#don’t come for me i don’t know the difference between a hen house and a chicken coop it’s the same to me
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i'm rereading copper and wool and did you ever say what christians anniversary gift was for toto 🤔
okay okay SO! this is so funny, a few weeks ago the first person ever (shoutout to FallingStar on ao3) actually guessed right! it's sheep! to me it was so obvious (copper and wool etc) but looking back now, it really wasn't. so christian's anniversary gift is sheep lol.
when i wrote it i was actually planning a tiny little sequel but I abandoned it and now it's collecting dust on my desktop. that being said, i’ll put it here (unbeta-d first draft) for those who might want to read it!
“No. No chance.” “C’mon, be a good sport.” “Nein,” Toto says, trying hard to hide his smirk. “I will not let you blindfold me.”
“What if I were to take you upstairs?” “Are you?” “No.” “Then no,” Toto laughs, a little exasperated, and tries to pull away from Christian’s insisting hands.
“C’mon, darling,” Christian tries again, a wide grin lighting up his features. “You know it’s the standard protocol for surprises.”
“I don’t trust you,” Toto just says and turns away from Christian and the tie in his hands to put the water filter back in the fridge. “Fuck you.” Christian laughs in retaliation and swats the tie at him. “At least close your eyes then.”
Toto sighs heavily and turns back to Christian, propping one hand up on the kitchen counter. “Are you serious?” “Entirely.” Christian knows he’s won when Toto sighs once more in exasperation and rakes a hand through his hair.
“But don’t make me fall,” he instructs. “Or walk me into things. I’m very important.” Christian rolls his eyes. “I know you are. Now, c’mon. Close your eyes. We don’t have all day.” “We don’t?”
But Toto does close his eyes after all and stretches his hands out to curl them around Christian’s hips. As Christian starts walking, he says, “Y’know, if you would’ve gone for the tie, I might’ve taken you to the bedroom after.”
Toto snorts. “If you want me to tie you up and blindfold you, just ask,” he offers with a devilish little smirk and Christian is glad he’s got his eyes closed. Something to consider. “Maybe later.” He’s aiming for nonchalant, but he knows Toto sees right through him anyway.
When they step out onto the patio, Toto pulls up his shoulders and frowns. “Are we outside?” “Yes.” “Why?” “Can you not just let me do this for five minutes?” Christian asks, exasperated. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
Toto does shut up after that, but it’s mainly because he’s concentrating hard on not tripping and falling when trailing after Christian.
It’s been a few days since their return from Miami and this is the first lull in both their schedules, both of them home early, so frankly, Christian saw an opportunity and took it. Not that he thinks it would have made a huge difference to wait another day or two. Toto hasn’t set a foot anywhere but the chicken coop in a good week, so the probability of him finding out about this is hilariously low. It does make Christian question the whole idea somewhat, but it’s too late now anyway. Still, the Carrera on his left wrist weighs a little heavier than usual.
Toto trips once they reach the gravel path leading further into the grounds and digs his hands into the fleshy bit of Christian’s hips to catch himself. He grunts, stumbles, and Christian can’t help but crack a laugh. “Careful there,” he offers. “Gravel.” He pats Toto’s left hand and then keeps his palm there.
“You are supposed to guide me,” Toto complains, and he already sounds like he’s enjoying this much less than only a minute ago. “You are making me fall on purpose.”
“I’m not.” Christian rolls his eyes towards the sky but keeps moving. “Not everything I do is to antagonise you, darling. Now stop whining.”
Toto does not stop whining because of course he doesn’t. He’s very vocal about how stupid this whole thing is all the way past the chickens, the goats and the donkeys, the pen closest to the house, past their two old ponies, Jacky and Jim, which they had adopted on a whim from the farmer up the road.
For a moment, Christian is contemplating whether he should just push Toto into the pond to humble him. A while ago a bunch of ducks moved in and don’t seem to want to leave again. Christian has grown quite fond of them. More often than not he finds them with the chickens now or waddling around the farm.
“Are we—Is that ducks? Is that the ducks?” Toto has picked up on the distinct flapping of their wings, affronted at the unusual intrusion of their privacy. Christian chuckles at the drake side eying them and pulls Toto further down the path towards the folding. It’s the one attached to the barn at the outskirts of their main property, and Christian had chosen it mainly because it was the one Toto would be least likely to walk into unprompted.
“Almost there,” he says and takes one of Toto’s hands in his so navigating the uneven grounds becomes a little easier. “Should have put on wellies,” he ponders, as he eyes the meadow, the grass long and wet. It’s perfect for the sheep but not exactly ideal for Toto’s dress shoes. They’re Italian leather.
“What?” Toto makes a sound as the damp grass hits his ankles and Christian’s smirk widens. “Christian, you should’ve told me! My boots were right there! These are Italian leather!”
He knows. “I know.” He pulls Toto along. Surprisingly, despite his bitching and moaning, he keeps his eyes closed. “Might have to throw them out later. Shame.” He’ll make sure to keep Toto out here long enough for them to be soaked through and ruined.
Toto makes another sound, displeased, but Christian can see how hard he’s trying to bite down on his exasperated amusement. Toto’s about to throw a comment back at him when a loud “Baaaaa” cuts him off. “What was that?” Toto pulls himself up a little taller. The sheep must’ve spotted them because there’s another string of agreeable bleating. “Christian, what is that?”
They stop at the fence and Toto, still with his eyes closed, sways a little, gripping Christian’s hand to regain his balance. “Christian.”
“Jesus, yes.” Now that he’s looking at the flock of sheep, all huddled together and warily observing Christian and Toto at the fence, he’s not sure if this wasn’t a silly idea.
He’d come up with it when Toto had one night jokingly suggested they should get sheep.
“Sheep?” “Yeah.” “Do you know how much bloody work sheep are, darling? We can barely keep up with the animals we’ve collected so far! We’re lucky we’ve got Johnny to help us out.” Toto had just laughed and kissed his shoulder and let it go, but then, on a trip to Austria last year, Toto had told him how he’d seen a herd of very specific Austrian sheep every time he’d visited his gran in the countryside and how they reminded him of the better times of his childhood. When Christian started thinking about potential anniversary gifts, it was too perfect to just let go. He couldn’t for the life of him remember the breed Toto had mentioned, but the more he’d looked into it, the more he’d realised that while Austrian sheep are very durable and sturdy, they would probably do less well in the mellow British countryside of Oxfordshire, and so he’d decided on British breeds instead. In the end, he’d just gone for one that looked adorable and was easy enough to maintain. With the accumulation of random animals they already had running around the farm, it wouldn’t make much of a difference anyway. They wouldn’t be using them for wool farming or that, so might as well have them be nice to look at.
The longer he looks at them now, Toto impatient at his side, still holding his hand, the heavier the watch on his wrist feels. Christian isn’t one for huge gestures or anniversary gifts, but somehow things this year felt different. It hasn’t even been a year since Singapore. It still follows them around, the consequences of that day, shadowy and washed out, but he can still feel it, and so can Toto. Christian is just glad they’re still here. They made it to seven years, and beyond, and for whatever bloody reason he thought a flock of seven sheep would be ideal to celebrate an anniversary centred around wool.
“Christian, there’s water in my shoes,” Toto informs him, and Christian turns his head and grins at his city husband, still blind, the corners of his mouth tweaked down.
“That’s a shame,” he says, “You can open your eyes now.”
Toto does so immediately. He blinks, frowns up at the grey sky, rubs at his eyes with the hand that isn’t still holding Christian’s. Christian lets go to lean against the wooden fence instead.
There is a brief pause. Then, “Christian?” “Yes, darling.” “What am I looking at.” Christian turns to Toto with his eyebrows twitching. As if it wasn’t obvious. “Your anniversary gift!” Toto’s eyes go a little wider as he looks back at the flock of sheep, a huddle of white fleece and black eyes. “What?”
“I told you, your gift was waiting at home.”
“You got me… sheep?”
“Well, us, I guess. But yeah.”
“Seven sheep?”
“Well, first of all, Johnny said no less than five.” Christian is getting a little flustered now and so he blusters on in full pretentious confidence of a Formula 1 team principal defending a Max overtake that no one in good conscience should defend. “And so I wanted to get six, but then I thought, well that doesn’t make any sense, does it, when it’s our seven year anniversary and the theme I’m going with is wool. So I got seven. And they’re a family! The two little ones were only born a few weeks ago. I didn’t want to take them from their mothers.” He pulls his shoulders down a little to straighten his back and keeps looking at the sheep to avoid having to look at his husband. “Plus, you were banging on about wanting sheep.”
“You remembered that? That was ages ago.”
“So?”
“Christian.” Toto’s voice is soft in a way it only ever is when he’s about to say something disarming. “Darling. I—” And then he just wraps himself around Christian from behind, chin hooked over his shoulder and nosing Christian’s cheek. “You said they are too much work.”
“Well, you said you wanted them so—” “How do you manage to outdo me every time?” Toto’s voice is awfully quiet. “I really thought I nailed it this year.” Christian breathes a laugh, half of it in relief that he, against better judgement, didn’t mess this up. “You know I love my watch,” he tells Toto, fingers brushing the warmed leather hugging his wrist. “And this isn’t a competition. You got copper, I got wool. Sorted.”
“I can’t believe you got me sheep,” Toto says again. His voice is a little higher than usual, his accent catching on the vowels, making the words come out hitched.
“Well, look,” Christian grabs one of the large hands wrapped around his torso and covers it with his own. “It’s not just—Sure, you said you wanted sheep, but—Look, I know you’re not a farm boy, okay? You’re very much a child from the city and I know you say you love our home, but I want you to feel it, too, I want you to feel at home here and not just come along for the ride and agree to everything I say. Especially after last year, I want this place to be our sanctuary, and if it takes bloody sheep because you said you wanted them, then so be it. There’s your sheep.”
Toto’s smile widens, Christian can feel it pressed to his cheek, and he can feel the pleased little hum too, reverberating down his spine. Toto’s hold around him tightens fractionally. “I feel very at home, darling. You know that, ja? I don’t need sheep for that. Mostly I need you.”
Christian closes his eyes on a deep breath, and sinking further into Toto’s chest he says, “We can put them with the rest of the lot soon. They’ll need another few days or so, until they’re settled in, and then we can move them in with the others.”
“We’ll need a sheep dog now.”
Christian barks a laugh, lets his head thump against Toto’s shoulder in defeat. “Yeah, no, Bernie and Flav won’t do, will they? Lazy little buggers.” “It’s because you feed them at the table.” “Hey, you started that! Flav, with those puppy eyes and you just—Don’t think I don’t know you cut him up steak when I’m not looking!” Toto’s silent laughter comes in short puffs of breath against the skin of Christian’s neck. “No no no no,” he feels the need to clarify even though they both know it’s the truth. “You feed them too, don’t lie.” Christian tries to stifle a smirk. “They are a tad overweight, aren’t they?” “The vet said, last time,” Toto reminds him. “We need to work them harder, or cut out the food.” Christian hums. “It might be time for a third. A puppy will work them alright.” He coughs a laugh, already regretting this, and adds, “Might as well get a cow or two while we’re at it. Not like it matters now.”
“What are we going to call them?” Toto suddenly asks, lifting his chin from Christian’s shoulder to regard the sheep more closely.
“Well, we gotta stick to the theme.” Christian’s mouth lifts into a smirk. “So you better get creative.”
“It’s my turn, isn’t it?” Toto asks. “My sheep, my turn.” “Toto, I swear, if you’re going to name them something stupid—” “You named the donkeys and now I have to call them Max and Daniel!” Christian’s protest dissipates into thin air. “Well, it works, they’re good names.” “Yes, and now it’s my turn.” “Just remember, it’s mostly ewes. One ram, the big one, the rest is ewes, and the two lambs are one of each.” “…ewes?” “Female sheep, darling. So I want no Lewis running around, or George, or whoever you’re already thinking of.” “No,” Toto hums thoughtfully. “Lewis is a goat, not a sheep.”
It's so stupid, it has Christian crack a well-earned laugh.
And bonus (cause I couldn’t work this in):
“You know, they’re like… designer sheep.” “They’re what? Designer sheep?” “Yeah, well, look, we’re not going to use them for breeding, or wool, or meat, are we, so they’re… you know. Nice to look at. Sheep we can keep as pets, more or less. They’re still a durable breed, just. Also nice to look at.”
Toto laughs at him for an hour after that.
Here are said sheep!
“They look a little like donkeys, don’t they?” “You think?” “Ja.” “Well, they’re not, they’re sheep. Kerry Hill.” “Kerry who? Have you named them already?” “What? No, that’s the breed, darling. They’re Kerry Hill sheep. They’re from Wales.” “So basically foreigners, yes? We should give them foreign names. International.” Toto grins at him, then he adds, “We should give them German names you can’t pronounce.”
#this is so stupid lol#this is literally just a rough first draft so bear with#it’s the same twenty words i always use#i have no idea if this even makes sense. probably not i won’t lie i skimmed it once and shrugged#also i know fuck all about farming ok#don’t come for me i don’t know the difference between a hen house and a chicken coop it’s the same to me#and!#shoutout to FallingStar on ao3! they’re the only one who figured it out!!!#(i know i promised i’d name the sheep but i never got there lol sorry!!!)#also i can’t quite remember but i think discord saw this first? it was ages ago but sending love <3<3<3#toto wolff#christian horner#seven years#christian/toto
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my dearest rennnnnn, whaaat if you did a combination of soft prompts; 22. reunion hug and 37. ‘I missed you’ <333
Hi Amy ily please enjoy this little piece of clothes thief Eddie fic <3
[Read on AO3]
They argue about it on Sunday night, bitter and low so they don’t wake the kids.
“Why does it have to be you?” Eddie asks, and he knows it’s not fair, he knows, but he can’t help the words. Can’t help the way he wants to tug on the thread that ties them together, tug Buck right into his arms and hold him, hold him, hold him.
“Why shouldn’t it be me?” Buck throws back, and it doesn’t mean the same thing it used to—it has to be me so it isn’t anybody else—but something that is harder to argue with: why shouldn’t it be me, when it has to be someone? when everyone else will be taking the same risks? when you’d do the same thing, if you could? when we’ve both done it before?
Eddie wants to argue that it’s different now. That they’re married now. That they have kids now. But it’s not like they’re the only ones. It’s not like Hen wasn’t married with a kid when she went to Texas with them. Not like Eddie didn’t have Chris to think about then as well. Not like any number of other firefighters aren’t in exactly the same situation, a lot of them without even the luxury of choice about being out there in the thick of it.
“I don’t want you to go,” is all he has to say. It’s not enough, not a reason, but if he could tear open his chest and rip out his beating heart to give Buck a reason to stay, he would.
The fight drains out of Buck’s shoulders first, slumping, then the rest of him. He closes the distance between them and pulls Eddie into a hug, holding tight.
“I know,” he murmurs against Eddie’s hair. “I’m sorry.”
But he doesn’t say he’ll stay.
Eddie doesn’t ask him to again.
****
The temperature in LA sits above ninety for a week straight. Most days, it pushes past ninety-five, the nights barely cooling down before the sun rises again and the heat rises with it. It’s far too hot for wearing layers or long-sleeves, but four days after Buck leaves to fight wildfires in Northern California, Eddie finds himself turning the A/C down a few degrees so the house is cold enough to justify pulling one of his husband’s hoodies out of the closet and putting it on, even if it’s only for a few hours.
“You’re moping, dad,” Christopher informs him at the dinner table, halfway to an eye roll. Only halfway, despite being well into his teenage years, because Eddie knows that he’s missing Buck as well. That he’s worried about Buck as well.
“I’m not moping,” Eddie tells him, even though they both know he kind of is. “Eat your broccoli.”
Christopher does roll his eyes that time, but he also eats the broccoli, so. A win for parenting. Eddie isn’t above counting even the smallest of victories there.
Isaac isn’t old enough yet to really understand where his dad has gone, or what he’s doing. He sits in front of the TV and talks to the news anchors as easily as he does to his cartoons, but it’s all just moving pictures. To his three year old mind, the wildfires are just on the TV. Eddie is torn between sheltering his kid and bracing for the possibility that the next time his phone rings, it will be someone telling him that he needs to explain to his sons why one of their dads is never coming home again.
“Buck will be fine,” Maddie Buckley tells him, sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee while Jee-Yun entertains her younger cousin with a puzzle in the living room.
Eddie wants to believe her. He wants to believe everyone who has said some variation of those words to him since the call for volunteers went out and Buck’s hand went up, but—
“How do you know?”
There’s something in the way Maddie smiles that makes her look like Buck. Somehow, even after a decade of knowing her, it surprises Eddie every time he sees it.
“He has to be fine,” she answers simply. “He knows he has to be.”
He knows he has to come home, she means. And Eddie already knew that, he did, but—it helps, hearing the conviction in someone else’s voice as well, even if they are both lying to themselves about how much control anyone, even someone as stubborn as Buck, can have over a wildfire. He hugs Maddie extra tight at the door before she leaves, and she doesn’t ask why, just hugs him back just as tight, both of them holding, holding, holding.
It’s too hot for layers or long sleeves, but Eddie sleeps in one of his husband’s t-shirts every night, closing his eyes and hugging Buck’s pillow to his chest, and lying to himself about how much it helps.
****
The heatwave has finally broken when Buck calls, ten days after leaving, and the first thing he says is, “I think I’ll be home soon.”
It’s another three days, though, before it actually happens. Eddie is stuck at work, driving everyone crazy with the anticipation crawling under his skin as he watches the clock tick down the last twelve hours of their shift. There’s a text on his phone from Carla: a photo of Buck kneeling on the floor, bag at his feet like he just came through the door, one arm around Chris and the other around Isaac. And another text from Buck, timestamped a few minutes later: I love you, I’ll see you when you get home.
“Go,” Bobby says, when the clock hits seven-thirty the next morning.
Eddie hesitates. “We still have half an hour—”
“Go,” the captain repeats. “Give Buck a hug from all of us too. Tell him you’re all coming to dinner at our place tomorrow night.”
Eddie stays just long enough to hug Bobby, quick and hard, and he doesn’t even bother changing before he grabs his bag and leaves the station.
****
The house is quiet when he lets himself in. Eddie toes his shoes off and drops his work bag in the laundry, then eases open bedroom doors to check on first Chris, then Isaac, both sleeping peacefully. He closes the doors as gently as he opened them, socked feet silent on the floorboards as he moves towards the master bedroom. Anticipation makes his fingers tingle as he reaches for the doorknob, a tiny part of him sure that he’s going to open it and find nothing but an empty bed. There’s the photo from Carla, and the text from Buck, and the phone call before his flight home, the text when he landed in LA—but that tiny part of Eddie’s brain can’t quite believe it until he pushes open the door and finds his husband sleeping on the other side.
He’s smiling wide enough to make his cheeks ache before he has even stepped into the room. Jeans and shirt are stripped quickly, and he should really shower since he didn’t do it at the station, but Eddie can’t think of anything except slipping under the covers on his side of the bed and getting his hands on Buck, whole and warm and alive.
“Hi,” he whispers, when Buck stirs under his touch, mumbling sleepily. “I missed you.”
Buck is smiling back at him before his eyes are fully open, blinking past the bleariness of sleep to bring Eddie into focus.
“Hi,” he echoes, fuzzy around the edges. “I missed you too.”
Eddie runs a hand up his side, half a welfare check, and pushes back his hair, cupping the back of Buck’s head as he leans in to kiss him. It’s not meant to be anything more than a gentle greeting, but Buck makes a sound in the back of his throat, aching and desperate, and pulls Eddie back in when he starts lean away.
They don’t surface for a long time.
Long enough that there is movement somewhere in the house—probably Chris, half-awake and hungry—and Eddie rolls quickly out of bed to lock the door before any children come looking for them, while Buck laughs at him from the bed.
“I haven’t seen you in two weeks, Eds,” he says, grinning, “locking the door should have been the first thing you did.”
Eddie finds a pair of boxers on the floor and throws them at him, but there’s a giddy kind of laughter bubbling in his chest as well; one part adrenaline from the race to the door, most parts joy at having Buck back and laughing in their bed.
“I was a little distracted,” he reminds Buck. “I haven’t seen my husband in two weeks, remember?”
He crawls back onto the bed and Buck pulls him in, stitching them together at every point, holding just for the sake of holding. Eddie kisses him again, because he can, on the lips and the tip of his nose and the pink smudge over his eyebrow.
“I love you,” he says quietly, so close Buck will be able to feel the words against this skin. He wants to say please don’t leave me to fight wildfires again but he doesn’t. Can’t. If it’s something Buck feels like he needs to do again, Eddie can’t be the person who stands in his way.
Buck smiles, fingers tracing the lines of Eddie’s face; the dark smudges under his eyes, the dimple in his cheek, the scar barely visible at the edge of his hairline.
“I love you too,” he replies, just as soft, and Eddie feels the warmth of the words against his skin.
There’s a distant clatter, the sound of pots or pans in the kitchen, and they both wait, listening, but there is no call for help. There is more clattering, but it’s the controlled kind, an everyday cooking kind of noise, and Eddie guesses Chris is going to rope them into making pancakes any minute with a cajoling, see dad, I already got out everything we need.
They’ve got a minute before that happens though. Maybe two, or three, or four. Eddie closes his eyes, breathing in the scent of Buck’s shampoo and something else he must be imagining, something smokey and faintly sweet like young wood. It can’t be real, he knows Buck will have washed his hair at least three times before he even got to the airport, the same way he does after a house fire, scrubbing every inch of skin until the smell of fire is gone. He wouldn’t have hugged the kids until he was sure he didn’t smell like wildfire anymore, but Eddie still imagines he can smell it.
Those words are still sitting on the tip of his tongue—please don’t leave me again—but he swallows them back.
“We should get up,” Buck says, but he doesn’t move.
Eddie hums, half agreement, and holds him closer. “In a minute.” Or two, or three, or four. “We’ve got time.”
Buck’s arm is warm over his waist, his chest rising and falling slowly, his heart beating steady against Eddie’s. So much better than a pillow, or a sleep shirt, or a hoodie. Eddie takes a deep breath, breathing it all in, and for the first time in two weeks he holds, and holds, and holds.
Wrapped around him, the thread between them so tangled that Eddie can’t be sure where it begins and ends, Buck takes his own deep breath, breathing it all in, and hugs back just as tight.
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Rural
Date: 231110
Warnings: SMUT 🔞, general fucking, fingering
Pairing: Baekhyun x F. Reader
WC: 4k
NOTE: Story 3 of Theme BAMBI. This is a soft one.
Masterlist
¤¤
Some days blue, some days grey, the mountains roll in the distance. Even when you get as far as farm country they lie farther still. Silent and never changing - a mystery that lends solace.
Between them and here lies all you’ve seen in the world, but from the home where you grew up surrounded by golden fields and wind rushing through corn stalks to where you now live, on a very quiet edge of a very small town, it doesn’t seem so bad. In fact, with a little more than a modest salary you could save some each month and visit one of those big cities the ladies at the cafe are always talking about with so much shock and fascination…but it’ll keep.
If anything, what you would consider these days is a tour based on temperature; anywhere where it’s not scorching before the clock has struck eleven.
Scorching.
Scorching…
“Rats..!”
Sticking the pin in the paper haphazardly you run down from upstairs to the kitchen, knowing you’ll be met by smoke billowing out from the oven - but you’re not. Saying a prayer of please, please, please, you grab a mitten, open the oven and pull out the cobbler.
“Thank god..!”, you sigh, relieved to see you haven’t ruined the afternoon goodies you’ve promised Ms. Ethel to bring round before work.
Peering into the oven you see the culprit, a classic: edibles from a previous use turning into charcoal.
“All in a day’s work”, you mumble to yourself, scraping the burnt piece away.
°
“Oh, you hadn’t forgotten about me”, Ms. Ethel chirps as soon as she opens the door.
“It’s not that late, is it?”
“Not for an old hen like me, but you ought to be on your way already. Or are you taking the day off?”
“The week’s just started, Ms. Ethel, I don’t need to rest just yet”, you smile at her on your way to the kitchen. “I’ll be on time. Either way, Ida has a key as well and I don’t suspect they’ll be breaking down the door on a Tuesday. Now, what do you think? Presentable?"
“I think the ladies will be fighting over it. I’m fighting myself right now”, she laughs, smacking her lips.
“Go on, have a bite. It’s best fresh outta the oven.”
“And serve a cobbler with a gaping hole in it? Oh, the jokes would never end, sweet girl.”
“Come now, Ms. Ethel. You don’t serve it whole. Cut it into pieces before they come and they’ll never know the difference.”
“M-hm… Well, the cook knows best… I still have some coffee in the pot, it’ll go fine with a bit of sweet.”
“Go sit down, I’ll bring it.”
Having survived her husband of fifty-three years, Ms. Ethel is going on her seventh year alone. She says she isn’t lonely, and you reckon she mostly isn’t because she keeps herself busy with a visit here, a trip there all throughout her weeks, but nonetheless spending every morning with someone for fifty years is a habit you don’t wean off easily and that’s why you try to stop at hers a few days a week, to make sure. Suppose it is also for your own benefit. With your folks out on the countryside she’s become like a relative of sorts and being around her, doing little chores to alleviate her burden, is comforting.
Sometimes - like right now - seeing her sitting by the window, half smiling with curlers in her hair, she’s so cute it breaks your heart. You don’t know why exactly. It just does. But coffee and cake won’t wait for no one, so you snap out of it and join her in the living room.
“Here you go. Give me your most- second most honest opinion.”
“You never disappoint. If these hands of mine were still working proper I’d tell the ladies I was the baker.”
Lifting her spoon in cheers, she winks before eating it, and since it’s rude to wait for an evaluation you look out the window. Her view is almost the exact same as from your own, barring the houses farther down the street being visible here. You could tell the day was heating up fast on your way over, and the cat resting under the neighbour's tree tells the same story. A car breaks first the silence then your view; your heart skips. Shielded by the angle and speed, the frame is gone in the blink of an eye, but that's all you need - the tan arm, checkered shirt rolled up, holding the steering wheel of that red truck, is his.
“Mm!”, Ms. Ethel exclaims, bringing you back. “Sweet and deep just like I like it!”
¤
You’re a capable woman. A business owner - albeit small - making and mending clothes, paying rent on time, handling salary and meetings with your accountant by yourself. Even got your own house and home. But one hint of him and you turn silly. Knowing Baekhyun’s in town rattles your brain and instead of solely focusing on the job at hand you’re preoccupied with thoughts of how to see him. Should you head over to Joe’s pretending to need some electrical advice and hope Baekhyun’s stopped in to buy some new tools? Or the grocery store? The diner? You don’t want to be too obvious and get the folks talking - so maybe it’s best to stay put? Look as if you’re only minding your own and hope he’ll stop by and say hello. But what if he doesn’t? If you occupy yourself with something in the front part of the store, say fixing the mannequins or do a bit of sweeping you might see him across the road. Of course, one waves in such a situation - and of course, he’d be encouraged to come over…
This ridiculous merry-go-round occurs every time he's in town. Only a few times have you missed each other, be it because you were tending to a customer while he was loading up his truck or you stepping out just before he came in looking to buy a set of assorted buttons you know he didn't need.
Oh, but why is he such a fool? There have been times you know he’s on the verge of taking a step towards confessing, but being interrupted or simply not quite finding the courage he’d held his tongue. He’d smile and chuckle, squeeze the fedora in his hands before saying goodbye with a hint of sadness.
And while neither of you said anything it could be weeks before you saw each other again and sometimes you'd imagine that next time he wouldn't be alone. How uncomfortably the pit in your stomach sits when you think he might’ve been set up with a “nice girl” from there and you’ll find out about it on a regular day like this. Like the day the little bell over the door chimed, announcing his entry - accompanied by a woman you didn't recognise. He must have seen it then. How your stomach churned, making you too sick to even greet her with a smile. You knew it was all over, too late, on account of your own cowardice. And he must have seen how vigour was breathed back in your body when he explained how the woman had merely asked for directions; a visitor driving through town finding herself in need of a seamstress due to an unfortunate rip of her trouser leg.
Sometimes you acknowledge that driving the matter forward can't fall solely on him. After all, everything you've gained since you were seventeen has been by your own efforts and decisions. You've lived precisely as you've wanted to - with courage. So why is this so difficult..? If it were to end up a fiasco you'd barely see him anyway, right?
Right!
But if it did end up a fiasco you'd still be wretchedly in love with him. Not giving him a chance to say yes also means he can't say no.
°
You saw him way across the street but of course put on a smaller act of coming out to give your little café set in front a wipe with a cloth - just in case.
"Hiya, Byun..! How's that crop 'o yours surviving..!", Humphrey, owner of a small shop for tinkers to the far left of you, jovially shouts.
"They're hanging in there, Mr. Thomas..!", Baekhyun calls back to him. When his head is turned a thin veil of sweat on the back of his neck glistens in the sun, carrying down the way under his shirt collar. Sympathizing with his situation of doing manual labour in this heat, you think how uncomfortably warm it must be under both flannel and undershirt. Before you're aware, the thought that he must have that film of sweat over his shoulders and chest comes into your mind. If his skin was touching yours…
"I'm sure your fabrics are doing fine as ever in spite of the sun?"
"Oh… yes. I guess I picked a good product", you smile, certain a flush is branding your cheeks, that he knows what you were thinking just now.
"You have a long drive home, let me get you something to drink. Sit."
Going to the back of the store to fetch a bottle you take a quick look in the mirror and can determine your facial colour hasn't undergone any dramatic change. Thank you.
On your way back you stop for a second, mesmerized by the way Baekhyun wafts his hat in hope of some alleviation. The awning has gotten him away from direct sunlight but the heat is so pressing it's only a marginal change. He looks up from his seat when he hears the click and fizzle, and humbly accepts the bottle of Nehi soda. Gulping half of it down in one go he exhales loudly, the way all of us do after drinking carbonated drinks and tips the bottle in your direction.
“You're a lifesaver.”
“It's just a soda on a hot summer's day… So, are they? Your crop hanging in there alright?”
When it comes to Baekhyun, you're terrible at smalltalk, but luckily he doesn't seem to notice or leastways not mind.
“I’m not in any peril just yet. I upgraded my irrigation system last season. Cost me a penny, but it's been worth it. You know how-” Stopping, he chuckles and knits his brows. “I'm sure this isn't the least interesting for you.”
“No… But it's all French to me…”
“Well, then, how's your folks doing? I think it's been a while since I saw their car passing out there. They move?”
“They're still out there. But my father took a tumble, so they've been staying in. On account of his leg.”
“Oh, that doesn't sound too good. Has he been to the doctor's?”
“Mm. It's broken. I'm going over on Friday to stay the weekend, do some work around there. If the buses start going again, that is…”
“I can give you a lift.”
And just like that, an opportunity like no other opened up.
“I’m sure you’re busy, I wouldn’t like to put you–”
“I always have time for you.”
°
To say your mind has been preoccupied elsewhere this Friday is an understatement. At times it seemed like time wasn't moving quickly enough. Other times it was moving too fast, no doubt a result of nerves. It was a tiny, white lie you told Ida about having tons to do before you depart and therefore would be locking up early, but she didn't mind either way - an extra few hours of weekend is nothing to complain about.
The tons you had to do was to give in to vanity; change into a fresh dress, dab some powder on your face. The lipstick stayed in the drawer - you don't want to be too obvious. And not fully admitting it even to yourself, if Baekhyun sees you put some effort into it he might not wish to smud- anyway, your folks would wonder about the pageantry.
You can’t help wondering if he really was planning on coming up here or if he made it up. Of course he didn’t make it up; driving all that way just for you? Maybe he would. He said he always has time for you.
“I always have time for you…"
Such butterflies go through your body when you think back on how he said it, so matter-of-factly, and you promise yourself that, if he doesn’t take the first step today, as the sun is your witness, you will.
You were ready forty minutes ahead of time and after sitting on the hallway chair for ten minutes you got so restless that you decided to step over to Ms. Ethel's. It was actually a good thing since she'd just done the laundry and hanging it to dry gave you something to do as well as it unburdened her.
You've learned to recognise the sound of his engine after all this time so he doesn't have to come into view for you to know.
"That will be your lift then?", Ms. Ethel asks when she sees your reaction.
"Seems it is. You're alright, nothing else you need? Trash to take out?"
"Go on, I'll make due. Say why isn't Mr. Byun married yet? A fine gentleman like him ought to have a wife, don't you think?" She's not blind. Her eyes twinkle when she opens the door and continues "Mm. And a fine woman like you should have a husband…"
You want to confirm what she already knows, share your secret, but now is not the time so you simply swat your hand smile.
"I'll see you Monday, Ms. Ethel.”
°
If smalltalk is one of your weaker points, then smalltalk around a subject is weaker still. All throughout the hour-long drive you spoke about this and that. Mostly memories from when you were growing up, the difficulties of Baekhyun having a different background than most, why you left, why he stayed and so on, but in the back of your head you tried to find an “in”, as they say. Some way to get talking about the two of you, but whichever line you had seemed contrived, and plainly put: you were too scared. But when he offered to lend your parents a book about irrigation and new gadgets, you jumped at the chance, deciding that following him in under the guise of wanting to have a look at the old place, would create the perfect moment to tell him. Away from the road and him having to concentrate on driving was best anyway.
You take a few steps before realizing it's raining. Calling it rain is almost an overstatement. It's what you refer to as god's flower mister; rain so fine it feels like someone is using a giant sprayer from up above.
Baekhyun leaves the door open so you walk in, curious to see if it's stayed the same. It mostly has. Maybe a new kitchen table or sofa, you don't remember that well. It's only a minute until he's back with the book and it's too soon. You can't even find anything unnecessary to say, some remark about the place.
“Do you want to have a look around?” He's awkward and fidgety. He's thinking the same thing as you are. “It's all the same, but…”
You're on the verge of doing it. Right there, with a lump in your throat. He must know what you're thinking.
“Oh, okay. Well, then I think I know it already.”
You turn around and grab the doorknob, your lungs tight and pulling. Say it. Say it, say it, tell him! You know you can't do it. A coward.
It's over…
"Wait."
Baekhyun's hand goes to the door. Tentativeness like never before is painted on his face. You dare not move and ruin the delicate momentum. Sliding from the door to the knob, he takes your hand, holding it with the utmost tenderness…then bends forward and presses his mouth onto yours. A whirr goes round your head. His lips are so soft. Moving back he considers your expression then leans forward again, sighing out his relief just before your lips touch. Parting yours, you let your tongue slide onto, under his, feeling his hands gently close around your waist. This elation might not be emotional - if you were to look down you might see your feet hovering an inch off the floor, so wholly does the weight off your shoulders and happiness in your heart feel.
During a moment's breath, Baekhyun glances at the stairs - a Freudian slip of the eye or a question? Either way you do the same then allow him to take your hand and lead you upstairs.
It's just a short walk but nervousness, giddiness, impatience all fit in there.
The room doesn't look like you remember it from growing up, when it belonged to his folks, but neither does it seem like he's taken an earnest interest in the decor, not minding a frill on the curtains or flower pattern on the bedlinen.
It's really happening.
Amidst the softness of his lips you can't help noticing the fumbling of his hands against your neckline.
"I'm a klutz", he laughs shyly, leaving the dress buttons to you.
All of a sudden you become vulnerable. While getting undressed in the course of kissing follows a natural flow, taking your own clothes off with eyes wide open leaves you exposed and becomes somewhat of a revealing of your body. But you gather Baekhyun feels the same way, slightly turning as he does, to put his own garments on a chair. When the undershirt pulls up along his back you can't help pausing; his lean muscles are a testament to years of physical labour and carry on over his shoulders, arms and his torso. In front of you he's turned from the sweet man to infinitely alluring.
Oh…
You're glad that he's the one to remove your bra. After he's pushed the straps from your shoulders you let it fall to the rug beneath and his fingers whisper over your back; biding his time, perhaps waiting for courage.
Then, you feel the touch of his palm as he puts it to your breast, as lightly as if you were made of glass, but daring to put some pressure on it once your lips meet again. Taking a few steps forward he carefully steers you to the bed where he pulls the covers aside for you to get in.
The hairs on his legs against yours with none, the press of his stomach on yours. Him. Stroking hair from your brow, he studies your face with warmth then smiles.
"I guess you've known for some time that I love you."
You take a deep breath, trembling because finally, it's been said. You nod, pull his head closer.
Under your fingers you feel the muscles on his back contract and relax with his small movements. By his fingers the hem of your underwear slips down to be taken off completely when you raise your hips. When he latches his thumbs under his own you're shy to look, as if being attracted to that part of him is shameful, but you are. He's hard, swaying, when he lies back down. Further opening your legs, he guides himself to your entrance amidst showering you with his lush lips; a hint of salt and imagined earth.
On your slick coating he slides the head in with ease, distributing buzzes and whirls as moves.
"Uh……." His soft sigh over your face is a treasure. Pushing further in each time until completely lodged he whispers "Tell me if I'm going too fast."
His elbows frame you in and props him up, leaving only his stomach against yours as he softly claps with his groin.
Allowing you to sneak through with your arms you put your hands on the small of his back, feeling the billowing from below.
Pushing your leg up, he thrusts faster, resting his head on your shoulder so that his hair tickles your cheek. The gentle hums and moans are replaced by heavy exhales and short groans while he's coming closer to climaxing. Your insides swirl and twinkle. The evening hour doesn't matter - in this heat, sweat accumulates between your rocking bodies and mixes with the damp smell of a weathered house.
Panting hard, the quiver in his voice giving it all away, the clapping eventually turns irregular and unbridled, ending with his orgasm.
His heartbeat is on fire - yours is too - and the heat feels strong enough to burn your chest, but even with the desperation for oxygen, his weight on top of you is a rapture unmatched.
Looking at his hands intertwined with yours you're struck by how well he's managed to keep them decently gentlemanlike in spite of his work. He's been perfectly still for some time now. Since he managed the mammoth task of moving his body to lay behind you. Just as you start listening for sounds of snoozing his nose feathers across your back, then he kisses the same place and unclasps his hands. Propping himself on the elbow, he puts his head against your arm and moves his hand over your stomach.
"Do you think you'd like it if I…"
You feel silly not understanding what he means, especially if he's embarrassed to say the words, but you can't do anything other than wait for him. He huffs, bites his bottom lip and rolls you onto your back.
"If I…touched you…" Seeing the perplexion in your face he quickly wants to reassure you "We don't have to, it's okay. If you don't like-"
"No, it's not…" Truth is, in your limited experience with men, none of them ever did or asked to do something like it, so you don't know what it would be like if someone else did it. But you feel like you want him to. "I, um…"
The words wedge in your throat, but he understands you perfectly by the touch on his arm. Placing a dollop of saliva on two fingers, he lets them disappear under the sheet.
"Ah-h…"
You can't help catching your breath when you feel his fingertips run softly over your clit. Slowly lowering his face, he envelops your lips with his, pushing them in sync with his delicate movements. Up and down he caresses, then gathers some more liquid from below and rubs his fingers quickly from side to side.
Turning into the pillow, Baekhyun's face hovers over your side with anticipation so strong it's felt in his breath against your cheek. The whirr intensifies, coming up to the surface, your backside and thighs go tense, you press your hand on mattress, open your mouth…and just then the dam bursts, spilling over electric magic between your legs, inside you, while you shake and try to smother your whines.
Baekhyun groans mutedly and repeatedly places kisses on the side of your face as he draws big circles with the new fluids.
You find him sitting on the patio, watching the sun between clouds in pinks and lilacs. There's not a sound except the grasshoppers so you almost don't want to go out for fear of disturbing this picture. The patio flooring is damp under your feet and only a tiny squeak here and there is heard, save from the swish of the blanket you've wrapped yourself in. Looking your way, he takes a deep breath and opens his arms for you.
“Hi there.”
“Can I ask you…”, you say, playing with his hair. “Why did you look so sad right before you kissed me? Surely you already knew?”
“But I didn't know. I thought. Suspected. So I thought, if I'm wrong and you turn me away, this might be the last time I see you.”
“But you're happy now. Right?”
“Mm. All I want is you and me.”
Looking at the sun you can tell what time it is, so you sigh.
“I think we have to get going…”
Finding his way under the blanket, his hands gently caress your waist, breast. Cupping your face, he presses his lips onto yours.
“Once more before I take you..?”
●
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you say god give me a choice
6x04 coda
buck doesn’t mean to not tell eddie about connor’s request. it just—doesn’t come up, and then it doesn’t come up, and doesn’t come up, and then they’re on eddie’s back porch talking about christopher skipping science club, and he still hasn’t told eddie, and every time he tries to form the words his mouth refuses to cooperate.
eddie’s got enough on his plate already, he tells himself.
eddie never has to know, he tells himself.
once i’ve made the donation no one ever has to know, he tells himself, and every new thought feels more like an excuse than the last one.
he doesn’t mean to keep it from eddie, he just never actually tells him.
a week later, a week after he’s promised connor and kameron that he’ll help them have a baby, he’s sitting on eddie’s back porch with words stuck in his throat again. but they’re different, this time.
because it’s been a week, and it feels like every five minutes he changes his mind. every five minutes he picks up his phone and scrolls to connor’s number, thumb hovering over call until he sighs and tosses the phone to the side.
every five minutes he ends up doing nothing, because—he’d promised. he’d said yes. he’d said absolutely. and that’s not something he can take back, even if every time he closes his eyes he hears hen’s voice saying are you capable of being a father and walking away?
and at the time he’d thought yes, but the doubts keep creeping in.
you’ll probably get christmas cards, hen had said. connor and kameron live in LA, so he’d be close by—close, but not present. he’s pretty sure sperm donors don’t get invited to football games, or dance recitals, or band concerts. sperm donors don’t get to see a kid’s first steps or hear their first words or watch in wonder as a kid outgrows five sets of clothes in a year.
he’d be in LA, knowing that somewhere on the other side of town, a kid with his DNA is growing up and becoming a person that has nothing to do with him. it might look like him, even, but that would be the end of it.
and he’d told connor and kameron he doesn’t know what he wants out of life, but it had been a lie. because he knows. he’s always known, for as long as he can remember—he wants a family. a partner and a kid or three, maybe a dog, the big house filled with light and laughter and the white picket fence, all of it. he wants the kind of life where the house is always warm when he steps inside and someone is always happy to see him come home.
he wants it so badly he can’t bear to think about it, sometimes. can’t look directly at it, avoids poking at it like he’d avoid a bruise. it feels further from his grasp than it has in years, so—what’s the point? what’s the point of thinking about all the things he might never have?
what’s the point of telling anyone?
connor and kameron want the same thing, and they’re one sperm sample away from achieving it. buck knows what it’s like to yearn for it, and he doesn’t want to be the thing that stands in their way.
but—he thinks about hen’s question, and every time he remembers it the answer gets closer to no, but—
every time he thinks about calling connor to take it back, he remembers connor standing in his kitchen looking up at him all guileless and full of conviction.
we couldn’t know if they’d be a good person, he’d said. i know that about you.
and that’s where buck gets tripped up again, because—
“what does it mean to be a good person?” he asks, the question finally spilling out after untold minutes of hiding behind his his uvula and the spaces between his teeth.
“big question, buck,” eddie says, cocking his head in thought and taking a sip of his beer. “any context on that?”
he could tell eddie. he could let the whole thing come spilling out, could let eddie look at him in that fondly exasperated way he does sometimes and then repeat everything back to him, only in a way that makes sense. he could let eddie tell him what to do, or what he should do, but—
eddie would have questions, and if buck answered he’d be getting far too close to all the other bruises he never dares to touch.
so—“no context,” he murmurs, taking a sip of his own. “just wondering.”
“there’s that thing people say,” eddie says, slow like he’s still thinking about his answer. “that if you worry about being a bad person, you probably aren’t. that only good people are concerned about being a good person.”
“is that all there is?” buck asks. “like—if you’re not a bad person, then you’re good? all you have to do is just not be shitty?”
“i don’t know, man,” eddie says, tipping his head back to look at the sky. “i guess you just try to do the right thing.”
“how do you know what the right thing is?” buck asks, and eddie turns to frown at him.
“you sure there’s no context?” eddie asks, and once again the words are on the tip of buck’s tongue.
he swallows them.
“yeah, i’m sure,” he says, draining the rest of his beer. “don’t worry about it.”
because he doesn’t need to tell eddie. he doesn’t need eddie to tell him what to do. he already has—good people do the right thing.
and buck’s parents never gave much of a crap about it, but maddie raised him right. buck might not always know what the right thing is, but he’s pretty sure that keeping his word and helping a friend are both pretty high up there.
so he’s going to do the right thing.
even if it kills him.
tags under the cut / lmk if you want to be added or removed
@cowboydiaz @kitkatpancakestack @alex1424 @elvensorceress @imstillatherestaurant @dancer-me @himbodiaz @prettyboyandthekid @queerpanikkar @eddiediazisascorpio @douglaspiggott @buckupbuttercup @arrenemris @bybuckley @ghosthunterbuck @babytrapperdiaz @alimartins @messyhairdiaz @deafgaynerd @princessbb @evandiaz @dickley-buddie @vilanaxxa @afoldintime @rajalagang @goldenretrieverfirefighters @cm1031sr @gaydisasterdiaz @spookiestdiaz
#911fic#911 6x04#911 spoilers #shush emma#emma writes#her name is kameron with a k in the transcripts don’t @ me
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Between Heaven and Earth: Chapter Three
a/n: Trying out shorter chapters, for the sake of editing and pacing.
Before the breach, Eren’s biggest opponents were childhood bullies who picked on him or Armin, and the occasional doubter of the Scouting Legion’s potential. Whereas his mother was against the idea of his enlistment from the beginning, his father suggested he could become a field medic. After all, there were more ways to help humanity than killing Titans. A lesser evil, no doubt posed for his mother’s sake. To Eren, it was better than disapproval.
Once Mikasa came to live with their family, she took the spot next to Eren’s bed in the loft. She was so quiet, if Eren hadn’t gotten to know her so well he’d have assumed she was only shy. But she looked out for him in the same way he did Armin, like the sister he’d never had. Sure, she could be a little stubborn and overprotective, chiding him for picking fights he couldn’t win, but Eren never loathed her for it. She was just keeping him on the straight and narrow, same as he’d do for her or Armin or anyone important.
That afternoon they spent chopping wood. Mikasa was pretty good at it, having grown up in the countryside. Armin couldn’t keep the same pace with the axe, too nervous of the potential for harm. He’d struggle to carry home the amount of wood as Eren, though he never complained about it. When Eren offered to help him, though, Armin would snap that he was fine, that he didn’t need to be worried after.
Eren didn’t get it. He wasn’t worrying after Armin, anyone could see that he was struggling, but that just made it worse. So he gave Armin his space, for the sake of their friendship. Eren didn’t mind bringing Mikasa along. If Armin felt differently, he didn’t say.
On the way back, they passed by a couple Garrison soldiers playing cards. Mister Hannes wasn’t at his post to-day. Probably blotto.
“She’s part of the family,” Eren said.
“Yeah,” the Garrison soldier said, “we heard about what happened. You’ve got the luck of the Devil.”
Eren shrugged. “I’d do it again.”
The men shared a laugh, more to themselves.
Mikasa said nothing for a while. Moving on, the usual silence between them felt different. When she asked, “Why the Scouting Legion?” Eren hesitated. Armin had made him swear not to tell anyone about his grandfather’s theories. Not even his mother and father would speak of it.
“Can you keep a secret?”
Mikasa nodded.
Eren turned down a side-street, away from prying eyes. “ Because there must be a world beyond these Walls,” he said. “Just like the Titans. We don’t know where they come from or how they’re created, so it stands to reason we must not know about what’s on the other side of the Walls. Once the Titans are eradicated, we can take back what was stolen from humanity.”
“How can you be sure it’s true?”
Eren shrugged her off. “What does that matter if I’m sure or not? It’s our right to see what’s out there.”
Mikasa frowned slightly. “What’s out there?”
“Armin told me,” he said quietly. “His grandfather knows a lot of things about the outside world. He has books from the world outside the Walls. But his family could get in a lot of trouble if anyone finds out. They’ll say he’s spreading misinformation.”
Mikasa nodded. She readjusted the scarf. She never went a day without it. His mother would’ve chastised her by now.
“You should wash it,” he said, “before you wear it out.”
“I know,” she muttered. “It just reminds me of you.”
Eren said, “Why does that matter?”
Mikasa wouldn’t talk to him. She wouldn’t explain what he’d done to upset her, either.
When they got back to the house and his mother asked how they’d been, Mikasa parroted his statement about the Scouting Regiment.
“Yes,” his mother said dryly, “I’ve yet to change his mind.”
Eren shot Mikasa a look. Was she still upset? Or just playing mother hen? What did she know about the Scouting Legion, anyway?
“The Garrison is already overcrowded,” Eren said. “And the Military Police is corrupt, they'd sooner sit on their asses then fix anything.”
“The military just want to boost their numbers,” his mother said. “They've been working on their slogans to make up for it.”
Eren scowled at the pile of lumber he'd brought in. Mikasa's eyes rested on the side of his neck.
“They’re doing the job that no one else can,” he said. “It’s more than the Garrison have done.”
The plate slipped from his mother’s hands and shattered against the floor. Mikasa flinched. Eren did not.
“The Scouting Legion,” his mother said, in a tight voice, “has taken more lives campaigning for a suicide mission than the plague did. If that’s what your heart is set on, you might as well just throw your life away.”
“We’re no better than livestock then. Why have a military at all?”
“Better to be livestock then carrion,” his mother said.
Even then, Eren couldn't muster any real animosity beyond childish frustration. She was saying it to protect him, the only way she knew. She'd lived her whole life inside the Walls and never questioned what she was told. She’d grown too comfortable, hunkered down in this house, wasting away.
While Eren took out his feelings on the washboard and laundry, Mikasa stayed behind to help his mother with dinner. Usually Eren would be the one pitching in, but with two equally stubborn people living under the same roof, they’d get into another argument if they didn’t cool off first. Besides, his mother had taken kindly to Mikasa. She probably appreciated the extra help.
After dinner, his mother took him aside. Eren was bracing himself for another lecture about humanity’s sake not being his burden, and how he should at least try to think about his future rather than an ideal. But all she asked about was Mikasa’s change in mood.
“Oh, well, I said she ought to wash the scarf before she wore it out. And she said it reminded her of me, which doesn’t change what I said. It’s her scarf now. She can wear it if she wants to, it’s just going to get dirty is all.”
His mother sighed. “Eren, I don’t think she’s unaware.”
Eren averted his eyes. “I reckon that I hurt her feelings.”
“She told me about the day you found her. It’s a nice memory,” his mother said. “Perhaps one of the few memories she has of that day. Sometimes, when people are grieving, they’ll act in ways that might seem a little strange. Just give her some time to adjust. I’m sure she’ll wash the scarf.”
“Right,” he said. He was about to apologise for their fight, but his mother had a habit of shrugging the topic off when it came to the military. So he wouldn’t bring it up anymore, at least not while she was present. Five years was a long time away from conscription.
As he got ready for bed, Mikasa was sitting by the window with the dying flame of a candlewick. The view wasn’t much. From the belltower, you’d be able to see all the way to the river that ran through Shiganshina. But here, you couldn’t even see over the Wall, though that wasn’t much to write home about either.
“It’s a nice view,” Mikasa said. “Even with all these buildings in the way. It’s a lot of roofs.”
Eren huffed. “I guess I never really thought about it that way.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “About those Garrison men. I shouldn’t have talked so much about what happened.”
Mikasa looked at him oddly. “Why not?”
“Because—it’s none of their business.”
“All they need to know is that I live with your family now, after my parents died. Otherwise it would be a little odd.”
“Why would that be odd?”
She shrugged. “Because I had to come from somewhere. Unless Doctor Jaeger kidnaps children in his spare time, which isn’t likely. But that doesn’t mean it’s impossible either. Maybe that’s why he’s gone for such a long period of time.”
Eren snorted. “You’re being silly.”
The corner of her mouth turned. “But he could be harbouring secrets we don’t know about. How do you really know he’s going where he says?”
Eren shook his head. “He’s just working in the next town over. Mister Hannes and the other Garrison soldiers know him. Captain Shadis, as well, so they’d know if he wasn’t where he said.”
“Shadis?”
“That’s right, I never told you. Captain Shadis is in the Scouting Legion.”
“Did your father ever join?”
“No, he’s just a regular doctor. I used to think he’d be a field medic at least.”
The candle snuffed out with the breeze. Eren hiked his shoulders up to disguise a shiver. Mikasa went to close the shutters and he said, “I’m sorry for what I said, about the scarf.”
Mikasa paused. “It’s all right.”
⁂
Between the evening of Wall Maria’s breach, and waking up next to Armin and Mikasa in the workhouse, there was a gap in Eren’s memory. Whenever roused, unsure of himself, he would reach for his breast and find the shape of the key. Physical evidence of the home he’d once occupied.
Armin and Mikasa, and Mister Hannes, they hadn’t watched. Eren could’ve closed his eyes against what was happening, but he was powerless. Clinging to rage, it wasn’t for the sake of bravery. It was the only just response in a world so unfathomably cruel.
On the boat, the Garrison soldiers gave them all rations and a canteen to pass around. When Armin passed it to him, Mikasa grabbed Eren’s wrist with a start.
He’d torn his nails attempting to lift the cross-section of a beam too heavy for him. When Mister Hannes pulled him away from the wreckage, Eren’s bloody fingerprints were all over his Garrison jacket. The dull red crust coagulated around his nailbed.
“It’s not that bad,” Eren said. He didn’t react to her grip.
Mikasa’s eyes turned stony. She tore a small scrap of cloth from the hem of her dress, before he could protest, and wrapped it gently around his fingers.
“You’ll see a proper doctor,” she said. “Once we get to Trost.”
Eren nodded. He was staring ahead. Without any Titans present to project his rage onto, he was void of sentiment. Armin laid his head on Eren’s shoulder, and Mikasa’s arm came around them both.
⁂
Despite his record for injuries—concussion in 848, multiple sprains, a broken leg, abdominal puncture in 850—he’d managed to pull through each time. The nurses said he was in peak physical condition.
There was the tattoo inscribed into Mikasa's wrist she always kept covered. Tiny nicks in Armin's fingers from repeated ODM gear maintenance, a shallow cut down his palm—the slip of a knife during kitchen duty. Bruises in the shape of their ODM harnesses.
His body remained uncalloused, difficult to bruise. He’d catch his gaze in the mirror and swear they weren’t always so grey. When he looked at his hands, his body, his mind supplied an impression of pain without proof.
Private Jaeger had the luck of the Devil, they’d said. Eren grinned and went along with it. But it wasn’t some miracle, nor an aspect of his personality he'd choose to define himself—if you’d asked him, he’d say he was no thrill-seeker, just doing whatever was required to become adept with the ODM gear. The sooner he mastered it, the faster he could get onto the front lines and start eradicating Titans.
Mikasa's explanations were too technical, but she was friends with Bertholdt and Reiner and top of the class. She could keep up with them, but she chose to handicap herself by sticking to his side. Even when he made it very clear she didn’t have to, and that he didn’t want to be responsible for her in such a way. If she wanted to join the Legion or the Garrison, she could decide for herself. Just because his mother said to keep an eye on him, he’d think, it doesn’t mean you’re indebted to me.
He’d been reliving the same nightmare ever since leaving Shiganshina. Contrary to what other cadets assumed, it was never about the day itself. His mother’s body, thrashing. She screamed for a while, until the Titan squeezed its grip and her body twisted in on itself. She couldn’t scream anymore, just twitched feebly. His imagination filled in the blanks his emotions refused to accept. There wasn’t much to see at a distance, Mister Hannes’s pace, the cobblestones.
He could go over it, in his mind, but these associations never bled into his dreams. Mikasa and Armin, and the others, they’d just assume as long as he kept his mouth shut. It was easier to explain, under the guise of Titan-loathing mania. Why wouldn’t he dream about his mother’s last moments?
The dissonance used to eat away at him, whenever he wasn’t occupied. Throwing himself into farmwork, training exercises, unarmed combat with anyone willing to scrap, getting thrown around by Leonhardt, a couple snarling matches with Kirschtein. Drinking with the other cadets didn’t stop it so much as heighten his own awareness of his lack—the weight of the key on his breast was an anchor.
⁂
The day Eren's father took him to the basement, Mikasa was running an errand with his mother. It wasn't often Eren got to spend time with his father outside of a work-related context. The basement was where he worked, and he didn’t like to be disturbed.
His father bade him to sit. "This is a perfectly safe procedure. You will enter into a state of increased relaxation and focus, but you will be in control the entire time."
Eren shrugged.
His father pulled out a syringe and rolled up his sleeve. It pricked a bit, but his father was calm throughout the whole process. Eren followed the sound of his voice. That wasn’t so bad.
“Do you feel any different?”
“No, sir.” Eren figured they should probably go back upstairs. Mikasa and his mother would be home soon. His father stared at the desk for a long time. “What was the shot for?”
His father seemed to startle. A slight shift of his shoulders. “For your health. You’re the right age for it.”
His father had no reason to lie.
That evening, Eren turned up feverish. A foul taste lingered in his mouth, like iron and salt. His mother prepared dinner, and the smell of the meat made him want to throw up. He hadn’t meant to. He tried to apologise but all he could taste was iron and salt. It was affecting his sense of smell, or wasn’t it the other way around? He was trembling and blanching, but when he tried to explain he’d just retch again.
His father kept him bedridden and insisted he have no visitors. He said it was stomach flu, but that didn’t make sense to Eren. This blood taste didn’t make sense either. His teeth were fine, no open wounds inside his mouth. He could drink water without vomiting. “Dad,” he rasped, “I think—”
“You’re exhausted,” his father said, in a polite tone he only used with patients that were being unreasonable. “You need sleep.”
That week, his father stayed home and worked in the basement. Eren would listen to the sound of passing horse carts and pedestrians. Mikasa would talk to him about her day, or lay another wet cloth on his brow.
“You’re really feverish,” she said. “I should tell Mr. Jaeger.”
Eren reached for her wrist. “It’s all right,” he said. “I'm feeling better than I was.” He smiled, even though all the muscles in his body were on fire. It didn’t seem to reassure her.
“I’ll just let him know.”
“Mikasa, just wait until he comes upstairs.”
Mikasa held his gaze. “Why?”
Eren frowned. “He doesn’t like to be interrupted when he’s working.”
Mikasa was still looking at him.
His parents’ hushed voices, as though he could sleep with midday sunlight pouring through the window.
After a few days, Eren was up and walking again. The metallic aftertaste was still there, just dulled.
The door, usually locked, was open. The food Mikasa left the night before was congealed to the plate. When his father was busy, he could go hours without eating.
He was looking over at the desk, a strange and uncomfortable silence lingered.
“You should be in bed,” he began. It was a strange tone, as if he’d been caught unawares.
“Sorry, sir. Mikasa wanted to know if you were all right.”
“I’m fine. Just lost track of time.” He readjusted his glasses. “You’re feeling better, I take it?”
“Yes, sir.” Eren couldn’t help it. “Honestly, I feel well enough to go into town with Mikasa.”
“That's precisely why you need to rest,” his father said coolly. “Give it a few more days.”
Surely, his father would’ve locked the door if it were so important. If Eren was contagious, he’d have said as much from the beginning. “I’m sorry, sir. It’s just that Mikasa didn’t get sick. Nor did you, or mother—so I guessed it wasn’t as serious as it seemed.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” his father snapped. “Armin’s family has enough problems without worrying about his health. You were just throwing up, for God’s sake.”
Eren glanced at the food. He went to take it.
“Leave it,” his father said. “I’ll take care of it myself.”
“You lied to mum about the food. It wasn’t spoiled.”
His father’s laugh was an ugly thing. A rictus grin, as he said, very quietly, “What exactly are you implying? That I’m trying to poison you and your mother?”
Mikasa was upstairs, asleep. There wasn’t anything Eren could say that would assuage this situation. Stupidly, he said, “You’re not making any sense.”
His father grabbed the plate and threw it. It would’ve hit Eren upside the head if his father’s aim hadn’t wavered. Eren flinched as it hit the wall.
“What the hell are you looking at?” he snapped. “I said I’d take care of it, didn’t I?”
The silence was suffocating as Eren rounded up the stairs. Stalking outside, he’d gone for a lap, his skin tingling and feverish, but he didn’t feel anything close to fatigue. He could’ve done several rounds around the neighborhood, but he didn't want to alarm his mother or Mikasa by staying out too long.
He sat on the riverbank and hurled rocks across the water's surface until he felt a little less like punching something. He took off his shoes and let his feet slip into the water. Up to his ankles, he watched the water steam around his ankles. If he stayed here long enough, he could evaporate all the water in Shiganshina, but his mother would worry and it was a stupid thing to dream anyway.
“Your mother and I wanted to be sure you were all right.”
Eren bristled. "Fine. Feeling better."
His mother excused herself.
“Did you tell that to Mikasa?” Eren spat. “You scared the hell out of her.”
His father blinked. “No, son. I wasn’t angry at her, or you. I’ve been under a tremendous pressure, with work. But that’s no excuse for how I acted this morning.”
Eren set his jaw.
“I just want you to know,” his father said, “that I’m sorry.”
"OK," Eren said. "I believe you."
His father's smile didn't reach his eyes.
⁂
Staring at the underside of the bunk, Eren tasted iron and salt. His eyes were wet, but he could not place a reason.
At the far end of the barracks, Bertholdt was reciting something under his breath. Eren couldn't make out the words, but he laid still, grounding himself in the cadence until his breathing relaxed.
⁂
His first deployment was over before he had the chance to offer more than a few words of courage to his fellow trainees. Defending the Wall from an inevitable breach. Fifteen and bleeding out on the hot rooftop. The damned Titan that ripped his leg was crawling around.
He’d been shouting at Private Kirschtein, stuffing down his own emotions. Kirschtein, if he survived, would just go to Sina anyway. They’d never speak to each other, or get along out of anything other than necessity.
Anyone would be terrified. Eren shoved down his fear and let it expel as authority. He wasn’t any less afraid, just never gave himself into the luxury of that realization. His allies, half-eaten and screaming for help. The best he could do was lie there, leg serrated and pulsing hot blood onto the roof.
Tiles grinding against bare flesh of his knee as he pushed himself up on what was left. The chinos torn and saturated with blood. Bare muscle met tile but he couldn’t feel much beyond the blood pumping from the open wound.
The leg the Titan chewed off felt heavier than it should. His equilibrium was askew. A dull phantom pain shot up the leg he’d lost. He bent double, unable to accept what his sight was telling him. Bones sprouting out of torn flesh, sheathed in sinew and hemic tissue. The flesh wrapped around the newly formed appendage, raw and pink.
He stared at his naked leg, covered in blood and viscera, as if he’d shoved it inside a cow’s stomach. The skin was raw and flaky around the shape of the bite, chinos torn to match.
High pitched scream cut through the confusion. Eren forced himself to crouch unevenly. He was fortunate the Titan had only eaten away the calf. If he could line up with the building he could shoot across and vault over it.
Racing against time. His own body sluggish. He'd lost a lot of blood, running purely on adrenaline.
"You can't die," Eren shouted. "You and I still have to see what's on the other side of Wall Maria."
Armin looked down at where the leg shouldn’t’ve been. He opened his mouth to say something but the Titan’s jaws closed around Eren leaving only the impression of an anguished scream and his own pounding heart.
Falling into darkness.
Impact with liquid, submerged.
Iron and acid in the back of his throat.
Breaking the surface. Hot, rank air sucked into his burning lungs.
Thick smell of pine and cigarettes overtaken by sweeter stink of rot.
Through the haze of pain the small metal shape dug into his breast, burning an imprint into skin. He could keep himself afloat. He’d been swimming in the river by his house since he was little.
Up to his ankles, his skin steamed against the river's current.
Armin was up there.
His left arm from the elbow down had already reformed itself, the skin raw. Bone and muscle where he'd torn the new-grown flesh of his fingers.
"Do you wish to save them, Armin and Mikasa?"
Naked shin bumped against the carrion beside him. The bottom of the Titan’s stomach, or simply the mass of bodies that came before him, indistinguishable. Titans couldn’t digest what they ate, so they’d just excrete the excess and continue. He'd have to cut his way out. Without his blades, that was close to impossible.
Clawing for purchase on the nearest body in-uniform. The ODM canister snagged on one of the bodies, weighing him down. He fumbled with the belt, already corroded by acid, crumbling apart. Drawing the blade from its scabbard, he plunged it into the slick impenetrable surface above him. Up to the hilt, dragging down with all of his strength. The hilt came back, blade snapped off partway within the holster. Blades were built to slash and discard.
He drove it forwards, blind, stabbing into the same slick meat as if the situation would change. An unrecognizable scream tore from his throat. The hairs on his arms and legs stood up. A flash of light from inside himself, the skin on his regrown fingers torn where he’d clawed over so many fallen comrades.
Syringe piercing flesh.
A trembulous embrace. Tears stained the boy's cheek.
The body he called up from will alone tore apart its confines. Tall as the clocktower itself, a miasma of blood inhaled and exhumed.
The ones who stumbled around like drunken men, unable to recall themselves. Shambling around the narrow streets in search of prey. Dispatching them was simple when they didn’t have the will to fight back. More clustered in the square, encumbered by their own hunger.
Tiny figures vaulted across rooftops, shouting to each other. Significance of their words fell away from his original imperative.
"You must master this power."
⁂
He’d surely wake up to his final moments on a stretcher, all of his hopes dashed to pieces along with his comrades and missing limbs. Awash in a morphine haze.
Instead, his eyes fell to the darkened ceiling. Three stone walls, a hard mattress beneath him and fresh sheets. Manacles at either wrist. On the opposide side of the iron bars, two guards silhouetted in the torchlight. Now that Eren was looking, they weren’t much older than him.
“Hey,” he said. “Where am I? Where’s Armin?”
“Be quiet,” the first MP said, a fair-haired boy of average height. “Commander Irvin’s requested an audience with you.”
Eren froze. “Commander Irvin?” His brain finally kicked back into gear.
I was in the Titan's stomach, and then—Armin. I heard his voice.
A twinge in his shoulder.
Armin was there. Mikasa, too. They must be alive, still. "Where's Mikasa?"
“I said quiet,” the boy snapped. “You’re lucky enough to be in a cell and not in front of a firing squad, Titan.”
“Feulner,” said the MP on his right, lanky and dark-haired, “leave him alone.”
Was the mission a success? Are Armin and the others still alive? What's the last thing I remember?
Why are they so afraid of me?
"Did—did they survive? Armin and Mikasa?"
"Yeah," the soldier on the right said. "They're safe. A few others didn't make it. You'll be briefed once the tribunal is over."
Tribunal? What the hell did I do? Where's—
He couldn't move his arms. But the lack of the weight against his breast was tangible. A rising panic clenched his insides.
"The key," he blurted. "Where is it?"
Feulner looked at Freudenberg as if to say, what the hell is he talking about?
"Your personal belongings were collected after you were retrieved from the Titan's body," said Freudenberg carefully. "If you cooperate, you'll receive it and anything else that was on your person."
Eren slumped back against the bed. Bare feet planted on the stone. "You're telling me the truth?"
"Yes."
Feulner scoffed. "He's out of his mind."
"Shut up, Feulner," Freudenberg snapped. "The tribunal will decide what his fate will be." He glanced at Eren. "What's the last thing you remember?"
Eren glanced at his manacled hands. "I was in the Titan's stomach. Then—I did what had to be done, for the sake of my comrades."
Freudenberg averted his eyes first. "All right, Jaeger. I believe you."
#snk#aot#eren jaeger#boris feulner#marlowe freudenberg#armin arlert#mikasa ackermann#grisha jaeger#karla jaeger#attack on titan#shingeki no kyojin#fanfic#fanfiction#canon divergent#multichapter#slow burn#author's undying love for dramatic irony
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Dunno if you did this already, but family headcannons for the circus troupe: How would they treat their kids? Spouse? Would they all still keep in touch?
I honestly don’t know if I’ve done this or not, but hey I’ll just do it again anyway! An updated version, even!
Just like they say in those Fast and Furious movies: “there’s nothing stronger than family”. While each of the members may be out living their own lives and taking care of their own families, they’d all still be close as hell no matter what - it’d be like all of their kids are brothers and sisters! And with their respective spouses they see no differences between having their own biological kids or adopting kids - they see all kids as their own no matter what!
Dagger would absolutely treat his spouse like royalty and would absolutely fawn over them, reminding everyone “HEY I’M IN LOVE WITH THIS PERSON! He would love doing everything from menial everyday tasks to super time-consuming projects with his partner, this man is Golden Retriever energy personified! Absolutely would be the type of man to not be embarrassed if his partner gave him a big kiss on the cheek and left a kiss stain, nor would he be embarrassed about having some lipstick from his partner transfer onto his own - he works at a circus after all, he already wears makeup! You know Maes Hughes from FMA? Dagger would RIVAL that man when it comes to loving his children: shoves pictures of his kids in people’s faces, blathering on about how they’re growing up so much and so fast, and will proudly display any of his kids’ artworks! Overall A++ husband and father!
Joker is, comparatively, a little more toned down than Dagger when it comes to his declarations of love for his partner. He prefers a more quiet and intimate environment, but absolutely loves PDA and giving them flowers out in public just to see their cute reaction. Mans would be head-over-heels in love with his spouse. He would be worried about becoming someone like Father, but once he held his child for the first time all of those fears vanished as he realized there was nothing he wouldn’t do for them. If his kid did his hair and makeup, he’d happily go about his day with a silly hairstyle and lipstick painted over his eyes. Joker would wanna be there for all of his kids’ big moments: learning to walk, saying their first word, all of it! Basically would be Bandit from the show Bluey lmao.
Snake is another one who shows his love and affection behind closed doors, just because he’s super anxious in general. But he’s slowly getting better at opening up to PDA with his spouse, and especially if their kid wants to hold his hand as they walk or something. He adores his kids and partner and really enjoys all of the domestic sides of being a parent: cleaning, cooking, looking after the kids - basically is the perfect house-husband/male wife.
Jumbo is and absolute dad. That’s all my brain can think of when I see Jumbo. He can do the hair, the little outfits, the bow in the hair! Not saying that he wouldn’t love his kid no matter their gender, I’M saying this for ME lol. It always makes his spouse laugh to see him wearing makeup, sitting on the ground and still being too tall for the little tea-table, wearing a little tiara and maybe a dress or something while also holding a too-small tea cup and pretending to drink tea with his daughter. Also is another one who would be the best house-husband and is very much a mother-hen to his partner and kids whether anyone is sick or injured or perfectly healthy.
Peter would 100% pull goofy pranks on his kid, or would encourage if their kid said something like “fuck!” when they mean to say “truck” (Peter: Ooo, what’s that over there? Peter’s Kid: A Fire Fuck!) Beast almost lost her damn mind when she heard his kid drop an f-bomb so casually. While he plays harmless pranks on his kids he would never go overboard with them or traumatize them, just silly pranks that gets laughs from everyone involved. He also absolutely would fight for his kids and his spouse, literally would throw hands or stab for them.
Also: y’all know that tiktok of the older brother playing dolls with his younger sister? And the kid goes “use your girl voice 😠” and the older brother goes “how you doin’? ✨💅🏻”, then gets mad at the person recording? That’s Peter and maybe Dagger/Wendy coded lmfao.
Wendy is a mother who loves wearing matching outfits with her kids. She never thought that she would even like kids, but once she had them she absolutely fell in love with the kiddo! She loves doing all sorts of fun little activities with her kids and tries to get with everyone else together for big get-togethers. She never thought that she could be in love with someone like her spouse and their kids, and yet here she is, happier than she has ever been.
I mentioned the show Bluey before, so I imagine Doll would be much more like a Chili kind of mom: super silly and generally chill. Not a traditional mom. She’s not super great at cooking and cleaning, but she takes care of her kids and her spouse.
Beast would probably be the most strict parent out of everyone but that’s only because she was basically everyone’s ‘big sister’. Very much “I’ve only had this baby for five minutes but if anything were to happen to them I will kill everyone in this room and then myself”. Having a baby would make her fall more in love with her spouse: this is something they made together, or a decision that they made together (in the instance that they adopt) and she couldn’t be more happy or content. Very type-A when it comes to cleaning and has a fairly strict feeding schedule for her baby.
#book of circus#noahs ark circus#joker kuroshitsuji#snake kuroshitsuji#dagger kuroshitsuji#beast kuroshitsuji#jumbo kuroshitsuji#doll kuroshitsuji#peter kuroshitsuji#wendy kuroshitsuji
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Any 911 s7 ideas -things you think might or you would like to have happen- ?
honestly… i’m awful at guessing these sort of things. it’s been like forever since i’ve been watching a show as it’s being released (i lived in a house with someone that was very controlling about what we watched so i missed a solid 5 years or so of tv shows being released) so this is an interesting experience
honestly i get nervous about making predictions because i worry about getting my hopes up. i’m really really hoping that no matter what happens, abc does a good job handling the characters and storylines because sometimes when shows move from one broadcast channel to another it can get dicey.
i’m curious to see where they go with hen and karen and the new baby, and what hen is doing when it comes to medical school. also in general i just want more karen. always. she means so much to me you don’t understand.
i’m curious to see how abc handles the cruise ship situation, and whether it’s going to be a trauma that is thoroughly discussed or if it’s gonna be another tsunami scenario. and i want a good dramatic reunion scene between bobby and athena. i want to cry so much abc please make me cry but don’t kill them
some flashbacks to the tsunami episodes specifically for buck and eddie and christ would be great also but i don’t expect much
I WANT MORE CHRIS!!! i want to see pre-teen/early teen chris. i love him so much and i think it will be really interesting to see where they take his character now that he’s reaching an age where kids start to fully explore who they are. you reach a different level of consciousness and the early roots of your childhood form into deeper roots and personality traits and also just. teenage angst. anyway. chris diaz superiority forever and always
speaking of superior characters please please please please more ravi character development more ravi scenes im begging im on my knees he has become so important to me and i wanna see him and get to know his history more because the little bits we’ve gotten are not enough MORE. RAVI. PLEASE.
i know a lot of people are hoping for canon buddie and obviously i would LOVE to see that!! but i am also nervous that if we do start to get canon buddie, they won’t do them justice. i do however want more buddie content regardless of whether they acknowledge the romantic implications of their relationship. but also….
pls just kiss each other for gods sake. PLEASE.
also what are they gonna do with natalia and marisol because [redacted]
even if they don’t make buddie canon, i would really like to see gay!eddie become official. because that man is so queer coded, buddie or otherwise. good lord.
(also bi!buck but we know how television is with bisexual representation 😬)
and can i just say:
what the fuck is going on with the basketball shit
i have zero idea what is happening there
also i want to see madney wedding stuff obviously, specifically would love to see buck helping with decorations and planning and being a little asshole.
and more jee cuz i love her so much. i work with toddlers so i get really really excited when we get scenes of her. i really hope we get more uncle buck content but we’ve only got 10 episodes to work with so i don’t have high hopes.
this is such a long answer sorry 😅
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Hakuoki Drama CD Book Volume 6 Kazama
this is likely going to be my last hakuoki translation for the year. next month i mostly plan to focus on subtitling, getting a start on filling up my queue with yuugiroku content, and hopefully catching up to the deemo manga raws...
also.... hakumyu sannan-hen. really?
I know he’s popular, but i rank sannan below souji and heisuke... and as i’ve still yet to watch okita-hen (most i’ve seen is certain clips) and toudou-hen, i don’t know if i’ll be interested in watching sannan’s route.
in my defence, i did saito’s route first (sannan betraying the Shinsengumi and I don’t like traitors), harada’s second (sannan being creepy because of him wanting chizuru’s blood), and then hijikata’s route (i rarely do the ‘official route’ first). lol. i can’t help that i don’t like him. hahahahaha. suppose this just means i’m more likely to look at getting live 3.
anyway, enjoy!
Hakuoki Drama CD Book Volume 6 Kazama Chikage-hen - Edo Higan
Translation by KumoriYami
Act 1
Time: morning
Location:
SE: sound of a door opening
Kazama: Hey, do you have any plans for today?
Yukimura: Nothing in particular... is something wrong?
Kazama: I have something to show you, so come with me.
Yukimura: You want to show me something... ah, wait.
Kazama: You'll understand when you see it, hurry up before the sun goes down.
SE: the sound of two people's footsteps
Location: In the oni clan's mountains
SE: sound of two people walking [kinda redundant, but that's what it says]
Yukimura; So, exactly where are we going? If you're wanting to go somewhere where you'll return home in the late evening, you should tell everyone else about it...
Kazama: Don't complain, now is the perfect time to go see that.
Yukimura: The perfect time.... Ah..... could it be that, we're going sakura viewing?
Kazama: I didn't say that. But, if that's the case, then so what if it is?
Yukimura: I'd be delighted if I could view sakura in full bloom. After all, would be very happy to view the cherry blossoms that are in full bloom. After all, they're the flowers I have profound memories of... Do yo it is a flower that I am very impressed with ....... Did you know that I like sakura?
Kazama: Don't you remember...? Could it be that you've already forgotten the determination you spoke of that day?
Yukimura; Determination..? Um, if you can, please tell me about it so that I can remember!
Kazama:....No, forget it. For you, it might be a painful memory.
Yukimura:...Even if that's the case, please tell me. For me to forget something that Chikage-san still remembers is painful.
Yukimura: And if has something to do with Yukimura Kodo?
Yukimura:.....Something to dow with y father.....Ah, perhaps...
Kazama: It appears that you've recalled?
Yukimura:....What happened that day isn't a painful memory. It was something that i had to overcome.
Kazama: You don't think that was painful?..... There's still some distance between where we left and where we're going. It'd be nice to look back together on that day with you...
Yukimura: I think so too.
Kazama: Is that so, then, allow me to tell you about it. So——
--------
Act 2
Time: morning
Location: Chizuru's home in Edo
Kazama (narrated): It was a few days after I killed your father, Yukimura Kodo, and after considering how you might feel uneasy about being around the man who killed your father, I found a different hotel and had Amagiri monitor your whereabouts from nearby. After hearing from him that you hardly left your house, I went to your house that day. There, you were blankly looking at the sky——
Chikei Kazama: I was wondering what had happened, and it turned out exactly as I expected.
Yukimura: Eh...?
Kazama: You won't feel sad/You couldn't help but feel sad [check game to clarify this. I don't remember Kazama's route that well]. isn't that what you said then?
Yukimura:......
Kazama: To feel those things, it's only natural for you to be like this. However, the situation of the war northeast is not optimistic.
Yukimura:...Is it already time to go?
Kazama: Yes. The Shinsengumi has already left Edo. Furthermore, the next battle to break out will be in Aizu. In order to see their, no, the end of this pointless war, it is it is necessary to keep moving. If you don't want to leave yet, I'll have Amagiri stay——
Yukimura: I want to go, please take me with you.
Kazama: You responded rather quickly.
Yukimura: I returned to Edo, originally to meet up with everyone in the Shinsengumi...
Kazama: That is a suitable response, but in my opinion, it's an absurd response being made because you are incapable of seeing your own heart/thoughts, isn't it?
Yukimura:......
Kazama:...I'll come back tomorrow to hear your answer. Think it over again before coming to a conclusion.
SE: The sound of Kazama stepping away
Yukimura: Please wait! I.... my response still won't change today or tomorrow. I need to catch up to everyone in the Shinsengumi before the end, so please take me with you, please.
Kazama: Right you appear to trying to put on a strong front. Isn't that because you just lost your father and you're just forcing yourself to do other things so you don't think about it? Moreover... don't you hate me, who killed Kodo? Wouldn't it be painful to stay with me and travel with me?
Yukimura: That's——
Kazama: Face your heart again, Yukimura Chizuru.
Yukimura:......!
Kazama: If you go to the battlefield with this half-hearted attitude, I won't be able to protect you. You will only end up dying midway I don't think you're a fool who can't even understand that. Don't let me down.
SE: sound of Kazama's footsteps as he leaves
Kazama:....Draw out the determination you have to leave Kyoto for Edo.
Kazama (narrated): At the time, I was also unable to clearly arrange my thoughts, and watching you only focus on what was in front of you, I felt anxious. Even though as a woman, you were rushing to follow the Shinsengumi into battle, I always concerned about you, and thought perhaps that I judged humans wrongly. If nothing changed the next day, I was going to leave you in Edo like that but——
--------
Act 3
Time: morning
Location: Chizuru's home in Edo
Kazama: As promised, I came to hear your answer.
Yukimura: Um, before responding.... I sincerely apologize.
Kazama: What do you mean?
Yukimura: As Kazama-san said, I hadn't come to terms with everything and just wanted to run away... The death of my father, and the life he lead... It all made me feel sorrowful. That's why, me wanting to forget about my father.... I realized that I was running away.
Kazama:....Permit me to hear why you came to such a conclusion.
Yukimura:...Although we weren't related, I am my father's daughter——Yukimura Chizuru. So as my father's daugher... and as someone from the Yukimura family, I must thank Kazama-san for stopping my father.... To you who stopped my father.... Thank you very much. What sins my father committed are crimes that can never be forgiven. That's why, to stop him from conducting even more heinous crimes... As the daughter of Yukimura Kodo, I must express my gratitude.
Kazama:...Raise your head.
Yukimura: U-Um..... Kazama-san?
Kazama: Indeed from an oni clan... the bloodline of the Yukimura family.
SE: the sound of Kazama approaching Chizuru
Yukimura: !?
Kazama: I admire you.
Yukimura: Kazama-san, your face, it's too close! Please get away from me!
Kazama: You'll have to get over this sense of shame sooner or later.
Yukimura: Huh...?
Kazama: Because from now on, we must be walking together, no?
Yukimura: Wh-What does that mean?
Kazama: What foolish reason... is there to stay for? Although it is not my intention to follow them with you, I will certainly fulfill the promise I made with you, who is also an oni.
Yukimura: Kazama-san...
Kazama: Make youre preparations immediately, when you're ready, we'll be leaving right away.
Yukimura:......
Kazama: Don't look so stunned, hurry up with your luggage, or I'll leave you here.
Yukimura: I, I already sorted it out earlier!
Kazama: Oh... Good thinking. Then let's go.
Yukimura: Yes!
SE: the two's footsteps
SE: the sound of the wind blowing
Yukimura: Wow, the day of our departure coincides with the coincides with the start of the sakura season.
Kazama: You really love sakura?
Yukimura: yes!
Kazama (narrated): After hearing your answer, the anxiety in my heart did not dissipate, but rather became more elevated. I no longer thought of you as just a female pureblooded oni, and instead regarded you as the official head of the Yukimura family. It was starting from that day that I became interested in you on that day. The you who was admiring sakura that day, will always think that you are just a female ghost of blood, but officially treat you as the leader of the Yukimura family. I became interested in you from that day. I will always remember how you admired the sakura that day.
--------
Act 4
Time: Daytime
Location: In the oni clan's mountains
Kazama: That's all I have to say.
Yukimura: I still remember... the determination I felt that day, I still feel it inside my heart. Although I hadn't been able to say it then, it's truly great that Chikage-san was with me that day.
Kazama: At that time, you were really not honest, and while you obviously had a good impression of me, you never admitted it until I went to pick you up. Well, you're not honest now.
Yukimura: At the time, it wasn't that I didn't have a good impression of Chikage-san, but even if I wanted to be a bit honest, Chikage-san would definitely say something annoying...
SE: the sound of stepping on earth
Kazama: Hey, raise your head/look up, we're here.
Yukimura: Wow...! As expected, it's very beautiful...
Kazama: Nn, it's the same expression as that day. I saw the smile that was able to capture my heart again.
SE: sound of the wind blowing
Yukimura: Chikage-san...
Kazama: Only you are able to move my heart. This will not change until I die... No, it will not change even if I die.
Yukimura: It's be inconvenient if that changed... Chikage-san, can we come here again next year?
Kazama: Not only next year, I will bring you to enjoy the sakura here every year. No matter what happens, I will bring you here so be prepare yourself.
Yukimura: Hehe, alright, I understand.
Starring: Kazama Chikage... Tsuda Kenjiro
---end---
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Wide Open Spaces - Yeehawgust 6
Part of Yeehawgust 2023
[ WIP intro ] [ my Yeehawgust tag]
Summary: Eliza grapples with the grief of her daughter growing up.
Warnings: none
Word Count: 350~
“And you’re sure you have everything you need?” Eliza’s worried voice carried through the old ranch house. “You got your key, your lunch, and your list?” She fretted over Clementine, pacing the kitchen as she fumbled with drawers to make sure she hadn’t left any small item behind that she may need.
15 year old Clementine had sprouted like a weed over the summer months. She was nearly taller than her mother and the spitting image of her. She sported a satchel and an exasperated smile as she watched her mother rattled off every little item she would need for her short journey.
“Yes, mama, I’m very sure I have everything,” Clementine reassured her, giving her bag a firm pat. “You know, you really gotta start trusting me.”
Eliza wilted at her daughter’s words, tired blue eyes widening like a hurt puppy. A line formed between her brows. “I do trust you, Clem, it’s just that it’s your first time leaving home without me or Rosalind accompanying you. The ride will be long and god knows what kind of trouble could arise-”
Clementine approached her mother, setting a gentle hand on her slender shoulder. She grinned at her. “Mama, I’m just riding into town to get some pantry supplies. It really ain’t that big ‘a deal. I’ll only be gone for a few hours tops.” Eliza studied her daughter’s face, tracing the soft freckles like they were stars in the night sky.
“You’re right,” she conceded. A deep sigh escaped her lungs and she felt the sting of tears welling. “You’re nearly grown. You deserve room to do things on your own and make your own mistakes like I did when I was your age.”
A small giggle filled the quaint kitchen and Clementine reached out to envelope her worried mother in a hug. “Don’t worry, mama, if trouble comes up I’ll speed straight home,” she told her in a sing-song voice. “Besides, Rosalind made sure I had several different weapons on me. I love my mother hens, even when they waste daylight worrying over little old me.”
-
Taglist: @rosesonneptune @draculinawrites
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9-1-1 episode 6.14 "Performance Anxiety"
You know what? I love this show. And I’m not embarrassed about it. But what is it about a network procedural that makes me feel the need to say that? Yeah it’s kinda silly and most of the things that happen seem pretty unrealistic, but it’s fun and heartwarming and genuinely diverse and unique. I’ve been watching this show since it premiered; I was drawn in by Peter Krause’s captain Bobby Nash (I’ll do anything for Peter Krause) but the quality of the show itself is what’s kept me along for the ride. I’m always impressed by a bold pilot, and I was enamored right away by the 118 pulling a newborn out of the wall after a secretly pregnant teen gave birth on the toilet and flushed it.
We’re now nearing the end of season 6, and this show is still taking me by surprise. Its characters, tone, and theme have remained consistent, but part of that tone includes zany 911 calls with twists I never see coming. What endears me to this show over say the Chicago franchise is the way it’s kept itself from descending fully into nighttime soap opera territory by maintaining a healthy balance between serious character-driven episodes and its trademark lighter, feel-good emergency episodes.
This week’s “Performance Anxiety” is a classic lighthearted episode that also capitalizes on the time we’ve spent throughout the series really getting to know the characters. It’s performance review season in LA, including at the 118. In between a dramatically heartwarming review at a bakery and a father-son breakthrough at a bodybuilding competition, Bobby gives the team evaluations of his own.
Of course, the 118 is a dream team, so the reviews are really a thinly veiled vehicle for Bobby to get evaluated himself- as Athena says, “the man craves feedback”. But Bobby is still wise, kind, and playful as ever in his dad-energy way and finds ways to help the team grow in ways beyond the job. Through his encouragement of Eddie to let himself have a life beyond Christopher and work, genuine no-notes praise of Hen, and gentle treatment of Buck post-lightning strike, we get a fun, rapid-fire sub-plot that lets us reap the benefits of the character development the show has been building from day one. And all through Bobby who, true to his own character, knows them better than anyone.
Despite Chimney’s near-perfect review, Bobby notes a lack of leadership and, in an ambiguous display of tough love, sends him back to the academy. There, Chimney is forced to step up as an instructor alongside Ravi (remember him?) who seems to be stuck in a rut of his own. They process some things together, and Chimney reveals that he started firefighting with his best friend, who he encouraged every step of the way. The friend died putting out a house fire, and Chimney vowed to never pull anyone into danger ever again. As he and Ravi talk through things, Chimney realizes that Bobby sent him here to do a little more than lead, and the end of the episode finds the two of them walking triumphantly back into the 118.
One could argue that Maddie’s split screen musical number with a panic-stricken caller was a little much. But if you don’t like that, I think the show’s already lost you. Would a 911 dispatcher get a round of applause from the rest of the call center after bursting into song with a nervous college applicant? It’s another one of those times where the answer is no, but isn’t this fun? And that seems to be the mantra of the whole show.
There’s not a ton of meat to 9-1-1, but I don’t want to sleep on these kinds of shows. It’s the only first responder show I know of to feature dispatchers so prominently and create such a well-rounded depiction of emergency response. And finding creativity within the procedural format is a different kind of creativity that I don’t think is inferior to the deep, heady streaming shows that I also love. Without procedurals, there’s no gems like House or Medium, and I think 9-1-1 is doing a solid job keeping the format alive and even doing it justice.
What do y’all think? Do you watch or are you too good for it? Have you seen the spinoff? As much as I love it, I will not set foot in 9-1-1: Lonestar, but if you’re obsessed with it maybe you can change my mind!
#911#buck#bobby nash#chimney#maddie buckley#eddie diaz#hen#tv review#tv#tv criticism#peter krause#kenneth choi#oliver stark
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One of my favourite tiny little domestic things is when Eddie puts his keys in the bowl by the door and Buck is already home. I don’t why the key part of it gets me. It’s in Breaking Point and I think it might be in Dumb Luck too.
Something about those little habits when you come in the door like taking off your shoes that symbolize “phew! I’m home,” and doing that act of laying down your load when someone else is there. Coming home to rest with someone else present. Their presence not contradicting the restfulness. Your sanctuary, and someone else being there.
There are sweet moments of videogames and coparenting and being comfortable together in the house. And Buck doesn’t live there, but Eddie throwing his keys in the bowl and exhaling like you do when you get home after a long day with Buck there is including Buck in that sanctuary. It reminds me of a quote about introversion: “your company needs to feel better than my solitude”. In this case, of course, Christopher is also included, but still.
The real reason Buck isn’t a guest is because not only do we know he isn’t babysitting and he knows all the cabinets etc., but the true test: Eddie lives his life as normal when Buck is there. They play videogames, sure, but much of the time it doesn’t seem like their hangouts are very structured at all. They just enjoy each other’s company. Even if it’s just the general feeling of their presence. Even if Buck is over and Eddie walks in and faceplants on the couch for a nap. It isn’t rude. He isn’t ignoring his guest. Because Buck isn’t one.
And there’s something there too about that trust Eddie subconsciously has because he knows what we too subconsciously know, which is that Buck is comfortable enough in Eddie’s home to have other things to do about the house. He’s not just gonna be sitting there waiting for Eddie to wake up from his nap so they can do something. He’s gonna be on some random rabbit-hole Wikipedia article on the Diaz family computer.
There’s something that’s just a step above in intimacy to be together and not do anything. Maybe not even interract. Or interract restfully, in passing like they do. They don’t do things. I don’t think they ever have without Christopher there, actually. They just sit and talk. And their conversations are always some variation of “how was your day” that sometimes we join in the middle of. And like I said with not interracting! There’s an inexplainable additional trust to having a conversation and knowing “if we run out of things to talk about or energy to talk, you won’t leave and go home. You’ll stay and we’ll do our own things until we have the energy to talk again.” So it feels even more comfortable to just talk nothing and not pressure yourself into having some focus to keep your guest entertained in any capacity.
Buck may not live there, but Eddie includes him in his bubble that is “home base”, and that is just as signifying. His environment of rest includes Buck. They not only have the familial domesticity but the domesticity of passive interaction. Buck doesn’t technically live there, no. But there is a clear difference between anyone else who hang out at each other’s houses and them, which is that while Hen may go over to Chim’s for two hours and talk on the couch, Buck will go over to Eddie’s for two hours and spend that two hours acting like he does live there. They’ve established that environment even when it’s isolated in time like that.
Anyways, longer analysis than intended to say: keys in the bowl = “honey, I’m home”[;)]
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Re-watching last week's episode in prep for the finale. And I'm laughing a bit because it occurs to me there really wasn't a reason for the Buddie scene. Especially with Gavin unavailable to film. Of course I loved it but honestly it was a useless scene outside of our love for it. We all know Eddie has issues with his parent's. I can't think of any viewer that wouldn't know what he was walking into. You could have had Peppa and him roll up and be like you ready for this retirement party, and Eddie be like yes and just so you know there is a hotel I mapped 20 minutes away.
The friendship of the episode was Chim and Hen. Buck and Eddie's storyline were entirely separate from each other, Buck being with Hen and Chims. And again everything in the conversation were things we already knew.
I'm taking it as a win the writers were feeding us lol. Maybe I'm wrong... But still when you really look at it, it was unneeded filming. And we had the Halloween episode with zero Eddie, so it's not like they aren't afraid to not have them have scenes. But it seems more blaring now that they are allowing them back together and are highlighting the difference between Eddie and Buck and Buck and Taylor.
Hi Nonnie! IDK if this is in continuation to this ask reply, but I thought I’d link it just in case it is.
Technically you’re right that there was no need for the Buddie scene at the start of 517, but some set up for Eddie’s journey was needed, even in the sense of telling us “we are now leaving for Texas, where Eddie’s family is” or “for the casual viewers among us, who might have missed some stuff or don’t remember that much background info on each character, this is where Eddie is at when it comes to his dad.” Out of the core cast, it does make sense that it would be Buck who Eddie shares this talk with, though it didn’t have to be someone from that group, it could have been Carla, or in the same direction of your suggestion, we could have seen Eddie picking Pepa up at her house while Chris is waiting for them in the car to set this trip up. The choice to prefer Buck is therefore a significant one, because it confirms once more in canon that there is no one else who Eddie is closer to or who means more to him, not even his own family.
And I so very much agree with you! I find it very telling that the writers are feeding us even in eps that are very much not about Buddie at all. Heck, even in eps that don’t even feature Eddie, we can still find echoes of Buddie, which is fascinating to me.
Thank you so much for this ask and I hope you have a wonderful hiatus! xoxox
(I got an influx of asks, I WILL answer all of them, but it might take a sec. If anyone wants to check whether I've already answered theirs or to read my replies, here's my ask tag. Thank you! xoxox)
#buddie#911meta#buddie meta#911 meta#9-1-1#evan buckley#eddie diaz#edmundo diaz#evan buck buckley#ask#anon ask#christopher diaz#911onabc#911 on abc#911abc#911 abc
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hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle
[2.4k, E, a shitpost brought to life]
no you made a shitpost about anal fingering as a hiccup cure and then wrote a 2k+ fic about it and titled it with a line from howl by allen ginsberg
It starts with the hiccups.
Which—Eddie has spent more time than he cares to admit imagining this. He’s sensed the energy buzzing between him and Buck, and he’s pretty certain it’s only a question of when, not if.
He’s visualised all the different ways it might happen—slowly drifting closer together after a tipsy evening on the couch, something dramatic and life-affirming in the wake of a dangerous call, heated and frantic when the tension becomes too much—but he’s never imagined hiccups.
But here they are.
Eddie’s had the hiccups for going on two days now, and it’s starting to get to him.
Well, it started to get to him two hours into their shift. Now it’s driving him up the wall.
He’s spent most of the shift trying every possible remedy the rest of the 118 can come up with. Chimney tells him to drink from the wrong side of the glass, and Hen waits until he’s bent over trying not to get water up his nose to say “Nah, man, that’s a myth.”
Eddie splutters, and the water goes up his nose. “You couldn’t have—hic!—said that a minute ago?”
“I wanted to see if you could do it,” Hen shrugs. “Anyway, what you need to do is eat a spoonful of sugar.”
“And that—hic!—works?” Eddie asks.
“More than that water nonsense,” Hen says.
It doesn’t work.
“You need to breathe into a paper bag,” Bobby says, brandishing what looks like a leftover brown lunch bag. “It’s, uh, something to do with oxygen.”
Eddie breathes into the paper bag. It doesn’t help.
Ravi spends half the shift following him around and trying to scare him. He starts by jumping out from behind corners, and escalates to trying to fake an emergency call from Christopher's school.
Eddie just raises his eyebrows. “Has anyone ever—hic!—told you that you’re not a good actor?”
It doesn’t help.
Buck googles lists of hiccup remedies and Eddie tries them one by one, but by the time their shift ends he’s still hiccuping.
“It’s not working,” Eddie groans, dropping his head into his hands with a miserable hic! “I’m going to be like this forever.”
“you know hiccups just go away on their own, right?” Buck asks. “Well. Mostly.”
“Mostly?” Eddie asks. “I don’t—hic!—like the sound of that.”
“Well, the longest recorded hiccups went on for sixty-eight years,” Buck says. “But hey, even those eventually stopped.”
“I can’t do this for sixty-eight years, Buck,” Eddie says. “It’s barely—hic!—been sixty-eight hours and I’m about to tear my windpipe out. Bare—hic!—hands.”
“Okay, okay,” Buck says. “We’ll keep looking.”
“Follow me home?” Eddie asks.
“You got it.”
They pull up to an empty house. Christopher’s at school, and Eddie’s glad if only because he’s started following every hiccup with a four-letter word he doesn’t want his son to pick up.
“Still going?” Buck asks, climbing out of his jeep.
Eddie hiccups in response.
They enter the house and sprawl out on the couch. Eddie spreads himself out, taking far more space than he needs, and after a few moments of trying to get him to move Buck just flops on top of him, settling his head on Eddie’s stomach.
Eddie hiccups, and Buck’s head jolts with the motion.
“Okay,” Buck says, “I’m going to find a new list. There’s gotta be something we haven’t tried yet.”
Buck’s quiet as he scrolls through his phone, the only sound in the room Eddie’s occasional hiccups and the soft swears that follow. Eddie stares at Buck’s head pillowed on his stomach, at the blonde hair drying into soft curls, and fights the urge to touch him. to run his hand through Buck’s golden hair, to trace a path from his temple down the curve of his cheekbone.
He fights the urge, because they’re not there yet. They’re not—every day they inch a little closer, every day another barrier breaks down, but they haven’t quite crossed the line yet.
Eddie’s spent the past several months trying to figure out how to do it, but none of his plans seem good enough. He might, he thinks, be in his head about it a little.
But in his defence, he only gets one chance to tell the love of his life how he feels. He thinks he’s allowed to be a little dramatic about it.
Except all of his dramatic plans go out the window when Buck makes a noise and slams his phone down against his chest like he’s just gotten a raunchy pop-up ad in a room full of disapproving old people.
“What?” Eddie asks, bumping his foot against Buck’s leg.
“Uh—nothing,” Buck says, in the most suspicious tone Eddie’s ever heard come out of Buck’s mouth.
Eddie hiccups.
“It’s—” Buck starts, and abruptly closes his mouth.
“Buck,” Eddie practically whines, and hiccups again.
“It’s—” Buck tries again, and swallows. “Uh, this article I found suggests—”
Eddie hiccups. “Just tell me,” he groans. “Come on, how bad could it be? Hic!”
“Rectal massage,” Buck says, the words tripping over each other like he just wants to get them out as fast as possible. “Apparently, there was a guy who stopped hiccuping after rectal massage. And this is in, like, Healthline, so it’s probably legit—”
Eddie squeaks. Later, he will deny such a sound ever leaving his mouth, but he definitely squeaks. And then he bursts out laughing, because—
“I swear to god, that’s what it says,” Buck says, trying to shove his phone in Eddie’s face.
“No, I believe you,” Eddie says, gasping amidst the laughter and the hiccups. “I believe you, just—hic!—imagine if I’d known—hic!—that all I had to do was get the fucking—hic!—hiccups?”
Buck lowers his phone again, slowly this time, and shifts in Eddie’s lap until he’s squinting up at Eddie. “When you say all you had to do…”
“Sit up,” Eddie says.
Buck frowns up at him, and Eddie pokes at his shoulder. “I mean it, Buck. Come on, sit up.”
“Why?” Buck asks, but he’s already scrambling up until he’s sitting next to Eddie on the couch.
“Because I’m—hic!—not about to break my back doing this,” Eddie says and leans in, his fingertips feathering along Buck’s jawline just as their lips meet.
Buck surges against him immediately, and it’s just like Eddie had known it would be. Like the dam has finally broken, and everything they’ve been holding back for months—years—can finally come rushing through.
Eddie loses himself in kissing Buck for all of two minutes before he hiccups again, this time directly into Buck’s mouth. Against his lips, he feels Buck’s curving into a grin.
“Does this mean you want to try?” Buck asks.
“God, yes,” Eddie breathes. “For the—hic!—hiccups, but also because I’m—hic!—stupidly in love with you and I want you to fuck me,” he says. “Just, you know. So we’re—hic!—clear.”
“I can work with that,” Buck says. his lips trail a path up the curve of Eddie’s jaw, and when he lands at Eddie’s ear it sends a shiver running through him. “So we’re clear,” Buck murmurs, lips brushing the shell of Eddie’s ear, “I’m in love with you, too.”
“Good,” Eddie says, half-gasp, and hiccups again. “Now will you please—hic!—fuck these hiccups out of me?”
Buck’s still laughing as he clambers off the sofa and holds out a hand, pulling Eddie up with him. “Hi,” he whispers as Eddie comes face to face with him, and despite the hiccups and the abject ridiculousness of the past several minutes, Eddie finds himself smiling.
“Hi,” he whispers back, suppressing a hiccup and leaning in to press his mouth against Buck’s, soft and slow and gentle. Buck sways against him, and for a moment Eddie is able to forget the unconventional way they found their way here and just enjoy the fact that they did.
Then he hiccups into Buck’s mouth again.
“Okay, okay,” Buck says, trying and failing not to laugh. “Bedroom?”
Eddie lets Buck pull him along and into the bedroom like it’s not his house. He hesitates for a moment once they get into the bedroom and close the door, unsure how to continue this slightly surreal situation, but Buck practically tackles him onto the bed, lips finding his as soon as they’re close enough again.
“You know,” Buck says, just barely pulling back, so Eddie feels his lips move against his cheek. “Normally, I wouldn’t put out like this on the first date. But there’s extenuating circumstances.”
Eddie opens his mouth to ask, but a hiccup comes out instead.
“Yeah, that,” Buck agrees, then he grins. “Also, I really want to fuck you.”
“Works for me,” Eddie breathes.
“Lube?” Buck asks, and Eddie fumbles in his bedside table until his hand closes around a bottle he can pretty much recognise by touch alone.
Buck makes quick work of their clothing, and when his shirt comes off Eddie can’t help but reach for Buck and pull him close, to press his lips wherever he can reach as his hands skim across Buck’s broad back, tracing the outlines of his muscles and counting his vertebrae one by one. Buck lets him get away with it, sinking into lazy, indulgent kisses, until Eddie hiccups three times in quick succession.
“Okay,” Buck murmurs. “Let’s take care of that first, yeah?”
He sits up, dragging his fingertips slowly down Eddie’s chest. Eddie’s only in his boxers now, and the outline of his cock twitches when Buck’s fingers pass his nipples, as they trace the waistband of his underwear. Buck trails a finger down the cloth-covered length of him and Eddie’s hips jerk, seeking friction.
Buck pulls his boxers off and Eddie watches the way his cock springs out, the way Buck’s gaze is immediately drawn to it. Buck wraps a hand around him and Eddie lets out a choked-off gasp, transitioning into a hiccup halfway through.
“Right,” Buck says. “Eyes on the prize.”
Buck’s hands move to Eddie’s legs, his large palms smoothing along Eddie’s inner thighs. He takes a moment just to touch Eddie, hands moving back and forth and slowly getting closer to the crease of his thigh. He nudges, careful, guiding Eddie to part his legs.
It’s—strange, to lie there, on his back with his leaking cock resting on his stomach and his legs spread wide. it’s strange, but he doesn’t feel exposed like he might have expected. There’s just a burgeoning sense of anticipation, an awareness of Buck’s every limb that only grows as Buck’s hands return to his inner thighs and move to cup his ass. There’s an ache growing within him, like if Buck doesn’t touch him soon he’ll break apart, even with Buck’s hands still on him.
Buck brushes a finger between Eddie’s cheeks, and Eddie lets out a sound best described as somewhere between a sigh and a whimper.
“Yeah?” Buck asks and does it again.
“Buck—” Eddie starts and gets cut off by a hiccup, but he thinks maybe his tone was enough to convey it.
“Yeah, baby,” Buck murmurs. “I’ve got you.”
Eddie hears the cap of the lube bottle, and the next time Buck touches him his fingers are cool and slippery. Buck takes his time, but Eddie’s gasping from the moment Buck touches him and only gets more incoherent the further Buck gets.
Buck’s fingers circle Eddie’s rim and Eddie swears, biting off a moan with a gritted-out fuck. Buck slips a single finger inside of him, and Eddie’s hiccups disappear almost immediately but he doesn’t notice, all of his attention fixed on the waves of pleasure radiating through him, escaping his mouth in a chant of “Oh god, Buck, shit, shit, oh my god—”
He’s barely aware of the bed shifting beside him but then Buck’s there, stretched out next to him with one hand still between his legs. Buck’s lips land on his cheek, his neck, his collarbone, his chest, scraping by his nipples and back up to Eddie’s mouth to swallow the litany of profanity spilling out of him.
Eddie thinks Buck might have added a finger but he can’t be sure, can’t be sure of anything except the fact that Buck is the only thing that exists in the universe right now. Just him and Buck on his bed, on the blue quilted covers that Buck called boring once but which Eddie likes because if he squints he can pretend they’re the same blue as Buck’s eyes.
Buck’s fingers curl, and they brush up against something inside him that blurs the edge of his vision and sends shockwaves through him. Eddie moans, louder than he has all day, and he can’t see Buck but when he speaks Eddie hears the grin in his voice.
“Yeah?” Buck murmurs. “Think you can come just like this?”
“Fuck,” Eddie says, and it’s not a response but it’s the only word he can find. He feels like he’s floating, like Buck’s hand is the only thing keeping him here, like all that’s left of him is the white-hot pleasure crashing over him in waves.
Buck curls his fingers again and Eddie tumbles over the edge; his release rips through him and he collapses back against the bed, limp. For several long moments, his ragged breathing is the only sound in the room.
“So,” Buck eventually says. “Did it work?”
Eddie’s still catching his breath, but he reaches for Buck and tugs him in, pressing their mouths together. “You tell me,” he murmurs some minutes later, entirely uninterrupted by hiccups.
“Good to know,” Buck grins, then switches to a frown so fast Eddie almost gets whiplash. “We need to come up with a different story to tell at work.”
Eddie snorts. “Yeah, I don’t think they want to hear this version.”
“Sucks for them,” Buck says. “I happen to think it’s a great version.”
“You’re biased,” Eddie points out.
“Lies and slander,” Buck says, and Eddie’s still laughing when he kisses Buck again.
“Hey, so,” Eddie says a minute later. “I know you don’t have the hiccups, but can I—I want to—”
Buck grins at him. “Hic.”
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(DON’T) LET THIS BE THE END — CHAPTER 13
“So, can you tell us why you made us all sit here around you?” Hen asks Buck, and Chim can't help but laugh looking at the expression on his friend’s face, then turns to look at Buck.
“Because I have to tell you something important.”
“We are waiting, do it before they call us again.”
Chim sits comfortable, watching Buck and Eddie approaching him "don't tell me you're broken up" he tells them, and Eddie shakes his head, reassuring him.
"No, it's something else, definitely happier" he takes a couple of keys from his pocket "you know that by now we were living between my house and his house, and it was becoming uncomfortable, especially for Chris, so this month we looked for a place, and here we are, we bought our first house together” Buck says, smiling like he never did before “and we wanted our little big family to know right away. I know you may think it's early but in the end we were already doing it anyway, the only difference is that we will only use one house now.”
They all smile at them, genuinely happy, and they stand up to hug and compliment them.
“This is wonderful guys” Bobby tells them, hugging them both “and Chris? Is he happy?”
"He’s already thinking about the way he can change his room" Eddie says laughing "he is very happy, and he says that as soon as everything is ready you'll have to come to dinner at ours.”
“Free dinner? We're in" Chim says jokingly, patting Eddie on the shoulder and then stopping in front of Buck "I'm so happy for you brother, no one deserves it more than you.”
“You can't imagine how much this means to me, Chim. You have always been by my side since day one and it is important to have you close in all the important stages of my life, and I’m serious when I say it.”
"And I'm grateful and happy to be by your side" he smiles at him sincerely "and if you need help doing some work, count on me, indeed on all of us.”
“I won't make you say it twice, we will probably need help with the move very soon, we don't want to waste any more time.”
“We will help you, don't worry. Does your sister know?" He asks him as the siren sounds, and Buck nods as they both walk towards the firetruck.
“I called her this morning, I wanted her to be there too but she had to go to work so I told her directly. She already told me that she will paint Chris' whole room with Eddie” he says chuckling.
"I'm already scared.”
"Don’t say that to me.”
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#911 fox#maddie buckley#chimney han#maddie x chimney#madney#Evan Buckley#eddie diaz#eddie x buck#buddie#madney fic#buddie fic#911 fic
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I posted 7,209 times in 2022
394 posts created (5%)
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#maybe beck mentioned you were their sister and i went to check out your blog because i’d been seeing your gifs?
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#5
Wrote this so fast I haven’t even edited it but
May’s words echo around Eddie’s head. He’s pouring coffee in the break room and they’re there:
Maybe she felt like she was missing out on a life she could have had.
He’s sitting in Frank’s office and they’re there:
If she’d been born someone else, or made different choices.
He’s lying on his couch, toes wedged under Buck’s thigh, Speed Wedding playing on the TV, and he’s thinking what if this was different?
“Hey,” Eddie says, two beers and the TV half-light spurring him to bravery. “Do you ever wonder what your life might be like if you’d been born someone else?”
Buck gives a little half laugh and turns to look at him, already smiling. “Not you too.”
It’s not the answer he expects.
“Me too?” Eddie echoes.
“Yeah, we were talking about it in the truck the other day,” Buck says. “Whether we had regrets and stuff, you know? If we wished we’d done things differently, lived different lives.”
“And do you?” Eddie asks, inexplicably nervous. He’s not sure if he wants Buck’s answer to be yes or no. Maybe both.
Buck shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says, picking at the label on his bottle. “My life is pretty good right now.”
A sideways flick of his gaze in Eddie’s direction, there and gone. Maybe just a trick of the light.
Eddie swallows. “Yeah,” he agrees. Right now right now right now. “I like to think we always would have ended up here.”
He’s rewarded with a bright smile, the kind that lights up Buck’s whole face, like Eddie reached right into his heart and pulled it out.
“You think?”
Eddie can’t imagine a life that doesn’t have Buck in it. Most days he doesn’t let himself imagine anything more than that—this, friends—either, but… beer, and TV half-light, and feeling brave.
“Maybe not exactly like this, but… You and me?” His voice must be giving him away, but he doesn’t care. “Yeah. Always.”
Buck’s smile is softer then, something a little more shy, a little more…
A little more.
“Always,” he murmurs. “Yeah, I think so too.”
Maybe it’s the stutter of Eddie’s heart in his chest, but it sounds an awful lot like forever.
You and me, forever.
Maybe he’s not missing out, Eddie thinks. Maybe he doesn’t need to be born someone else. Maybe always and forever are still in reach.
Maybe, one day, he’ll be lying on this couch, toes wedged under Buck’s thigh, Speed Wedding playing on the TV, and he’ll think I wouldn’t change a thing.
273 notes - Posted April 26, 2022
#4
the further we get from the shooting the more I can’t believe they did that. they really did that. live on our tv screens. wtf
338 notes - Posted October 9, 2022
#3
stay (so the world may become like itself again)
[Read on AO3]
Eddie kisses his best friend at a wedding.
At a Christmas party.
On New Year’s Eve.
He kisses Buck in the carpark after a team night at a bar on a cool February night, drunk on more than just beer and cocktails, giddy with the taste of salt on Buck’s lips.
“Come home with me,” he whispers into the space between them.
And Buck smiles, hand warm on Eddie’s cheek, and replies, “Where else am I going to go?”
They’re tipsy and giggling, shushing each other as they stumble through the door—then realising they don’t have to because Chris isn’t home. He’s at the Wilsons’ house, will be all night, which is probably why Hen gave Eddie such a knowing look when he followed Buck out of the bar.
“Buck,” he says now, his back against the wall, Buck’s mouth on his neck, the world dark and narrowed to all the places where they touch and the ache in every place they don’t. He doesn’t know what to say except: “Buck, please. Please.”
It’s Eddie’s house, but Buck takes him to bed, guiding him by the hand through the hallway and pushing him back against the sheets.
It’s Eddie’s house, but is it? Isn’t it—can’t it be—their house?
“I should tell you,” Buck says afterwards, tracing patterns on Eddie’s chest in the moonlit darkness. “I think I’m in love with you.”
Eddie kisses his best friend in his bed, both of them naked and probably still too drunk for these kinds of confessions. Or maybe just drunk enough.
“I should tell you,” he answers, “I think I want to marry you.”
Buck’s inhale is a quick, jagged thing, messy and real and trembling under the hand that Eddie has curved around his side.
“Eddie,” he breathes, an exhale and an exultation.
“I think I’ve always wanted to marry you,” Eddie admits, “even if I didn’t always know it.”
He should probably invite Frank to the wedding, he thinks. Maybe that cardiologist who told him he was repressed as well.
“Eddie,” Buck says again, but this time his voice is wet, almost wobbly. “You can’t just say things like that.”
Maybe.
Maybe if it was anyone other than Buck.
“I mean it,” Eddie tells him. Promises him. “You know I wouldn’t lie to you.”
Another trembling breath, and then certainty: “I know.”
Buck kisses him, slow and thorough, the weight of him pressing Eddie into the mattress in all the right ways. There’s no hurry to it, no hurry to any of it, except for the way that Eddie wants all of Buck, all the time, and he’s tired of pretending that he doesn’t.
“We can’t get engaged like this,” Buck says finally, lips swollen, breathing ragged between them. “The others will never let us live it down.”
Eddie shakes his head. “I don’t care.”
“We’re not even dating, Eddie.”
But it’s not a no.
“I already gave you my heart,” Eddie says. Doesn’t have to say when, or which time, or that he’s been giving Buck pieces of his heart every day since they met, even when he didn’t know it.
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429 notes - Posted June 24, 2022
#2
tears are words the mouth can’t say
Saw the promo, had a breakdown, bon appetit.
[Read on AO3]
Buck’s caller ID says Christopher and his heart is instantly in his throat.
“Hey buddy,” he answers, striving for normal, for cheerful and calm, ignoring the way that Hen and Bobby pause noticeably, attention swivelling towards him.
“Buck,” Christopher says on the other end of the phone, and his voice sounds—wrong. Concerned. “Can you come over?”
He can’t. He’s working. But—
“Is everything okay?”
Knuckles tight around the phone, heart thudding sickly fast, already turned toward the stairs. His own worry bleeding through. Buck already knows the answer is an alarm-blaring no before Chris says, “I don’t know. Can you come over?”
A glances at Bobby, a silent response, his captain’s head nodding toward the stairs: go.
Buck goes.
****
He lets himself in.
Maybe he should have knocked.
The lateness of the hour, the darkness of the house, none of it has fully registered until Buck is swinging his arm up to protect himself from—a bat? It never connects, stopped as suddenly as Buck’s face is lit by the flash of headlights from the street.
“Buck?” Eddie gasps. And in the same breath: “Fuck.”
He presses a hand to his chest, bat still clutched in white-knuckled fingers. Buck’s own heart is racing, hands shaking with sudden adrenaline.
“What the fuck,” he starts, and then stops. Starts again. “Christopher called me. Are you—” okay? Obviously not. “What the hell, man?”
Eddie doesn’t say anything, his eyes shuttered closed, breathing loud and gasping in the almost-darkness. Buck reaches for him and he flinches, rocking back, bat still held tight. Buck glances toward the hallway: no light from Christopher’s room, but. It’s only been twenty minutes since Buck got that call.
“Eddie,” he says, lower. This time he gets his hands on Eddie’s arms. “Let’s sit down, okay?”
He steers them to the couch, pushes Eddie down with gentle pressure on his shoulders when he doesn’t immediately sit. He feels like he’s moving on autopilot, muscle memory taking over even while his heart squeezes painfully in his chest. He’s probably going to go home and have this own panic attack about this later, but. Not yet. He has to help Eddie first.
Buck goes to the kitchen to fill a glass with water and when he comes back, Eddie is curled into the corner of the couch, shoulders shaking, face pressed into his knees, shuddering through sobs he is trying and failing to choke down. Buck’s heart seizes.
“Hey,” slipping out as he falls to his knees, water abandoned on the coffee table, “hey, Eds, it’s okay—we’re okay.”
Eddie shakes his head, inarticulate. He’s still holding the bat, muscles locked tight around it, and that more than anything else makes Buck feel cold, worry and anxiety a sick churning in his stomach, helplessness beating against his ribs.
“Eddie,” he tries again. “What can I do?”
Eddie’s answered is muffled. He has to lift his head to repeat it, voice thick: “Chris.”
Of course. Eddie’s first and third and tenth thought is never for himself, always for his son.
“Okay.” Buck squeezes his ankle; he never wants to let go. “I’ll be back in a second.”
****
Christopher’s door is closed, his light off, the glowing bedside clock showing well past his bedtime, but his eyes open when Buck comes in.
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486 notes - Posted March 16, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
Love that Eddie came down the fire pole I know he did that just for added drama his first call back
714 notes - Posted May 17, 2022
Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →
#longest tag being about meg feels so right <3#also that top post sdlgljkkgs#the top fic ones are a surprise ngl
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My initial spoiler thoughts for episode 6x18.
Ummmm yeah I’ll be tagging this post #911 critical and #911 negativity for blacklisting purposes, because, well, I have some critical and negative leaning thoughts.
I literally just finished the episode so… Hooboy folks. I guess in no particular order.
Y’all. I am. Really disappointed in Natalia coming back and Buck accepting her back. Now while I don’t believe them to be any sort of endgame, this is tiring. Buck has learned nothing when it comes to romantic relationships. What was it, at the end of season 5 or beginning of season 6, Buck said he doesn’t want to settle or be with someone who doesn’t accept all of him? And fucking yet. I really don’t care that Natalia apologized, said she “overreacted.” There was definitely truth in that initial reaction. Be serious now. Once again while I understand Buck is full of trauma, but this is so unsatisfying for his character. Like goddamn let him grow, holy shit.
Like out loud when Buck accepted Natalia back I said, “You have got to be kidding me.”
Sooooo I can only assume Buck reckoning with his death will be carried into season 7? Because I saw no real conclusion to that big storyline. 🙃
No real answer to Bucks happiness either. He still seems to be searching for it in the wrong places. *tired sigh*
Props for Buck keeping his cool during the rescue. He sorta took on some leadership. Sorta. Can’t say this story thread has been handled all that well, though.
Was Eddie cute when he called Marisol? Yes. But I’m biased with Eddie. Did I expect this possible outcome of Eddie and Marisol possibly dating? Absolutely. Do I like it? Not at all.
We know Marisol won’t be an endgame AND sure, she hasn’t had much screen time yet, but I’m bored already. 911 does not have a great track record in making the love interests, particularly for Buck and Eddie, interesting. And I get people saying “Eddie’s never dated, so this is his chance to try that out, even if it doesn’t go anywhere.” I get it, I really do. At the moment I don’t know how to explain what I’m thinking in a satisfactory way. I’m just… not looking forward to what I can already tell will be a boring experience with Eddie dating Marisol. And not knowing how long 911 will drag out this relationship…. I feel tired. I may feel more positive later, another day, but that is not today.
I’ll give points for Eddie letting Chris in on the fact that he’s (trying to) date.
Kameron and Connor were a mess, huh. Connor just seems immature and a bit of a dick. My goodness, does Kameron really have no friends or family in LA? I’m still hella confused as to why she thought it was okay to crash at the donor’s place. The show did nothing to establish any friendship between Kameron and Buck, so y’all that was weird. I mean, good for Buck saying “not my wife, not my baby.” Good for him in setting some kind of boundaries, cause it seems Kameron and Connor have none. Yeah uh…. I know I don’t think this donor story was handled that well, but any future and further thoughts will be for a different post. I - hope this is the last we see of Connor and Kameron.
Uhhhhh there was a clear time jump, I think? From the rescue/accident to - everyone going back to work. But I swear Buck still had scratches on his face, so????????? And considering the injuries of Bobby, Eddie, and Chimney, how in the hell are they back at work already???? The time jump was not clear at all, so that had me hella confused.
I am happy that Athena and Bobby are getting a vacation. Here’s to hoping the cruise ship doesn’t get into an accident. Let my 911 parents have a relaxing and fun time.
I think it’s sweet that Maddie and Chimney are going to get married at their house. I love that for them. Something simple and sweet.
Hen and Karen might get to adopt in the future! They really seem to want that, so yay for them. =))
I did enjoy the rescue, but… I actually feel like it could have been a little longer. *shrugs*
In summary - I’m mixed. If this had truly been the series finale, boy howdy I would have felt overall unsatisfied. Like truly, I’m really glad there will be a 7th season. I’d feel unsatisfied for season 6 as a whole, which I will be making a future and different post on, idk, maybe in the next few days.
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