#death climb ladder eddie

[stagefoureddiediaz]

When one painting becomes two!!! WIP

Editing to link to the finished piece

#kym paints 911 #can I finish it before the show airs?!! #I guess we’ll find out #911 spoilers #911 on fox #911 fox #911onfox #eddie diaz #evan buckley #lightning buck #death climb ladder eddie #buck #eddie #buddie #911 fanart #911 fan art

[mvltisstuff]

how to disappear - e.b

summary: after a series of tragic losses, y/n’s bright mood begins to disappear. so buck and the 118 try to bring it back

evan buckley x reader

this lowkey broke my heart a bit 🥲 i am def not the biggest fan of this, it was just rushed but i hope you still enjoy, leave any requests you’d like i’m in a big 911 writing era :)

10 minutes of cpr on the way to the hospital, rapid beeping on the machine, blood on the ground. hen places a soft hand on y/n’s arm, and pulls it away from the patients body. “y/n,” she says, making pitying eye contact with her. “time of death, 14:36.”

y/n sits back with a brush to her hairline with the heel of her palm and a sigh. she looks down at her hands and uniform, covered in a man’s blood. a son, a friend, and she feels like she just took that from him.

it’s been person after person, it feels. like she’s failing at her job and is failing all these people. she wants to scream. a few days before, she had lost a girl, new to adulthood, who had driven her car off the side of the road due to a drunk driver. her best friend, watching from the side and being held back by bobby and athena, was wailing in agony from watching the life escape her soul sister.

that wasn’t the last time, it’s been a few. everyone tries to reassure her that she did everything she could, and she knows she did. but was it enough? y/n’s been quiet, not wanting to hurt anything else around her. she felt like everything was glass in her hands and she couldn’t help but drop it. her eyes were dry and red from the sleepless nights and tearful showers, and her arms were tired from the endless compressions and the feeling of being completely burnt out.

buck had recognized this feeling, they all had, but it hurt to see her beating herself up so much over it. y/n already felt ridiculous, as this is partially what she signed up for, and he didn’t want her to feel ashamed. the 118 has been assigned to a ton of casualties and bad accidents recently, but it seems like they’ve been piling up and she feels like it is a result of her work.

everyone knows y/n is great. she’s smart and careful in her work, always checking over herself and being gentle with everyone, young and old.

another quiet night at home, y/n picks around her food not being able to find her appetite. the screams of the friend from earlier rang in her ear and the flatline of machines were stinging her brain. the pounding headaches were washed away with another tylenol, as buck tries to start another conversation.

“so, um,” he starts, quietly. “eddie invited us over to dinner tomorrow, do you wanna go?”

he tells a white lie because buck sort of invited himself to dinner. he wants to help y/n, and make her feel better and know that there are people still alive from her rescues. “maybe, i’m not sure.” she says, not having the energy to go tomorrow as she wants to just come home and fight with her sleep again. buck nods, deciding not the fight it. his heart breaks seeing her in this condition, and it pains him even more to know she’s helped him in this situation. he’s had his own losses, and he so desperately tries to climb out of the pit it puts him on. y/n was always the hand, the ladder that he called to climb out. he wanted more than anything to be hers.

they don’t teach you in training how to deal with this. they warn you, surely, but you always try to sugarcoat it in your mind. however, the agonizing sobs and screams will wake you up at night. you remember the names, the family, the details, the autopsy, the medicine that was inserted. every small detail haunts you, until you learn to handle the pain. it never gets easier to lose someone on the job, but the embraces and relief from saving someone is an incredible feeling.

“i’m just going to head to bed,” y/n says, her voice cracking as it’s barely above a whisper. she walks over to buck, placing her plate in the dishwasher. “i’ll meet you upstairs, i’m going to shower first.”

buck nods and gives her a sweet smile that conceals a bit of pity. watching her smiles fade from feeling like she’s not good enough makes his heart skip a beat in the worst way.

a few days later, y/n stayed a little longer at work than buck did. maddie had asked him to watch jee-yun, and when y/n walked in, she saw buck playing with her in their living area. he has a bright smile on his face in response to the little words and babbles from jee. “hey, baby. wanna come join us in here?”

she had completely forgotten that they agreed to babysit. she sighed and mumbled at buck for a minute. “i, um, forgot we’re watching her.”

“it’s ok, we just got done pulling uncle bucks hair out,” he says, scooping jee up and blowing light kisses into her baby cheeks. “who’s that, jee? y/n’s home!”

y/n forces out a small grin, making the side of her mouth raise a bit. “sorry, guys. i was gonna call it an early night, it’s been a really long day.” she replies, because she has no more energy left to give. she feels like shit, leaving her boyfriend and his niece alone, who she adores completely. she doesn’t want to bother their time together.

“oh,” buck says, surprised. y/n never denies extra time with jee-yun, always begging maddie and chimney to bring her over for a bit. “i get it, honey. go lay down.” he says, the smile on his face growing again in attempts to make her feel more comfortable.

“thanks, buck.” y/n walks over to the two, leaving a kiss on bucks lips and one on jee’s forehead. when she walks away, stepping back up the stairs like her muscles are worn out, jee mumbles out the few letters of her name.

“i know, jee-yun,” buck says, comforting her. “she’ll be back soon, i hope.”

days pass and y/n’s brightness that comes into the room when she walks in still isn’t back. buck has tried to give her space, but also giving her the love she needs to feel better. sitting around the table, the team talks for a little.

“kid, something on your mind?” bobby asks, taking a bite of his breakfast while looking at a zoned-out buck.

“s-sorry, cap,” he stumbles over his words. “it’s y/n. i just feel so bad, i wish i could magically fix everything but…”

“it’s hard, she’s been really taking it on these calls.”

“i’m just worried, i don’t know how much more stress she can handle.”

“she’s tough,” eddie adds. “i think she just needs time.” buck nods, still feeling indifferent on the situation.

the alarm sounds later in the night, and they climb into the truck for the last call of the shift. they’re all tired, ready to go home, but also ready to face whatever battle the world has for them tonight. y/n rides in the back, glaring out the window. she listens intently to the instructions in her headphones, and they climb out of the truck.

they see yet another tragic incident on the side of the road, a massive delivery truck had been completely turned upside down with two people inside of it. they team had all sprint up the the flipped vehicle, getting on the ground to see the damage to their bodies. “hi, sir,” y/n says first. “can you tell me your name?”

“r-richard.”

“ok, richard, can you tell me if you feel this?” y/n applies pressure to his legs. he shakes his head, and begins to panic at the numbness in his lower half.

“it’s ok, stay still,” y/n reassures him. “we’re gonna help you. can you tell us your friends name?”

“his n-name- is tyler.” he answers. “am i going to die in here?”

“we are all here to help you, richard, you are in some of the best hands out there,” y/n stands up and faces hen and chimney. “we have numbness in his legs, passengers name is tyler.”

“got it,” chim says, jogging over to see his friends condition.

on the side, after excusing themselves, the team meets up. “driver is not looking good, cap. i think the damage was already done when we got on scene.” hen says.

“can we get the other person out safely?” bobby asks, hesitantly. they all nod, knowing what is going to have to happen. “he’s pinned under that seat, he doesn’t have enough time.”

“what? no, we have to get both of them out!” y/n interjects.

“we can’t, y/n. we have to keep richard comfortable while they work to get tyler out.”

“but-“

“there’s nothing we can do, y/n/n,” buck says, stepping in. “there’s nothing that can save him.”

y/n keeps her cool, just barely letting the pot boil over the edge. she walks back over to richard without any directions, but knows that she is the one to keep him comfortable. “this is it, huh?” he coughs a bit, blood pooling at the corner of his lips.

“you have a family, richard?” y/n asks, hoping to keep his mind off the pain that has already been minimized with morphine. no morphine in the world can save his family from the pain they’ll endure.

he nods, slowly. “i have three girls and two boy, and my beautiful wife.”

“wow, a full house, isn’t it?” y/n laughs.

“we have, two dogs too.”

“can i hear their names?”

“the girls are, layla, and she’s the oldest.” he starts, ready to take the time to explain his precious kids. tears are already forming in y/n’s eyes, and she’s relieved he is able to talk over her. “she’s so smart, she was valedictorian, jesus, i was so loud at graduation. and then there’s jake, he’s so amazing, he’s the sweetest kid. and then there’s makenna and sarah, they’re two little,” he pauses to take a few deeps breaths. “firecrackers. and then the youngest is nathan, and he is a r-replica of his mom.”

“what’s their mom like?” the drilling and buzzing from the other side is faint, the two’s thoughts being drowned out by the stories of his family.

“oh, she’s amazing,” he smiles, with red-stained teeth. “the- the most beautiful woman. you think i could call her?” her shaky hand reaches over to his phone that had fallen out of the truck and onto the top. she puts the phone up to his ear, holding it, as some more jargon about the rescued man comes through.

“h-hey honey!” he says, like it’s almost muscle memory. “i, uh, it’s ok, i just wanted to call and see how everything is.” he smiles at the chaos on the other side. “can you, uh, put me on speaker phone?”

the tears are falling down y/n’s face freely, as the sirens of the other ambulances are turned on to drive away with other paramedics. her breaths are shaky, and the team gathers behind them. glass cuts the skin on her knees, but she is not fazed by the feeling. the husband, son, father, says his final goodbyes to his family, and the final breath from his lips is stolen in a matter of seconds. one of the police officers leans down and takes the phone, speaking to the widow and her young family.

y/n places a few fingers on the side of his neck, feeling for a non-existent pulse. her voice cracks, and a few broken cries come out of her sad mind. “i’m so sorry, richard. i’m so, so sorry.” she repeats, over and over again before her boyfriend has to remove her from the nightmare. she yanks her gloves off and wipes the mix of blood from her hands, sweat, and tears off her face.

buck has never seen her breakdown like this, and it was honestly one of his biggest fears. he knew it was going to happen, he just hoped he would make her feel better before it did. “i really tried, buck, i did, i couldn’t keep him up…”

“i know, it’s not your fault. none of this has ever been your fault.”

as y/n’s pained thoughts surround her mind on the way back to the station, she climbs out of the truck and slowly walks back into the locker room. she ignores everyone around her. she tries to ignore everyone, but buck is too quick to understanding her that he is following right behind.

“let’s just go home, buck,” y/n says, her voice is raspy from the sobs and exhaustion.

“i need you to know that you are doing everything you can,” he says, stepping closer to her.

“i know, buck. i’m not doing this right now.”

“you are amazing at this y/n. it is not your fault. these people were doomed from the second they called into dispatch. if anything, you were there for them when we got there.”

“then why? why does this keep happening, buck? since you seem to have an answer for all of this why can’t you tell me that? why does it feel like it’s my fault?” she snaps, raising her voice with him near. she’s not yelling at him, more at herself.

“y/n, please,” buck whispers. “i don’t have the answer for everything. but i know for a fact that you are doing the best you can. and that is enough. and i will say it is enough for the rest of time until you believe me.”

y/n stops and stands still. she looks at him with sad eyes, her mouth opened lightly. she shrugs her shoulders and feels like every word is draining her from everything she has left. “i cant sleep without hearing them, buck.”

“oh, my god. baby,” he says, rushing over to her and pulling her in before her heartbroken knees gave out under her. his arms wrapped around her waist and sat her weak body down on the bench. he held her until she had nothing else to weep out. “let’s go home, love.”

several days later, and several shifts later, y/n had started to feel more normal. things had been looking up, but she was still dealing with the loss of her patients. it never would not bring her pain, each bruise would never heal, but she would rather not forget about them.

buck had taken her out of the house for a day, meeting up with everyone for dinner. they all had been supporting y/n in their own ways. spending time with her, listening to her, giving her advice, and just being there for her was the best they could do. they figured it would be good for her to spend time out of the firehouse and their small shared apartment.

her bubbly personality wasn’t back yet, as she still thought about the casualties consistently. they still haunted her dreams and lay in her brain. having buck there made everything easier. the way he cared for her and never judged her feelings had caused them appear more valid. having someone that understands you like that can open doors to new feelings so fast.

sitting around, they all talked for a bit as y/n still stayed quiet, her hand and bucks never unwinding. her grip on his soft hands has been still like they were stuck in cement. being able to listen to his voice and the casual meetings between everyone brought her back to reality.

“hi, sorry, excuse me?” a woman said, standing next to another one. she had a hearing aid in, and was doing sign language while making eye contact with y/n. “i had just recognized the whole team, and i remembered seeing you. i wish i could remember your name, but it must’ve gotten mixed up somewhere.” the lady signs, pointing at y/n. “you saved my life, you came right back into that building and i would not be here today. you saved me and my family. i wish i could give you all the world, but seeing your face still brings me comfort. so thank you, from the bottom of my heart.”

y/n was completely speechless. she had no idea what to say. her eyes were welling up again, but she blinked them back down and tried to force a few quiet words out. “of course, i’m so glad you remember me! that’s what i’m here for.”

her interpreter signs y/n’s words back to her, and she blows a quick kiss to y/n and walks away with a bright smile. y/n faces back around to buck, with a shocked smile on her face. it was bright, and it seemed like something that reminded her of all the good in this world that she has done.

buck knows that aside from a beautiful face, her soul had a wonderful outcome on the people around her. he wanted to give her everything and make her feeling like the most loved person on the planet. his admiration for her and complete head over heels mind brings him back to her hold every day, and he would spend the rest of his life being her hand to hold.

#911 #911onfox #bobby nash #eddie diaz #evan buck buckley x reader #evan buckley #evan buckley fanfic #evan buckley x reader #athena grant #henrietta wilson #howie han

[uglypastels]

Not Wholly Evil |II| Pirate!Eddie au

summary: as the daughter of the Governor, there is quite a heavy prize set on your safe return home, and the captain will not let anything come between him and his bounty.

Series Masterlist

word count: 5.7k

"semi dark fic" - READ the warnings:. (gun/sword)violence. blood. heavy scarring and wounding. minor character death. allusions to suicide, depression and trauma. kidnapping. imprisonment. alcohol. open and deep sea. pirates are pigs: frequent mentions of non-con and allusions to assault, but it does not actually occur. malnourishment. abuse. manhandling.

There might be a mention of other ST characters, and for plot's sake, everyone is an adult here, just coz I don't want fetus pirates running around, but they are not really relevant to the plot.

Chapter 2: Asphodel "Because you and I are alike, and there will come a moment when you have a chance to show it." - Elizabeth Swann, Pirates of the Caribbean 

Despite gaining the privilege of an open cage and access to the rest of the ship, you decided against this freedom… and in a way, that was all the freedom you could ask for, wasn’t it? To choose where to go or where to stay. The restrictions were only so far as anyone else on this ship. The uncharted waters kept you all at the bay of the plank. 

But perhaps there was a part of you was scared to go beyond what had now become your own piece of the ship, a safety blanket among the ravenous snake pit. It was not even a question. You could just tell by how you closed your cell door at the sound of footsteps approaching down the ladder towards you. These men were wild and unpredictable. You could never expect what they would do once with you. The distance was the only option. 

Perhaps not so free as the rest, after all. 

Yet. 

Because you would fight it. All of them. Make your presence known and show everyone you were not like any other they had snagged off a ship. You assumed there had been more, after all. More prisoners, more girls to take advantage of. The shackles hanging down from the wall in your cell, stained red with rust and blood, were proof enough of what once occurred below deck. 

Despite being the safest place you could be in, it still was a nightmare on Earth to spend your days there, among the crates and chests filled with stolen treasures, supplies, and whatever else was deemed worth the same amount of treatment as you. Everything had been stacked mindlessly, dropped at the earliest convenience, and items only moved to make a short path to your holding cell. The disorganisation and thoughtlessness around you had been a bittersweet nuisance. You could not stand it, but at the same time, it was nice to have something so trivial on your mind as the lacklustre distribution of goods around the ship. 

Clearly, no one cared about what was going on. No one spent enough time there to notice anything, besides you, of course. The only times someone climbed those steps were to bring you your meals or to bring more storage in. So what harm would it do to you put some order to it? 

It wasn’t much, but you had created a way to pass the long hours aboard. And it was pleasant, though exhausting. With the food you were given, your energy was not what it once used to be, and the first thing to go when not feeding the body properly is the muscle. Moving the larger items took a while, but you saw a positive outcome. By taking everything slowly, you had no fear of completing your task soon. It was a never-ending activity. Tiring but something for you to do, and most importantly, keep your mind too occupied with the straining work ahead rather than the larger picture of your current circumstances. 

A part of it was also an attempt at claiming your territory. Lifting large boxes was doing the trick when it came to letting out your anger and frustrations, too, a way to channel everything into the peculiar renovation. A point to focus on something physical, something you could control, instead of your emotions and everything going on around you. 

A few days since you began doing so, things started making sense. But, most importantly, no one who ever came down there seemed to notice or care what you were doing. Besides the food they had to feed you to keep you alive, there was little interest they seemed to have for your existence.

You found many other objects that they must have considered rubbish, but you could use them just fine. Like the old sails, or what you assumed were scraps of an old torn sail, folded up in a corner. It was such a large piece of material that you tied it up to the corners of your barred walls, creating a curtain that gave you some privacy. Most of the chests around you were locked, giant padlocks handing down from the cover, the keys most likely at the bottomless pit of the ocean along to their original owners. But some were shut, and of course, you poked a peak inside with interest. 

Some were empty, and some had scrolls of paper, which you took up as light reading for early mornings when the sun hit through the windows just right, giving you a bright light source. There were captain logs and maritime routes; letters never sent, and maps never finished. 

One caught your attention, and you read the most on those drabby mornings when nothing else could make you feel alive. This one particular letter, which you could only assume was intended for a young woman from her lover, kept your heart beating and your hopes of escaping this ship alive. At least the parts of it that you had managed to find, for the parchment was ripped to pieces, the last chunk still missing among the piles of items you were roaming through. 

By now, you had read it so many times you didn’t even need the paper to recite it. 

My dearest,  The nights have been cruel, but I spend them thinking of you, and suddenly, the dark sky does not feel so heartless anymore. I think of your eyes. The sea reminds me of them— it is a calming sight each morning, and I imagine you looking out of your window at the shore, and perhaps we look up at the same clouds, and it is like you are right by my side and the wind feels not as harsh suddenly. More like a kiss straight from your lips. Some days I hum the words of that song you sang to me. I know what you have said about my voice, and the kind words still warm my heart, but it will never compare to yours. I will never do the melody justice. Only you… 

There certainly was something about the love you felt seeping through each word you read and reread. It almost put you down into this state of calmness as it looped in your mind in the evening, letting you fall asleep. 

It was another evening like all the others before it. Your dinner had been served in silence. If you had not known better, you would have assumed all men had taken an oath of silence, never to speak again, but it was evident the quiet was only limited to you. As you felt the slumber climb over you, the deck was alive and well. 

The contrast between living aboard the Hellfire at night and day could not be more than that. While the sun was up, the boots fell heavy above your head, fatigue coming over them as the work had to be done. The crew did what they could to keep the boat afloat and sailing on. As much as the deep waters could be a calming sight to some, it was absurd that there could be nothing around you but water for days. Undoubtedly, the ship must reach a harbour quickly; provisions could only be stored in the salt barrels for so long. The last time the boat reached shore must have been days before your cage door had opened. Then again, you knew what going ashore meant for the people like the Hellfire crew… and did not wish the aftermath upon your worst enemies. 

There would be fire, which you knew they adored. It came alive in spirit and light when the night sky appeared. When the work was done, and the sails smoothly let themselves be guided by the wind, you could always hear them walking above your cage, taunting their freedom with songs and tales. The ship was like a masquerade when the moon lit everything in her silver glow. It would have to be, or else the weariness and longing for land would take over. 

The songs were nothing special, typical shanties and hymns allured by a drunken chorus, singing the ballads of adventure and treasures, beautifully sombre. Yet, these moments made you believe that some humanity was left in them. Some kindness and compassion, too. A part that they would never dare show when the sun came up. 

It was as if the men aboard were two different people in one, where one side came out during the night and the other during the day. And you seemed to much prefer the nighttime sort. As, during the sun hours, the candles and lanterns went out, and with it, their souls were all back to their usual dirty selves. Their dark spirits would take over once more.

Either way, the nights were extended, as no sleep came to anyone. Not with the singing being so loud that it drilled into your ears. For them, slumber would come later and disappear quickly too, but no one seemed to mind. 

You had no way of telling the time on board, the only possible tell sign would be the sun's position, but even that was never exactly as you had barely any idea where in the world you were. All you could make out was that the crew made way for their hammocks in the small hours of the morning when the sun teased its appearance at the horizon, its glow awakening everything else but the drunken sailors that held you captive. 

The ship was asleep. The only sounds you could make were the waves smashing into the vessel and the gulls screeching in the distance. It was an opportunity. You could roam the deck unbothered. 

With a deep but shaky breath, you inhaled the salty sea air as you climbed the ladder, hands paling at your knuckles from your grip on it. The trapdoor opened with a creak, and you froze in your movements, waiting for the sound to have woken up everybody… but the silence resumed. You let out another deep breath and pushed the door open to reveal the sky, millions of stars looking down at you, but already fading as the sun appeared slowly. The dewy morning hours were dark but brighter than anything you had been surrounded with since your capture.

It had been getting colder by the day, and you already knew that by sitting in your cell. Soon enough, more than your dress would be needed for the climate you were entering. Shivers swarmed your arms at the wind blowing by. Your steps remained small and apprehensive as you needed help figuring out where to go. You had the entire ship deck to yourself for a short time. There was so much to explore above ground, but your legs automatically steered you towards the barriers of the ship.

You walked over to the ship's edge, letting your nails dig into the wood and your frustrations on the trim piece. Stand there, look at the horizon, and watch the sun slowly rise from under the water. The first sunrise you witnessed in weeks— at least not from the small window that peaked right over your head in your cell– had been a euphoric experience. Everything felt brand new. As your last attempts at peeking at the waves had resulted in painful flashbacks of your previous minutes aboard the Red Tail, now, you focused on the calm ripples of the water. No longer was the only thing you saw in the blue the blood of your long-lost friends. You saw their resting place. In the early morning, golden sun rays peeked out from the horizon, illuminating the drab grey of the waters like a liquid treasure hiding beneath the surface. You saw the waves moving along the ship sheepishly, back and forth. Calmly, sleepy, drifting away into the distance with each push of the boat and wind. It was slowly waking up, the sea, the earth. 

What would it dream of, you pondered. It must be lovely to be so at peace. 

If you closed your eyes and let the fresh golden light wash over you for long enough, you could fool yourself into oblivion. That you were somewhere else. A happy place.

It was so peaceful and quiet that the smallest of disturbances broke you out of your happy thoughts. You felt the presence from across the ship, his eyes on you, disintegrating your moment of bliss. But, of course, it could have been anyone, and you expected it to be one of the crewmates, one of the men with poor luck who had to start their work shift with the sun. 

Never, in a million years, did you imagine turning around and meeting with a pair of golden hazel eyes. Captain Munson was leaning against one of the masts, leg prodded against the wooden pole. He chuckled at the sight of your face, evidently struck with panic. How had he even reached the centre of the deck so quietly? Because… he could not have been standing there, or anywhere, all this time?

In one hand, he held an apple, and in the other, a small knife. He pressed the blade against the fruit’s skin and his thumb over it, cutting a small piece off. Then, still with the knife under it, he brought the apple slice to his lips. Never did his eyes leave yours as he ate. You felt unnerved with each move he made. You felt the need to look away, but for some reason, you simply couldn’t. It was like he was capturing you in a trance. So instead, you let your nails dig into the ship’s rail even more.

‘Do not let me disturb you, my darling,’ he eventually said and bode you farewell with a slight bow before parting ways. You were left stunned. Not sure what to say or do, you just turned back to look at the sea. It had no effect and felt like a sore loser's words, but you mumbled “Not your darling” under your breath. 

Had that been all? It was all extremely disorienting. Because, of course, he had meant to disturb you. He did so to your very core. That cold-eyed gaze opposed the actual warmth of his honey irises. It froze your blood. It spoiled everything about your morning. 

And as quickly he had appeared behind you, so quick the captain was to disappear out of your view again.  You looked around yourself for good measure, extending your neck to locker over the larger barrels standing in the corners of the deck, but he had genuinely evaporated into the early day’s mist. A phantom of the sea.

But just because he was gone didn’t mean his presence was. You still felt his eyes on you, lurking from hidden darkness. Perhaps the darkness was in your own head, inner thoughts poisoning your sanity, but the feeling remained nonetheless. 

Suddenly, the calm sea was anything but. Instead, the light sky seemed dull and grey, the waves bouncing off the ship aggressive. There was nothing peaceful about it left behind. There was nothing left for you there. But you remained steady in your place on the boat, looking out ahead at the horizon until the sun rising began to burn your eyes with its bright presence, and the wind blew harder. Only then did you decide, on your own devices, to head back down into the warmer discomfort of your enclosure. 

You lay on the ground and threw that thin fleece over yourself, hoping to fall asleep and thus pass on the rest of the day. But, if Lady Luck was on your side, it would be one of the silent dreams that asked nothing of you but your mind, leaving it as it was. In fact, letting you rest from the horrors that were your life.

And so, the sleep came, but quiet it was not.

Flashes of the Red Tail. Flames, explosions, blood, it was all around you. Men dying over and over again. You tried to scream out, reach for them, and help them, but it was as if your body was stuck in the mud, unable to move. So you just had to stand there, helplessly, as you watched everyone around you die.

The pool of blood expanded over the sinking ship. The sky turned dark, almost black. You looked up to see the sun–that same sun that kissed you welcome mere minutes ago at the horizon– melting, enveloping everything in darkness. Once you looked back down, another urge to scream came over you. 

A figure was standing not far from you, perhaps a few feet away. Covered in the blood that the ship was drowning in, from head to toe, he was basically dripping in it. 

He smiled at you, a canine-baring grin. Then, slowly but steadily, he neared you. 

“Oh, we’re going to have a lot of fun, princess, aren’t we?’

You awoke with a pitched scream. 

Breathing heavily, just trying to get your heart back on a steady rhythm, the clanking of swords echoing in your head was doing everything against it. Just like that day on the Red Tail. Just like in your dream. You could still hear it, and it felt so real. Each loud hit of metal against metal made you wince. Cannons would follow soon. Then the blood… 

But only the swords remained. It kept going and going. Then there were the footsteps. Heavy above you, making the whole ceiling shake. It felt like a stampede, in all honesty. And there was shouting. Boisterous clammer. Followed by crowded cheers and some clinking… that you could not immediately make out what it was supposed to be. 

One thing you knew for sure, however. Whatever was happening above you, it could not mean anything good. It simply reminded you too much of that other day. That first day… or was it your last?

There was a fight ongoing on the deck. The question was, what kind? Were you being attacked? Would another group of men come down the ladder steps and haul you onto another ship? Will they cheer over Munson’s death as these men cheered over Carver’s? Would this circle of hell ever end? 

No, it couldn’t be that. The cheering was too joyful and—was that laughter you could hear? Yes. Loud and boisterous. Right above your head. In a chorus. Your mind went to the evenings you had endured sleeplessly as the men jested until the sun rose, but when you looked out the window, you still saw the bright blue sky. So what was going on? 

Against your better judgement, you took a risk, all in the thought of showing initiative and how powerful you would look walking out of the trapdoor onto the full deck. You just told yourself that enthusiastic cheering was a sign of no evil. It indicated that it was no malicious attack of another ship, that whatever you would encounter, there would be nothing to be afraid of. With that confidence, you climbed up there, pushed the trapdoor up and– 

A blade wobbled back and forth as it deeply penetrated the deck's surface, inches away from your face. You held onto the edge of the floorboards, trying not to fall back down, as the scream that erupted from your lungs halted everything around you. Everybody in reach hooked his gaze on you if they weren’t fast enough to run up to the hole you were attempting to crawl out of. No one helped, of course. They just stared. Dozens of pairs of blank and cold eyes blinked arhythmically as the bodies they belonged to stood frozen in a circle, unsure of what to do next. The blade stuck in the wood still shifted in its new makeshift holster. 

Then, much like on your very first day aboard, the circle opened up to reveal the captain. He stood several feet away, and you caught him blinking slowly before approaching you. Had he been hesitant to approach? Was he, though you doubted, startled to see you?

But whatever emotion it had been to cause his hesitance, it was gone as he spoke:

‘Just in time, darling!’ The silence was broken, and so was the tension your appearance had created.

He had an almost identical sword in his hand. Behind him stood one of his crew mates, face paling despite the grimace he was trying to pull off among his peers. He must have been who the captain dramatically disarmed, ending with that sword landing and nearly cutting your nose off. Was anyone feeling guilty for putting that fear upon you? 

Highly unlikely.

The captain neared your trapdoor, leaning down on one knee and reaching his hand out to you, an attempt at some fair treatment toward; helping you get up onto the deck gracefully—you boldly refused. The idea of touching him… images your mind had conjured up in the night still pestered you and flashed past your eyes at the sight of his hand so near you. You looked away as your feet touched the deck for the second time that day. You hated the sight of him any given day, but this particular afternoon, it was even more of an unbearable sight.

The captain had abandoned his hat, opting to tie his hair with a red ribbon into a ponytail, failing to do so properly as strands were already escaping at the frame of his face. His long black coat and shirt also had been abandoned. It was a hot day, and with the training, he was most likely performing, the sweat on his chest was already forming, despite the cool breeze standing a strong fight with the sails. 

A ghastly sight, truly, the sweat that slicked over the countless prints of black ink on his arms, chest and ribs. The ink barely covered the various scars in the same placements. Some were small, like the nicks of a blade. The new bright red cut across his clavicle would surely join that collage. Others were unmistakably older but must have once been deep flesh wounds, possible gunshots, bites, or the results of things you most likely would not even be able to fathom. It looked like a visual of a life of torture.

You blinked, letting his previous words settle in your mind. ‘In time for what?’ You looked around. All eyes remained on you since you had made your presence known, something you had fallen out of habit with. You were not used to getting so much attention anymore.

‘Training, of course.’ Munson easily pulled the blade out of the ship planks, handing it to you. ‘Has anyone ever taught you how to fight?’

‘No.’ It was unladylike to swordfight, scuffle, argue, or do anything you did at the time of your capture. The heft felt awkward in your grip, clearly too big for your hand, but the entire piece felt off-balance. It must have been a homemade contraption of one of the Hellfire crew. Possibly molten out of the treasures residing downstairs with you. You adjusted your grip on the sword, but nothing felt right.

Nothing you did slipped past the Captain, whose eyes were on you and his crew. He pursed out his bottom lip in a mocking pout. 

‘A true pity.’ He swung his blade back and forth. Each swoosh in the air made you flinch. ‘maybe if someone had, you wouldn’t have ended up here with us.’ The chuckle started deep within him but evolved into a guttural laugh from the whole crew. The sound boiled your blood in anger as well as embarrassment. You wanted to attack their captain immediately but knew it wouldn’t end well. He looked you up and down with his casual smirk, and you made it a point to, somewhat confidently, keep your head up. No longer could he think he could just do whatever he pleased with you. ‘But there is always time to learn, I believe.’

‘I don’t want to fight you,’ you simply stated, looking down at the longsword clutched in your hand. 

‘C’mon, princess,’ Munson swung his sword back and forth, ‘it’s no fighting. it’s just a bit of fun.’ 

‘I see no fun in useless acts of violence.’ Did any of your words sound profound? Confident? You were ready to hear another wave of laughter, but it did not come. The only response was a smirk of the captain, but not one you had seen before.

It wavered. 

‘Don’t be like that, my darling.’ He recovered with his mockery, but you were no longer having any of it. With large strides, you closed the gap between you two across the deck. The men around you were split in moving back or getting ready to seize you if the situation required interference. The captain was among the former group. His stance shifted backwards as you met him, your chest nearly hitting his. 

Your grip tightened on the sword, and he must have noticed it by how his eyes shifted down to your arm and back to your face. 

A million different things ran through your mind; there were endless possibilities for relieving your anger at the man standing before you, all being the catalyst of events that you did not dare start. What were you to do? 

Your nails dug into your hand as your fingers wrung the halt of the sword. With this object alone, you could do a hundred different things, most of which would result in only a worse situation for yourself. 

You struck the blade down with as much power as you could muster. Like it had hit the planks in front of your face moments before, it now missed the captain’s feet by mere inches. He looked down, never moving anything but his eyes, and then looked directly at you again. His features were blank of expression; no fear or anger, but no amusement either. 

‘Call me any of that again, and next time it won’t be the deck that gets it.’ You had dared to move closer, letting your faces nearly touch. That smell of cinnamon and rum greeted you again. A few seconds passed as you stood there, eyes piercing through one another. Your blood boiling, his chest heaving with deep, controlled breaths.

He did not respond.

Or at least not until you had turned to walk away. 

‘I would love to see you try. It sure is easy making empty threats, prin–’ but he never got to finish his mockery. Perhaps because it was even easier to sound confident behind one’s opponent’s back, not looking them in the eye, that angered you. The fact that the man who threw you in a cage was, in reality, nothing but a coward. At that moment, all regard for your safety escaped you as you turned back on your heel and lunged your fist towards his face. 

It must have hurt you more than him, but the pink mark across his cheek was established. You did not bother to await his reaction once more and walked away for good– as far as the circumstances allowed you, which was not far. The ship was only so big, and the circle of men had moved onto the trapdoor, locking you in the fresh afternoon air. 

They were ready to retaliate for your aggression towards their captain, but his words boomed across all ears. ‘Stand back! I said stand back,’ he repeated when some still tried to reach for you. You passed the crew and made for the spot you had become familiar with over the morning. Trying to ignore everything behind you, you again reached the ship’s edge. Their voices lingered over everything, impossible to block out, but you let yourself focus on the ripples in the water as your anger subsided. 

Not long now. You had already been so close to home when they took you, and it's been days. Surely, soon they would reach the shore of your home and give you back to your family. That idea somehow managed to overcome everything that was actually happening around you. 

Though you had slept through most of it, it had been a long day, and signs of it were showing in the sky. Now turning a soft pink and orange as the sun began to set once more, the night was coming. With it, the stars. Would you stay outside long enough to look at them? It had been a sight you had missed properly gazing at the millions of twinkling lives above you, the constellations and the stories they told. 

It would all depend on the men that had now resumed their sword-fighting practice. 

The casualness of it all was actually rather comforting, as it, for once, did not bring back memories of the unfortunate ship you had bid farewell to but rather the surroundings of your father’s estate. There, men like Admiral Carver were standing guard or practising, but also young boys and girls who ran away from their mothers, pretending to be on great little adventures with large twigs for weapons. For a moment, you could swear you could smell the fresh flowers that bloomed outside your bedroom window, or the spices haggled for at the market in the harbour. There were cats meowing and dogs barking. To think that once you had grown tired of it all, yearned for something new in life, but now could not imagine anything greater than a return home…

Who knew how long you had stood there staring at the darkening horizon. Your thoughts must have sent you off into the distance from the ship, as you had not realised anything happening around you. The sea was quickly becoming a comfort. When looking out at it, you did not have to face the cruel reality of the Hellfire and the people upon it. The waters seemed so inviting and freeing that you couldn’t help but think if maybe walking the plank wasn’t always a punishment… 

You had not even noticed the smile creeping up at the corners of your lips, but it never came to fruition as you were broken out of the spell. 

‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ the deep voice startled you, but you did not show it. In your short time aboard, and now being in actual contact with these scoundrels, there was one thing you had learned: To show fear to people like Munson, like the men on this ship, was possibly the stupidest thing a person like you could do. Letting fear control you would let them control you, playing right into their hand. Instead, display confidence and strength, which gets under their skin. 

You glanced over as much as you could without physically turning in his direction. His long dark hair messily flowed with the wind now that he had released it from the ribbon. He was looking directly at you, making you grow hot with anger. Then, subtly rolling your eyes, you looked away again, back to the waters. That, however, did not stop the Captain from speaking again.

‘A view like this makes you think of how big the world is. How small you are.’ He held his dagger again in his left hand, twirling it mindlessly between his fingers. He was standing so close that your arms were brushing against one another. His gold and silver chains jingled at the slightest of movements. You tried to focus on that instead of his words. A task that turned out to be much more challenging than you had thought, as the Captain did not enjoy your rejection. 

‘A bit of advice, princess,’ he leaned closer to you, his breath mixing with the wind. His nicknames for you would just have to lose their meaning in your head, as clearly, they were not going anywhere. ‘The silent treatment is not doing you any favours. On the contrary, my men like their girls quiet.’

‘Spare me, please,’ you hissed. 

‘Believe me,’ he responded as if he could read your mind, ‘finding yourself on our ship has spared you enough,’ he let his head hang lightly askew, looking up at you with his large eyes, bemused– you could tell you had lost his one-sided game by speaking up. Then you might as well keep going.

‘Is that a threat?’ Just a reminder that even when you were not locked in a cage, you were not truly free or safe. Their danger constantly loomed over you. 

‘Far from it, darling. I simply hope you know that there are much worse things out there,’ he leaned forward, forehead nearly touching yours as his hand reached out to the waters at your side to point at the waves with his blade. ‘You probably can’t even think up the horrors that live out in the wilderness of the oceans.’ What could he possibly know about your imagination? If only he knew that, at this specific moment, you were considering five different ways to gauge his honey eyes. 

You turned to him directly now. His stare at you was cold and focused. The mark you had left on his cheek was now also unavoidable. It called to you and anyone who looked at him like a beacon of a lighthouse. That smile of yours from seconds before threatened to come out again, but you held it in. However unbothered he might have sounded at the strike, you did not believe that could have been it. There must have been a reason for his current approach. What you had done in front of his entire crew was unacceptable and certainly not inconsequential–you could not imagine that he had not set a punishment ready for you. And whatever it would be, you doubted it would be subtle or free of pain. Yet, you reminded yourself of the freshly taught lesson. Keep your head up. Don’t show your fear. 

Not breaking eye contact, you decided to simply ask. 

‘What is it that you want from me?’ 

And the Captain did not waste a second in his response.

‘See me in my quarters, darling.’ 

-Chapter 3-

thank you so much for reading!! if you want more of where this came from, check out my masterlist.

and please support your (not so) local creators by liking AND reblogging.

I would love to know what you thought of the story, so please consider leaving a comment, or maybe an ask or even an anonymous review ;P

you are also more than welcome to join the taglist. right here.

taglist:

@nope-thanks @seventhlevelofhell @luna-munson83 @hangmanscoming @blueberrylemontea-fanfic @jaemunson70 @reading–mermaid

@spiderrrling @theglitterymess @dorianelizabeth @theletterhart @pastel-abyss-x @ghoulsgraveyard @prettytoxix @lovesickollie @xbreezymeadowsx @meaganjm @mischiefmanagers @capybergara @brother-lauren @h0sh1verse @ghostlyreads @croweaterr @ladyapplejackdnd @bilesxbilinskixlahey @kbakery @liltimmyst @hellfire-state-of-mind @escape-in-time-x @miscelaa @sweetpeapod @eddiemunsonbby @mydearzero @overthewhiteclouds @wroteclassicaly @celestialsxturn @hoe4eddiemunson @inanausomewhere @scoops-harrington @fluffyharrington @billyhargrovesprincess @annikin-im-panicin @kaitieskidmore1 @yesv01 @princess-aries @m4riesworld @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @dixontardis @nataliastranqe

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson au #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fic #pirate eddie munson #pirate eddie #enemies to lovers #pirate au #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #imagine #writing #pirate story

[sunflowerdigs]

Was thinking about why Tim decided to portray Buck's bisexual discovery the way that he did, but Oliver saying that it was meant to happen in s5 makes it all make more sense. In 7x04, Buck acts like an insane person, mostly because he's afraid Eddie's going to leave him. The last time we saw him do that was 4x14, when he climbed the ladder against Bobby's wishes.

But Eddie wasn't watching in 4x14. It doesn't matter. It's an anxiety response ingrained in Buck since he was a kid. As an emotionally neglected child, Buck learned that, when he felt scared or unloved, if he hurt himself badly enough, someone would notice the physical pain and come and soothe him. His parents spoiled him in that way - they never made him take responsibility for his bone-headed stunts because on some level they knew that it was their neglect that caused him to act out. But they couldn't stop neglecting him because being involved in his life was too painful. They couldn't love Buck like the child they'd lost that Buck was supposed to save. So, instead, they taught him that he was only lovable when he was hurt and that he could coerce love from others by hurting himself.

In both 4x14 and 7x04, Buck is afraid that he's going to lose Eddie. So, he acts out, waiting for someone to notice and feel sorry for him and tell him that everything is going to be ok. And in both instances, someone does - in 4x14, Taylor comes over and scolds him, then kisses him right before Eddie wakes up; in 7x04, Tommy comes over and apologizes for making Buck feel left out and kisses him as well. In both instances, both people react like Buck's parents did when he was a kid - they soothe him and ignore the bad behavior. And because Buck is starving for love and is crushing on both of them, he takes the comfort and rolls with it.

Eddie has also seen Buck react in this way - when he refused to get out of bed in 3x01 and when he said that he should have been shot in 4x14. But Eddie's reaction both time has been different - instead of feeling sorry for Buck and coddling him, he has given Buck responsibility for Christopher both times. And that's been (from 911's POV) the better response, I think, because it has empoweres Buck. Eddie saw Buck feeling small and worthless and he said "no, I believe you're strong and capable, and you're going to prove it by taking care of my son".

Imo, that's why Buck's actions in 7x04, though coming from that same panicked place as in 4x14, aren't death-defying. The will means that he can't just treat his life like it's worthless anymore. Unfortunately, he then escalates to hurting other people, but that's another meta for another day

#buddie #911 abc

[humanpurposes]

Just for a Moment, part iv

Tom Bennett has a habit of climbing through her bedroom window whenever he's in trouble // Main Masterlist

Tom Bennett x OFC

Warnings: 18+, mentions of war and death, friends to lovers, angst, fluff, smut, Tom Bennett's daddy issues, death, mourning/grief

Words: 8100

A/n: This acts as a final part and an epilogue. Also available to read on AO3.

In early June, Lois Bennett knocks on the Wheelans’ front door. She has tears in her bright blue eyes and her hands are shaking.

“It’s our Tom,” she says, when Kitty has sat her down at the kitchen table and made her a cup of strong tea. “He’s missing.”

A hole tears itself in her chest.

His ship had been part of the evacuation at Dunkirk– a triumph, so the headlines say. But that’s the way of the world, she thinks, men lay down their lives, others have their lives taken from them by force, and all the while the press and the politicians declare each one a step towards peace.

“You think Churchill and Hitler give a flying fuck about peace?” her father says one night as he nurses a glass of whisky. “They want victory.”

Every night as she lies in bed, she imagines some new possibility. Tom could have run to safety, sought refuge in the town or gone elsewhere. Maybe he’s just biding his time, maybe he’s on his way back to her.

He can’t be dead. He just can’t be.

He promised he would come home to her.

Monday 2nd September, 1940

She doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to the sirens, that blunt, whirring, wailing noise that sparks a primal fear in her chest. Somehow she always wakes up before they go off, like her instincts can alert her of what’s coming just a second before the noise begins.

The baby starts to scream from the space beside her– since Lois has started working as an ambulance driver, she leaves Vera with them most nights. With shaking hands, Kitty takes her into her arms, keeping her close to her chest as she fixes a woolly hat over her head.

“I’m sorry darling, I know,” she says, pulling the hat over Vera’s ears. She keeps meaning to buy some earmuffs for her, but then, it’s not her baby.

It’s pitch black in the house, it has to be. No lights or candles allowed unless you want the Germans to drop a bomb on your house. Kitty keeps one hand on the wall as she finds the stairs, and hurries down to the kitchen. Mam and dad’s footsteps follow behind her.

They have a routine by now. Dad grabs a coleman and a box of matches, mam grabs a photo from the front room and a basket with bread and blackberry jam, and Kitty holds tight to Vera. Then they file out the back door, into the garden, down the ladder into the shelter. Dad shuts the door, lights the lamp, and finally they can all see each other. 

Then comes the waiting. Some nights dad sings The Fields of Athenry and Kitty joins in. Vera seems to love singing, her eyes go wide and she lays completely still against Kitty, hypnotised by the humming in her chest. 

After a few slices of bread to keep them going, dad lies along the bench and closes his eyes and mam takes Vera into her arms. “Get some rest, love,” she tells Kitty.

How can she? Beyond the shelter the world is nothing but uncertainty, sirens sounding, bombs booming, spotlights and distant fires cutting through the darkness. Only the morning will tell what the true damage is, once the sun starts to rise and the smoke and dust have settled. Houses and livelihoods will be left as rubble. More lives lost, people who didn’t sign up, people who couldn’t, people who thought they might at least be safe in their own homes.

She looks at the photograph mam always brings in from the house. It’s of the four of them, Eddie, Art, Stevie and Kitty, lined up in the front room before the eldest two Wheelans left for the continent, over a year ago now. Eddie and Art look handsome in their uniforms and Stevie is uncharacteristically glum. He hated that he didn’t sign up sooner, he said he didn’t want to look like the one being left behind.

They all came home after Dunkirk, a few precious weeks when the world felt normal again.

Only not quite.

Because she still spent every night alone, and Tom Bennett was still gone.

“Where’s Douglas?”

Kitty snaps her attention to mam, as dad starts to stir on the bench.

“Eh?” he grumbles, “he’ll be along now in a minute, I’m sure.”

They wait. 

And keep waiting.

The bombs dropping on Longsight are louder than they’ve ever been before. Closer than they’ve ever been before. Each thunderous crash rocks the ground and the walls of their shelter.

BOOM– the roof trembles.

BOOM– dust and dirt fall from above them.

“We’ll be alright, here,” dad says, beckoning Kitty to sit between the two of them. 

They huddle together. Kitty curls her knees into her chest like a child and leans into her father’s embrace. Mam has Vera on her lap and places a hand on Kitty’s knee.

BOOM– mam whimpers and Vera is crying again. Dad holds her tighter.

BOOM– Kitty reaches for one of Vera’s tiny hands, and she clutches tightly onto her finger.

Then a final, earsplitting BOOM. The bench jolts beneath them. Kitty clings to her family and squeezes her eyes shut, waiting for something awful to happen.

Only it doesn’t. The bombs become fainter.

They slowly pull away from each other, looking each other in the eyes and nodding, to make sure they’re all alright– as much as they can be.

When the all clear sounds, they make their way back into the house.

Glass litters the floor of the front room. The windows are shattered, so is the glass cabinet with mam’s best china, photographs are cracked. Anything that isn’t broken has been blown back by the force of a hit.

Through the tatters of the curtains and a haze of smoke, a fire burns out on the street. 

Dad calls her name as she runs for the front door and yanks it open, but she can’t bring herself to step past the threshold.

The feels the heat against her face, as number 27 has been reduced to a pile of burning rubble.

The AFS arrives in time to stop dad from digging through the remains in search of Douglas himself.

Everything that belongs to the Bennetts is crushed under brick or goes up in flames. 

It’s like losing Tom all over again. The house where he grew up, the kitchen where Josie used to feed the Bennett and Wheelan kids ginger beer and sandwiches, the bedroom that smelled of cigarette smoke, where he told her he loved her, exist only as memories.

She doesn’t go to bed that night– there are only a few hours until daylight anyway. She sweeps up the glass in the front room and the bedrooms while dad boards up the window frames. Hardly any light reaches inside the house, the air is still thick and hazy with lingering smoke, so they keep the back door open. It airs the place out, but lets in the cold too.

When Kitty answers the door in the morning, Lois’ back is facing her. She’s still in her uniform with her hair in a neat bun and a helmet in her hand. 

“Lois?”

She turns towards Kitty with her lips slightly parted in a passive expression. “Dad’s gone,” she mutters. And once she says it the vacancy melts into grief. “He’s gone,” she cries, “everything’s gone!”

Kitty leads her into the house, but there’s nowhere comfortable to sit. The front room is in tatters and the kitchen is a mess with everything they’ve managed to salvage piled onto the table and chairs. 

“Tea?” Kitty asks quietly, but she feels stupid for asking.

Lois leans against the wall and holds her face in her hand as she cries.

Kitty unsurely places a hand on Lois’ shoulder and tries to think of something to say, but all she can think of is “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

First her mam, then Harry, then Tom, now her dad. She must feel like her life is slipping away.

Mam appears from upstairs, dressed for the factory with Vera in her arms.

Kitty frowns as she hands the baby to her. Lois has lost her father and her home in one night, and her mother hardly looks phased.

“There’s still work to be done, Kitty,” she says, grabbing her coat before she leaves through the front door with her head and shoulders straight.

But this is just war. Men die in trenches and on beaches, bombs fall on cities, tragedy unfolds and they Keep Calm and Carry On.

Kitty carries Vera into the kitchen, but she doesn’t like the sound of her mother crying. Her little face goes red and twists before she makes a sound, then she’s crying too, burying her head into Kitty’s chest and clinging to her arms with those small, pudgy hands.

Lois doesn’t look up, like she can’t hear her daughter crying at all.

Sunday 29th September, 1940

Weeks go by. Douglas is interred with his wife, in the churchyard of St Jospeh’s. Kitty spends her days in the shop and her nights in the shelter, rocking Vera through the air raids, humming lullabies and muttering stories about her brave mam and her fearless uncle Tom.

The Wheelans never used to go to church every week, but mam insists now, anything for their family to be kept safe. As they head home, Kitty looks up the hill, to the gravestone she knows is marked Josie Bennett. She pictures Tom and Lois standing by the graveside at the funeral, twelve years ago now. It doesn’t feel that long ago they were all children.

She walks ahead of her parents– dad’s been having trouble with his knees and it slows him down. Her head is hung, she’s staring at her shoes, the same black pair of shoes she wears everywhere.

What’s she got to walk so fast for anyway? Their house doesn’t feel much like a home anymore. They at least have the windows fixed, but she tends to keep her curtains drawn, because where she used to look out to Tom’s bedroom window, there’s just empty space. 

What’s the point in rushing home to a house that isn’t safe? That’s ghostly and quiet? That has a bomb shelter instead of a garden? What’s the point in carrying on when surviving the night is something they have to hope for? When each day brings a possibility that Eddie, Art or Steive could be missing or dead? What’s the point in clinging onto hope if Tom is truly gone? What’s the point? What’s the point? What’s the point?

Someone knocks frantically on one of the doors ahead, their door she realises. Her vision is blurry through tears, but she can make out the shape of a tall man, with dirty blond hair.

She blinks.

“Tom?”

His body collides into hers. He hugs her so tightly he crushes her chest but she doesn’t care. He could squeeze the life from her and she wouldn’t care, as long as she gets to hold him. Her hands find their way to grasp at his neck and his hair, pulling him closer and crying silently into his neck.

He doesn’t smell like cigarettes, which she finds unusual. He smells like dirt and sweat, and when he pulls away from her she realises he’s dressed in a khaki blazer, slacks that are too big for him and a mismatching grey shirt. 

“What happened–”

He looks frantic, stroking his hands over her hair and down to cup the sides of her face. “Kitty, I’m sorry, I know it’s been a mad few months but where are they, dad and Lois? Are they safe?”

He doesn’t know. How could he? Lois tried to send a letter. Where would it be now? Collecting dust or sitting at the bottom of a pile of unimportant paperwork in a naval office because there was nowhere for it to go. 

Her eyes well with tears all over again. His face is leaner, the lines of his jaw and cheeks more defined, the left side of his face littered with bruises and scars. She traces her fingers over his cheekbone, and down to the coarse, blond stubble along his jaw.

“Kitty,” he says, shortly, taking her hand away from his face. “Kitty, where are they? Tell me they’re okay.”

She glances over her shoulder. Mam and dad are approaching them now. Their faces mirror each other, confused, horrified, sympathetic.

“Come on,” she mutters, taking Tom’s hand and dragging him with her as she walks solemnly up Slade Grove. 

They stayed joined at the hip as they walk, Kitty curling slightly into his arm, their legs brushing with every stride, bumping into each other and pulling themselves back in.

His hand is warm and his grip is firm, but she can’t stop herself from shivering. As much as she wants to gaze up at him, melt into his embrace again, kiss every inch of his face, she can’t help but feel guilty. He doesn’t ask any more questions, or so much as speak a word, but the concern is written all over him, the clenched jaw and the stiff shoulders that don’t sway as he walks. 

She won’t be the one to tell him, she can’t be.

Lois has been living in a boarding house with Connie since the bomb hit. Mam had offered her a place at their house, but Lois wouldn’t take it. Luckily the house isn’t too far away, and when Lois opens the door, she’s utterly stunned.

Kitty waits outside, with her hands behind her back, leaning against the brick wall. Now her hands and her skin feel cold, so she tugs at her coat, keeping it tight around her body to keep out the autumn chill.

For a few moments she wonders if she hasn’t just made the whole thing up; Tom, waiting outside her door, running into her arms and vanishing again. She rubs her fingertips together. She had felt him as she feels her own skin now, she’s sure of it, the scars, the stubble, the hair on the back of his hand. 

Tom Bennett, her Tom Bennett, though not quite the same man he was, before whatever happened at Dunkirk, before the war, when his place in her life was vague but at least it was consistent. She knows things will be different again when he comes out of that house.

She hears raised voices through the door, the unmistakable, raspy bass of Tom’s anger. Lois shouts back. Then it goes quiet again.

Her heart leaps out of her chest when the door swings open. Tom slams it shut and turns his head around, frantically, before his eyes find her.

He opens his arms and falls into her. 

He lets out a few short gasps for breath as he leans his forehead against her shoulder and wraps his arms tightly around her waist. 

She stays like that for as long as he needs, until he pulls back for breath. His face is red, it only makes his eyes seem brighter.

“Sorry,” he mutters with a sniff, “haven’t even said a proper ‘hello’ to you yet.”

Given the circumstances, she thinks that’s forgivable. She runs her hands over the sides of his face, his ears and his overgrown mop of hair. 

“Hello,” she says.

Tom smiles, taking one of her hands in hiss and placing a peck to her knuckles. “Hello.”

They walk slowly back to Slade Grove. Tom is a little more subdued, but not quite settled.

She can only imagine the thoughts racing through his head. He wasn’t here to save his father, he wasn’t at the funeral, there was nothing he could save from his own home. Time has slipped by, the formalities have been carried out and Tom couldn’t have stopped any of it from happening. 

Mam opens the door, takes one look at Tom, and purses her lips.

Kitty rolls her eyes and pulls Tom into the hallway.

The house has been cleared up a little better recently. They’ve gotten rid of everything that was broken, mended the curtains and the tears in the sofas, only the front room feels empty and impersonal without the china cabinet and the photographs they couldn’t save. 

They walk on through to the kitchen, where dad is sitting by the wireless. He stands to take Tom’s hand. “Sorry for your loss, lad,” he says, giving it a short, firm shake.

“Cheers,” Tom mutters, “good to see you again, Mr Wheelan.”

Kitty makes tea and splits her rations of bacon and eggs between her and Tom. 

“We were part of the evacuation effort from Dunkirk,” Tom explains, looking up to Kitty as she sits beside him. “I don’t remember much, but I woke up in a hospital in Paris, bullets and shrapnel in my chest, and the doctors were telling me the Nazis had taken the city.”

“Bloody hell,” dad sighs.

Mam sits stiffly in her chair and sips her tea.

“They were telling me I had to register as a prisoner of war, but there was this American bloke, a doctor, he told me they were trying out an escape route through Gibraltar.”

“We thought you were dead,” Kitty says. “Lois showed us the telegram. We all thought you were dead.”

She can see Tom’s hand flinch as if to reach out to her, but he stops himself and clenches his fist. He turns back to her parents across the table. “I had to die, officially like, they had some spare bodies and put my name to some poor bastard with 80% burns–”

Mam clears her throat.

“Sorry,” Tom says, trying not to smile. “Had to walk to Spain, then hitched a ride with these two blokes to Gibraltar. Onto Plymouth from there, and then…” he trails off. He has a distant look in his eyes that reminds her of Lois.

“Home?” dad says.

Tom shrugs his shoulders. “Yeah, ‘spose so.”

“Will you stay with Lois?” Kitty asks.

Tom gives her a pointed look.

The raised voices, the slammed door. Maybe not.

“You could stay with us,” she says.

Mam tilts her head. “Now wait a moment–”

“Of course,” dad says, “we’ve got three empty beds upstairs, I’m sure we’ll be able to spare one.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Tom says, slipping his hand under the table and brushing his fingers over Kitty’s knee. She checks her parents aren’t looking at her and tries not to smile.

Dad holds up his hand in the way that means his decision is final. “Not at all, lad. We’ve known you since you were a childer, I think it’s the least we could do for you now.” 

Lois drops Vera off at 5 o’clock, the usual time. She doesn’t ask about Tom, in fact she hardly looks Kitty in the eye as she hands the baby into her arms and places a bag by her feet. She presses a quick kiss to Vera’s head, and then she’s gone.

Tom is in the front room, splayed out on one of the sofas, flicking an unlit cigarette through his fingers– because if he smoked in the house, mam would actually kill him. He sits up when Kitty walks in with the baby on her hip.

She sits beside him and places Vera on her lap.

Tom takes one of her little hands, and his thumb is almost the size of her palm. “Can’t believe she named the kid after my fucking canary,” he grumbles.

“Tom,” Kitty chides.

“Fuck, sorry– fuck.”

Vera lets out a vague gurgling sound and Kitty giggles. “Say it enough, it might be her first word.”

He chuckles, and gently waves Vera’s arm about. “When do babies usually start talking?”

“Give her a chance, she can’t even sit up yet.”

He strokes his finger along the baby’s cheek, and grins when he coaxes a smile out of her. But it’s like he stops himself, pressing his lips together as his eyes darken.

“What happened with you and Lois?” Kitty asks.

Tom heaves a heavy breath and takes his hand away from Vera. “I lashed out.”

“Christ, Tom.”

“She left dad alone,” he says.

If she didn’t have a baby in her lap, she thinks she could throttle him. “It wasn’t her fault,” Kitty snaps. “She couldn’t have saved him. No one could have. 

He turns to face her with a devastated look in his eyes, the kind of look he makes when he knows she’s right. “How did it happen?”

She shifts Vera in her lap. “We didn’t see, we were in the shelter. We heard the bombs getting closer, and when we heard the all clear…” she blinks a few tears from her eyes. She doesn’t mean to cry, and she feels ridiculous, crying over Tom’s father when he’s sitting beside her.

Tom shifts closer to her, and wipes her cheeks with his thumbs.

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

Tom nods, running his hand over Vera’s head. “He died thinking I was gone. He didn’t know I was alright.” He draws his tongue between his lips. “But he’ll be happy now, with mum and that.”

“I hope so,” she says.

“And I didn’t leave things on a bad note,” he says, keeping his eyes on Vera, “like you told me. I shook his hand before I left.”

“See? When has my advice ever let you down?” she says, trying to sound as lighthearted as possible through the thick feeling in her throat.

Tom keeps his chin tilted down but he looks up to her. He looks more peaceful than he did this morning. His lips are settled in their natural curve, his brow is soft, and there’s a sadness in his eyes that he won’t allow to become more than a glisten.

“Never has,” he says with a smile.

He shuffles closer to her, cautiously cupping the side of her face like he’s forgotten how.

She instantly leans into him, bringing their foreheads together until she can feel his breath echoing over her lips.

It’s been so long since she’s felt him in the way she wants. She’s hardly given herself a moment to even realise that he’s here, that her months of anguish are finally done because he’s safe, he’s alive, and he still didn’t break his promise to her.

“I missed you,” she whispers. If she speaks any louder she worries her voice might falter.

Tom draws his thumb over her cheek and nudges his nose against hers. “Kitty,” he utters. His lips twitch like he can’t quite find the words he wants.

“I know,” she breathes. “I know.”

He angles his head a little before he leans in closer and presses a soft kiss to her lips, and her heart breaks a hundred times over. She feels his sadness in the tentative movements of his mouth, like he’s still scared, like he’s waiting for something bad to happen.

So she pours all her longing and reassurance into him, as far as she can without speaking or pausing for breath. She holds onto his neck and deepens their kiss with firm lips and a deft tongue. 

She wants to feel him, long after they’ve parted. She wants to remember how he feels, the warmth he gives her, the way his little hums make her feel weightless and set her skin alight.

Now, in this moment, the world feels perfect. 

Until Vera makes a whining noise that means she wants attention.

Kitty pulls away with a short gasp, moving Vera to her hip and she stands and tries to bounce her into content.

“She’s probably hungry,” Kitty says, and nods to the bag Lois dropped off earlier. “Her formula’s in there, bring it into the kitchen.”

Tom does as he’s told and pulls the tub out of the bag. He walks into the corridor first, and as Kitty goes to follow he stops, and turns to her.

“You look good with a baby by the way,” he says with a grin.

She scorns herself for the thrill it sends through her stomach. “Don’t, you’ll give my mam a heart attack.”

At 6 o’clock, they put the lights out for the blackout, with only the fading sunset to light the kitchen as Kitty makes a vegetable stew and spuds for dinner. Thankfully they have some beef stock she can throw in as well, which stops dad from complaining that “just veg doesn’t count as a meal.”

Evenings are tense and uncertain now. They all try to make small talk with each other over dinner, but silences are frequent and imposing. 

Once they’ve eaten, Kitty puts Vera to bed and mam and dad head upstairs shortly after, hoping to get as much sleep as they can before the sirens start.

Tom sits in the lounge, on a sofa by the window, keeping the curtains open just an inch, but all there is to see is black.

“It’s cloudy,” he says as Kitty appears in the doorway in her nightie. “Can’t even see the moon.”

She comes to join him, curling up into his lap and placing her head on his shoulder. “That’s good news for us.”

Tom wraps his arms around her and kisses her head.

The sky stays cloudy and quiet all night, no droning of planes, no sirens. 

All she hears is the sound of his breathing and his lips against her skin as he nuzzles into her neck, kissing and nipping at her skin.

“Did you miss me?” she finds herself saying.

Tom pauses and pulls his face away from her with a furrowed brow. “Do you really think I thought of anything else?” he says. “It was all that got me through, the thought of coming home to you.”

In the morning she wakes with a sliver of sunlight creeping over her eyes, still in Tom’s arms, still clinging to him. 

Lois comes to collect Vera before Kitty leaves for her shift at the shop.

“Is Tom with you?” Lois asks as kitty lowers Vera into the pram.

Kitty hesitates. “Yes,” she says, bracing herself for Lois to storm in and start shouting at him. 

He appears in the doorway, with his head down and his hands in his pockets. 

“I’m going to the churchyard,” Lois says to him, “if you’d like to see mum and dad.”

Tom looks to Kitty and she sighs, overemphasising the movement of her chest as she breathes. Don’t leave it on a bad note.

He looks back to Lois and forces a small smile. “Yeah.”

Tom stays with the Wheelans, sleeping in the boys’ bedroom, in the bed closest to the door. Each night, once Vera and her parents are asleep, Kitty steals into his bedroom and tucks herself into the space beside him.

“It feels funny like this, doesn’t it?” she whispers to him, brushing her lips over his cheek as she throws her arms around him and presses herself into his back.

“What, you being the one sneaking around?” he says, falling onto his back so she can drape herself over his bare chest.

“It’s exciting,” she says, kissing a path along his jaw and down his neck. “I don’t see why you got to have all the fun.”

“Made it worth your while, didn’t I?” She can hear him grinning as she reaches the hollow of his throat. She swipes her tongue over his skin and delights when he suppresses a grunt and grasps at her hips. 

She sits herself up, letting her nightgown hitch up to her hips as she starts to rock against him.

Tom slips a hand between her thighs and smiles when he swipes his thumb over her bare cunt. “Right little whore I’ve turned you into, hmm?”

Kitty braces herself against her chest and nods, as Tom presses into her, dragging from her entrance to her pearl.

“So fucking wet,” he whispers. “All for me?”

“All for you,” she breathes as he starts to circle over her most sensitive spot. “Fuck–”

Tom places a finger to her lips as he keeps working over her. “Shh, you have to be quiet, you know that.”

She nods again, dreamily, moving her hips against him, adding and withdrawing pressure to his movements, treading the line between pleasure and longing. Until she falls apart, shuddering, pressing her lips together tightly and snatching back the one wanton whimper that sounds in her throat.

“Good girl,” Tom snarls. His hips are bucking against her and his jaw is tight. “Good fucking girl.”

She wastes no time slipping his cock free from his briefs and sinks herself down onto his length. He’s done for with only a few rolls of her hips, pulling out before he finishes and spilling himself onto her stomach.

He’s so pretty when he comes, with a silent sigh, his jaw hanging open and his nostrils flaring. Every part of his body tenses, his abs, his neck, his shoulders, as he squeezes his eyes shut tight and throws his head back against the pillows. 

Another perfect moment, she thinks, bright and beautiful, and already slipping away.

He registers with the navy again, and in a few weeks he has his next assignment.

Before he leaves, Kitty insists on getting out Eddie’s camera (even though he’d kill her if he knew he went near it), and takes some photos of Vera for Tom to keep while he’s away.

She takes some of him too. They’re hardly high art– he wouldn’t stop laughing at his own snarky comments, but she manages one ‘serious’ one. 

His mouth is halfway to a smirk, his smile lines apparent around his mouth, but his eyes are dark and almost sinister. He hates it but there’s nothing he can do to stop her from keeping it in the envelope of one of his letters, under her pillow for safekeeping with the rest of the pieces she has of him.

He has leave in the new year, and then he’s back in October, just over two years since he first left.

By then Lois is gone. She had come into the shop, with a letter for Tom and Kitty in the pram. She had said she was going to leave her with Robina.

“Over my dead body you are,” Kitty said before she could think it through. Mam and dad were slightly horrified when she came home early from work with baby Vera in a pram and all of her belongings in a bag.

Vera is a right little character now, a stubborn but happy girl. When Tom comes back to Longsight, he stays with the Wheelans again, and he’s utterly devoted to his niece. When Kitty’s at work, he walks into the shop with Vera in his arms to buy her a bar of Cadbury’s ration chocolate. It’s awful and bitter, but it’s the only kind Vera has known and she treats it like gold dust. 

When Mr Gregory gives Kitty a few days off, she and Tom take her for walks to the park. It’s freezing, but she’s happy enough wrapped up in a coat and a woolly hat, squealing with delight when Tom picks her up and places her on his shoulders.

How remarkable are kids, that they can so easily forget about worries and fears, as long as they have something that keeps them happy.

Even with Douglas and Lois gone, she hopes Tom knows that something still remains.

Time slips away too quickly. Suddenly Tom’s in his uniform again, ditty slung over his shoulder. He takes Vera into his arms and hugs her tightly into his chest. “Be good for your aunty Kitty,” he says, “and take care of her until I get back.”

Vera nods frantically.

He says goodbye to dad like an old friend, and even mam has warmed to him a bit now. Kitty sees the way her mother looks between her and Tom, the knowing nod of her head. It’s acceptance, and she’ll take it.

“Shall we?” Tom says, taking Kitty’s hand and leading her through the door.

It’s a short walk to the bus stop, then a twenty minute ride into the city. She keeps a tight hold of Tom’s hand the entire way.

They settle in seats at the back of the bus. It’s the middle of the day, kids are in school and their parents are at work. Only a few other seats are filled.

“Thank you,” Tom says as the bus pulls away from the stop.

“For what?” Kitty says.

“For being there,” he says, “for looking out for dad when he was around, for taking care of Vera, and me.”

She wants to frown, but can’t bring herself to. “Of course,” she says, stroking her thumb over the back of his hand. “Of course.”

Tom’s been assigned to HMS Prince of Wales, docked at Scapa Flow in Scotland. His train leaves within the hour, and the moment they step off the bus onto the busy streets of Manchester, she feels herself walking slower. 

Tom keeps going, letting her fall behind him slightly, but never letting go of her.

No matter how she tries to drag this out, she cannot stop time altogether and they eventually reach the train station.

She could spend an eternity in his arms, cheek to cheek, breathing along with the rise and fall of his chest. 

“I want to do right by you,” Tom says.

“What do you mean?” she mutters. 

They still hold each other close; she doesn’t think she could bear to look at his face.

“Once the war is over, I’ll save up my wages, get us a place of our own. It’ll just be the two of us.”

“And Vera,” she adds.

“Yeah,” he says, stroking his hand up and down her back. “I’ll get a proper job. You should do that clerical training you’ve always talked about.”

No more sneaking around. No more nights cut short when he has to leave her.

He pulls away from her, keeping his hands on her waist. “I know your parents don’t trust me and your brothers think I’m a no-good-thieving-bastard. But I love you, Kitty, and I don’t know what I’d ever do without you.”

“Once the war is over?” she says.

“As soon as.”

“Tom,” she sighs. She doesn’t want to imagine the possibility, or speak it into existence, but it’s still there. “What if you don’t come back?”

Tom smiles with a small hum. “I’ve died once before, didn’t stop me coming back to you, did it?”

Kitty believes him wholeheartedly.

Thursday 11th December, 1941

Vera’s being fussy about her nap again. No matter how much Kitty tries to hush her, rock her, or hum a few lullabies, she just won’t settle.

Eventually she tries just holding Vera close to her chest, letting the side of her little head nestle just over her heart. She stops crying almost immediately.

“How hard could it be to look after a baby?” she asked herself when she refused to let Lois leave her daughter with Robina Chase. Quite hard, as it turns out. 

The peace doesn’t last for long. Mam’s shoes come clattering down the stairs, the doorbell rings and Vera starts wailing again. 

“Oh come here,” mam coos, taking Vera from Kitty’s arms. “You get the door, I’ll see this one gets her nap, eh?”

Kitty takes a quick breath before she opens the door. Hearing Vera cry makes her want to cry too. 

The postman stands below the front step with a telegram in his hands.

“Catherine,” he says with a polite smile, “haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Been… busy,” she says through Vera’s wails.

The postman hands her the telegram and she reads over the address: Lois Bennett, 27 Slade Grove, Longsight, Manchester, only there’s no house for it to be delivered to, and no Lois to take it.

She feels the tears start to prickle in her eyes as she waves him off, and when she shuts the door she can no longer stand. Suddenly she’s on the floor, her back against the door, unable to catch her breath as hot, stinging tears stream down her face and the telegram crumples under her fist.

She thinks maybe Vera keeps crying and mam calls her name, trying to get her to stand but she can’t. She just… can’t. A sinking feeling washes over her and keeps her pinned down, like the waves pummeling against the shore, over and over again. 

If there’s a telegram addressed to Lois, it can only mean one thing.

Tom.

Monday 24th December, 1945

The bus to Longsight stops outside the shop. She lifts Vera under the arms of her little red coat, onto the pavement, and takes a mittened hand in hers as they head inside. Mr Gregory sold it a few months ago and she doesn’t know the name of the new owners.

The woman behind the counter smiles down at Vera. “Aren’t you a gorgeous little madam?” she coos.

Vera rolls her eyes. “I’m not a baby, I’m five,” she says.

Kitty smiles to herself. “Bottle of sherry and a bag of Yorkshire mix, please,” she says. She crouches down beside Vera and spots a shelf of Christmas wrapping. “Go and pick out some ribbon for the bottle,” she whispers.

She pays for their items and Vera comes back with a bright red ribbon.

“Perfect,” Kitty says, and ties it into a bow around the neck.

As they walk towards Slade Grove, Kitty picks out some red sweets for Vera and a pear drop for herself. The rest she saves for later, finding she now prefers the sweets she never used to eat.

It’s nice and warm inside number 28. A Chorus of Christmas carols plays through the wireless from the kitchen, a backdrop to the bustle of the house. Mam is in the kitchen, making her final preparations for tomorrow’s dinner. Art helps her, albeit, his version of helping is pouring out gin and tonics. Dad, Eddie, Stevie and Connie are sat around the table, engrossed in a game of cards. But everyone stops when Vera comes bounding into the room, Kitty close behind her.

They each take their turns to smother her, and it feels good. Stevie practically jumps up and down as he hugs her, Art hands her a drink and Eddie hugs her the tightest. 

She manages a sip of her drink and places it on the table as she goes to greet her dad, still mulling over his hand of cards as he kisses her cheek. Then she goes to her mam, and hands her the bottle of sherry. 

“I chose the bow!” Vera proclaims proudly.

“And a lovely bow it is!” mam beams, placing the bottle amongst their Christmas stash of whisky, gin and dessert wine. “I have something for you, love,” she says.

“Oh?” Kitty asks as mam disappears into the front room. She comes back with a pot of poinsettias in a red pot, thick green leaves with bursts of blood red petals and golden seeds at their hearts.

“I thought we could put them out, tonight,” mam says.

Kitty opens her mouth to thank her, but she can’t. She nods as mam places her hand on her arm.

Even months after the war has ended, meat is still scarce, especially at this time of year, but mam had saved up her rations for a beautiful joint of beef, which she presents in the centre of the table.

It’s a cheerful occasion. The boys are rowdy, dad is quizzing Connie on her latest gig with her new band, mam is fussing over Vera.

Kitty watches them all. It’s hard not to feel like a ghost, an outlier, simply observing. Sometimes she thinks the others are still too scared to talk to her, in case she bursts into tears or shatters completely. She knows she won’t though. It’s Christmas. She’s supposed to be happy, surrounded by family and people she loves.

“We’re going to see her daddy for dinner tomorrow,” Vera says, stabbing at her boiled carrots.

“What’s Christmas dinner with Robina Chase like?” Stevie asks Kitty.

Her face freezes into a terrified smile to the others’ amusement. “No, it’s fine really,” she says. “Your grandma spoils you rotten, doesn’t she missus?”

Vera nods enthusiastically.

She’s such an easy girl to love. She has bright blue eyes, plump, rosy cheeks and dark brown curls, like her mother’s, kept in pigtails. But while her face is deceptively sweet, she has an awful habit for mischief and stubbornness. Kitty doesn’t mind that though. Girls should be stubborn, she thinks.

Stevie and Connie are expecting now. Dad insists it’s going to be a boy because he saw four magpies in the garden last week. They have a modest little house a few streets away and they’ve made it nice and homely. She’s had tea there and helped Stevie set up a crib for the nursery. 

After they’ve eaten, dad insists they all go to midnight mass, as he does every year, despite Kitty’s insistence that it’s much too late for Vera. Still, she puts her in a pretty blue dress and shiny black leather shoes, and makes Stevie promise he’ll be the one to carry her home.

The church is mostly shadows at night, a few candles and lamps doing their best to fight off the darkness and the cold. Vera hates it. She pulls her woolly hat over her ears, swings her legs and on three occasions asks “is he done talking yet?” She likes the hymns though, even if she doesn’t know the words, mouthing some kind of nonsense that has them all in fits of giggles.

And once it’s over, they don’t follow the path down to the street. Kitty leads the way, with the pot of poinsettias in her hands. Stevie follows behind her, carrying a sleepy Vera in his arms, curled into his chest.

She stops before the grave she first stood by seventeen years ago.

Josie Bennett

Douglas Bennett

and in loving memory of Thomas Bennett, 1919-1941

Kitty crouches down to lay the poinsettias down when Vera gives a little squeak in protest. “I want to do it!” she cries.

“Come on then, missus,” Kitty says.

Stevie lowers Vera and she rubs her tired eyes as she staggers to Kitty. She tries to take the pot but with her mittens she can’t get a good grip on it.

“Together?” Kitty asks.

“Yes please,” Vera says.

They place the flowers down together, making sure they don’t obstruct the names.

“There,” Vera says with a little huff. She reaches out and puts her hand on the stone, brushing over the names of her granny and granddad Bennett, and then she traces over the letters of Tom’s name.

Even seeing it written in stone, she doesn’t think it will ever truly sink in. 

A report said Tom had been in the makeshift aid centre on the main deck of the HMS Prince of Wales, when the final bomb hit. He could have run for the lifeboats. He would have had plenty of time. But he didn’t. He died to save his injured crewmates, men who would have never seen their families again.

For all the times he told her he would come back, for the life he promised they would make together, for all the nights she clung onto hope, she wanted to hate him for throwing it away.

She knows now that she can’t hate him. She could never hate him.

Vera falls back into Kitty’s arms. She catches her and places a gentle kiss to her soft cheek. “They would have loved you, you know,” Kitty says. “They would have loved that you’re brave, and funny, and that you drive everybody round the bend.”

Vera giggles and turns around, flinging her arms around her neck. “I love you, aunty Kitty,” she says.

Kitty hugs her tightly into her chest, with that strange sort of urge to just squeeze her and squeeze her and never let her go. “I love you too,” she whispers, so Vera won’t hear the tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

Vera manages to walk down to the gate before Stevie has to carry her, and by the time they get back to the house, she’s fast asleep.

Kitty takes her in her arms and carries her up to the little box room. Connie and Stevie have the other big bedroom, and Eddie and Art are roughing it on the sofas in the lounge.

She places Vera down in the bed, as gently as she can, and takes off her shoes and coat so she won’t have to sleep in them.

It’s almost like a ritual now, but every time she finds herself in her old bedroom, she unlocks the window and brushes her fingers over the scuff mark on the windowsill. 

Vera stirs slightly when she joins her, curling into Kitty when she places an arm around her. The bed is hardly big enough for the two of them, how she and Tom ever managed to fit seems somewhat miraculous. 

Tom Bennett should have been hers to keep. They should have spent all their savings on a little terraced house or a flat in Manchester, squabbling over the things husbands and wives argue about and making up between the bedsheets. In the winters they would have walked home from the pub through the snow, hand in hand, and huddled for warmth at night. In the summers they would have spent their evenings in the park with a punnet of strawberries, taking the train to the coast on the weekends, to Southport or Blackpool. Maybe they would have had kids of their own. She often pictures a little girl with big blue eyes and a bright smile. They might have named her Josie, after Tom’s mother, and Vera would adore her.

There is so little left of him now, the bomb that hit the Bennett’s house ensured that well enough. She would have liked to have kept his lighter, his wristwatch, maybe some of his shirts.

Instead, she finds other ways to remember him. She reads his letters every night tracing over his terrible handwriting, the imprint of the words in the paper and his fingerprint in a smudge of ink. And she has the photo she took of him on Eddie’s camera. She keeps it framed, proudly on display on the mantle in their flat in the city.

She feels him, in the smell of grass, the flick of a lighter, the smoke from a cigarette, whispered secrets between lovers and Vera Bennett’s laugh, the way she squints her eyes and shows her teeth, just like he did. 

Two decades of friendship and it wasn’t enough time. They should have known sooner, she should have knocked on his door more often and he should have spent less time getting into trouble. She should have told him to join the pacifists while it was still an option, she should have convinced him not to go away, she should have held him tighter and never, never have let him go.

In the end though, she doesn’t linger on the times they weren’t together. She remembers them being children together. She remembers the first night he climbed through her window. She remembers his warmth and his infuriating smirk. She remembers the first time they kissed and the nights they spent together, when she couldn’t tell where she ended and he began. She remembers every time he told her he loved her, and she remembers every time she said it back.

She falls asleep to Vera’s fluttering breaths, the sound of the lads and Connie in the front room and the hymns playing on the radio.

The world is cruel and cold, but through it all she finds moments like these, when the tightness in her chest is replaced by something light and hopeful.

She clings to that feeling because tomorrow she’ll wake up surrounded by her family, and Vera’s little face will light up when she sees the gifts they’ve been saving for her. Dinner with Robina Chase will be worth it for the moments Harry will get with his little girl, and in the evening she’ll come home and laugh herself silly over glasses of whisky with her brothers. 

For all the grief she remembers how he loved her. She’ll keep clinging to that feeling because Tom Bennett was hers, if only just for a moment.

Disclaimer: I only skimmed through the episodes that Tom wasn’t in and don’t actually know what Lois’ deal was, so I’m taking some creative liberties here.

Tags (comment to be added to either)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya

Series taglist: @hanula18 @azxulaa @whoknows333

#my fics #tom bennett #tom bennett fanfiction #tom bennett fanfic #world on fire #wof #world on fire bbc #world on fire season 2 #world on fire fanfiction #tom bennett x ofc #tom bennett x female reader #tom bennett x y/n #tom bennet x reader #ewan mitchell #tom bennett smut

[nicholasnelsons]

no because the “really? dating someone you rescued?” line keeps rotating in my brain like microwave popcorn because of how many times buck and eddie have rescued each other. their entire relationship is built on their first call when they said they would have each other’s backs. saving each other is their thing. whether it’s knocking down doors, climbing up ladders, digging in the mud, rolling under firetrucks, or literally anything else. eddie thinks he has time and buck thinks he has found himself after death, but they’re both so full of excuses when they both know exactly who saved them. we went through an entire season of heart metaphors, an entire season of death metaphors, and they’re so close to finding out that their family is the reason they keep going. the reason they love. the reason their hearts beat. the reason they fight. the reason they live. because if there’s one thing about buck and eddie, it’s that they rescued each other.

#this episode made me insane actually thanks for asking #911 spoilers #911 fox

[stormlex]

9-1-1 Main Cast (mostly) Near Death Experiences

Honestly this is mostly for me, I had completely forgotten about a lot of Hens near deaths and I keep bringing the conversation up with my brother so I wanted to make a list, enjoy :)

(Most to least deaths; Earliest to latest)

Evan "Buck" Buckley: Choked on bread (1x06), Ladder Truck Explosion (2x18), Pulmonary Embolism (3x01), Tsunami (3x02-03), Factory Fire (4x05), Lightning 🌩 (6x10)

Robert Wade "Bobby" Nash: Plane crash (1x04), Gun Shot (4x14), Dispatch Building Collapse (5x16), Bridge Collapse (6x18), Cruise Ship (7x02-03)

Edmundo "Eddie" Diaz: Afghanistan (3x15), Well Collapse (3x15), Sniper Shot (4x13-14), Bridge Collapse (6x18)

Howard "Chimney" Han: Rebar through skull (1x03), Stabbed by Doug (2x13), Jonah Psycho[HeartStopper 2] (5x17), Bridge Collapse [stabbed/impaled Again] (6x18)

Henrietta "Hen" Wilson: Under Collapsing High-rise (2x03), Tunnel Suffocation (Lone-Star 2x03)

Madeline "Maddie" Buckley: Abducted by Doug (2x14), Attempted Suicide (5x12)

Athena Grant: Nearly beat to death (3x17), Cruise Ship (7x02-03)

May Grant: Attempted Suicide/Drug Overdose (1x03), Dispatch Building collapse (5x16)

Karen Wilson: Lab explosion (6x06)

Christopher Diaz: Tsunami (3x02-03)

Harry Grant: Kidnapped (5x02-03)

Ravi Panikkar: None I love him he needs a Near Death Experience

Honorable Mentions!

Moments where they were in Danger or dangerous situations but didn't almost die

Buck: Ambulance Bomb; everyones favorite! (2x01), Train Crash (3x18), Crane Climb (4x14), Hostage :) (5x06), Drunk Car vs Bicycle (6x04), Bridge Collapse (6x18)

Eddie: Ambulance Bomb (2x01), Spiderman Routine (2x14), Hostage (5x06)

Bobby: Helicopter (5x01), Fight with Tanya's Killer (6x03)

Chim: Bomb Gossip Session (4x04), Drunk Driver Hostage (6x04)

Hen: Jonah Psycho Hostage(5x17), Bridge Collapse (6x18)

Maddie: Dispatch Hostage (3x14)

Athena: Chased/Chasing escaped serial rapist (5x03)

May: Boyfriends crazy roommate (6x08)

Ravi: Prison Break (5x06)

And That Is It! Most of these are based on memory that I double checked and I probably missed some. (I have not watched 7x02 yet)

I'm both surprised and not surprised by the amount Chim has, I am surprised about Bobby I did not think he had that many.

Lemme know if I missed any or your opinions on if there should be any switches between Honorable Mentions moments and full on Near Death! :)

#911 show #911 abc #evan buckley #bobby nash #eddie diaz #chimney han #hen wilson #maddie buckley #athena grant #may grant #christopher diaz #buck needs to calm down

[loserdiaz]

the water filled my lungs, I screamed so loud (but no one heard a thing)

buck/eddie | 6b spec fic | angst | 706 words

"Buck!" Eddie shrieks, yelling at the top of his lungs after watching it all unfold in the nightmare-ridden milliseconds. As he watches Buck fall.

The rainstorm is relentless, making the ladder wet and slippery and despite the ambulance lights and the flashlights from below— Eddie can barely see.

But Buck is hanging from the ladder truck.

Almost 100 feet in the air.

With no helmet.

The loud noise of the thunder is deafening, but still, it drifts away to the thundering of Eddie's own heart beating into his chest, roaring in his ears.

"Buck!" He screams but the blonde is unconscious, he thinks. He's hanging by his harness and dangling in the air— his body motionless.

Still—

Eddie sceams for him.

Usually, Eddie can keep his calm. He can force himself to take a step back and keep control in the midst of a crisis— He's a soldier, he's good at warzones.

But something about the clatter of Buck's helmet against the floor, something about the screams of their teammates below, something about the way Buck was basically hanging by a thread in between life and death.

Eddie loses all semblance of control and doesn't even think—

He just acts on impulse as he sprints up the ladder as fast as he can without slipping— his adrenaline pumping through his veins and kicking in full power.

Eddie is surprised by how fast he's climbing the ladder without stumbling but he doesn't stop. He can't stop.

He keeps going until he reaches Buck and grabs the man's harness, trying to pull him up.

The ladder is too slippery, the rain is too strong and Eddie ends up with his ribs digging against the steps and his arm aching from holding Buck's dead weight.

"Buck! Buck! Wake up!" Eddie screams so loud until his throat feels raw and his voice breaks. "Buck!"

Buck is unresponsive, his eyes are closed and he looks— He looks lifeless. Like every one of Eddie's worst nightmares coming to haunt him.

Eddie grunts and groans and his arms are starting to ache, but he won't give up. He won't! Because Buck never gives up, he's always fighting and pushing forward and after all these years, after all they've been through— The least Eddie can do is fight for Buck until he's able to do it himself.

The least Eddie can do, is save him.

After all the times Buck has saved him— in and out of the job.

“Buck! Come on!” Eddie begs, pleads, prays to anyone who's listening. He begs and prays for them to get out of this one alive. He grunts, as his exhausted body tries to pull Buck up. “Please!"

Eddie's entire body is clenching its muscles as he tries to pull Buck up but everytime he tries, the harness slides down more and more until it's almost slipping through his fingers. The gloves are not making anything easier but it's too late for Eddie to get them out.

Eddie is just shaking because of how fucking terrified he might drop Buck— that he might not be able to save the love of his life. That Eddie might not be strong enough this time.. Buck is heavier than he looks, and Eddie just—

His body is already hurting by the way Buck’s weight is anchoring him down so that the metal bars of the ladder dig painfully and uncomfortably against his ribs and chest.

And then—

He loses the battle.

He lets go.

"Evan!" He screams, almost a guttural and inhuman sound— like his very soul is living his body. Like his heart is falling just alongside Buck.

It is, if he's being honest.

He is powerless as he watches with horror and despair as Buck falls from the ladder and into the cold, hard pavement. As blood starts pooling from his head, the sickest shade of red tainting the street and washing away in seconds with the water.

He watches powerless as Hen and Chim make their very hardest to save Buck after Eddie failed.

He failed.

Guilt and a mix of emotions that are too strong and too overwhelming for him to decipher right now pool inside his stomach until he's dizzy and nauseous.

He failed Buck.

#so i just had this thought after seeing oliver's story #like imagine eddie trying to save him but failing #and so when buck ends up in a coma eddie is there everyday apologizing and consumed by guilt #even if he did everything he possibly could #eddie diaz #evan buckley #evan buck buckley #buck x eddie #buddie #buddie fic #buddie drabble #buddie ficlet #911 spec fic #911 speculation #coma buck #911 spoilers #911 season six #911 season 6 #my writing #april writes #911 fox #911 on fox

[steddie-fanfic-recs]

And Death Stands So Small In The Face Of Love

by writersagainstwritersblock

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington & The Party, Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler (past) Characters: Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington's Parents, Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley, Dustin Henderson, Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Lucas Sinclair, Mike Wheeler, Will Byers, Eleven | Jane Hopper, Nancy Wheeler, Jonathan Byers, Jim "Chief" Hopper, Joyce Byers Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Platonic Soulmates, Romantic Soulmates, Steve Harrington-centric, Steve Harrington Character Study, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington Needs Love, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington Loves The Party, The Party Loves Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents Words: 14,531 Chapters: 1/1

Summary

“I think I’m stuck.” Eddie laid his hand over the strings of his guitar to stop the cord, leaning over the edge of the bed to look down at him. “Metaphorically,” Steve clarified. “I’m gonna need a little more than that, baby.” Steve sighed, leaning back against the edge of the bed. “I don’t want to work minimum wage or climb the corporate ladder or whatever, I want… I want something that makes me feel the way you do when you’re on stage. I want to feel like it means something that I’m still kicking.” “What do you want to do?” “You’re gonna laugh.” “You planning on becoming a comedian?” “Eds.” “Stevie.” Soulmate AU where soulmarks don't turn until the person actually loves you, rather than upon meeting. Unturned marks are just ink until the person who loves you touches them and turns them into bright, colorful tattoos. Or a character study on Steve, the people he loves, and the people who love him.

#steddie #steddie fic rec #oneshot #10-25k #au soulmates

[extasiswings]

hold onto me

More 6x10/6B spec fic because I am going Through It.

Once upon a time, Christopher was afraid of storms. It was one of those things Eddie hadn’t known about his own kid, that he learned when Christopher climbed into bed with him in the middle of the night during a thunderstorm a few months after his discharge from the army and maybe a week after Shannon left them. He hadn’t been sleeping himself—the rolling thunder reminded him too much of gunfire—so he had been awake when Christopher curled in next to him and pulled the blankets over his head.

It’s too loud, Christopher had said when Eddie asked what was wrong, and Eddie certainly hadn’t been able to argue with that.

Chris grew out of it. His fear of storms. Nowadays, thunder and lightning are cool, and he’s learned to enjoy the little things, like sitting under a blanket with a cup of hot chocolate and reading a good book while rain batters against the windows of the house. Or a rainbow peeking through the clouds after a long, dreary spat.

Eddie wonders if that’ll change tonight. As soon as he walks through the door and tells his son that a storm put Buck in the hospital.

That Buck might not wake up.

That Eddie couldn’t save him.

He doesn’t want to say the words. In fact, he’s been standing in front of his own front door for at least ten minutes, unable to make himself take the last step of fitting his key in the lock and going inside.

He can’t. Because the second he opens the door, that’s it, it’s real, there’s no going back. And of course, it’s already real—Eddie saw it happen, he watched from the ground, entirely helpless to do anything as Buck was blown off the ladder by a lightning strike that left behind the lingering scent of ozone. He watched Buck hang there for what felt like hours but could only have been minutes. He felt Buck’s lack of pulse, performed CPR himself because the thought of letting someone else take over was unfathomable.

He begged Buck to open his eyes. But Buck hadn’t.

So, yes. Eddie knows it’s real. Technically. But it’s also the nightmare scenario. It’s not supposed to actually happen.

Eddie’s not supposed to have to have this conversation again. He’s not supposed to have to figure out how to tell his son that Buck is—

He cuts off the thought. Buck’s not dead. He’s not. It’s not the same.

Except, logic unhelpfully offers, this is almost worse, isn’t it?

Death is final. Shannon died. Telling Christopher had been one of the hardest things Eddie had ever had to do, but at least it was final. This is the furthest thing from certainty.

Buck could never wake up. Buck could wake up and be fine. Or Buck could wake up completely changed. He could wake up not even knowing them. He could wake up, but need constant care for the rest of his life. It feels like there are infinite possibilities, but hope is a fickle mistress and Eddie has learned not to rely on it.  Possibilities are both a gift and a curse.

A gift because they mean he might not actually have to break his son’s heart tonight. A curse because if that break just ends up delayed, it’ll hurt so much worse.

God, he can’t do this. Not again.

It’s no surprise that Eddie’s mind takes him back to the aftermath of the shooting.  When Buck came to see him in the hospital and suggested that maybe it would have been better for Christopher if he had been the one to get shot instead of Eddie.  Eddie hadn’t agreed with the sentiment then, and he certainly doesn’t agree with it now.

This is not better.  There is nothing about this situation that is better.  

But Eddie understands the sentiment more than ever now.  Because he would trade places with Buck in an instant as long as it meant Buck and Christopher would be okay.  

And they would be.  Eventually.  As long as they had each other, Eddie knows they could be okay without him.

He’s let Christopher down so many times, failed him in so many ways.  Buck, though—Eddie doesn’t think Buck understands that he’s Christopher’s hero.  Hell, he’s Eddie’s hero too.  How many times has Buck saved them both?

Christopher knows what it’s like to lose Eddie.  Just like he knew what it was like to lose Shannon.  He doesn’t know what it’s like to lose Buck.  And maybe it was naive of Eddie to think that he would never have to, but as much as risk is an inherent part of their jobs, he really did think—

You act like you’re expendable, but you’re wrong.

Buck has always been Buck’s own worst enemy, the biggest risk to his safety.  But Eddie had stopped that, hadn’t he?  Hadn’t he made Buck see that he couldn’t be reckless with himself?  Hadn’t he given Buck a reason to want to stay? To live?  To be with—

Lightning.  Really?  Who the hell gets struck by lightning?  What kind of freak accident is that?

Buck would know.  With all the random facts he keeps locked up in his head, he probably knows exactly how likely it is for someone to be the victim of a lightning strike.

Knew.

Knows.

All at once, Eddie’s no longer exhausted and subdued—he’s angry.  Angry in a way that he hasn’t felt in a long time, maybe ever.

“You son of a bitch,” he whispers, and it could be to God, the universe, maybe even a little to Buck himself.  Because what is it going to take?  How much loss can one person be expected to bear?  How much grief?  

He did the work.  He went to therapy.  He got all whole and healed and he was working on the rest, okay?  Working on the last bits he needed to work on to be ready, to stop being so afraid.

He thought he had time.  He was supposed to have more time.

Tomorrow isn’t promised to anyone, so if you love her, tell her.

A memory whispers in the back of Eddie’s mind, and a bitter laugh bubbles up in his throat, burning like acid.  Yeah, okay, so maybe he’s a hypocrite, sue him.  But whoever is running the show from the great beyond has a sick fucking sense of humor.  

Eddie scrubs his hands over his face and presses his forehead against the door.  

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and his heart skips a beat—he nearly fumbles the phone pulling it out to check the message.  Maybe Buck is—

But no.  It’s just Chim letting him know that Maddie convinced the night nurse to let her stay with Buck, but regular visiting hours start in the morning.

Clearly, the universe isn’t interested in doing Eddie any favors.

Which brings him back to the reason he’s still standing in the hall.

How is he supposed to tell Christopher?

Well.

He just has to do it, doesn’t he?  There isn’t another answer.  There’s no magical solution.

Just the truth.  

Taking a steadying breath, Eddie brings his keys up, turns the lock, and opens the door.  Crosses the rubicon.

Carla steps out of the kitchen, a smile on her lips that drops off the instant she sees his face.

“What’s wrong?”  She asks.  “What happened?”

Eddie shakes his head.  He can’t—he can only say it so many times.

“Is he asleep?”

“Yes.”

He closes his eyes.  Somehow that’s even worse.

“I think I have to wake him up.”  

“Eddie—”  Carla’s face has taken on a greyish tinge, but her voice is steady when she adds—  “I can stay.  If there’s somewhere else you need to be.”

For the briefest moment, Eddie wonders what would happen if he went back to the hospital now.  If he showed up at Buck’s room and cracked himself open, poured out the whole truth and begged Maddie—a woman he barely knows—to let him be the one to stay.  

He could do it.  Run away from this conversation that he doesn’t know how to have with Christopher and let Carla deliver the news and pick up the pieces.  It would be one of the most selfish things he’d ever done, but he could.  He could do it.  

But no, no, he really couldn’t.  This is his job and only his.  Just like how when their positions had been reversed, it had been Buck’s job.  It couldn’t be anyone else’s.  

“I’m exactly where I need to be,” Eddie replies, sounding steadier than he feels.  And with one more breath for strength, he steps into Christopher’s room.

It’s dark, quiet.  Eddie doesn’t turn on the main light—instead, he waits until he gets to the bed and sits on the edge of it before flicking on a lamp.  

Christopher doesn’t stir then, or when Eddie runs a gentle hand over his curls.  His breathing is deep and even and he looks so much younger than he is in sleep, without his glasses.  

Eddie’s eyes burn, a lump forming in his throat.

He can’t—

He has to.

“Christopher,” he rasps, shaking his shoulder lightly.  

Chris wrinkles his nose and slowly blinks his eyes open, squinting in the dim light through the haze of sleep.

“Dad?”

“Hey, kid.”  His voice cracks.  And his son changes in an instant, his focus sharpening, every line of him going tense and too still.  

“What happened to Buck?”  Christopher asks, seeing right into the heart of it.

“There was an accident.  He’s in the hospital.”

To his surprise, Chris laughs—a little shaky and tense, but still a laugh.  “Well that’s just—he’s fine though, right?  I mean, he’s been in the hospital before.  He’s always fine.”

There’s a pause that stretches a little too long when Eddie can’t find the words to respond.  And Christopher is the one to break it, his tone abruptly questioning, sharp, a little desperate.

“Right?  Dad?  He’s fine?”

And god, Eddie doesn’t think he has ever been in this kind of pain.  He would give anything, anything to make it go away.  For both of them.

“I don’t know,” Eddie admits, because he can’t lie, Christopher wouldn’t forgive him if he lied.  “It might be a while before we know anything.  I wish I could say more than that, I wish I could promise you that he’ll wake up tomorrow and be just like he always is, but I don’t know.”

And I don’t want to lie to you.

Christopher stares at the wall for a moment.  His lip quivers before he pulls it between his teeth.  But when he looks back to Eddie, his eyes are dry.  Strong.  Resolved.  

“He will be.  You’ll see.  It’s Buck.”

And of the two of them, Eddie’s the one who feels like crying.

“Yeah.  Yeah—it’s Buck.”

He just wishes he could convince himself that matters as much as Christopher believes it does.    

#chapel writes #911 spoilers #911 fic #eddie diaz

[captain-hen]

(wakes up in a cold sweat) something about the juxtaposition of "flying high/solid ground", and eddie not being there in buck's fantastical coma dream, but he's there in reality, for buck to go to and find comfort and solace in. something about buck indulging in a fascination around his death and life in the recent episode, but only having a painfully honest and vulnerable conversation about it with eddie. something about the fact that eddie climbed up that ladder to get to buck, but he was only able to save him by lowering him back to the ground.

#the beginning of this post isn't an exaggeration btw that is literally what happened i'm sooo normal about them #neethu speaks

[forever-rogue]

Autumn prompt 34 or 72 with Eddie please 🥺❤️

AN | It’s Eddie + apple picking and pumpkin patch and blind fools in love 🥰

Prompts Used | 72: “You’re  beautiful. uh, u-um i mean the weather. It’s beautiful. Not that you’re  not beautiful, because you are. I’m just gonna shut up.”

Warnings | Language

Pairing | Eddie x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 2.4k

Masterlist | Main, Eddie

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was fall - finally - after a hard spring and long summer. Your favorite time of year. And you were currently spending the day with your favorite person of all time. See one Eddie Munson. Not only your best friend, but the boy you’d been unrequitedly pining over for the better part of half a decade. If you were braver and more strong willed you’d have already told him how you felt, but instead you decided that your little secret would remain with you until you were long buried. There was no way he, Eddie Munson, felt the same way about you that you did about him. 

Today found the two of you apple picking, before going to the pumpkin patch later with the rest of your friends. You’d convinced Eddie to come and be the bearer of apples with the promise of delicious pies and pastries. Not that he really needed convincing; he would have done anything for you in a heartbeat. If you were clueless about his feelings towards you, then he was absolutely hopeless. It was funny - in a painstaking way - just how obvious the two of you were. Everyone could see it….everyone but either of you apparently.

“Edward,” you tugged on the arm of his red checked flannel, pulling him towards the tree you found that boasted the seemingly perfect apples. He made a small sound but quickly followed you, looking up to where you were pointing, “those are the ones. Look at those apples - they’re perfect!”

“And at the very top,” there was amusement in his voice as you turned to him with a smile as sweet as honey, “alright, little spidermonkey, you gonna climb up there and get the apples down?”

“Eddie,” you pouted before nudging the rickety old ladder with the toe of your boot. It probably would have been safer to just climb up the tree’s branches. He playfully groaned as you gave him the best doe eyes you could muster up, “you’d be my hero if you climbed and got them for me.”

“I thought I was already your hero…”

“You are,” you promised, putting a hand on his shoulder before leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek, “but you’ll be my hero even more. And think of all the delicious pies we can make!”

“I dunno…”

“Edward Munson,” you leaned in close and almost killed him with how easily you overwhelmed his senses. Your smell, soft and sweet and all you, combined with that beaming smile, and those pretty eyes were going to be the death of him, he just knew it. When you reached up and touched his face, gently swiping your thumb over his cheek, he was ready to melt into a puddle, “please, my sweet honey boy? Pretty please with cherries on top?”

“Fine,” he almost choked on the word as he slowly nodded, “how could I ever say no to you?”

“You don’t,” you grinned happily, “thank you, Eddie!”

He sighed dramatically before grabbing the aged, precarious ladder and leaning against the tree. You held the bucket for apples and gave it a little shake before you both giggled softly, “alright, princess, you gonna spot me in case I fall?”

“Of course,” you insisted with a small little salute, “I won’t ever let anything bad happen to you!”

You watched with bated breath as he climbed higher and higher, his long limbs were lithe as he quickly made it to where you’d spied the perfect apples. He carefully held himself up before looking down and giving you a little wave, “I made it!”

“Now just don’t fall,” you laughed at his playfulness as he began to pick a few of the fruits. He quickly realized the problem as he looked at the apples in his hands. You looked at the hard bottom of the bucket, concluding that if he just tossed them down they would just bruise, “umm…I think we have a problem.”

“I think I have a solution,” he held up the apple and displayed it to you, “I’ll toss them to you, one by one, and then you can put them into the bucket.”

“Okay,” you nodded. This was going to take a lot longer than if he’d just had the bucket with him or the apples you wanted weren’t at the very top. But, naturally, he’d done this for you, and of course he thought of a way to get you what you wanted, “sorry, Eds. I didn’t think this through, but thank you! It’ll be worth it!”

“Yeah, yeah,” there was no malice behind his teasing and he gently tossed you the first apple, “you’re lucky I love you!”

“I know!” your face flushed with warmth and you reminded yourself that he loved you like a friend, a best friend, but still…not romantically. But this was supposed to be a fun day and you weren’t going to let that bit of knowledge wear you down. Not now, not today, “I love you too, but hurry up! You’re already tempting fate by hanging up there!”

“For you,” he was grinning before tossing you another apple, “all these things I do for you!”

“I’m not forcing you to do anything,” you caught the next apple and gently laid it into the bucket, “you’re doing it out of love for me and for my pies.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” if you could only properly see his face right now, you’d know he was blushing profusely, a pretty shade of pastel pink covering his cheeks and nose, “there’s a whole treasure horde of apples on this branch! I’m going to toss them quickly, okay?”

“Be careful!”

“Don’t worry, I won’t hit your pretty face,” he peeked over the branch and shot you a wink as you just shook your head in amusement.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

After a little bit, and many tosses ater, you had a bucketful of the most juicy and delicious looking apples you could have asked for. These were going to be perfect for your baking and for a sweet treat. Before you had a chance to tell him you had enough, he swung down a few limbs before dropping the rest of the way and landing at your feet with a triumphant smile before bowing lightly. 

“My good sir,” you clapped lightly, grinning from ear to ear. You grabbed one of your spoils, quickly rubbing it clean on your sweater before taking a big bite. The juice was sweet with a tang and the texture was perfect. You held your hand out towards Eddie and he wrapped his long fingers around your wrist before bringing the apple to his mouth, taking a large bite out of his own, his eyes locked onto yours. There was a certain tenseness to the moment that you couldn’t quite place, but it should not have made you feel the way it did, “E-eddie.”

“Hmm?” he released his grip on you, an innocent expression on his face, but you knew damn well that he knew what he was doing, “something wrong, princess?”

“No,” you squeaked out as you looked at the apple in your hand. In order to prevent embarrassing yourself  further, you crunched off another large bite and slowly chewed it. 

“Whatever you say,” his smile was teasing as he glanced down at his watch, “we should get going - don’t want to be late to the patch and let everyone have fun without us!”

All you could do was look at him with big, wide doe eyes, nodding softly before trailing after him as he effortlessly carried the large bucket back to his van. Alright, he should definitely not be making you feel this way. Too bad you were hopelessly in love with him.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The drive to the pumpkin patch was quiet…which was extremely unusual for the two of you. Normally any drive would be filled with music or incessant chatter about something - anything - but today it was silent. It was like both of you were aware that you were on the precipice of something, but there was too much fear to push it any further. Instead you sat and angled your body towards the window and stared at the passing scenery. You could feel him looking in your direction every once in a while but pretended like you didn’t feel his intense gaze on you. 

“You alright?” he finally asked as he parked the van near Steve’s car, the corners of his mouth ticking up slightly. You finally allowed yourself to look at him and your heart almost stopped at the sight of him. He was always pretty, but there was something about the soft, golden light casting its glow behind him that almost killed you. And Eddie, the cheeky bastard that he was, reached over and gently touched your cheek. He was pushing and pushing and pushing, and he knew exactly what he was doing. He hoped you knew too. 

“Of course,” you feigned a smile before opening the door and slipping out of his reach, hoping he couldn’t hear how your heart was slamming against your ribcage, “why wouldn’t it be?”

“I dunno,” he slid out, and came to your side, “something feels…different. You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”

“‘course, Eds,” you waved off his concern as you started walking towards the crowded pumpkin patch. He skipped in front of you, walking backwards so he could watch you. The scene almost felt like it was out of some cheesy Hallmark movie, the orange and red leafed trees behind him, with golden light cutting through the gray skies, and soft smells of candy and caramel in the air. It was almost too perfect and made you want to turn around and run far away and pretend this afternoon hadn’t happened. 

“What’s on your mind?” of course he wouldn’t let it go. You should have known that; you knew your best friend better than that. You waved him off and pretended to focus on your footsteps but he just tutted at you.

“You’re beautiful,” you thought to yourself, knowing you’d never say those words out loud to him. He stopped suddenly and you hadn’t noticed until you walked directly into him, almost falling over in surprise, “shit, sorry!”

“What did you say?” His brown eyes were big and soft as a small smile spread across his face. You looked at him with a surprised expression before shrugging your shoulders, “what did you say before we stopped?”

What did you say? You hadn’t said…fuck. Oh no. Was it too late to turn around and run away? Because you were sorely tempted to.

“I…ugh…Uh , u-um I meant the weather. It’s beautiful,” you gave him a lame little smile, your entire face warming up as you looked anywhere but at him. You made a small sound, somewhere between disbelief and exasperation as he watched you in amusement. He was eating this right up. You bit the inside of your cheek and groaned lightly, “not that you’re not beautiful, because you are. And I…ugh, I-I’m just gonna shut up.”

“You think I’m beautiful?” and oh. The sound of his voice, so soft and timid, along with the look on his face made your embarrassment almost worth it. He wasn’t mad or freaking out, so…maybe he wasn’t upset by the revelation? You swallowed the lump in your throat before nodding softly, “if I’m beautiful, then you are the most gorgeous person in this universe - the whole galaxy.”

You weren’t quite sure what you had been expecting him to say…but it certainly wasn’t that. You opened and closed your mouth a few times in surprise before looking up at him and saw that his expression was just as nervous as you felt, “yeah?”

“Duh,” he stated simply with a small bob of his head that caused his messy waves to bounce, “‘course you are. Always have been and always will be.”

“Eddie-”

“You know what?” he asked more to himself than anything else while you watched him with curious eyes, “fuck it.”

Before you could ask what he meant, he gently took your face in his hands before crashing his lips onto yours. The sudden shift caught you by surprise, but it only took a few seconds before you realized what was going on and kissed him back, wrapping your arms around his waist. It was everything you’d ever imagined and more and when he pulled back he was beaming at you. How were you ever supposed to recover from that? From being knocked off your feet by your best friend kissing you?

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered softly as he tilted his head to the side like a puppy, “t-that’s what I had said.”

“I know,” he tenderly brushed his knuckles over your cheek as offered up a tentative smile, “wanna know something else?”

“Y-yes.”

“I’m in-”

“Munson!” Steve’s loud shout caused the two of you to jump apart as you looked down the path and found Steve, Robin, and the rest of your friends waving and waiting. Eddie cursed under his breath as you laughed lightly, reaching for his hand and giving it a squeeze, “we’ve been waiting! Stop sucking face! Took you both long enough to realize that you’re-”

“Harrington!” Eddie held up his hand and gave him the middle finger. 

“Come on!” Dustin perked up and you could see him softening as you grabbed his hand and started to walk back over. 

“Eds?” he fell into stride with you and laced his fingers through yours, “I’m in love with you too.”

“Oh. Wow….really?”

“Of course,” you promised with a quick kiss to his cheek, “swear it on all of those apples you picked for me today!”

“I love you too, princess. Fuck, I really do.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn x you

[exhuastedpigeon]

take my hand, don't let it go

Evan Buckley x Eddie Diaz 2.3k Teen In which Buck realizes that dating Natalia isn't what he needs and talks to Eddie about their shared death related trauma.

In retrospect, dating a death doula pretty soon after one of the most traumatic experiences of Buck’s life, an experience where he actually died, was maybe not Buck’s smartest decision. It was just that Natalia really seemed to understand what he was feeling, she thought it was interesting that he had died, not tragic. She didn’t treat him like he was fragile the way most of his friends and family were. 

His friends and family hadn’t come out and said they thought it was a bad idea, but there had been enough last minute cancellations when Buck had mentioned Natalia would be there that Buck got the memo. And at first that had frustrated Buck, but now he was starting to see that maybe it wasn’t the best move for his mental health. 

“So, my roommate googled you,” Natalia said one afternoon a few weeks after Buck delivered Connor and Kameron’s baby in his living room. Natalia had been a little weird about it, but given the circumstances, who wouldn’t have been. 

“Trying to find my firefighter calendar shoot?” Buck tried for a teasing tone, but he was pretty sure he missed the mark. Natalia didn’t seem to notice though. 

“Making sure you aren’t a murderer, I think,” Natalia shrugged and Buck was reminded that dating is very different for men. “I told her you weren’t, but she wanted to check.”

“Well, what’s the verdict,” Buck asked and Natalia grinned, showing him her phone. 

“She found some pretty cool stuff actually.” 

There was a photo on the screen that Buck had never seen before, probably because after the ladder truck bombing he had stopped googling himself. It was actually a series of photos, clearly taken out of an apartment window. They weren’t great quality, but he knew what he was looking at before Nat swiped from the first photo, one of a firefighter climbing a ladder in a rainstorm. 

Continue on Ao3

#Buddie #evan buckley x eddie diaz #eddie diaz x evan buckley #buddie 911 #buck x eddie #9-1-1 #911 #buddie fic #my writing

[canonicallyobserving911]

So glad it wasn’t just me who noticed the lack of Eddie in that promo 😑 and the only shots focused on him were like old footage from s2 and 3. None of his s5 breakdown or hostage situation badassery or May Day cool moments (like smashing the glass with the fire extinguisher), not even any of his sassy faces from s6. And not a single line of dialogue from him. My motivation to watch s7 dropped about 10 points. The shot of buck and death doula didn't help either 😑

Thank you @blutterlie for the ask.

I noticed the lack of Eddie immediately then I watched the promo again to make sure I didn't miss him but I realized I was right the first time. I was pissed they didn't include any of Eddie's badassery from all the seasons he's been on the show. Let's check notes on how Bad Ass Cool Under Pressure "Sexy Eddie Diaz" is for a minute.

First and foremost, Eddie Diaz is the best dad there is. He's been raising Chris and he sacrifices EVERYTHING for him!

He removed a live grenade from a man's leg and everyone who doesn't remember should realize EDDIE WAS GOING TO GO INTO THE AMBULANCE BY HIMSELF!

(I can't find the GIF I made of him doing the damn thing but if anyone wants to see it, they can watch 2x1 to see sexy Eddie do it because he's the one who KNEW THE ORDINANCE.)

The man was trapped in a well and swam to safety on his own while the team was above ground trying to figure out what to do to save him.

He was shot by a sniper.

He was held hostage by an escaped convict.

He had a mental breakdown and went to therapy to get better.

He climbed a 70-foot ladder to rescue Buck after he WAS CATAPULTED OFF THE BASE OF THE TRUCK WITHOUT BEING HARNESSED IN!

But the season 7 promo didn't include any of that.

What else does Eddie have to do to get some damn respect?

It was my main issue with season 6 and it looks like they're going to repeat history and it appears Past will be Prologue for them because they continue to ignore Eddie, Bobby and Chimney. They weren't in the promo that much either but you know who was, Buck's ridiculously short-term love interest ND who's been around for like 2 minutes. It's season 5 all over again, ND is the new TK and I'm not here for it.

They didn't even show Karen, Denny or that much of Ravi in the promo. Or Josh or Linda and these ARE ALL RECURRING CHARACTERS WHO'VE BEEN ON THE SHOW FOR YEARS!

I'm so sick of this BS. They never treat Eddie right and they've been sidelining him for too long. And for those who always holler, "Eddie had a big storyline in season 5" the amount of screen time he receives shouldn't have anything to do with that and if we're being HONEST, all of Eddie's scenes are made to be about Buck and his reaction to Eddie being hurt. Also, Eddie's scenes are usually crammed into the last 5 minutes of the episode and are rarely given the attention they deserve.

HE'S A MAIN CHARACTER BUT THEY KEEP SIDELINING HIM! But they sure don't have a problem giving Buck a lot of recurring characters for his gazillion storylines. Hell, he had 7 in season 6 alone but all they gave Eddie was some raggedy dating storyline and set him up with a chick who's more in love with her brother. 🙄

It would have been better if they would have included ONLY THE MAIN CAST AND LEFT ND OUT OF IT. SHE SHOULDN'T HAVE BEEN INCLUDED AND I'LL KEEP SCREAMING IT AND NO ONE IS GOING TO STOP ME!

FREE EDDIE DIAZ FROM 9-1-1'S RIDICULOUS SIDELINES AND GIVE HIM THE SCREEN TIME HE DESERVES.

Thanks again for the ask and I know my response is long but I'm still pissed off by the lack of Eddie Diaz in that damn promo.

#buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #911 on abc #911 abc #911 spoilers #911 speculation #911 meta #911 #Eddie Diaz is BAE! #eddie diaz character study 911 #christopher diaz #anti natalia #anti connor and kameron #anti taylor kelly #Canonically Observing 9-1-1 Speaks

[thekristen999]

✨2023 writing round-up✨

I enjoyed seeing @exhuastedpigeon 's write-up and thought I'd post mine :)

I wrote 97k words in 2023. Which is more than I thought! I struggled with finding time to be creative this year. My RL has been such a chaotic ball of stress. But things are getting better, and I think my Muse will be more exited to come out and play this year!

February

bro·ken 32k

This was my favorite story I wrote this year. It’s dark, gritty, and a deep exploration of what would have happened if Eddie and Buck hadn’t meet until the S3 timeline. With both guys at rock-bottom and how they find each other to heal.

.

bro·ken

adjective 1. having been fractured or damaged and no longer in one piece or in working order. 2. having given up all hope; despairing.

Forced to take shady side jobs to pay his bills, Evan Buckley doesn’t think he’s ever seen such rock bottom. Until he meets Eddie Diaz, a man even more desperate and alone. Season 3 AU.

March

Not Today 2k

A coda to the lightning strike that uses those events to explore Eddie’s encounters and emotional understanding of death.

.

Eddie propelled himself up the ladder, shutting off those parts of brain he refused to listen to, only focusing on how fast he could climb, how hard he tried pulling on Buck’s safety line, until finally, he gave in to the only logic he was willing to consider.

What Buck needed; Eddie couldn't provide.

(Eddie and his battles with death and dying)

We’ve Got Fun & Games  7k

I wrote humor? :) It was a great fun to have the 118-taking part in a mini version of the Amazing Race and all the shenanigans that follow during a contest across the city.

.

"Um. You trained for this?” Ravi asked.

Eddie released a long-suffering sigh. "We trained. Every day. For a month.”

Buck could not believe his ears. Did they not grasp the glory of the great adventure before them? He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “Running across the scorching plains of Africa, bolting down the steep steps of Shanghai, diving straight into synchronized swimming routines with Olympic athletes in Moscow. These are only a few obstacles we might encounter during…The Amazing Race."

Bobby frowned. "This is for charity.”

Buck spread out his arms to encompass the couple hundred people mingling around the park. "And it’s against all the other firehouses in the city. We do have a reputation to uphold."

April

Tick...Tick...Boom 3.6k

A very intense story on the dangers first responders face during a call gone wrong.

.

“Eddie,” Buck warned.

He started to say something else when the door cracked open.

A woman poked her head out, her voice shaking. “Yes?”

“Are you alright ma’am?” Eddie asked.

The question was rhetorical. Blood dripped down her chin from a busted lip, her puffy face framed by the beginnings of two black eyes.

“I’m fine. Is there, um…,” A shadow loomed. Her trembling hand gripped the door frame harder. “How can I help you, officers?”

“We’re with the L.A. Fire Department,” Eddie said, his voice calm. “We really need to come in. It’ll just take a moment.”

The woman glanced behind her, whispering, “I can’t…. I’m trying….”

The shadow retreated.

Eddie stuck his foot under the door, slowly pushing it open as he eased his way inside. “It’s okay. We’re here to help.”

May

We All Fall Down  3.5 k

I wanted more from the finale. Like the skeleton was there, but I needed more details and bit more logic.

.

He’d done this before. Inside the well. Trapped forty feet underground instead of in a tin can, rising water the constant threat.

Eddie stared at the radio, knowing this time there’d be someone on the other end to hear him if he needed to say something. If his time his second chances had finally run out.

He wouldn’t die alone. Not really. His team would be there. Just inches away. He could tell them, tell Buck….

(A nuanced re-working of the events of the episode to satisfy certain wants and needs)

August

Cutting The Ties That Bind 34.K M

I wrote something that wasn’t a hurt/comfort or an angst fest! It had lots of sexual tension, drama, and meaty plot. I love world-building.

.

Evan Buckley was a businessman, he had meetings and deadlines like everyone else. Sometimes he used intimation. While using the very same tactics he was trying to end while converting his family business into legitimate operations was a little hypocritical, it was the results that mattered.

Occasionally, he got threatened, but it was usually all hot air and ego. That all changed the day his breaks were tampered with. Enter Eddie Diaz, security specialist, who was not easily impressed by Buck’s expensive suits or financial conquests. That was okay. Buck enjoyed a challenge.

(The Mafia AU)

November

Follow You Into The Dark  14k

I had a need. I wanted to put both Eddie and Buck in the worst possible situation where they literally had to depend on the other in ways they had never before.

.

Buck kept a firm grip around Eddie’s arm as he was guided down hallways. They’d both experienced something like this before during the Academy: cadet’s exercises where both teammates were blindfolded and forced to depend on the other to escape burning buildings. This wasn’t unlike that experience, except of course this was real and Buck’s freaking eyes were swollen shut and Eddie was concussed and deaf.

(Or a serial arsonist terrorizes the city, plunging Buck and Eddie into a dangerous game of cat and mouse.)

#buddie #buddie fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 on abc #writing round up 2023 #kristen999writes

[edddimun]

Traitor

Eddie Munson x gn! reader

(not my gif)

Description: Eddie's sudden change of heart in the upside down results in you trying to save him from the demobats.

Warnings: BLOOD!, mentions of death, near-death experience (but NO DEATH), wounds, swearing, demobats, being in the upside down, ST4 plot (kinda?), MAINLY ANGST!

WC: 2040

A/N: I'm probably (?) going to make a pt.2 but idk how soon though. also excuse the mistakes in this bc I have barely proof read it 💔(I will fix them up soon)

PART 2 - 'Unconfessed yet reciprocated'

Your eyes meet Eddie's, but there was something off as you notice a change in his demeanour as he was attempting to lift himself back through the portal. He halts his ascent and looks at you with loving yet sorry eyes. It hit you like a brick, you knew what he was going to do.

"Don't you fucking do it,"You shout tearfully at Eddie, tears welling up in your eyes knowing he won’t listen to you.

Dustin realises Eddie’s intentions and starts shouting at him to come back. Eddie stays silent, looking back and forth between you and Dustin. But all Eddie could hear were the screeches of the bats and the banging of his trailer doors.

“Please. Eddie. Do it for me, please. Don't do it!" You sob as your tears quickly fall. Eddie's eyes glisten as he watches you cry hysterically. You were unsure of the cause of his sudden shift in heart and intentions. All you wanted was for him to listen and cross the portal.

“I’m sorry.”

He leaps off the rope and uses his homemade spear to cleanly slice it; pushing the mattress to stop you both from plunging back in.

“NO!” You and Dustin scream.

As you see his figure quickly leave your field of vision, you wail in despair and anguish. You knew Eddie was going to die. With tears streaming from his eyes, Dustin cries in desperation. The last thing he wanted was for any of his friends to die, especially Eddie. He recently got closer to him and enjoyed his comfort.

Your thoughts are already occupied with anxiety, to keep Eddie safe, you had to take action. You were aware that Eddie lacked the stamina and strength necessary to defeat the demobats. Eddie was only skilled at playing D&D and the guitar.

Guitar.

You didn’t have much experience with the guitar but Eddie’s taught you the ‘only’ metal song you like, ‘Iron Man’ by Black Sabbath.

“Stay here Dustin.”

“WHAT?” He shouts in response. He holds your wrist to stop you from doing whatever you’re thinking of doing.

“I have to do this for Eddie. Please,” you say trying to hold back your sob. Dustin's eyes crinkle as he starts crying. He's never been more terrified; he doesn't want to lose Eddie or you or both. However, he was aware that you wouldn't abandon Eddie, and Dustin would do the same if he were in your shoes. As he wipes his tears, Dustin releases his grip on your wrist.

“Just stay here okay?” You softly tell Dustin. He nods in response.

You look down into the portal and jump straight in, luckily not injuring yourself but only getting the air knocked out of your lungs. You quickly exit the trailer in an effort to find Eddie. Your eyes catch a glimpse of Eddie riding a bike as forcefully as he could away from the bats. You and Eddie were both in life-or-death situations, but you were willing to accept death if it meant saving Eddie.

You find the ladder on the side of the trailer and hurriedly climb on it. As your feet make it to the top, you find Eddie still biking but you see the struggle in the way his body is moving from side to side, that was until he got knocked off by the bats.

“No. No. No,” you whisper to yourself, you quickly find Eddie’s guitar that was laying down from when he played not too long ago. Putting the guitar strap over your shoulder, you see the bats starting to swarm around Eddie.

Your shoulders tense in fear. Your fingers fiddle against the strings before quickly shutting your eyes and strumming the first power chord as hard as you could.

"Come for me, assholes!" You shout with your whole chest as a few tears slip from your eyes. Eddie's head quickly turns to look in your direction. When he saw you standing on top of the trailer, his blood ran cold. The bats began to slow down around him as their focus shifted to you. Eddie's fear turned into rage. He put his life in danger so you wouldn't die, but now you're about to be demolished by bats.

You continue to painfully and powerfully strum the main riff of ‘Iron Man’ as you see the swarm of bats heading towards your way. Their screeches grow louder and louder. You were prepared to die at this point. There was no one who could save you, and there was no way out. You were doing this to save your friends and, more importantly, your love Eddie. You blissfully reminisce the unforgettable moments you shared with Eddie. Getting high, braiding his hair, cuddling him to sleep, and listening to him ramble on about D&D and Ozzy Osbourne. Though, these thoughts lasted less than two seconds before you were struck by a bat.

“NO!” Eddie's terrifying screams can be heard. You squeal in agonising pain, clutching your arm and letting the guitar dangle from your shoulder. You grab the guitar and hold it by the neck with all your strength, and despite the pain, you manage to hit a few bats with it before one wraps its tail around your neck.

You fall back and gasp for air. Your arm tries to rip the tail off your neck, but a sharp pain on your side stops you, then another in your calf. Your mind begins to blur as you watch a bat fly toward your face. You close your eyes waiting for the pain, but instead, you hear loud simultaneous wails and a thud. No longer feeling pressure around your neck, you start heavily gasping for air.  You open your eyes to see the bodies of the bats, presumed dead on the trailer's roof and on the grass. Pain immediately distracts your thoughts. You slowly raise your head and look down. You notice blood slowly oozing out of you and large patches of blood. Not as bad as you expected. Though you were still in bad shape, you observe a hole in your shirt and flesh ripped from your side. Looking down at your calve, all you see is a deep bite mark. At least, they didn't rip your flesh off. You touch your neck and don't feel any blood, but you do feel tenderness; thank goodness. You sit up and observe the dead bats.

“Y/n! Y/n!” Eddie desperately calls your name. He expected a pool of blood given the number of bats surrounding you, however, it wasn't as much as he expected, but it was still bad. He rushes up to you and notices the gaping gash on your torso and the bite on your calve. He breathes a sigh of relief. Although you were terribly injured, you were not going to die as a result of it. You stare at his eyes, which dart back and forth between your wounds before meeting yours. You were expecting at least some reassurance from Eddie but instead, you were met with his bitter words.

“What the fuck was that for?” He clenches his jaw and looks at you with rage in his eyes. Although you expected his rage, you did not expect it so soon.

His abrupt attitude surprised you. "I should be the one asking you that!" you scoff in the same enraged tone and look away for a second before returning your gaze to him. Your outburst tensed your stomach, triggering your wound. You grunt in pain, pressing your hand against the gash. Eddie notices your distress and unties the bandana from his head, wrapping it around your calve first. He then rips a piece of his shirt and wraps it around your torso, leaving him in an almost cropped hellfire shirt.

“Thanks,” you mutter as he finishes wrapping up your torso. Once he finishes his hands drop to his sides and then rub his face.

“You could’ve died,” he plainly states staring off into the distance. Your eyes then gaze down at your feet.

“You too.”

“Okay, but I needed to y/n. We needed to distract them from the othe-“

“I understand that but I don’t get why you had to do it alone when I could’v-“

“Stop!” Eddie harshly interrupts, now staring at you. You both sit in silence as anger starts bubbling in you.

“Stop what Eddie?! Stop telling you the truth that could have saved your life? You-you could’ve- no you WERE going to die if I didn’t help!” Tears are already falling from your eyes, the sob in your throat being released as you recall the moment of him leaving you and Dustin.

You continue through your cries, “I was about to w-watch your death!”

“Don’t act like I wasn’t going to watch yours!” Eddie shouts at you. He'd never shouted at you, but tears were already streaming down his cheeks.

His mouth quivers, “I thought I watched you die! I watched you fall and I couldn’t see your figure anymore by the number of bats circling your body on top of that trailer!”

You avoid his gaze and stay silent.

“You’re lucky you’re alive,” he whispers as his voice trembles. He grabs your arm and puts it around his shoulder, lifting you up.

Somehow he was able to get you down the ladder and through the portal after comforting Dustin who was weeping to himself rocking back and forth.

As you and Eddie made it through the portal, there was a silence between all of you. Dustin felt this tension but didn’t question it, instead, he tended to you and Eddie’s wounds.

“This is going to hurt okay?” Dustin cautions you as he holds the antiseptic wipe in his hand. You take a deep breath in and nod. Dustin starts wiping your wound, you throw your head against the couch and squeeze your eyes shut. You groan in pain as the stinging continues to grow. Dustin finishes you up and applies a new bandage on you.

“Okay you’re up next,” Dustin turns around and faces Eddie.

“I’ll do it myself,” he replies annoyed.

“Um I don’t think tha-“

“I said I’ll do it myself,” Eddie’s voice rises as he interrupts Dustin.

“Just let the boy do it, Eddie. He knows what he’s doing,” you reply in a vicious tone, annoyed at Eddie’s attitude. You don’t get why he kept denying Dustin’s help when he literally needed it. This was the first time you and Eddie talked to each other since on top of the trailer.

“Who are you to say that?” Eddie questions you.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Did you know what you were doing back there?”

Oh, he got on your last nerve. He took all of your patience away. You both were glaring intensely at each other. After everything that happened, he did not show any sympathy or grace after saving his life but instead he’s mad at you for it?

“What the fuck are you on Munson?” You bitterly ask as your back lifts off the couch.

You continue, “Actually, I did know what I was doing. I was saving your fucking life. But now you’re getting mad at me when you’re the one who left us?” You were so red from the anger you had within you.

You let out a small chuckle, “I-I didn’t want you to die but you’re making me feel like I’m the one at fault here. Don’t get me wrong Eddie, I will never regret saving your life, but it’s like you want me to.”

“So go fuck yourself, Munson.”

You stand up and storm off limping into his room and shutting his door with a loud bang. You sit on a stool beside his bed frame letting all the tears out, just wondering why he wasn’t grateful for you saving his life.

#eddie munson imagines #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #stranger things fic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x gn reader #angst #stranger things angst #eddie munson drabbles #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x reader angst #stranger things x y/n #eddie munson yn