue-like-a-razor · 1 year

Text

Less Talk | Part III

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

Summary: Jake can't stand Bradley's best friend. What's more, he's probably in love with her, which really pisses him off.

CW: mild angst, Hangman being a dick aka Hangman being himself, unresolved sexual tension, swearing, drinking

Part I | Part II | Masterlist

You’re watching Jake so grimly that he almost wants to give you a hug. But, the next moment, you let out a heated sigh and shake your head irritably. “God, Jake, nothing happened,” you say, as if he’s the one who’s shown up at your doorstep unannounced in the dead of night.

He gives you a stony look that, unfortunately, you don’t see because you’re no longer watching him, so his efforts go completely unnoticed. “If nothing happened, then why are you here? Past midnight. Crying.” To his chagrin, the tone of his voice is far too vexed to emulate the indifferent attitude he means to preserve.

You lick your lips and sniffle. “We had a fight,” you say.

Jake stares at you impatiently, waiting for you to look back up. When you don’t, he says, “You fight with everybody.”

This makes you look. He’s dreadfully satisfied with peeving you – the only satisfaction you’ll likely ever give him. “It was a big one, obviously.”

Jake studies the expression on your face, trying to gauge whether or not you’re hiding something. “Where is he?” he asks, feeling like he needs to punch something. And soon.

You take a long time to respond – so long that Jake almost poses the question for a second time. “I don’t know,” you finally say.

“What do you mean you ‘don’t know’?”

You shrug, your lips beginning to tremble anew. “He just left.”

What Jake experiences at the sight of the fresh tears filling your eyes is abhorrent. The simultaneous desire to alleviate your pain and beat the living shit out of Mustang offsets his entire world in a way that puts your well-being at the top of his priority list. Hell, he doesn’t even have a priority list. You are it. And with this absurd notion weighing on the ever-growing vortex of his newly discovered emotions, he resolves to tell you just what he thinks of your idiotic boyfriend. “Well, he’s obviously a moron,” he says curtly.

You glance up at him again, less angry than before. “He’s a lot like you in that respect,” you say with a hint of a smile.

Jake scoffs and, before he can stop himself, says, “I would never walk out on you.”

You stare at him for a moment before lowering your gaze awkwardly.

Jake cringes, realizing that he could have said just about anything else and it would have been better. Moreover, in his attempt to rectify the situation, he blurts out this obnoxious tidbit: “You’d never let me hear the end of it.”

You roll your eyes but then you bite into your bottom lip and your eyebrows lift inward. You glance up at him woefully and say, “I’m not that bad, am I?”

Jake watches you carefully, wondering why you’d care what he might have to say on the matter. He tries to determine what his response might be before deciding if he’s going to be honest. On the one hand, you are that bad. On the other, when it comes to you, bad takes on an entirely different connotation. “You could be worse,” he responds vaguely.

You stare at him miserably. “You can’t stand me,” you remind him.

Jake nearly laughs; that’s how absurd he finds your statement. “Well, that’s more or less mutual, is it not?”

You nod slowly.

“In any case, it’s hardly relevant since I’m not your boyfriend.”

“But what does that say about me?” you ask. “I piss off everyone around me. You said it yourself, I just can’t shut up.”

“Why should you?” he says, his anger flaring despite his every effort to control it. His response seems to catch you off-guard because you blink up at him sharply. “I just mean, who cares if you piss someone off? That’s not a you problem,” he reasons, although he’s painfully aware of just how much he’s contradicting his every complaint where you’ve been concerned.

“Well, it’s kind of my problem if my boyfriend hates me,” you say, your mouth finally relaxing into the beginnings of a smile.

Jake cocks his head to the side and purses his lips. “I don’t know,” he says. “Sounds like you just need a new boyfriend.”

You scoff and turn away. The moment your back is to him, Jake shuts his eyes and passes a hand over his face with a silent sigh. He watches you travel the length of his living room and unplug a fan that isn’t turned on. “You shouldn’t keep your electric appliances plugged in when they aren’t in use,” you mutter absently. “You’re wasting energy.”

Jake rolls his eyes despite the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “How much energy does a table fan waste when it isn’t even on?”

You shrug, glancing over your shoulder. “How many electrical devices do you currently have plugged in that aren’t ‘even on’?” you ask, using air quotes to emphasize the final two words. “It adds up, thereby increasing your carbon footprint. Imagine everybody lived as carelessly as you do?”

Jake grins broadly. “The horror.”

You nod without the tiniest bit of amusement. “My thoughts exactly.”

Jake watches you resignedly, not at all surprised that you’ve found yet another reason to reproach him. “Are you hungry?” he asks.

You eye him suspiciously, as if you don’t quite trust that he won’t poison your food.

“We’ve got some leftovers,” he says, nodding toward the kitchen through the corridor. “Have you eaten?” You consider his offer at length as though he’s proposed a shotgun wedding rather than a pot roast. “Come on,” he says, waving you over as he makes his way into the hallway. “I can’t wait to hear what you have to say about my cooking.”

…

“This is surprisingly good,” you comment as Jake pours you a glass of wine.

Jake chuckles. “That might be the first nice thing you’ve ever said to me.”

You lick your lips and smile up at him as he takes a seat across from you at the table, popping the cap off a beer. “Your turn,” you say, wiggling your eyebrows.

Jake sneers and then guzzles half his bottle in one gulp. He sets the beer down to find you watching him expectantly.

“You can’t think of anything?” you ask incredulously.

Jake runs a hand across his chin, watching your smile widen at the thought of him having nothing decent to say about you. Ironically, he can’t think of a single thing that isn’t nice, which is truly agitating him. He racks his brain trying to come up with at least one negative quality because something about you drives him absolutely crazy.

You sigh, returning your attention to your plate. “It’s fine, Seresin,” you say. “Don’t think so hard, I know you aren’t accustomed to it.”

“That,” Jake says, leaning into the table as he points a finger in your direction. “That sharp sense of humor.”

You raise your eyebrows with a laugh. “Oh, you think I’m joking?” You tilt your head sympathetically, but your smile remains.

Jake meets your gaze with an affectionate smirk, silently listing off every other ‘nice’ thing about you, including, but not limited to, the sound of your laughter. He swallows uncomfortably when you don’t look away, unsettled by the unrest in the pit of his stomach that churns every time your eyes meet. He tries to regulate his breathing before it becomes apparent that you’re actively rattling him.

The creak of the front door interrupts the obscenely prolonged period of mutual eye fucking contact. You glance toward the corridor while Jake disconcertedly rubs his eyes.

“Y/N?” Bradley says, walking into the kitchen. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh.” You sigh, setting down your fork and reverting to your previously dejected state.

“Don’t tell me you guys had another fight,” Bradley says jadedly. He glances over at Jake with a grave expression which Jake means to completely ignore.

“He stormed out,” you say, sighing into your half-eaten plate. “I think I really ticked him off this time.”

Jake gives Bradley an unimpressed look when the latter starts thrusting his head around to indicate that Jake should add something to the conversation. Jake takes another gulp of his beer.

“He shouldn’t be taking off,” Bradley says when Jake remains silent. “I don’t care how angry he is.” He looks to Jake for approval.

Jake rolls his eyes. “Why are we still talking about this dumbass?”

Bradley eyes him pointedly. “Didn’t realize you’ve already discussed him,” he says, glancing between you and Jake.

You pick your fork back up and start stabbing at the meat on your plate.

“How was the rest of your evening, Rooster?” Jake asks, avoiding looking directly at him.

“Pretty good,” Bradley responds, and Jake can hear the glee in his tone without even seeing his ridiculous grin. “Yours?”

Jake aims a disdainful scowl in his direction. “Bradshaw,” he says. “You look tired.”

Bradley holds back a laugh and then turns to you. “Y/N, do you want to talk?”

You look up at your best friend with a weary smile. Your gaze slips to briefly glance at Jake before you shake your head at Bradley. “I think I’m good. Thanks.”

Bradley gives you a hug and heads for the stairs, pausing momentarily to throw Jake a final, cautionary look before heading to bed.

“I should go,” you say once Bradley leaves.

“You sure?” Jake asks. “You haven’t criticized my dishwashing skills yet. I bet I use too much water.”

You give him an amused look as you rise from your chair. “Recognizing the problem is the first step.”

He recognizes the problem alright; it’s standing right before him. “What’s the next step?”

“Well,” you say musingly. “In this case, I would say action.”

Jake nods, getting out of his seat. “I could use some of that, for sure.”

Your gaze lingers on him as you let out a soft laugh. You’re an entire table length away and yet he can feel the force of your presence as though you were pressed up against him.

“You could stick around,” he offers casually. “We could watch a movie or something.”

You continue studying him brazenly. “I’d probably ruin it for you.”

He laughs. “We could watch something I already don’t like.”

You smile back at him. “Haven’t you done that enough for one evening?”

Jake doesn’t altogether know how to respond without making it painfully obvious just how much he doesn’t not like you. “Yeah,” he says finally. “So, what’s another couple of hours?”

You’re watching him thoughtfully which makes him almost hopeful that you might agree to stay, but then you respond with, “Maybe another time.”

He nods, keeping his eyes trained on yours. “Another time,” he agrees. But as you head for the door, he decides to try another tactic. “Should you be driving after having that wine?” he asks.

You give him a flat look. “I had half a glass. If that.”

Jake shrugs slightly. “It was a big glass.”

You roll your eyes. “It’ll be fine, Seresin.” You reach for the doorknob.

“Wouldn’t it be nice if, for once, he came home, and you weren’t there?” he asks.

You look at him sharply. “He won’t be home for hours.”

Jake gestures at the open living room. “We have several fine couches. Take your pick.”

You sigh, evaluating his pitch. “No,” you say finally. “He’s already so mad at me. If I stay here, that’ll be the end of our relationship.”

This outcome sounds just dandy to Jake, but he can see the worry in your expression, so he pulls on the door and holds it open for you, following you out onto the porch to walk you to your car.

“Drive carefully,” he says once you’re seated, leaning down to peer into the car as you buckle your seatbelt.

You nod. “Thanks for dinner.”

“Thanks for the company,” he responds.

You chuckle. “Yeah, about that… sorry I imposed on your evening.”

“Yeah,” Jake agrees with a smirk. “That was kind of rude of you.” When you laugh, he adds. “No, but really, I don’t mind. Come over anytime.”

You gasp at him to simulate shock. “And subject you to my numerous opinions?”

Jake’s grin widens. “I’m getting used to tuning you out.”

“So, what exactly is it that you gain out of my company?” you ask with raised eyebrows as you start your engine.

Jake raps on the hood of your car a couple of times before responding. “I just don’t want to deprive you of my company.”

You snort. “That would be a tragedy.”

Jake lets himself admire your laugh for several seconds before straightening his back. “Have a good night, Y/N,” he says, and then he shuts your door.

You pull out of the driveway and stop your car on the side of the road. Jake watches curiously as you step out of the car. He approaches you slowly, his eyes drifting up and down your figure involuntarily. He blinks to reorient himself, exhaling sharply as he comes to stand before you. He slips his hands into his pockets to avoid the temptation of using them to pin you to your car and then running them along the curves of your body. You’re looking up at him with a sheepish expression, completely unaware of the turmoil he’s up against in this very moment. “What’s up?” he says sternly; employing exaggerated masculinity to help assuage his crippling desire to kiss you.

Instead of responding, however, you stretch up onto your tiptoes and wrap your arms around his neck. In his shock, it takes a second for Jake to loosen his rigid stance; to remember that his hands are still safely tucked into the pockets of his jeans. He draws them out slowly, holding them cautiously on either side of your body, wondering just how catastrophic it would be if he were to reciprocate the hug. “You really helped me tonight,” you say softly, your breath warming the crook of his neck.

He lets out a weak chuckle that dies the second it leaves his lips because, at that moment, you press your cheek into his shoulder. His hands close gingerly around you. He’s barely holding on, but you feel just right in his embrace. Like the dip in your waist belongs between the palms of his hands. “Glad to be of service,” he mutters, his voice a little rough as he attempts to process this turn of events.

You detach yourself from his grasp and give him a friendly smile. So friendly, it nearly kills him. “Maybe I can return the favor someday,” you say.

Jake stares at you, trying to come up with at least one favor you could do for him that isn’t sexual in nature and drawing a complete blank. “Maybe,” he says uneasily.

“Anyway,” you say. “Sleep well.”

You flash him one last smile before climbing back into your car while Jake takes several steps back, wondering how the fuck he’s going to sleep at all after having experienced that.

Read Part 4

Tag List:

@malindacath

@karleetakeenan

@wandering-wah

@callsign-sunshine

@ghost-heart34

@birdy-bat-writes

@matya4

@wkndwlff

@nyx2021

@bellamy1998

@oliviah-25

@alexxavicry

@army24--7

@thefandomimagines

@dracosluvbot

@smit41

@scenesofobx

@Criminalmindsandmarvel

@lunamoonbby

@malums-trash-can

@toothemoonanddback

@broketraveler87

@atarmychick007

@shanimallina87

@army24—7

@creativitybeware

@xoxabs88xox

@Yoyop7

@hallecarey1

@nik2blog

@rrocky0ah

@kpopgirlbtssvt

@lilianashomaresparza

@latetedslesetoiles

@Elenavampire21

@starberryhorse

@ginger-gabsq

@sarcastic-sourwolf

@risingtripletaurus

@untoldshortsofthefandoms

@dempy

@lanie-k

@clancycucumber230

@littlebookbengal

@zbeez-outlet

@the-winter-marvel33

@potato-girl99981

@phantomxoxo

@flashyourgreeneyesatme

@thenewdaysalreadyhere

@abaker74

2K notes · View notes

chickensarentcheap · 9 months

Text

In a Heartbeat: Chapter Two

FANDOM: EXTRACTION

PAIRING: TYLER RAKE AND ESME DRUMMOND (ESTABLISHED OFC)

WARNINGS: angst. Big time angst.

SUMMARY: Dhaka nearly ended everything before it even began. In it’s aftermath and with Tyler’s life teetering on the threshold between life and death, Esme is about to realize just how strong she can be. And that love happens when it happens. There’s no rules. No rhyme or reason. No timeline.

Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48691714/chapters/125445052

Tagging: @tragiclyhip @youflickedtooharddamnit @secretaryunpaid @munstysmind @karimac @kmc1989 @thebewingedjewelcat @ninjasawakenedmystar @residentdormouse @asirensrage @arrthurpendragon @ocappreciationtag @themaradwrites @occommunity @timbradfordsboot

My tag list is OPEN. Please let me know if you'd like to be added :)

******

Chapter Text

“Nik found us a little place,” Esme announces, as she tends to his beard; using a pocket comb to make her way through the wiry hair. “In Austria. Just on the outskirts of Gmunden. It looks really pretty; it’s right on the edge of a lake and it’s surrounded by trees and you can look out at the mountains.”

Reaching for a pair of cuticle scissors that rest on his chest, she chews on her bottom lip as she focuses on snipping the wiry hair. The gray is more noticeable now that his beard is longer and thicker, and she momentarily pauses her work and carefully studies his face and hair; enjoying how the strands of silver sparkle in the sunlight that streams into the room. They’re a sign of wisdom and experience; testaments to life often lived on the edge that take up residence at his temples, the nape of his neck, and throughout the wild top tresses.

“You know…” She uses the comb to sweep his bangs off his forehead and away from his eyes. “…I’m really digging this older guy vibe you’ve got going on. It’s kinda sexy; all the gray hair you’ve sprouted over the past five months. Once you hit fifty? You are going to be one hell of a hot silver fox. I’m going to have to beat the women off with a stick. And probably a few men.”

Returning to the task at hand, she carefully trims the hair above his top lip; mindful of the combination of breathing and feeding tubes that have been keeping him alive and nourished. When it became apparent that she was going to continue to ‘stand off’ against them, the doctors had -albeit reluctantly- switched their course of care; ordering the nurses to teach Esme the basics in case they’re ever short-staffed and other patients need to be of higher priority. She knows their excuses are bullshit; that they’re simply tired of her constant presence and her refusal to spare them the work of looking after someone they’ve already written off as a loss. And she’s also aware that they’re just biding their time until legal paperwork is drawn up and processed; licking their lips in anticipation of when they can serve her with a court order to have him removed from the machines.

Yet their pressure -both passive and actively aggressive- doesn’t sway her. Despite being both physically and mentally exhausted, she is staying the course; digging her heels in even deeper and willingly and readily accepting any ‘task’ they want to assign her.

“I am NOT very good at this,” Esme laments, as she returns to trimming his beard. “I am definitely not cut out to be a hair stylist, that’s for sure. You know what we’re going to do as soon as you’re out of here? Get you to a good barber. Because you’re starting to look homeless and unloved and I don’t need some bleeding heart picking you up off the street like you’re a stray.”

She hums as she works; upbeat show tunes and Beatles medleys that help keep her spirits up. They’ve been waning lately; the darkness she’d successfully fought off for so long now a near-constant presence. In two weeks it will be six months since he was declared ‘clinically dead’ and placed on the respirator. Half a year since she’d last seen him open his eyes and heard his voice; vividly able to recall those last few minutes that they’d spent together in Dhaka. Tucked away in that litter-strewn alley as dawn broke around them, unabashedly crying when he broke the news that he was going to send her off with Saju and Ovi. There was a better chance she’d make it there -and successfully get across the bridge- if they split up; he’d act as a decoy by creating chaos within the heart of town and drawing the enormous police and military presence away from the checkpoints. He’d admitted he wouldn’t be able to focus if she was with him; afraid he’d become so obsessed with her safety and well-being that he’d make simple, stupid mistakes. And in turn, cause BOTH of their demises.

On her part, there’d been anger. Confusion. Heartache. She’d initially lashed out at him and accused him of lying to her over the course of the last five days; none of the softer and adoring words had been true, and neither had been the hopes for a future or their plans to travel together. And when she’d seen the hurt that darkened his eyes and furrowed his brow and tensed his shoulders, she had changed her tactic; begging and pleading with him to change his mind. She’d be able to handle herself. Promising that she’d stick tight to him and wouldn’t be a burden or a distraction; he’d be able to focus on the job at hand. After all, he was the first person that had ever made her feel safe and secure. Protected. And it absolutely terrified her to have that suddenly snatched away.

It had felt like hours had passed since their initial goodbye; still feeling the callouses on his skin as he gently cradled her cheek in his palm, her lips still tingling from that long, shockingly tender kiss. And those words…spoken just before they parted…still echoing in her ears.

“I’ll see you when I see you.”

It was the second time he’d said it. In less than thirty-six hours. Just that very morning he’d unexpectedly dropped it upon; a genuinely tender and hopeful moment as they parted ways at the extraction point. The drive there had been spent in silence; Tyler making the quick and effortless transition from the soft-spoken and attentive man she’d been intimate and shared secrets with to ruthless and calculated mercenary.

Yet it hadn’t frightened her. His mere presence and his smell and the glances and reassuring smiles he’d cast in her direction made sure of that. He may have become ‘all business’, but the other Tyler was just lingering just at the surface; the one that had shared his deepest and darkest confessions with her and who’d cried when talking about his son and his fight with cancer and the horrible decision he’d made prior to his death. And who’d shown every end of the sexual spectrum during their times behind closed doors; rough and aggressive and domineering one moment, slow and tender and worshipping the next.

She had never met anyone like him. In more ways than one.

And it was right before she began her trek through the forest and towards the river when it became abundantly clear that every kiss they’d shared, every secret spilled, every tear they’d shed, had all been real. He had meant the words he’d said; the excitement he’d shown at the idea of travelling together and of even seeing her birthplace and meeting her family. And the optimism he’d shown when talking about the possibility of a future…a REAL future…together.

Although a simple moment, it had seemed so deeply personal and intimate; the way he’d pulled that bulletproof vest over her head and made sure it was tightly and securely fastened. Already so protective; forgetting about her own background in the military and her years spent on the job in his quest and desire to keep her safe and sound. No one had ever made her feel that way before; nurturing and adoring and caring instead of being indifferent or malicious in both their words and their actions.

While Mark and all his cruel words and taunts, beatings and sexual assaults had stripped her of every ounce of trust in men, it had taken Tyler less than a week to restore not only her faith in others, but the most primal of needs and urges. Sex had never been a priority; it’s hard to find yourself THAT attracted to someone when you’d spent years having the most basic and most vile and degrading acts forced upon you. But with Tyler, it had been near instantaneous. An attraction that she’d felt the moment of their introduction in the outback; when one of those enormous, calloused and scarred hands had practically swallowed one of her own. The stories alone should have left her intimidated; the scores of incredibly dangerous missions he’d been involved in and the trails of blood and rotting corpses he left behind.

It was his eyes. Brilliant yet soulful blue; a humanity and a tenderness that he kept buried just under the surface. He wasn’t as broken or as soulless as he perceived himself to be; not truly the empty shell that he saw when he looked at himself in the mirror. He hadn’t turned to stone despite the hardships of the life he’d been living; instead his grief, guilt, and heartache so enormous and overwhelming that they left him numb and jaded to anything beyond his four walls. His addictions were proof that he was still very much alive; a troubled, lonely, touch-starved man that sought out unhealthy ways to ease both his physical and mental suffering.

She’d been privy to those sides he’d long buried. In the same way she had so blindly and wholly trusted him, he had done the same with her. Speaking openly and honestly about his son and the cancer that had not only robbed him of his life, but his father’s comforting and loving presence in those final moments. He spoke about his alcoholism and his addiction to pain meds; how he’d tried to stop on many occasions but found the suffering just too difficult to bear. And he confessed to the death wish he’d been carrying around since he’d abandoned his child; not really wanting a sniper’s bullet to cut him down in the middle of the job, but wholeheartedly believing he deserved it.

While he’d wanted to change and continued to desperately cling to any semblance of life, he didn’t quite know how to tackle his demons or fix the issues that surrounded him. He’d never been taught healthy coping mechanisms; not allowed to mourn the loss of his mother or to even show some glimmer of emotion during her funeral or those long days and nights of grieving that followed. It was a sign of weakness, after all. A real man didn’t react from the heart, let alone speak from it. And his father would simply not allow a ‘fragile and pathetic’ man to live under his roof.

And then one day, after years of beatings and cruelty, that abused and tormented child transformed into a deeply troubled man. Saddled with decades of trauma and toxic masculinity that his father had so viciously beat into him.

“I’ll see you when I see you.”

He’d spoken those words after making sure every piece of velcro on her vest was attached ‘just right’, then grabbed hold of the shoulder straps and pulled her into a kiss. It had been long and languid and heartbreakingly tender; nowhere near as intense and hungry and desperate as those they’d shared over the course of five days, but incredible in its own right. A kiss that held so much promise and a tinge of worry. A potent mixture of hope, optimism, and fear. The best-case scenario would be that the job went according to plan; he’d successfully rescue Ovi and return to the extraction point in less than two hours’ time. Unscathed. After that they’d be free; they’d get to safety, collect their money, and make good on all the plans they’d made. The worst-case scenario was the mission being an epic failure. And their parting words -ones made with the best intentions- would turn out to be a permanent goodbye.

********

It feels like a lifetime ago. Mahajan’s double-crossing, the brutal and untimely deaths of their team members, Saju’s relentless hunt in a desperate bid to save his own family. So many things had gone wrong in such a short period of time; a struggle to survive in litter-strewn alleys and sewers filled with feces, garbage, and rats. They hadn’t had a chance to relax; unable to catch their breath before the next disaster came charging full speed ahead. And it was out of desperation that Tyler had played the one card he still had up his sleeve; someone he’d known for years and had always been able to trust. After all, he’d saved the man’s life on more than one occasion. If that wasn’t deserving of even the tiniest bit of help, what was?

Neither could have known - as they lay in a mess of tangled sheets and naked limbs in the bed of Gaspar’s guest room, that the worst was yet to come. Holding onto a semblance of hope that they’d walked through the fires of hell and somehow lived to tell about it. Believing they’d simply lie low for a couple of days and then be on their way; wait for the pandemonium to settle and then move about somewhat freely and easily.

Only friends are sometimes your worst enemies. Gaspar’s allegiance with Asif and his subsequent betrayal had led to disaster; an attempt to kill Tyler in order to get his hands on her and Ovi and the ten million dollar ‘prize’ that he’d be rewarded with. And in the end, it had been the fifteen-year-old that had pulled the trigger; saving all of their lives yet setting the stage for what would be the most difficult hour of their entire lives.

Crossing the bridge.

It’s still so vivid. The wails of the injured and the dying. The smell of fire, gunpowder and spilt gasoline. The pollution wafting off the filthy water. The blistering sun and the suffocating humidity. The taste of her own sweat as it dripped from her nose and gathered along her top lip. And the blood. So much blood. Covering her hands and staining her clothes. The scent of copper as it hung heavily in the air. And the fear and panic in Tyler’s eyes as he straddled the threshold between life and death. His body impossibly heavy as it lay across her lap; his battered and bloodied hands desperately clutching the front of her shirt as he gasped for breath.

She briefly closes her eyes; pushing back the flood of tears and the painful, traumatic memories. Still unable to think about those moments before help had finally arrived; how minutes had seemed hours as she sat -a filthy, sobbing, terrified mess- with her fingers shoved in the bullet wound in order to staunch his heavy bleeding. Wondering if perhaps her efforts would be all for nothing; Asif’s remaining men making their way to the bridge and discovering them there. Alive Tyler would immediately be killed; they would have made sure she watched as they put a bullet -or several- into his already beaten and broken body. Her fate would have been so much worse; likely kept captive -for days, weeks, even MONTHS- and abused in every possible way. All she would have been able to do was suffer through it; unable to fight back against the strength and the power -and the amount- of her attackers. She’d never been a praying person; she didn’t necessarily believe or not believe when it came to a higher power. But during moments of solitude, she would have begged and pleaded to anyone…anything…to permanently end her torment.

Gathering her composure, she shoves all thoughts of Dhaka aside and returns to the task at hand; slowly and carefully trimming his beard, mindful of the hairs that crowd close to the ventilation and feeding tubes. She misses his face; the one that wasn’t taken over by life-saving measures. It’s been so long since she’s seen it; whether it be that slow, boyish smile or that sly, almost mischievous smirk or the intensity that narrows his eyes and furrows his brow. And his eyes; a brilliant, captivating blue that can quickly transform to dark and stormy. She’d been privy to so many things during those five days in Dhaka; body language and facial expressions and sides to him that he’d never allowed anyone else to see.

And she’s not ready to give any one of them up.

“So about this place. In Austria…” She moves to the bedside table and opens the top drawer; placing the comb and scissors inside and then picking up a pair of nail clippers. “…I think it’s perfect for us. It’s in the middle of nowhere; surrounded by trees and mountains and it’s right on the water. It’s got two bedrooms and one and a half baths and the cutest open-concept living room and kitchen combo. It’s not luxurious by any stretch of the imagination, but it IS comfortable. Quaint. And I don’t think we need much more than that, do you?”

Picking up his right hand, she patiently and gently tends to his nails. “I mean, I know it’s going to be pretty damn cold in the winter. And there’s going to be a lot of snow. But I’m used to it. I grew up in Colorado, remember? I know it’ll be a hard adjustment for an Aussie; you’re used to sun and sand and surf. But I think you’ll do alright. Actually, I KNOW you’ll do alright.”

When the conversation runs dry, she once more returns to humming as she works; finishing the rest of his nails before applying a hospital-provided moisturizer to both hands. Concentrating on the callouses on his palms and the one on the tip of his trigger finger; working the coconut-scened lotion into rough, thickened skin.

“I bet you haven’t been pampered like this in a long time,” she says, as she firmly massages his wrists, fingers, and thumbs. Diligently working at loosening the ligaments and tendons that have tightened over the course of the last six months. “If EVER. And I don’t mean to make it sound like I hate doing this, but buddy, you owe me one hell of a back rub when we finally get the hell out of here.”

It helps. Talking about the ‘when’ instead of the ‘if’. It’s the one thing that has kept her grounded and sane for half of a year; the plans they’d made and her determination to see them through. As long as she holds onto that little bit of hope, she hasn’t lost complete control of the situation; managing to keep death lingering at a comfortable distance while she navigates the grey and the gloom between here and there. If she allows herself to use the word ‘maybe’, she’s written him off; handed him the same death sentence that all the doctors and even Nik and Yaz have burdened him with. She refuses to give up; taking every flinch and flicker of his eyelids and twitch of his fingers or toes as a sign that he’s still fighting.

And nowhere close to surrendering.

She takes care of his hair next; spritzing it down with mandarin-scented detangler before making her way through with both brush and comb. Slipping a hand between him and the bed and gently lifting his head from the pillow; apologizing profusely when she feels as if she’s yanked a little too hard at the knots. And as exhausted as she is, she finds herself somewhat enjoying the tasks that she’s been given; a natural-born caretaker who’d been neglected and touch starved most of her life and in turn, wanted to make sure no one else experienced the same things. A mother hen so to speak; badly longing to protect and nurture another human being but never getting the opportunity to do so.

Until now.

“Pretty shitty circumstances though,” she says aloud, and drops the hair care tools into the top drawer of the nightstand. “I think I’d take the worst possible case of man flu over this any day of the week.”

Guilt immediately sets in. Worried that IF he truly can hear her and understand what’s being said, he’ll assume she feels he’s a burden. That the blame lies solely upon him in terms of her emotional and physical exhaustion and that she’s simply stuck by his side out of a feeling of misplaced servitude. He had saved her life in Dhaka, after all. Surely that must make her feel as if she owes him. That waiting on him hand and foot and perhaps even feeding him and cleaning his ass for the rest of his life is merely payback.

“I don’t really mean that you know.” She’s quick to apologize; using her hip to close the drawer on the nightstand and then leaning against the railing of the bed. And she chews nervously on her bottom lip as two fingertips swipe his bangs off his forehead and away from his eyes. “Not in the way it probably sounded. I don’t mind doing all this stuff. I WANT to do it. And I know you’d probably do the same for me. I just meant that it’s shitty circumstances that got us here. I’m sure you’d rather be anywhere else.”

Removing a tube of chapstick from the pocket of her hoodie, she snaps off the cap and leans over the bed railing. “You’re totally drying out here,” she laments, mindful of the breathing and feeding tube as she glides the bubblegum-flavoured concoction over his top lip, followed by the bottom. “I’m sorry it’s not the strawberry one you got used to in Dhaka. Remember how you always used to mention it? Every time you kissed me? About liking the taste of it? I ran out. And this cherry one was the closest thing I could find to it in the pharmacy here. There…” She uses a fingertip to clear excess from his lips. “…totally kissable now. Not that I wouldn’t kiss you before, but…” Pressing a kiss to each corner of his mouth. “…it makes it a little better.”

Pocketing the balm, she reaches for the lever on the bedrail and sets it into the down position. Gently straightening and smoothing out his blankets, she fluffs both the pillow behind his head and the one that supports his back before taking a seat on the edge of the mattress.

“Tyler…” She takes one of his hands in both her own. “…we need to have a little chat. I know it’s kind of unfair right now; you can’t exactly give an opinion or argue with me. And I promise that once you’re out here and back to normal, I MAY let you get a word in edge-wise from time to time. But for now, there’s some things I need to say. That I’d rather you hear now than never hear them at all, you know? Because…”

Sighing, she anxiously yanks the elastic out of her ponytail; shaking her long, dark tresses for before simply gathering them up and putting them back once again. “Look, you’ve been amazing, okay? You’ve done everything I’ve asked you to do; when it comes to giving me little signs that you’re making your way back to me. And I’m so proud of you; I know you’re tired and you’re healing but you’re still trying to help me out. That’s why it kills me that I have to do this. That I have to ask for more.”

She turns his palm up to face her and commences drawing slow, smooth patterns on it with the tip of her finger. Her eyes riveted on the beside monitor; a smile spreading across her face when his heart rate escalates.

“I keep telling them. That you ALWAYS respond to that. And that you’ve been responding to other things, too. I told them you’ll wiggle your toes or your fingers when I ask and how sometimes your eyelashes will flutter and other times you try and put your hand on top of mine. They don’t believe me; they think it’s all in my head. They keep saying that you’d do for them and the nurses if it was intentional. And you know what I said? I said ‘maybe he just doesn’t give a shit about any of you’.”

Sighing, she reaches up to tuck wayward strands of hair behind her ears.

“Tyler, I know I’ve asked a lot. And that you’ve worked really hard to give me what I asked. I know you’re tired; you’re trying to build up your strength so you can wake up and get the hell out of here. But we’re running out of time, babe. I told them I’d shut things off at the start of the sixth month; that’s only a couple of weeks away. I don’t want to do it, believe me. I want to keep you on these machines for as long as I can; until you’re a hundred percent ready to come off them. But if I don’t do what I promised, they’re going to take me to court. And they’ll get an order to override me and do what they want. I don’t want it coming to that. You deserve so much better than THAT. So this is where I need your help. AGAIN. I need you to do more, okay? I need a bigger sign. One that the doctors can’t brush off. I need something that says you’re almost ready; you’re stronger and you’re healthier and you’re almost at the finish line. I don’t want to say that I’m desperate, but I am. I really need this. I really need YOU. Because I’m starting to get really scared and you’re the only person that’s ever made me feel safe and protected and…” She valiantly struggles to hold back a flood of tears. “…and I never knew I even needed to feel those things. So please? Just do something. Anything. That shows them they’re wrong. Please.”

She waits for a sign. Another increase in heart rate. A flicker of his eyes. The wiggle of fingers and toes. And she’s crestfallen when nothing happens.

“You’re probably sleeping,” she laments, then slaps a hand against her forehead. “God I am so fucking stupid. Of COURSE you’re sleeping. You’re in a coma for Christ’s sake. I’m starting to lose it. I really am. I’m even talking to myself lately. Out loud. You can’t tell me THAT’S normal. And there’s one more thing…” She laces her fingers through his. “Now is going to be harder than I thought. To say what I need to. I don’t even know what I’m so scared of; it’s not you’re awake and you can laugh at me or act disgusted or just totally shoot me down. But I need to get it off my chest. Because if something does go wrong and something bad DOES happen, I’d never forgive myself for not telling you. So here it goes…”

Sighing heavily, she steels herself.

“I love you, Tyler. And I know what you’re probably thinking; about how it’s way too soon and that there’s no way you can love someone so quickly. Believe me, I never thought it was possible either. Until it happened. I don’t expect you to feel the same way; it’s not like you’ve spent the last five months like I have. Dhaka probably seems like just yesterday in your mind. I don’t expect you to wake up and say it back; not unless you FEEL it. And maybe you never will. I don’t know. Maybe those five days were as good as things were going to get. But I HAD to tell you. And to be honest, I needed to admit it to myself, too.”

For several minutes she sits in silence; tightly clasping his hand and watching his face for any change. The curl of a lip or the flutter of eyelashes or the swell of a cheek with an attempt of a smile. He’d been showing remarkable progress within the last few days alone; voluntary movements of his hands and feet and a slight grimace of pain when the night nurse had to change IV sites. But today he’s motionless; not even the smallest of flinches. Peacefully at rest; his beard and nails trimmed, his hair combed, and his skin warm to the touch.

“I’m going to go and do my stuff,” she says, and lifts his hand to her face; pressing a kiss to each battered knuckle and at the base of his wrist. “Do some yoga, take a shower, go down the hall to the kitchen and get something to eat. So I’m gonna just let you rest and…”

The moment she slips off the edge of the bed, his hand tightens around hers. Not with the strength of a man who’d been declared clinically dead and was relying on machines to keep him alive, but the strength of someone still very much alive. And fighting like hell.

“I knew it.” She allows the tears to come; cradling his cheek in her palm as she leans over the bed and rests her forehead against his. “I KNEW it.”

*****

Although running behind, she sticks to her morning schedule; simple ‘luxuries’ that she’s clung to to keep what’s remaining of her sanity. A lengthy and rejuvenating yoga routine that helps centre and ground; the furniture moved aside in the sitting area of Tyler’s private room to make space for herself and her mat. A long shower in one of the many ‘for family use only’ bathrooms; the pounding water working out the kinks in her neck and soothing the aches in her back and hips. Finished off with that first tea of the day and a quick and quiet breakfast. Steaming hot perfection combined with a bowl of yogurt, granola, and fresh fruit; always at the same table -and seat right next to the window- in the ICU’s small yet fully stocked and manned cafeteria.

It makes her feel human again. To focus on herself. But it’s fleeting and soon taken over by feelings of selfishness and guilt; ashamed that she’d allowed herself those moments of peace and clarity while Tyler continued to exist in that void between life and death.

But today is different. His response to her request for a more significant and more obvious sign and her profession of love has rejuvenated her; her confidence has returned to her step and her optimism and hope are both stronger than ever. She knows they’ll try and convince her it’s all in her head; gaslighting her into believing that she’s so desperate for a miracle that she’s become ‘delusional’ and is ‘highly imaginative’. But she knows for sure that his squeeze of the hand was the real deal; it was strong and assuring and sending a clear, unwavering message that he’d not only heard her pleas and requests, but was doing his best to acknowledge AND answer them. And now only one real challenge remains. Getting him to show the nurses and the doctors the same responses when they speak to him.

“This place is getting busy again,” Esme announces as she re-enters his room, her soiled yoga shorts and tank in hand; stuffing the latter into a near overflowing she’s been promising to take down the laundry room for over a week. “Remember how I was talking about all those rooms opening up? People getting shipped up to normal wards? Well, they’re full again.” Sighing, she gathers her damp hair in both hands and styles it into a haphazard bun; securing it with the elastic she keeps around one wrist. “A lot of pretty young people, too. I don’t what’s going on and how they’re getting so sick or so hurt, but…”

A barely audible grunt from across the room interrupts her mid-sentence. The anxiety is immediate; her stomach clenching and her jaw tightening as she tries to digest the never heard before sound. Any change of the ’norm’ brings about near panic; a fear that something different automatically means disaster. And her brows are knit together and her eyes are narrowed as she apprehensively glances over her shoulder.

His eyes open. Barely. The gaze is groggy. Confused. But steadily fixed upon her.

“Tyler?”

Another grunt. His eyes briefly closing before he raises a hand; trembling furiously as it reaches for the breathing tube.

“No! No! No!” Dropping her remaining belongings on the floor, she rushes to his bedside; fingers curling around his wrist. “Don’t touch that. You’ll yank it out. Hurt yourself. The nurse needs to do it for you. Can you see me? Hear me? Do you understand what I’m saying? Blink if you do.”

He obliges her request.

“What are you doing awake? What…?” Her words are cut off by a choked sob; one of pure shock and disbelief. And she wraps both arms around his neck and presses a kiss to his temple; tears spilling down her cheeks as she rests her head upon his shoulder. “You prick! Leave it to you to wait until I was out of the room!”

It takes tremendous effort and strength, but his hand comes to rest in the middle of her back; rubbing it in slow, smooth circles in an attempt to console her.

“You know how long I waited for this moment?” Pulling away, she lovingly ruffles his hair. “Almost six months! A half a year! I’ve thought about it every day. What it would be like when it happened. And what do you do? You go ahead and totally ruin it for me!”

He attempts a sorry. Words unable to get passed the tubes shoved down his throat.

“I’m just teasing you. Just giving you a hard time. Don’t try and talk, okay? Not until they get those things out of you. Do you know where you are?”

A small nod.

“Do you remember what happened? Do you know why you’re here?”

Another. Followed by heavy-lidded eyes surveying the room; brow furrowing at the sight of the various bedside machines and the wires attached to various parts of his body. And when he looks back at her there’s a mixture of emotions written on his face; a heavy dose of fear and concern.

“I know it’s a hell of a thing to wake up to. Being here. And I know you’re probably really confused right now. Your mind is probably all fuzzy. Nothing much is making sense, huh? You’re probably scared, too. I would be too.”

He raises a hand; knuckles brushing against her cheek before his arm once more falls heavily onto the bed.

“I’m okay,” she assures him, as she sinks down onto the edge of the bed and takes his hand in both of hers. “And so is Ovi. Nik’s had people with him ever since he got home. They follow him everywhere; keep a close eye on him. Just in case.”

His brow furrows as he regards her intently.

“I’m fine,” she stresses. “I was a bit banged up. Nothing serious. I’ve had a hell of a lot worse, believe me. I didn’t even need to spend the night here. Not as a patient, anyway. You did what you promised. You got Ovi out of there. You got him home. Safe and sound. It’s over. It’s all over. It’s been over for months now.”

Sighing, he looks up at the ceiling. Tears sparkling in his eyes.

“I know you’re probably really confused. You’ve probably got a lot of questions. But you’ve been here for six months. So have I. I wanted to make sure that you were taken care of. That no one would give up on you. And I knew this was going to happen. I knew you were going to fight your way back. That you weren’t ready to give up. You weren’t ready to leave.”

He shakes his head.

“The conceited part of me wants to say it’s all because of me. That I’m the reason you’re still here. That you made your way back just for me. But…”

His eyes find hers once more; hand squeezing hers as tight as his weakened body will allow.

“Sweet talker,” she chides, and leans in to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You try and rest, okay? I’m just going to go and call your nurse and she can contact your doctor or come and check you herself. Whatever she needs to do. I just…”

His grip tightens on her as she slips off the bed. The fear once more returning to his eyes.

“I’m not leaving, I just need to get your call button. It’s on the other side of the bed. I need to use it to get your nurse in here. Don’t worry…” Pushing a hand through his hair, she places her lips against his brow. “I’m not going anywhere. Not now. Not EVER.”

*****

It seems so different now.

So foreign.

Almost uncomfortable.

It’s so quiet. All the bedside machines unplugged; dark and silent and shoved into a corner of the room. She had gotten so used to it; the hiss and the hums, the beeps and the clicks. The noises quickly becoming a part of her new existence; blending in with the chatter of the staff as they wandered the halls and the rattle of gurneys as they passed by the room. And she almost misses them; unaware of how familiar and routine they’d gotten until they suddenly ceased to exist. They had been a security blanket almost; something steady and constant that had signified life and hope and had kept her going at even her darkest and most difficult of moments.

He sleeps soundly; aided by powerful painkillers given through an IV line and fed to him through a programmed pump. She’d insisted on it; reminding them of the addiction issues that had been previously addressed and admitting -painfully- that he couldn’t be trusted to administer to himself. They’re hard things to accept; the powerful and all-consuming ties he has to both alcohol and Oxycontin. In Dhaka they’d briefly talked about it; he’d confessed to his addictions and admitted that he wanted to break free of their clutches. Getting clean was a priority now that he had someone in his life; he wanted to be rid of the worst of his vices, no matter how difficult it would be to walk away from them.

“You make me want to be a better man,” he’d announced, the sincerity in both his voice and his eyes had making her choke up. No one had ever given her a more beautiful compliment. Such honest and heartfelt words coming from someone like him; a phenomenally strong, seemingly fearless man weighed down by the enormity of his mistakes. Carrying around the burdens of guilt and grief and regret.

Not of that exists right now. He’s temporarily at peace; free of the monsters and the demons that have plagued him for years. His unassisted breathing slow and deep and rhythmic; his weakened and battered body trying to build whatever strength it can in order to begin the long, arduous road of healing. His skin is pale and the circles under his eyes dark and haunting; she’s already promised to get him out into the sunshine as soon as the doctors feel he’s up to it. He sleeps with his face turned towards her; unruly hair splayed out across his pillow and looking shades darker against the crisp white sheets. And there’s a slight smile curving his lips; perhaps feeling the tremendous relief that comes with walking through the darkest and deepest recesses of hell and living to tell about them.

Despite there still being a long and arduous road ahead, she feels as if a tremendous weight has been lifted off her shoulders; no longer concerned with deadlines and ultimatums and feeling an immense satisfaction at the doctors being proven wrong. And it had taken everything she had not to gloat when the primary care physician finally showed up to asses Tyler’s current physical and mental state and remove him from the machines. Feeling an immense sense of pride in him when he was able to answer -using nods or shakes of the head- basic questions regarding both his and her identity. Showing no signs of coma-induced amnesia; knowing her name and not only how they met, but how he ended up in the hospital in the first place. The line of questioning had been short and simple, but had immensely irritated him; the darkness in his eyes as he glared at the doctor gave a clear cut message: the interrogation was pointless, he wasn’t stupid, and he was simply tired of the other man’s shit.

The extubation hadn’t gone as smoothly as staff had hoped. What should have been simple and routine became a three ring circus when she was asked to leave the room; Tyler immediately panicking at the mere thought and his heart rate and blood pressure spiking to near dangerous levels as his fight or flight response kicked into high gear. Shockingly angry and strong for someone who’d been in a coma for half a year and only minutes before had appeared weak and docile. And with that the arguing and the threatening had began; Esme insisting that it was in his best interest if she was allowed to remain in the room where he could keep his eyes on her at the very least.

“He’s scared,” she’d informed them. “He’s scared and he’s confused. And I’m the one thing that’s been constant for the last six months. I’ve ALWAYS been here. He’s gotten used to that. What harm is it going to do if I hang around? It’ll help, if anything.”

For several minutes the bickering back and forth had continued. As had Tyler’s kicking and thrashing about in bed and the threats of “sedating him for everyone else’s safety.” She refused to let that happen; there was no need to drug him up when simply letting her stay by his side and hold his hand and talk him through it would more than suffice.

Her tenacity and stubbornness had been the victors in the end. And she’d held his hand in one of her own; her lips pressed against his ear as she talked him through the entire process and whispered words of comfort and reassurance. Telling him she wasn’t going ANYWHERE; there was nothing and no one that could possibly tear her away. Not now. Not ever.

******

Exhaustion sets in, coming on strong and fast. It’s aided by her newfound optimism and the fears she’s been able to shed, and she welcomes the chance to rest with open arms. Carefully prying open his fingers in order to slip her hand out of his; his grip surprisingly strong and fuelled by his fear that if he stops touching her, she’ll simply disappear. But he’s sleeping soundly and neither movement nor absence of touch disturbs him; not offering up a single flinch as he continues to alternate between lightly snoring and murmuring in his sleep. And kicking off her slippers, she leans back in her chair; drawing her oversized hoodie tighter around her body and then stretching out her legs and placing her feet on the mattress. Giving him just enough contact that if he does wake, he won’t immediately panic; her toes tucked securely underneath the back of his left thigh.

When she wakes, the sun has shifted position in the sky; beams streaming through the courtyard’s glass roof and casting shadows upon the lobby’s walls and floor. For what seems like several long, tedious minutes she fights disorientation; her weary brain struggling to identify and make sense of the sights and sounds that had been part of her life for half a year. Yawning loudly, she presses the heels of her palms into her blurry eyes; keeping them closed as her hands move to her shoulders and she massages at the tight, aching muscles.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

She gives a small start; eyes rapidly flicking open and falling on the nurse that busies herself on the opposite side of the bed.

The younger woman gives a sheepish, apologetic smile. “I tried to be as quiet as possible. Sorry.”

“No need to be. It wasn’t you. I think my neck was crying out for mercy. I didn’t even realize you were here.” Esme frowns as concern sets in. She hates how quickly it can grab hold of her; the panic that comes with the fear of losing the one thing…the one person…that you truly DO love. Her life had changed half a year ago. Meeting someone who was just as damaged and tarnished as she was.

It could have gone so horribly wrong; two hurt and lonely people only making each other worse.

“Is he alright?” She attempts to keep her anxiety under control; the mere thought of him having a setback and ending up worse than before just too much to bear. While all her spoken and unspoken pleas and promises had been both accepted and answered, it’s been a nagging worry; a quick and sudden regression that sentences him to a life in a near -or full- vegetative state.

Even then, she'd stick by his side. Put her entire life on hold in an effort to improve his. And provide whatever care he needed. No matter how 'hands on'. “He’s doing just fine. Breathing well on his own; his numbers never drop below ninety-five percent.”

“And that’s good, right? Especially considering how long he needed that machine for? To already have numbers that high…”

“It’s excellent. Far better than anyone expected.”

“No one expected much from him, did they? And they sure as hell wouldn’t listen to me. I told them; that he was responding to my voice and when I tickled his palm and sometimes when I combed his hair. I knew what I was talking about. It wasn’t all in my head. I wasn’t hysterical or crazy like they said.”

“No. You most certainly weren’t.”

“You were the only that believed me. That didn’t think I was nuts.”

“You fought with too much passion and too much conviction to be anything BUT truthful. I could tell in your voice and in your eyes; you truly believed what you were saying.”

“I may not have known Tyler very long, but I know that he wouldn’t give up without a fight. Maybe before he met me, he would have. But we talked about the future. OUR future. There was no way he was giving up on them. On me. On US.”

“I wish all of the patients here at someone like you in their corner. I like to think that if they did, they’d heal a lot faster; knowing that someone is fighting for them and making sure they get nothing but the best. Do you know how many have no one? Whose families have just given up and stopped coming altogether?”

“I can’t even imagine being that way. Just abandoning someone. Especially someone I love. How do you live with yourself? How do you sleep at night? Pretending as if they don’t even exist anymore?”

“I don’t understand it myself.”

“It’s just so sad. The thought of them being all alone. No one caring about them. I know it’s not easy; seeing someone at their worst and not knowing if they’re going to make it or not. It’s hard; to lose someone you care about. But ignoring them and pretending they don’t exist doesn’t make it all go away.”

“And the guilt afterwards? The regret? If they DO die?”

“I couldn’t live with myself. I wasn’t going to do that to Tyler; just leave him here and go on with my life. I didn’t want him to be alone. He deserves so much better than that. And if he was going to die, I was going to make sure he had someone here with him.”

“I assumed you’d been with him for a long time. Considering how hard you fought. How you wouldn’t back down.”

“I know it doesn’t make sense. The way I am. So soon after meeting someone. But I know how I feel. About him. And I know it isn’t wrong. Because nothing wrong could ever feel this right.”

“There’s no rules. No time limit. Whether it’s weeks, months or years that you’ve known someone. And don’t let anyone tell you any different.”

“They don’t even try anymore,” Esme laughs, and leans back in her chair. “They know it’s a lost cause. My family gave up a long time ago.”

For several minutes they go co-exist in silence; Esme watching as the nurse tends to replacing IV and catheter bags, resetting the timer on the pain pump, and using an iPad to jot down the various numbers in regard to his vitals. And she’s beginning to doze off once more when the younger woman’s voice captures her attention; her head snapping up and her eyes flickering open.

“He’s got quite the hold on you there,” the nurse nods down at the bed; Tyler’s hand covering one of Esme’s feet in a surprisingly strong grip.

She wonders when he’d done it. If it was a subconscious moment while he was sleeping or if he’d woken up briefly and intentionally took hold of her. “He’s protective. Even while he’s like this. Just wants to keep an eye on me. Make sure nothing bad happens. Or I don’t get away.”

“I don’t think he has to worry about that. Especially that last part. You know, if you want to get out of here for a bit, I don’t mind sticking around. This was my last patient for these rounds. So if you want to go grab a tea or something to eat or eve get some fresh air…”

“I don’t want to leave him alone. If he wakes up and I’m not here, he might freak out. He might…”

“He won’t be alone. I’ll be right here. Sitting with him. I don’t mind spending my break here. You need some time to yourself. Even if it’s just to wander around a bit. Feel the sun on your face. The worst is over; he’s done his time in hell and come out the other side. You can breathe again.”

She chews on her bottom lip; considering the opportunity that’s been presented to her. And sighing, she turns her teary eyes towards the younger woman. “Please take care of him.”

“Of course. He’s in good hands.”

Giving a nod of approval and a smile of appreciation, she stands; pushing her chair away before approaching the side of the bed. Running her fingers through her hair before holding it back off his forehead; lips meeting warm, smooth skin.

“I’ll be right back,” she promises, a fingertip lightly trailing down the scar that inhabits the left side of his brow. “There’s nothing to worry about, okay? I won’t be gone long. I’m not leaving. You don’t EVER have to worry about that.”

#Tyler and Esme series #In a Heartbeat #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Tyler Rake fanfic #Extraction fan fiction #Extraction fan fic #Chris Hemsworth #Tyler Rake #Extraction 2 #Extraction #Tyler Rake x OFC #Esme Drummond #Esme Rake

32 notes · View notes

leighlew3 · 1 year

Note

Hi Leigh. I hope you’re feeling okay. And if you’re not, that’s fine too. We all love you and are here for you.

I know it’s probably not the best time to discuss my concern but like ptsd sometimes ruins my head and I feel extremely paranoid if I don’t try to protect someone I care about.

What I’m trying to say is(and this is entirely presuming through some of your previous posts) that sometimes you do more than your sibling. Which doesn’t mean that it’s bad unless…..it’s sort of intentional in his part?

Once again I’m sorry if this makes you mad and I get it, family can be complicated and I’m just a stranger trying to give you unsolicited advice.

I have a reason to do so and that is I’ve seen my mom under the shadows of her brother. Considering he was a monster and I’m assuming your brother isn’t. Because I only know just one part of his life. However, I’m trying to advice you(sorry for the unsolicited advice btw) because my uncle is a horrendous man. When my granny got cancer and was on her death bed, it was almost the exact situation that you had described in one of your posts. And so I got flashbacks of that time(ptsd??) and I have to admit my uncle is probably way worse considering he tried to sexually assault me when I was 10. But that’s besides the point. What I’m getting to here is that it took years for mom to recognise the behaviour and the nature of her brother until she snapped and then completely cut him off for good. But all those years, she suffered under his tyranny (?) and unfortunately I had to deal with it too.

I just hope that if your case is similar even just a little to what I described, just think about it as a whole. That’s all. I’m not telling you what to do. All I’m saying is be careful.

Much love ❤️

First, thank you, and I'm so sorry you went through that. 💜

So, my brother... was always a genuinely good guy who did the right things, when it counted most at least, especially compared to our evil, abuser 'father'. Unfortunately, he's lately been going through some sort of early mid-life crisis or something, I dunno. But he's just abandoned a lot of people and responsibilities he shouldn't. Things and people that should mean the most are now on the bottom of the priority list.

I've always taken care of our mom single-handedly. I think he's chipped in financially, barely, like... a couple minor times. And for a long time he made more money than I did, so there was no excuse. He just always even as kids amidst trauma -- checked out. His way to deal was to just... not. To run away. To shut it out. Go about his life. Leaving us to survive alone, etc at the time.

Anyway, it broke my heart when I told him this last Christmas might be our last with mom, and to please come, she wanted to be with him and the boys (my nephews) for Christmas, badly. And he instead decided to spend it with his new girlfriend of (at the time) 2 months. The boys were devastated because they could tell grandmama's health was declining and they wanted to be with her/us for Christmas...

Now, after her death, the oldest (15) has said, "Well, we didn't get to see her for Christmas and now she's gone." and the youngest (11, an extra sensitive young soul) hasn't stopped crying fairly regularly since she died. They were already dealing with their parents' split a year or so go, and then their dad basically checking out the second he met the new girlfriend. And now they lost their grandmama who loved them SO much and made them her whole world in the way she made her own children (us) her whole world.

Mom did the best she could for us under hellish circumstances, and she was not perfect, but she was a GOOD mom who loved her two children, would die for her children, always put us first above ALL, including and especially herself. She loved and cared for him so much and he just abandoned her. But for me I always saw no other option BUT taking care of her. She took care of me the first 18 years of her life. So I took care of her the last 18 or so years of hers. I told her she could retire as a teacher's aide and I'd take care of her when her back and legs got bad after years of steroid use due to her asthma + years of abuse. I took care of her, and us. For so long. And in the very end, her last year or so, I was the one bathing her, cleaning up her bowel movement bags, helping her get to the commode by her bed, I was the one feeding her, bringing her her pills, and bankrupting myself on her medical costs -- even as I myself was dealing with long COVID exhaustion/heart/BP issues. To the point that she and I even started having issues of emotional conflict due to both of us being so fucking TIRED and exhausted and frustrated, her suffering, me exhausted and at wits end mental health wise in every way. Those are things I'll forever have to live with and try to process and forgive myself for but at the hospital one night I washed her hair and face and put her lipstick on her and she forgave me for my moments of frustration, and gently thanked me for taking care of her, especially because I was the only one who ever did...

Anyway, I asked him, in order to make room for her hospice bed while she was in the hospital, if he would grab some bed cover bags for the beds to go into my storage, so hospice had room to install her literal death bed. I hadn't slept in a week, being at the hospital anywhere from 5-12 hours a day to be sure she was being treated right and wasn't alone. She hated being there alone and I refused to let her be alone. I was exhausted. His ex wife was there at the hospital with mom to relieve me more than he was. She's been there for me this whole time in ways that if I hadn't had her, I don't think I would've made it through.

So, I was running around making sure mom's whole room was redone for her comfort, the equipment, etc (for what wound up being 2.5 days before she died, but at least I got her home in time and she passed at home like I always promised her I would make sure she did) -- and I just needed him to grab $10 plastic covers from U-Haul and come help me move the beds. He came to help me move the bed, but claimed her couldn't buy the bed covers (?!). He came by a total of... 3-4 times, briefly, throughout the hospital / hospice / hell final days because his priority was his new girlfriend and her children, over his own dying mother, his sister who was exhausted, and his sons who were devastated and hurting and trying to process it all.

I love my brother, I always will, but in her final days he broke her heart. He abandoned me. And now she's gone and aside from him holding me for 30 seconds the night she died (the first time he's really hugged me in half our life) -- he hasn't even called or texted since she died, or the memorial, to ask if I'm okay. He hasn't checked on me. He's just... living his life.

One of mom's dying wishes, I even have on tape, was telling him to take care of his little sister (me) and his sons (especially due to recent events that were devastating her around all that).

And I'm breaking. And I'm not okay.

But this is where it's that thing... where it's always been mom and me, just us, against the world, on our own, no matter who else came or went. No matter what, we at least had each other.

But now she's gone.

I don't have my mom anymore, my best friend, my confidant, my biggest champion and defender... my world is gone. Half my heart and soul is gone. And I don't even have my brother either, really. Barely ever have. I took care of our mom alone most of my adult life while he got to live his. And I'm angry with him for abandoning us all this time and putting it all on me, but especially at the end. And I don't know if I'll ever be able to get past that. My mom always thought he'd come around, she only ever wanted to see the best in him, and it's heartbreaking. She loved him so much, just as much as she loved me even though I was the one who was always there for her... because she couldn't ever really face that he just... wasn't there, and wasn't going to be there.

But I was. Even in the end. And now I'm broken.

But he's just living his life.

And none of that seems fair.

But that's life, I guess.

#personal #crying as i type this #i've cried more the last month than in my entire life #i dont usually cry #so #yeah

15 notes · View notes

tothedarkdarkseas · 1 year

Text

Hi anon! Since I can’t add a read more to the ask itself I’m just copying your text below, and I’ll respond to it at the bottom!

Anonymous asked:

Hi. Your WIP inspired me.

The second time, it was on accident. He wakes up to a pounding under his skull, body not feeling much better, and a foggy memory of last night's events.

Shockingly, that isn't new. Not even a surprise.

The bed he's in (he's actually in a bed, that's one point) is soft at least, (unlike his bed at home, another point) which serves as a blatant reminder that he's not where hes supposed to be.

He opens one, now two eyes, and looks over at the body next to him.

Blonde hair that looks white in the sun covers her face. Whoever she is. He doesn't care.

Despite the protests of his spine, he sits up, and looks around. It's clean, cleaner than he's used to. The girl couldn't be that bad, as he takes notice of the pictures on the walls. Older people, presumably family. There's a desk in the corner, notebooks stacked neatly, a calendar showing the current month. She really had her stuff together. That's new. Poser, he thinks, offhandedly.

Murdoc doesn't think about why he already believes that anyone who would sleep with him must have something wrong with them, at the age of 24.

He gets out of bed slowly. He would deny actually caring about disturbing the girl's sleep. It's more that he doesn't want to see her face, see the disappointment of a man she brought into her room. He didn't want to see her eyes become dark. He didn't want to see his reflection in them.

His clothes were easy enough to find. They stuck out, the one mess in the room. Would his smell stay after he was gone? Would she wake up, scrunch her nose, and clean up after him before brushing her own teeth?

Nowadays, he doesn't wear pants. It's punk, he says, but that's a shit excuse. The reality is that when you're starving or aching from withdrawals, "new pants" doesn't really take priority on the shopping list. But now, the thought of the chafing denim on the walk home makes Murdoc's brows crease.

It's a new low.

He begins to slip on the first pair of knickers he finds. Laying on her vanity, he presumes they were tossed off from last night. They're ugly. Purple, with a pink lace around the waist and each leg hole.

He sees.

He can't stop himself from looking at his reflection.

The way they lay on his hips, how his thighs spill over the pink edge on each side. The bulge is a disgusting reminder that this is wrong. Yet pathetically, soft, it's contained in the small fabric. This is wrong. But as he turns around, A look over his shoulder and-

Fuuuuck. Shit. Shitshitshitshit. Fuck.

He slips on his jeans. His jacket. Boots. He's a whore, his thinks, when he remembers he left his house without a shirt.

He walks home with a red face.

The knickers stay on, for the rest of that day.

Thank you for sending me your take, I’m really flattered that this inspired you at all and holy cow, I’m very impressed with how quickly you whipped that up! I swear, there’s a cog missing in my brain that makes speedy writing feel like an impossibility, haha. You just banged it right out!

You and I are very much on the same page here! This probably won’t surprise you given our conversations on this blog, but you nailed the prediction (whether you meant to or not!) One of the five scenes I outlined was indeed Murdoc stealing knickers from a girl he’d shagged; given it’s canon that he steals purses and whatever else he fancies including clothing, I think this is just such a natural assumption to make. In the WIP, he’s begun wearing knickers on stage, making a spectacle of it, doing it for jeers and heckles and the punkish attitude that, in Murdoc’s case, bridges into antisocial behaviour. He doesn’t have to have the conversation with himself if he’s instead having the conflict with everyone else. The part where he feels something quieter than that, though, the part where he’s not yet given himself permission to wear them elsewhere-- that’s the next thing to contend with. By the time he’s snatching the knickers in a scene like this, there’s no audience to call him names nor an element of in-band fighting over their image, there’s no spite he can justify it with, and so there’s no reason to do it but the private desire to. And I think in your version you captured the very same feeling, making something he’d framed to himself as a statement into a secret. I love the concept of making the things you do alone so much scarier than the things you do under a spotlight. That feels very Murdoc to me.

#anon writing #I should have established a tag for that but I don't think I ever did. I'm sorry!#suggestion of nsft behind the cut but it's nothing blatant

4 notes · View notes

alyjojo · 2 months

Text

April 🤯 2024 Monthly - Pisces

Preshuffle: You’re being very cautious, because you’re unclear about something - though you want to take action. The only path is forward though whatever your journey looks like, I’m not seeing any detours.

Meditation: Hyper-vigilance, good grief. You’re in clouds, and you can’t see anything. Is it two minutes is it five hours, it’s just fog, but you can’t get too comfortable. The moment I did, your door came flying at my face at 100mph. Expect the unexpected, or you already do.

Main energy: 4 Pentacles

You’re being extra stubborn this month, probably due to an issue you’ve had with someone recently - oracles being Apology, Withdrawal, and Conflict. It is a retrograde, Mercury Taurus is here along with 6 Cups, someone from the past is likely to come back around and attempt a reconciliation. I’m getting platonic, but with both Venus signs in the oracles there is affection, Companionship, between you. This can also refer to holding back your finances, if someone is always asking you for money or needing to get their ish together, there’s a bit of an addict vibe with 7 Cups at the bottom. Could be a child, or someone you’ve known since childhood. So you care of course, but also, stop asking me for money 💯 If not another person, then you could just be receiving some sort of news, possibly regarding a payment or repair you have already saved for. This could be advice telling you to wait, don’t decide to repair your whole driveway in a retrograde, it can lead to delays, mistakes, and rework. Hold out for the best deal. Some of you may be offered a new job or some opportunity…that I don’t think you really want.

What’s going on in April:

7 Pentacles:

You’ve done the work in the past, all of the blood sweat and tears went into something you’re very passionate about, or could be angry if you feel there was wasted time. You go back and forth whether it’s even worthwhile to keep continuing on with this thing you’ve put effort into. Or whether you should accept something that’s not going to be easy - you’re aware of that. Are you willing to put in that much time & effort for this thing? Does it make you feel excited and motivated for a new beginning? If this is dating, and you’re single, you’re fine with that, closed off even. If Ace of Pentacles shows up, you’ll consider that, something with lasting potential. But Ace of Wands? Fuck outta here. Work too, however this resonates, you want the real, the tangible, the thing you can grow into something long term, you do not give a hoot nor a holler about fire 🔥 energy, passion, FUN, that sort of thing. I heard “fire burns out”. You’ve been getting this same message for awhile.

6 Cups:

The past, nostalgia, could be this person coming back around, The Empress. Could be a mother figure in your life, they could have kids, or they’re just a beautiful & wise sort of person that makes things beautiful & even better than it was before - they grow things. Kids, plants, artworks, business, fashions, food, whatever. This may be someone you compete with for something or you’ve just had an argument. Baby mama/daddy for someone. There’s too many people with this person, so you’ve had to compete for places in people’s lives or priority lists before, and that’s probably what you’re done doing. Ace of Pentacles or no. You’re not going to be juggled or put on a shelf until someone is “ready” to deal with you, bye. I get a solo energy but it’s not negative, though you may harbor some resentment. You’re actually quite comfortable & independent, secure in your position, that’s probably why you’re feeling closed off and stubborn in the first place. Why are they coming back now?

9 Pentacles:

You have more than enough to sustain yourself financially (could be a motive or you fear that), and though you do have some sort of affection or love for this person, they left you hanging at some point. I keep getting “put on a shelf” like when they had the chance, they didn’t want to deal with any issues, didn’t want to talk or fix anything, you could have had to move on. Cuz what else are you supposed to do? Stay there? 😆 Now you’ve picked yourself back up and are thriving, and they’re ready to talk. Resistance makes a lot of sense now, who are they to decide when it’s time to talk? Maybe you don’t want to. You could have helped them out with money before and now they’re coming back…to ask for more? In a bind? You could be tempted to say absolutely not, out of fear of what this person will do, it ended before for a reason.

Page of Swords:

Ah, this could be an ex that’s now moving on to other relationships, and though you’re fine on your own, interacting with the ex or their new person hurts. You could have kids together with these Pages, and the whole dynamic of co-parenting can be very painful & difficult, I hear you 🙏 Are you over them yes, it looks like it. Do you want to see them doing well with someone else when they didn’t do a got damn thing for you - NO. Fk them. But you have to. In someone’s case, whatever you’re doing currently for work is doing quite well, you like the people, you make decent money, and you could be hearing news that breaks your heart regarding this - fair warning. Death & 6 Swords at the bottom. Page of Swords can be looking for a job for some of you. In some cases all of this had already happened, the job is the thing you’re holding onto your coins for and not settling for anything less than growth potential. Sure working as a lifeguard is fun but no, you need money, insurance, stability, a long term retirement plan, that sort of thing. Some of you may be collecting unemployment and pissed off at the difference between what you have now and what you had then - financially. Not romantically, if you’re on your own I do see nostalgia, but I don’t see romance with an ex or even missing them. They’re synonymous with conflict for you. Buuut a little bit of bitterness - absolutely.

Page of Wands:

Mmm here’s the Queen of Pentacles to match the King, that’s why you’re hurt. Having to celebrate with these people, loosely, if you have kids. Or watching them move on and just be soulmates or whatever, you’re holding grudges and irritated that things worked out this way. You could be messaging your ex, or they will be, 4 Pentacles could be a warning to not do that, or even bother responding, but you may not be able to help yourself. You don’t want to hear they’re a matching pair, or that any messages or actions have been taken between these two people. Separately, this could be a couple you’re not that open to hearing out, could be parents or friends of some kind, neighbors, because of something someone has said that’s hurt you - could just be a perception of them that’s hurt you and they don’t even know what you’re mad about. Or that you know. Or what you know. And you’re none too interested in telling them, so far as I can see. Still, it’s people that are coming back, maybe a with a gift or opportunity, and you won’t be very receptive at all. It’s quite possible you could pop off at the mouth at some point and let them know it too 😬 This song started playing and I got goosebumps all over, that’s when I’m supposed to post it, only you’d know why.

Signs you may be dealing with:

Heavy Taurus, Sagittarius, Libra, Scorpio & Capricorn

Oracle: ✨

14 Teaching 🍏

The situation you are inquiring about encourages teaching, whether it be student/teacher, parent/child, or just friend/friend. We are, all of us, learning and teaching constantly when we are maintaining a high vibration energetically. Never despair that the seeds you have planted have failed to take root. They may be taking time to germinate, or they may have migrated to another field. Do not plant seeds with the expectation of an outcome. Disengage from the attachment to the outcome of a situation and move on. A farmer doesn’t sit down next to the seeds he plants waiting for them to sprout. What a recipe for disappointment!

He plants them and moves on. Never once does he second guess if he was doing the right thing in the right way. He simply does what he is called to do and trusts that the fruits of his labor will be what they are supposed to be! This card also encourages a more formal teaching experience. Look for ways you can enrich others’ loves through sharing your expertise and knowledge.

Apology 😞

Guilt - Confession - Forgiveness

Withdrawal 🍺

Guilt - Awakening - Rejection

Conflict 💥

Difference - Disputation - Quarrel

Resistance 😤 - Mercury Taurus

Companionship 👯 - Moon Libra

We enter into April as:

Lucy From Indigo 💟:

“I’m so glad you’re in my life.”

If this card has come to you, then you’ve been graced with a connection and you are most fortunate. One of the most valuable assets in our lives is friendship. This is a reminder to be grateful for the people in your life, this itself raises our vibration to a higher level. If you are unhappy in any relationships, Lucy is a reminder that it is always in our power to change it. Whatever lack you are feeling in your life, if you give that to others, you will receive the very thing you feel deprived of. The time is now to become what we want to become. If you are withholding from anyone it is you who will suffer the consequences. Be the example and live this day with gratitude. Kindness is contagious. In order to be who we want to be, we must simply be that person, there is no mystery to being a good person. Good people do good things.

What is to be learned in April:

Crimson Dreams 🥀:

“I am feeling the loss of my dreams.”

Crimson Dreams indicates holding back in some way. Are you selling yourself short? More than likely, it’s a warning you might be giving up on yourself. Are you in a danger zone of complacency? Are you allowing yourself to coast along in a situation you might not really want? Unless we are willing to risk, we may never realize our dreams. This is a need for new awareness. Don’t give up on your dreams! This is a wake up call to face your situation and live the life you truly desire, because you can.

Red may be a lucky colors ❤️

#Pisces #april 2024 #astrology #monthly tarot reading #monthly #tarot #tarotblr #Spotify

1 note · View note

ggstargetedlife · 10 months

Text

One of things I like about the current lawsuit aimed at the government for violating our humanity is besides getting our freedom and privacy back, it will also open the door for us individually to initiate our own lawsuits, civil suits, etc. I'm gonna sue these people bald-headed when it's my turn 🤣😅😂 Especially against the man who had my name put on the list put of revenge. Lynn Brinley is gonna be one broke, miserable motherfucker when I get done with him, he's gonna wish he was dead. I'm gonna take him for all he's got. Even the clothes off his back will be mine 🤣 Everyone who's participated as well as the government itself is getting sued. Gonna milk em for all they've got. Every moment of torture, pain, etc. Is gonna cost them big time once it's all been exposed. This is one of the reasons why when they're abusing my mind and body, I just sit back and smile. Backyard Neighbors still doing their usual of coming outback to "keep me company," talking the usual, boring shit talk game from over a fence, wasting their time and energy on a woman who couldn't care less over their meaningless existences. They probably feel so "honored" I mention them while meanwhile they're too stupid and brainwashed to grasp how truly pathetic and obsessive their behavior towards me is. Hell, they show me more attention than they do their own child. I really mean that much to them I come before their own flesh and blood. No one should be surprised when he grows up and turns to a life of crime, all because mommy and daddy were too busy making their neighbor top priority over them.

Right now everyone involved are having their fun with me, getting their jollies off in the process. They all think it's so cool and funny the warped out things they can do to me, and then sit back and watch the "show." A barrel of weirdos and straight up creeps sitting back in the shadows fapping off to everything done to me. Hehehe. Yeah, just wait until my time for fun comes. Any and everyone who can be slapped with a lawsuit will be from the top to the very bottom. No mercy. We'll see how "fun" it is then when they're sitting back exposed, publicly shamed, broke, busted and disgusted while I'm finally safe and living the life of luxury they've always dreamed of but never will attain.

#targeted individual #gangstalking #organized harassment #gangstalkers #organized stalking #harassment #voice to skull harassment #directed energy weapon attacks #future

0 notes

sunnyartsstudio · 1 year

Note

I feel you when you say LoK is about Korra and her friends, and not the old gaang. I personally never cared much for the old gaang (in LoK) and I probably would never have found the sheer amount of posts on the gaang frustrating if I didn't have to wade through several posts about them just to read a post about KORRA, the literal protagonist. The show is about her! Not the gaang which show up for like three episodes!

I mean, the Gaang is a bit more involved in LOK than that, but no. The show isn't about them, and people need to get that through their heads. This kind of reminds me of how Digimon Tamers was initially hated and reviled because it had nothing to do with the Adventure characters, but then people finally rewatched it and accepted it as its own show and now it's considered one of the best, if not the best, seasons of Digimon. The show is about Korra and her story. And that should be, first and foremost, how it's judged. I get people liking the show and I get people disliking it. Both sides are valid. But if someone says LOK is bad because Toph became a cop and Katara isn't still fighting nonstop in her eighties, then their opinion about the show itself ceases to be valid. Way too many people forget that LOK is not a show about the Gaang’s adventures with some girl named Korra thrown in for funsies. Again, it’s about Korra.

Also, sorry for taking to long to answer this. I got swamped with work, allergies and stress, so answering asks just dropped to the bottom of my priorities list. BUT I want to answer them all before New Years, so answer them I shall!

0 notes

kayedium-writes · 2 years

Note

I'm seriously thinking of starting an a03 account because I have so many modern/au anidala ideas but I'm afraid since I don't think I'm that strong of a writer. Any advice ?

Okay, I'm about to hop off for a bit to go do some writing but before I do...

If you have ideas, my number one piece of advice is to write them without consideration of AO3. Just write. Big idea, small idea, short, long, whichever. Follow your writing motivation and try it.

I was roughly ~35k words into All's Fair when I started posting. I started writing All's Fair because I had storyline and I wanted to get it out of my head. Whether anyone else cared, liked it, or wanted to read it was at the bottom of my priority list (and I'm still surprised every single time someone tells me they like my work). It's impossible to know what reception will be like, so that's why advice is given about writing for yourself first and not considering the audience.

I didn't, and still don't really, consider myself any sort of magnificent writer. I do it because I'm having a blast.

That being said, I can see my own progress in my writing in just the few months I've been doing it. There are so many resources available if you want to take advantage of them to strengthen certain aspects of your writing, but some growth will definitely come from practice alone. That and reading! Traditional books, especially.

And I also don't think that 'not being a strong writer' should stop you from doing so if you want to. This is a hobby - it's supposed to be low-stress and fun!

One note of "Do as I say and not as I do" -- it's probably less overwhelming if you start small. With a one shot, perhaps. Or a short multi-chapter fic. I, obviously, pass no judgment since I jumped head-first into two longfics, but that's not advice I'd really pass along lol

I'm sorry this is getting lengthy but the bottom line is: please join us in the fic world! There's always room for more. I promise we want to read your ideas! And if there's anything else I can do, feel free to reach out. I'm more than happy to bounce ideas or talk Anidala any time!

#asks answered

0 notes

fruitcoops · 2 years

Note

You're going to slow down posting? More than you already have? So basically you're not going to post at all 🙄

For context (even though you likely won't care), I aim to publish one fic every day/ every other day. It's literally written in my daily planner.

But I am a full-time college student, and my school didn't tell me we were going back fully in person until last Monday. I had five (5) days to say goodbye to all my family members, pack everything I needed, and then fly across the country to get settled down again. So yeah, posting fanfiction hasn't exactly been at the top of my priority list.

The only reason I was able to post three fics every day at the beginning of this blog was that I was in online school and stuck in my room all day. Now, I have actual life things to do. I'm not sorry for putting more energy into my degree.

You've probably already unfollowed me at this point. That's fine. You do you. I am not done posting Sweater Weather fics--in fact, I have lots of plans for more (and one currently open)--but last night I didn't know what the protocols were going to be for my roommate's positive test. I didn't know if I would have to quarantine or go back to classes. I didn't know if I would also get sick, or who I might have given it to already.

This blog is a hobby, not a job. I hope you know that. I have other things that take up my time and have spent a lot of the past year separating my self-esteem from the number of notes I get. So, from the bottom of my heart, please remember that if you want to read something, you can write it.

And for the record: her quarantine is 5 days. That would've been how long you were going without a new fic, if last night went the way I worried it might.

#not fic #eve speaks

67 notes · View notes

lachesis-games · 2 years

Note

to the whole cast (if thats ok) what are your guys' favorite animals and why?

The gang lounges in the Ipomoea living room. Jackie and Theo sit beside each other on the couch while TV and Antigone have taken up opposite armchairs. Dakota is perched atop the arm rest of Antigone's seat. Jackie leans forward eagerly.

Jackie: "Oh, that's easy. Wolves."

How come?

Jackie: "They're just the ultimate predator. They have all the evolutionary equipment to be killers and at the same time they're smart enough to hunt in packs and have a hierarchy and everything. It's badass! I'd pet one if I got the chance."

Theo: "You would be mauled."

Jackie shrugs.

Jackie: "You don't know that."

Theo shakes their head in disbelief.

Theo: "I'm fairly certain that--"

TV: "Anyway! My favorite animal is a deer. They're such gentle creatures. I went hiking with everyone last weekend and saw a doe and her fawn. They were so precious."

Is that the only reason?

TV: "I mean, I feel drawn to them. I think. I'm not sure why. Probably because they're cute?"

A crooked smile crosses Jackie's face.

Jackie: "TV, have you seen a movie called Bambi?"

Antigone: "Shut up, Romero."

TV: "I know it's a Disney movie. Is it any good?"

Jackie: "Yes!"

Antigone: "No."

Jackie just laughs and leans back in their chair while TV looks confused.

Theo?

Theo: "I like wyverns. When I was in my twenties, I had the opportunity to see the British Wyvern Races in person. It was a sight to behold, for sure."

The BWR one of the largest betting events in Britain. Did you make any wagers?

Theo scoffs, insulted.

Theo: "I'd never make an agreement so foolish. The trick to the matter is to wait until someone else's recklessness outweighs their luck. Then I offer them a deal. That is my trade."

TV: "How ominous."

Theo just hums dismissively.

Dakota?

Dakota's eyes light up.

Dakota: "Obviously my--"

Antigone cuts him off.

Antigone: "Charmander is not an animal."

Dakota huffs indignantly.

Dakota: "If you knew me, you'd know I was going to say charizard, but fine. Um, a little after I started monster hunting, once I got really good, I took this job dealing with this town's disappearing cattle. Turns out there was a freakin' chimera living in a cave nearby. I ended up having to fight it and turns out the thing won't die unless you kill all the heads. I wish I knew that going in, but whatever. Anyway, those things are awesome-looking and are great opponents."

Antigone wrinkles her nose.

Antigone: "Is that what you took from that encounter?"

She looks toward the interviewer.

Antigone: "He got overconfident and got himself bit. Luckily, he only broke his arm because it was the goat's head that got him. If it were either of the other two, he'd be dead."

Jackie: "Out of the two other dangerous animals to get bit by, the goat's the one that got him?"

Dakota: "I was worried about the massive lion paws! Excuse me for putting the goat at the bottom of my priority list!"

Jackie: "I could take out a chimera without getting bit. I'm built different."

Dakota: "Oh yeah? Theo, could one of your weird contacts track down a chimera for us to fight?"

Theo already has their phone out.

Theo: "I can have a location in ten minutes."

Oh lord. What about you, Antigone?

The witch and TV share a grimace before the former refocuses on the topic at hand.

Antigone: "Dogs. I like dogs."

Care to elaborate?

Antigone: "No."

Jackie: "I know where that is!"

The three of them, TV not included, are hunched over Theo's phone looking at what seems like a map.

Dakota: "I'll drive!"

Dakota and Jackie trip over each other on their way out the door, Theo strolling leisurely behind them. TV gives the interviewer an embarrassed smile.

TV: "We'd better go after them."

Antigone: "Do we, though?"

TV: "Please, Annie?"

Antigone: "Fine."

The final two follow after the rest of their group. There are hurried footsteps back to the door, where Jackie pokes their head back in.

Jackie: "By the way, my brother's favorite animal is a phoenix. He's big into the concept of rebirth and all that crap blah blah blah okay I'm leaving bye!"

The door slams shut behind them.

#interactive fiction #trouvaille game #trouvaille #if #ch:trouvaille #aya being dramatic #ch:jackie #ch:theo #ch:jace #ch: dakota #ch:antigone #ask my muse

20 notes · View notes

clusterbuck · 3 years

Text

i want you by my side (so that i never feel alone)

(3.2k, rated T, complete) read it on ao3

Eddie sits in his pew and tries to remind himself that he is in the lord’s house, and that he should really at least make an effort to keep his thoughts respectful.

It’s hard, though, when Buck is at the altar standing up as Maddie’s best man, wearing a suit that should honestly be illegal.

It’s only now, sitting in church trying not to blaspheme, that Eddie realises he’s become desensitised to Buck’s whole… everything. Buck in his firefighter uniform is a lot to take in, but Eddie’s trained himself to look past it. Mostly because he doesn’t ever want to have to explain to Bobby that he missed something on a call because he was distracted by the sight of Buck harnessed up for a rope rescue.

Buck at home—in his apartment or at the Diaz house, they’re practically synonymous anyway—is a whole other matter. Buck in old, faded t-shirts and comfortable sweats, in the LAFD hoodie they’ve been stealing back and forth for so long Eddie isn’t sure whose it was originally. It’s a different kind of intensity, a quiet one that stems from the knowledge that Buck doesn’t let many people see him like that, soft and a little dishevelled on a Saturday morning.

These are incarnations of Buck that Eddie has learned to live with, in the interest of remaining a functional human being capable of doing his job and caring for his son—the only two things on his list of priorities that manage to claw past his highly inconvenient unrequited feelings for his best friend.

But Buck in a suit? This is new, and Eddie’s defences are down. Eddie doesn’t have defences for this. He’s never seen Buck in a suit before.

Maybe he should have made Buck try the suit on at home first, so he could have gotten used to it in private.

Can you get sent to hell for thinking impure thoughts in church? Not that his thoughts are impure, exactly. He’s just thinking about the way the lines of the suit cling to Buck’s figure and highlight his broad shoulders, about the way Buck’s arms strain against the sleeves when he adjusts his cuffs, about the way the starched cotton would feel between his fingers as he unbuttoned Buck’s shirt… Okay, so he might be going to hell.

Eddie shakes his head. This is ridiculous. He’s a grown man, he can pull it together for the duration of a wedding ceremony.

Next to him, Christopher pokes his arm and looks at him curiously. “Dad? Are you okay?” he whispers.

Eddie swallows around the dryness in his throat. “I’m fine, buddy.”

“Why were you shaking your head?”

“I just—uh, forgot something I was supposed to do yesterday,” he whispers back. Forgot to mentally prepare himself for the sight of Buck in formalwear. “Don’t worry about it, just watch the ceremony. Look, I bet Chimney’s about to cry.”

The ceremony is just reaching the vows, and sure enough, as soon as Maddie starts reciting hers Chimney starts tearing up enough that it’s clearly visible to their seats near the back of the church.

This is good. If he focuses on Chimney’s quest to win the title of sappiest man alive, it’ll distract him from the public health hazard that is Buck in that suit.

“Is Chimney okay?” Christopher asks, and Eddie laughs under his breath and wraps an arm around his son.

“Yeah, he’s okay,” Eddie says and ducks down to kiss Christopher’s forehead. “He’s just really happy.”

One of Maddie’s first proclamations about the wedding was that she wanted to do away with any tradition that didn’t make sense to her, and the first thing to go was the separate table for the wedding party.

“Why would we invite all these people just to sit at a separate table all night?” she’d said, and nobody had been able to come up with a counterargument.

Then she’d gone one step further and decided to forego seating arrangements altogether. “Assigned seating is for middle schoolers and people who don’t like each other,” she’d said at Eddie’s kitchen table one night as Buck supposedly helped her plan the wedding. His helping mostly consisted of eating wedding cake samples, but Eddie was pretty sure Maddie wasn’t there for the manpower anyway. “And we’re neither of those things, so people can just sit with whoever they want.”

“I’m gonna be a middle schooler in the fall,” Christopher had pointed out, just serious enough that no one had quite known how to react. Then he’d grinned, and the kitchen had exploded into laughter.

“Good thing the wedding is in the summer, then,” Maddie said with a conspiratorial smile. “No assigned seats for you just yet.”

So when they get to the reception venue, instead of being exiled to the high table Buck is by their side almost immediately. Eddie doesn’t know how he does it, but Buck always seems to be able to find them in any crowd, effortless like gravity.

“I vote we find a table and set up camp,” Buck says.

Eddie nods, because Buck and his suit are in very close proximity and he isn’t entirely sure he’s capable of forming words right now.

He really needs to get a grip, or this is about to be a very long night.

“What do you think?” Buck asks Christopher, pointing at a table along one wall. “That one?”

Christopher agrees and they set off, carefully weaving through all of the dearly beloved who have gathered to witness and rejoice in Maddie and Chimney’s marriage.

“I figured you’d want to be by the wall,” Buck says, hanging back so Christopher doesn’t overhear. “You usually are.”

“I—yeah,” Eddie says, a little bewildered. He doesn’t remember ever actually talking to Buck about this. About the way that ever since the shooting, he can’t seem to make himself turn his back on crowds. He sits with his back to the wall whenever he can, and when he can’t—like in a church watching his friends get married—he sits as far back as he can, and glances over his shoulder every three seconds like his head is mounted on a swivel.

He’s never talked to Buck about it, but apparently Buck noticed anyway.

Their table, Eddie discovers, is also close to the open bar. He debates taking generous advantage of this fact in order to deal with the continued proximity of Buck and his suit, but—getting drunk would probably make it worse, actually. Drunk Eddie isn’t very good at filtering his thoughts.

Buck, however, doesn’t seem to have similar qualms, and by the time they’ve gotten through dinner, he’s bright-eyed and a little flushed.

Eddie loves Buck like this, tipsy and giggly and affectionate. He gets the feeling that Buck tries a little too hard to be taken seriously sometimes, but when he’s had a drink or three he lets his defences down.

“You should dance with me,” Buck says now, leaning so far into Eddie that his head is resting on his shoulder.

“It’s not dancing time yet,” Eddie says, fighting to ignore the thrill that runs through him at the idea of dancing with Buck. “There’s still speeches and cake first.” Buck, thankfully, had given his best man speech before any food or drinks were served, so Eddie doesn’t need to worry about Buck getting too drunk for it.

“Later, then,” Buck says, and makes no move to pick himself up off Eddie’s shoulder. “When it’s dancing time.”

“Sure,” Eddie agrees. “Later.” Then he wonders whether he can get out of it somehow, because there are a lot of people around and his self-control is already worn thin by Buck practically draping himself over him.

Buck puts a hand out, fumbling around like he’s looking for something until he finally lands on his wine glass. When Eddie looks down, Buck’s eyes are closed.

“Hey,” Eddie says, poking at Buck until he sits up straight again. “Have you been drinking enough water?”

Buck opens his eyes and squints at him. “I’m not that drunk, you know,” he informs Eddie.

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah,” Buck says, and touches his nose with alternating forefingers like a field sobriety test. “See? I’m just lazy.” Then he puts his head back on Eddie’s shoulder.

“Okay,” Eddie says, a warm rush of affection running through him. “You wanna do me a favour and drink this water anyway?”

“If you insist,” Buck says with a put-upon sigh, but he grins at Eddie so widely that water almost spills out around the edges of the glass.

It takes almost another hour for it to get to dancing time, and as soon as dancing starts, Buck is whisked away by partner after partner. It’s Maddie first, for the slightly altered tradition of the sister-brother dance, then it’s Hen, and then Chimney wants a turn, too. And Eddie can see why: Buck on the dance floor is joyous and carefree. He looks like he’s having fun, genuinely from the bottom of his heart, and like he’ll spread that joy to anyone who dances with him. It’s no wonder everyone wants a whirl.

Eddie desperately wants one, too, but something stops him every time he tries to get up and walk over to Buck. He’s worried that five seconds of dancing with Buck will give everything away, that everyone around them will be able to see exactly what he feels. That Buck will be able to see. He’s worried that if he dances with Buck he’ll read something into it that isn’t there, and then when Buck turns to the next partner with a grin and a little bow he’ll crush Eddie’s heart under his heel as he goes.

It’s a lot to put on just one dance, but Eddie’s always been good at overthinking.

So he stays at his table. The first time someone tries to get him to join the dancing he makes a vague gesture at Christopher, like the reason he isn’t dancing is that he has to stay and watch his kid. But then Hen and Denny come over to get Christopher to join the kids' dance circle they’ve got going on and Chris goes without a look back, taking Eddie’s only real excuse with him.

He manages to dodge the dancing for almost half an hour until Karen materialises at the end of their table and holds out her hand. It’s not a question so much as it is a declaration of what’s going to happen next. “Come on,” she says. “Can’t have you sitting here looking so gloomy at a wedding, people will start thinking you’re secretly in love with the bride.”

“I’m not—” Eddie starts, and Karen gives him a look that feels like it goes right through him.

“I know,” she says. “Wrong Buckley. Now come on.”

Eddie goes, because he doesn’t know what else to do.

He doesn’t know the song that’s playing, but it’s the kind of easy-listening music that always gets played at weddings, inoffensive and easy to dance to. It’s easy to take Karen’s hand and rest his other hand loosely on her waist, to sway around vaguely in time and in tune with the music.

It’s less easy to look at her after what she’d said, because looking at her means acknowledging it. But he looks anyway, and finds nothing but understanding in her eyes.

“Why don’t you just dance with him?” Karen asks. She doesn’t ask if she’d gotten it right, which Eddie takes to mean that he’s probably not as subtle as he’d hoped.

Eddie doesn’t say anything because he can’t quite put it into words, this certainty that dancing with Buck will be the beginning of the end, somehow. He doesn’t know how to explain that he wants to, more than anything, but the idea terrifies him because it feels too close to a confession for comfort.

“Okay,” Karen says. “What level of crisis are we talking about here? Is this a gay crisis? Or—bi crisis?”

“Bi crisis,” Eddie confirms. “I mean—it’s not that, but if it was. It would be a bi crisis.”

“Copy that. Okay, so what’s the crisis?”

“The crisis is that I’m in love with my best friend, and he’s—not,” Eddie mutters. It strikes him then that he’s never said it out loud before.

“What makes you think that?”

“Wouldn’t he have said something by now?” Eddie asks, and Karen looks at him like he’s a little slow.

“Have you said anything?” she asks.

“I—” Eddie starts, and finds he doesn’t know how to finish his sentence.

Karen smiles. “Just dance with him, Eddie.”

Eddie doesn’t end up dancing with Buck. He keeps trying to talk himself into it, but before he can get all the way there suddenly the banquet hall is emptying out. It’s just him and Buck, now—and Christopher, sleeping in a corner on a pile of spare tablecloths, because he’d insisted he was old enough to stay until the end and proved himself spectacularly wrong.

Buck is going from table to table, making sure none of the guests left anything behind. There’s still music playing—the DJ had gone home an hour ago, but she’d left a playlist on.

Just dance with him, Eddie.

Eddie takes a deep breath. It’s now or never.

Buck looks up when Eddie walks over to him, smiling the soft smile Eddie has only ever seen directed at himself or Christopher.

“Never got that dance,” Eddie says, hoping his voice doesn’t give away the fact that he has spent the past several hours thinking about it.

To his surprise, a blush spreads along Buck’s cheekbones. “No, I guess we didn’t.”

Wouldn’t he have said something by now?

Have you said anything?

There’s a moment where neither of them speaks. Like they’re weighing the options, like they know this isn’t the kind of dancing Buck meant—he’d been talking about a dance floor full of people, safety in numbers, jumping around to something more upbeat.

Then Buck raises an eyebrow and holds out his hand. “You did promise,” he says.

Technically, Eddie thinks, he hadn’t promised. All he’d said was sure. But as he takes Buck’s hand and steps closer, arguing the semantics couldn’t be further from his mind.

Buck is in his shirtsleeves, his jacket long since sacrificed to be Christopher’s blanket. Eddie spreads his fingers along the small of Buck’s back, and his shirt feels exactly like Eddie had imagined back in the church.

The music shifts just as they settle together, going from a soft pop ballad to something closer to a waltz. Buck takes a few halting steps, but it’s clear he doesn’t know what he’s doing.

Eddie huffs a soft laugh under his breath. “Here, just follow my lead,” he says. He steers Buck, gentle pressure on his back, and counts steps out loud until Buck gets the hang of it.

Then they’re waltzing around the empty room, and once Eddie stops murmuring one-two-three one-two-three there’s nothing left between them but a couple of inches of air. It feels like nothing, and it feels like the Grand Canyon.

Buck looks up from where he’d been watching Eddie’s feet. “How come you know how to waltz?” he asks, whisper-quiet even though there’s no one else in the room to disturb.

“There are still things you don’t know about me,” Eddie says, equally quiet.

Buck narrows his eyes like he’s going to challenge that, but they’re interrupted by a door clanging open. It’s a teenager in a catering uniform, one Eddie vaguely recognises from throughout the night.

“Uh, sorry,” she says as Buck and Eddie spring apart, looking anywhere but at each other. “Just, we’re about to close up?”

“Sorry,” Buck says. “We’ll get out of your hair.” The girl disappears back through the door, and Buck turns to Eddie. “You get the kid, I’ll get our stuff?”

“Meet you at the car?”

“Race you,” Buck says, and Eddie grins.

Christopher is sleeping soundly enough that he barely stirs when Eddie picks him up, careful to keep him wrapped up in Buck’s jacket. He makes it to the car just as Buck approaches from the other direction, and they work together to get Christopher settled and buckled in without waking him up.

Eddie doesn’t have to ask if Buck is coming home with them. They don’t talk on the drive, mindful of the sleeping child in the back seat, but there’s a tension humming in the air, the feeling of something unfinished and unresolved.

Christopher doesn’t react when Eddie extracts him from the car and carries him to his room. Briefly, Eddie debates whether he should wake Christopher to brush his teeth, but—the kid’s already asleep, and pretty deep, from the sounds of it. Chances are waking him up now would do more harm than missing one night of brushing teeth.

Besides, he doesn’t want to risk Christopher waking up wired and refusing to go back to sleep. He doesn’t know exactly what’s going to happen when he goes back into the living room, back to Buck, but based on the way Buck had been looking at him in the banquet hall before they were interrupted, and the way Buck kept stealing glances at him on the drive home, he’s pretty sure something is.

And he’d thought he’d be nervous, if this day ever came, but all he feels is excitement starting to build somewhere in his stomach.

Buck is waiting for him in the living room, something like determination blazing in his eyes. “Hey,” he says. “Is this one of those things you think I don’t know about you?” He cups Eddie’s face and pulls him in, closer, pressing his entire body along Eddie’s before finally fitting their lips together.

Eddie kisses back instinctively, wrapping his arms around Buck to pull him closer. He feels simultaneously like he’s drowning in Buck and like Buck is his only supply of oxygen; he wants to keep getting closer and closer until he’s crawling inside Buck’s ribcage.

The need for real oxygen pries them apart eventually but they don’t go far, foreheads pressed together and their heavy, panting breaths mingling.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Eddie asks. “If you knew?”

“I didn’t for sure,” Buck says. “Not until today.”

“What about today?”

“I saw the way you looked at me in the suit,” Buck smirks.

Eddie groans.

“Hey, all’s well that ends well,” Buck says, and leans in to kiss him again. Eddie loses track of how long they stand there in the middle of the room, getting to know each other in this new way, exploring with hands and tongues, marking time in hitched breaths and soft sighs.

When Buck eventually starts steering them towards the sofa, Eddie goes willingly. They collapse in a tangle of limbs, and Buck lands mostly on top of Eddie. Buck’s weight presses him down in a delicious way, and Buck’s every movement sends sparks skidding down Eddie’s spine. Buck wastes no time in taking advantage of his new position, shifting his hips against Eddie’s and grinning when Eddie lets out a noise somewhere between a gasp and a moan.

“Buck,” he hisses. “I’m—it’s been a while, I’m not gonna last long if—”

But Buck just grins above him. “Who said I’m trying to make it last long right now?” he says, grinding his hips in a slow, deliberate move. “We have the rest of our lives for that.”

#buddie fic #buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #this is the buddie at a madney wedding fluff that i have been dreaming of for a month now #no this isn't what i said i'd write in september but the idea materialised in my head fully formed #what was i gonna do #not write it??#shush emma #emma writes

102 notes · View notes

mixchsm · 2 years

Text

Domesticity in Love - MatchaBlossom Quick Write

Kaoru turned to lie flat on his stomach, furrowing his brows as the arm shooting out to the space beside him felt nothing but the sheets. He slowly opens his eyes, almost sneezing as the light that slivered through the gap in the curtains hit his eyes. It wasn't late morning, probably a quarter to eight; if he wanted to, he could just ask Carla the time, but that wasn't exactly on his list of priorities.

In the bathroom a few feet away, he could hear the water running and the faint hum of Kojiro beneath it. He can't help but smile, slowly detangling himself from the sheets, and trudging from the warmth of their bed with half open eyes and into the bathroom. He sits down on the toilet seat, his hands in his lap, while still attempting to wake himself up from the steam of the shower.

Kojiro peers into the bathroom, a smile growing on his lips. Kaoru was always pretty, but in the mornings he was especially. He almost made it a point to be beautiful, without even trying. His long pink hair- usually thrown into a bun or a braid or a loose ponytail, last night it was a ponytail- would come undone loosely, but still kept the hair tie in. His bangs fell over his face, covering part of it, but he could still see the freckles splattered on his pale cheeks.

He leans his head out, kissing his cheek gently before hovering beside him. "Can you grab my toothbrush for me?"

There's a slow nod, Kojiro asks that every day when the answer is always yes. He tiredly moves an arm to grab both of their tooth brushes from the caddy on the counter.

Their bathroom was small, hell the apartment itself was even small, but they liked it. They'd been saving for a house, which with Kaoru's income he could probably buy ten, but Kojiro wanted it to be a 'joint deal'. Really, he was saving up as much as possible to buy Kaoru his dream home- a cute two story home, with a garden in the front and the back, with three bedrooms and two bathrooms. He loved seeing his sketches of it, imagining their life together.

Kojiro takes the brush, waiting for Kaoru to slowly hand off the toothpaste before squeezing it onto both of their brushes. He smiles, retreating back into the shower. He didn't pester him in the morning, knowing full well it'd take a little bit to even get a response.

Kaoru tugs at the curtain a little bit, wanting to see his face again. Of course, Kojiro complied and popped his head out, continuing to brush his teeth. "You alright, beautiful?"

"Mhm.."

He smiles, looking at his pajamas. He really didn't care what he wore to bed, but it was somehow always matching and always flattering. Tonight it was a silk, green pajama bottom and a college sweatshirt on top- Kojiro's college sweatshirt. He loved it when Kaoru wore his clothes, they were always so much larger on him; they looked better on him, anyways.

Sometimes he missed the younger Kaoru, the one with the piercings lining his ears and the one that he'd bite at when they kissed, and the one who'd make fun of him at the drop of a hat. But this Kaoru might've been his favorite- the ever so sleepy Kaoru that sat on the toilet seat while brushing his teeth, and the one that would tug on the shower curtain if he disappeared for too long. It wasn't the ease of this Kaoru, but the sheer calmness. Seeing him so calm, made him feel calm on even the hardest days.

"You have client meetings today?"

He shakes his head.

"Day off?"

A nod.

"Hm.. Well, I was thinkin' that you and I could go to the beach? Like old times.. Maybe we'll see the kids, their summer break started."

A nod.

Kojiro smiles, spitting the toothpaste into the drain before rinsing his mouth. He leans out of the shower, holding the brush out before kissing their face again. "Hey Kaoru?"

"Mm?"

"I love you."

"I love you too." they yawn, tilting their head into his- they'd complain about it being wet later.

After Kojiro retreated into the shower, leaving Kaoru to slowly but surely completely wake up. He remained in the bathroom until he was done, mainly just wanting the company.

Kaoru loved looking at Kojiro. It didn't matter when, where, or circumstance he just loved looking at him. He was gorgeous, and somehow knew every single box to tick. The long green hair he'd been growing out since their senior year. The tattoo- that he stole from Kaoru's sketches- that beautifully complimented his tanned skin.

He'd always been attentive to Kaoru, even when they were kids. It only became more adoring as they got older. Granted, he'd absolutely never turned down being pampered by him. Every detail was taken care of; his hair, his skin, his eyes, his hands- Kojiro never left anything to chance.

Kojiro walks into the bedroom, Kaoru following shortly after, and looks through their dresser. He's searching for a pair of swim shorts, buried beneath his boxers. He turns to Kaoru, holding up sakura patterned ones with a giggle. "How about these?"

Kaoru, who's now woken up a bit more, scrunches his nose at him. "Those look ridiculous."

"So then theyre perfect for me." he smiles, walking over to him and kissing his head. "Which ones are you wearing?"

"I won't be, Im just gonna put on my kimono."

"You won't get in the water with me?" he puts, pulling Kaoru into his grasp before nuzzling his face into his neck.

"I never do, Kojiro."

"I know, I was just hoping today was an exception." he snickers, kissing the side of their cheek.

Kaoru watched him get dressed before watching him walk down the hallway into the kitchen to cook him breakfast. He didn't care what life had to offer, so long as Kojiro was a part of it. Sitting in a bathroom while he showered, watching him walk off to the kitchen, going to the beach- if they were together, he didn't care what was happening.

#matchablossom #kaoru sakurayashiki #kojiro nanjo #fluff #writing #quick write #sk8 the infinity #domesticity #drabble #one shot

26 notes · View notes

whump-a-la-mode · 3 years

Note

I request fluffy fluffity fluff with feverish, injured villain, hero caretaker, painkillers and a kitten. Please.

This is so cute ヾ(•ω•`)o I don’t write a lot of fluff, but this is some cute cute sick fic. Hero caretaker? Check. Painkillers? Check. A kitten? You know it! Thanks so much for the ask!!

CW//Fevers, injury mention, intoxicated/feverish character, painkillers

The text had been unexpected, to say the least.

That wasn’t to say that Hero wasn’t unused to receiving messages, especially strange messages. Half of the time, a buzz on their phone indicated that they were about to have the record for ‘weirdest thing they’ve ever seen’ broken.

Yet, this text said nothing of giant lizards attacking downtown, or a mad scientist’s experiment gone wrong. So, perhaps, to a normal civilian, it would have been quite a normal message to receive.

“Hey, Hero? I have a really big favor to ask.”

From another hero, it would have been quite the daunting request. But, it was not from another hero. At least, not in the traditional sense.

Hero had known Doctor for quite some time-- hell, every powered person in the city knew Doctor. In some ways, they were more of a hero than the rest of them, put together. While most hospitals flinched and scurried away from the world of villains and vigilantes, Doctor embraced them wholeheartedly.

A particularly egregious wound, carved in the heat of battle? A power malfunction? Any one of these things could result in the doctor being awoken in the middle of the night, an exhausted, limping hero upon their doorstep.

Or, a villain. Doctor insisted upon making their policy for such things very, very clear. Adamantly, they refused to involve themself in the matters of heroes and villains. Their battles, their allegiances, to the doctor were all naught. As they explained it, no matter one’s actions, no matter their beliefs, no one deserved to have their wounds go untreated.

Thus, their home had quickly become a neutral ground. Lifelong sworn nemeses could have their injuries wrapped mere feet from one another, and not one glare would be shot. In Doctor’s presence, there were no heroes or villains. Only patients. Only those who needed aid.

But, it was the first time that Hero had been on the receiving end of such a request. Of course, they were not about to refuse the doctor. With how much help they had given them, it would only be right to return the favor.

“What is it?” Hero tapped in reply.

Given the length of the doctor’s response, the three dancing progress buttons hung on Hero’s screen for far too long.

“Do you know Villain?”

It wasn’t a name they’d ever expect to hear in a conversation so casual. Villain. Though Hero did not consider themself to truly have a nemesis, if they had to define one, it was Villain who would be on the very tippy top of their list.

That was, especially after their battle the day prior. Their wounds still screamed at them, no matter how they tried to quiet them with painkillers and icepacks.

“I know Villain.” Hero replied simply.

“Okay. Do you think you could take care of them for a few hours?”

Instantly, the conversation shot up to the top of their list of ‘strangest possible talks to have over the phone.’

Take care of them? Take care of Villain? What cold they have possibly gotten themself into that required Hero, of all people, to aid them?

Then again, they had looked quite rough after their battle...

They had no need to question, as Doctor continued on their own:

“They’re sick. I need to go to work, but they shouldn’t be left alone, right now. I know it’s a big favor, but they need this, Hero.”

They bit their lip.

As a protector of the city, they had a very, very long list of priorities, and upon that list, helping Villain in any way, shape, or form was at the very bottom. Helping Doctor, on the other hand...

“Okay.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was only upon arriving to front door of Doctor’s home that Hero had a rather odd realization: Never before had they been to that place in a completely stable state of mind.

If they had made the decision to bother the doctor, it meant that, whatever injuries or illness had befallen them, they could not manage it on their own. Thus, far more often than not, when they stood in front of this home’s door, they did so with a head full of cotton and legs formed of gelatin.

Now, however, their mind was not clouded by any malease. Instead, it was clouded by the stark realization that they had, perhaps, just made a terrible decision.

By the time they had arrived at the house, however, it was already far too late. When Doctor opened their front door, Hero knew full well that there was no turning back.

The doctor looked terribly bedraggled, and they could not help but wonder if it was wise for them to even go to work in such a condition. Yet, every powered person in the city knew far better than to distrust Doctor’s judgement.

“Thank you.” The medic began, a warm smile creeping onto their cracked lips. “I know this was awfully short notice, but I couldn’t think of anyone else who would know Villain as well as you.”

Well, Hero certainly knew what Villain’s fist felt like, crashing into their face, though that was about it.

“Okay, come on, come on.” The doctor rushed. “I need to be heading out soon.”

The hero nodded, hurrying after them into the building. It wasn’t exactly a sprawling thing-- certainly not large enough to house all the equipment that it did-- but, nonetheless, it functioned, through some miracle.

Against their prediction, Doctor did not lead them to the home’s makeshift infirmary. Instead, they moved to the cramped dining room, which, truly, consisted of little more than a table with just enough chairs to seat a guest or two. The house itself was not impressive, its owner only made it so.

But, Hero had seen that dining room, barren table and all, more times than they could count. There was nothing unusual to be seen about it. No. The strangeness of the hour came in the form of who, exactly, was seated there.

Villain.

Oddly enough, either they had forgotten to take off their ostentatious garb, or they had simply not had the time. The villain’s cape draped over their shoulders as they hunched over, forehead pressed to the table’s surface. A full glass of water and a small pile of crackers sat near them, untouched.

Hero bit their lip. Seeing their nemesis was never a good thing, of course, but something about this simply made their heart stutter.

“What’s wrong with them?” They began, before their voice took on a more panicked pitch. “They’re okay, right? They’re gonna make it?”

Doctor snorted.

“Hero, they’re fine. They say they had a fight, overexerted themself a bit.”

A fight? Oh, god, was this all their fault?

“But... They look terrible.”

“They just have a fever.” Doctor reassured. “Power exertion is nothing to scoff at, but I promise, they’re not in any serious danger.”

Hero hummed. “Then, why did you bring me here?”

“Because we need to make sure they stay out of serious danger. They can hear you, by the way, so don’t be an ass, please. But, yes, I’m confident this fever will break, so long as it stays down.”

“You’re putting them in my hands?”

“Yes. I trust you. Seriously, Hero, you look like a deer in the headlights. I’m not asking you to perform open heart surgery, here.” They smiled playfully. “All you need to do is keep them cool and keep them comfortable.”

“What does that entail?” Nervously, they chewed the inside of their cheek.

“Not a lot. Keep a wet washcloth on their head, make sure they drink water.” As the doctor glanced to the nearest clock, they began to hurry their words. “There’s a thermometer on the counter. If their fever goes over 103, call an ambulance. But, as long as its below that, you’re safe.”

“And... keeping them comfortable?”

“Just... try to get them to sleep. It won’t be easy for them, in this state. But if you can manage it, it’ll be a lot better. Oh, and, there’s Advil in the drawer. Give them some if they’re uncomfortable, okay? Okay, I really need to go, so, you got all that?”

“Uh- I think so?”

“Good. Okay, bye! Remember, above 103, call an ambulance. What temperature is dangerous?”

“103.”

“Great. Thank you so, so much! I’ll get you like, some chocolates or something. Bye!”

By the end of their speech, Doctor’s words had sped to the point of blending into one long stream of syllables. They tossed a coat over their shoulders, shoving their feet into their already-tied shoes.

“Oh, and try not to kill each other, okay?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Hero was alone.

They supposed that wasn’t entirely true. In fact, it was quite far from the truth. The house was anything but empty-- their nervous glances to the dinner table’s current guest ensured them of that. But, that did not help the chord of nerves that wrapped itself about their stomach.

Power exertion was nothing to be scoffed at.

Though they weren’t alone, they were the only one in the situation who could be described as responsible. It was they who had to keep their nemesis alive. And, worse... comfortable.

How were they supposed to rock their sworn enemy to sleep? Maybe, a good place to start would be stopping staring at them like some kind of creep.

Yeah. They should probably do that.

The hero inhaled through their nose, letting out a long exhale from their mouth, before approaching the table. Throughout the whole conversation, the villain had not so much as raised their head-- their movements coming only in the slightest of twitches.

Standing at the stalled villain’s side, Hero could not help but feel to have walked into the den of a lion. Yet, not the slightest movement was made. In an attempt to gently draw their attention, they ghosted their hand over their nemesis’s shoulder.

“Hey, Villain?”

There was a twitch, and a groan, but nothing that could be described as words.

“Um, Doctor is gonna have me take care of you now, okay? Can you look at me? I think I’m supposed to take your temperature.”

If the villain had been listening before that point, there was little indication. Had they already been asleep? Had Hero already ruined everything? Either way, blearily, Villain lifted their head, unfocused eyes fixing on the wall before their face.

Placing their hand to their forehead, Hero nearly jerked their palm away. Their skin felt like the burner of a hot stove. But, if Doctor said they were okay...

“How are you feeling?” As they spoke, they felt the slightest bit of the doctor’s voice slip into theirs. That soft, coaxing tone that all medical providers seemed to be able to imitate. “You haven’t touched your water.”

“Mmm...” The fevered villain murmured. “Can’t...Swallow.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Mmm.” They were unsure if that was an affirmation or not.

“Okay. Um, well, the doctor says you need water. Let’s get you some water, then... What do you need, Villain?”

The villain blinked, seeming, by all accounts to be on another planet.

“I’m cold...” At last, they muttered a pair of coherent words. “And hot...” Well, maybe not so much on the coherent part.

What was it that Doctor had said? Something about keeping their head cool. That was it, right?

“Okay, um. I’ll cool you down, and warm you up, okay?”

“Hero!” It was an excited cry, even with the way the syllables all blurred into one another. “Hero...”

“Yeah, Villain?”

“Hero, I looooove you.”

Oh.

No, they were just feverish. Delusional, they probably didn’t even know where they were. They had no clue what they were saying, just making sounds.

“I’m gonna go get you a blanket.” Hero spoke hurriedly, rushing off to do just that. For a few moment, they dashed about the house, gathering supplies and, hopefully, not rummaging too much through Doctor’s things. When, at last, they returned to the kitchen, it was with a dripping-wet washcloth and a bottle of tylonel.

Villain, so it seemed, had fallen back into their half-restful state, head on the table. With a gentle hand, Hero tipped their chin up, brushing the washcloth over their forehead.

“You want something to help with the pain, bud?”

“Head hurty.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

They placed down the washcloth, and, in an exercise in tedium, coaxed a pair of white pills down the villain’s throat, alongside a wash of water. Hopefully, it would be enough, as a snowball would make it too the depths of hell before any more water went down.

“I have everything set up on the couch. Can you walk?”

“Mmm... Carry me... I love you!”

“Y- Yeah, alright.”

Despite the feverish villain’s words filling Hero’s chest with an odd sensation, they obliged, plucking them from the chair and draping the washcloth over their forehead, taking care to ensure that no water would drip its way to their eyes.

The couch, as opposed to most of the furniture in the house, had seen some serious use. With only one bed in the building, when a hero was wounded with such severity that an overnight visit was necessitated, it was upon the couch that they slept. Though, luckily, use had not worn away any of the seat’s comfort.

A large, white, puffy comforter had been draped over the seats, and, upon laying Villain down, Hero secured the blanket around their body, tucking it in in the corners and ensuring that no draft would disturb them.

It was all medically necessary, of course.

Though, they couldn’t help but giggle at just how ridiculous their nemesis appeared, dwarfed by the fluffy comforter, face half covered by a rag.

“Alright.” Hero smoothed a hand over Villain’s hair-- to make sure they weren’t sweating excessively, of course. “Are you alright? Comfortable?”

“I love you! Love you...”

“Okay. Well, do you need anything?”

“Sleep...”

“You’re tired?”

“Sleepytime.”

“Alright, bud. Sleepytime.”

They couldn’t help but smile.

With a few more strokes through their hair, the fevered person soon let their muscles go limp, sacrificing themself to the whims of the blanket they were half-submerged in. The sight alone was enough to make Hero’s own eyelids droop.

It wasn’t like they could disturb the villain while they slept-- no, they needed their rest far too much for that-- and, there wasn’t anything else threatening the city...

What would a nap hurt?

Though there was no certainly no room on the seat for another full-grown human, that was a problem easily solved. In a blink of white light, Hero’s bleary form was replaced by that of a feline, with a countenance just as exhausted.

The felidae-turned hero leapt onto the couch, settling themself near the edge, before shifting themself against Villain’s feet.

To know if they woke up.

After all, it was very medically necessary.

#villain whumpee #villain whump #sickfic #fluff #fluff fic #hero caretaker #whumpblr #whump community #ask

123 notes · View notes