Wip Wednesday 🎄
I was tagged by the ever so lovely @daffi-990 @thewolvesof1998 @jamespearce9-1-1 @hippolotamus @exhuastedpigeon and @rainbow-nerdss mwuah 💛
Welp a little later than usual but here I am! And uh apparently I added another Christmas fic to the pile because why not lmao but it's just a real short one and I'm aiming for it to be posted this week. 🫡
He was just about to decide what kind of disgustingly greasy takeout food to order, when the door clicked open behind his back.
He turned to see— Eddie. Because of course it was Eddie.
“Hey,” he said gently, shutting the door behind himself and Buck knew it was a little irrational right now, but it still warmed his heart that Eddie came and went like this; that he knew no matter what, he was always welcome here.
“Hi.” Buck gave him a weak smile over the brim of his beer bottle, unsure of what to expect.
“I just wanted to see if you were okay.”
“Why, did uh did I not seem okay?” Buck scoffed, just falling short of casual.
Eddie averted his gaze almost guiltily before pinning Buck with a knowing look. “No.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s fair.” Buck took a long swig of his beer with a grimace.
“You know it doesn’t change anything, right?”
“Uh no, Eddie, I really don’t know that.” Buck drawled and put the bottle down on the counter top with a loud clink.
“Bu—”
“Eddie, you’re leaving the 118. That- that literally changes everything!” He spread his arms widely, as if he could indicate just how much of that everything covered.
✨no pressure tagging: @malewifediaz @spagheddiediaz @jeeyuns @ladydorian05 @disasterbuckdiaz @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @eowon @heartshapedvows @nmcggg @watchyourbuck @eddiebabygirldiaz @theotherbuckley @fortheloveofbuddie
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Absolutely begging you to write the Hob/Dream cheeseburgers and vengeance story
Back when I was doing Spotify Wrapped Prompts (remember those???) I made a list of what I would do for each of them before answering the actual asks (ie following the assignment before proceeding to not follow it at all). I am banned (by myself) from continuing them until Seventies San Francisco AU is done, since it was a Spotify Wrapped prompt before it was a 20K+ WIP, from an anon who has brought a curse upon my house (affectionate). BUT one of them, to finally arrive at the point, was Romance Dawn by Radkey:
canon verse between meetings, hob is a union organizer, hob is in the punk scene, hob is setting fires or putting them out, hob is at shows, hob is getting in fights, and the fierceness of it all transmits to his feelings for his stranger, and then one day he sees him, thinks it’s a dream (is it a dream?), he kisses him, tastes blood, something is wrong, wakes with vague memories, goes running back and back again, until he gets it out of him, where are you, fawney rig. and it’s maybe a fishbowl destruction fic. and like. london punk/hardcore scene & thatcherism & trade union strikes. burning down fawney rig. sort of green room energy but holy war against the burgesses. smashing it. saving dream. not even i. we. we will salt the fucking earth here.
Anyways, I think the cheeseburgers and vengeance would fit in great with that and Hob and his punk family deserve that experience.
cc: @fancy-rock-dove <3
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WIP from the Story “The Shape of a Soul”
With her hunting gear in tow, Marya paused by their little shrine to pray to the dragon. Their family was the only one around to still worship the big sky lizards, as Ivan, one of her little cousins, liked to call them with a mischievous grin.
There had been a time where such a thing had been different, when dragons had truly existed, but they had disappeared one by one and new religions had popped up, so things had changed.��
Dragons, once mighty protectors and fierce warriors, had turned into greedy storybook monsters, jealously and gleefully burning everything to the ground and feasting on the flesh of mortals while sitting on mountains of treasure.
Marya had a blurry memory of her parents, before they had died to the blue fever, asking them why they worshipped something everyone else thought was bad and evil. She remembered her mother and father chuckling softly and a big hand gently brushing over her hair.
'Don’t mind what other people say', Mother had said to her. 'They long since forgot the truth as it got overwritten by different people saying new things. We will stay true to ourselves, never forget that my sweet.'
Marya very quietly and softly clapped her hands together twice as she bowed to the carved wooden dragon, a relic that had been in her family’s possession for over three hundred years.
Below the protective arch of the dragon's body and its calm, steady gaze was a small wooden house with faceless people waving up at it. Trees and farm animals had been carved out of the wood as well, the dragon's tail curving around it all securely. It was one big piece of beautiful craftsmanship.
"I will hunt well today," she whispered determinedly to the dragon as she closed her eyes for a moment. "To take meat to the market to buy things to make the children happy and ensure they have everything they need when I travel. Please protect this house and them in my absence."
Lowering her arms and straightening, she felt herself fill with purpose as she eased the creaking front door open and slipped outside, closing it just as gingerly. The sky was just starting to grow lighter along the horizon and she saw the outline of crows sitting atop the buildings around her.
"Good morning, guardians," she whispered and lifted the heavy lid of a small clay pot beside the house to grab a fistful of seeds. She left a trail of seeds as she walked to the edge of their little village, the crows flapping down to eat, some trailing after her for a moment longer.
She had no idea who had started the tradition of feeding the local crows, but it had certainly proven useful. They saw the village as their own by now and had grown to like the people here. The crows had helped them out a few times since then, be it by bringing the occasional coin or pretty thing a traveler had lost or causing an incredible ruckus when one of the children had fallen down the well without anyone else around. The boy had been pulled out in time thanks to them.
Everyone called them the guardians of their village, a settling too small to be on any map or to have a proper village square for trading, but the locals liked to call this place Green Rock. It was named after the incredibly big and incredibly mossy boulder that was right at the entrance to their village. Sometimes the elders liked to joke that it had been a gift of a rock troll or even that it was a troll itself, sleeping here until the end of the world came.
Part 2 here. Part 3 here.
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