9-1-1 (TV) | Teen | Buck/Eddie | Love Island AU | 12k
Fiji is hot and sticky. Buck's been here for a few weeks - at least he thinks he has - and he's still not used it. Time works differently in the Villa; the producers call it Island Time. Buck has tried to count the days based on sleep, but that’s still hard to do when they are shuffled off to sleep with the sun rising. Buck is pretty sure he’s been here about two weeks and he thinks he has a good chance of winning.
Buck isn’t sure why he’s here. He signed up one night when he was drunk and lonely. He never expected to be called back. But a few weeks before filming was set to begin, the producers called him and offered it to him. And why the hell not? He’s young and has no clue what he wants to do with his life. Now, he finds himself two weeks in and with an amazing girl.
He’s been coupled up with Taylor since she walked in as a bombshell on the first night and stole him from Ali. Taylor is amazing. She’s like none of the girls Buck has dated before. She’s blunt, sometimes harsh, but her heart is in the right place. Buck can see himself with her outside the Villa. They’ve been solid since the first recoupling on day two, and Buck wants to close it off but Taylor still wants to explore. Buck can’t really fault her. They still have weeks left and it’s too early to be closed off. Maybe if they make it to Casa. Or, he could, until the new bombshell entered the Villa.
you held your head like a hero (on a history book page)
This is a fic I've been working on for 2 entire years. Not because it's super long, but because it's taken that long to write. I started this in may of 2021 for something random, I even titled it after "Long Live" by Taylor Swift in the following June (and guess what! Speak Now TV this July!). This is only what it is today because I fell in love with the idea, and I've come back to it every so often. I started this at a completely separate time of my life, so don't expect it to be 100% perfect. All I hope is that you enjoy this fic the same amount as I've enjoyed writing it. Ily guys<3
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The word ‘Planet’ comes from the Greek phrase ofἀστήρ πλανήτης, or ‘Wandering Star.’ Jack Kelly, though not a star or anything close to it, related a little too much to this phrase. For him, wandering was a means of surviving. With him being a boy on the street with a dead mom and a dad who went to jail to feed his children, Jack really had no choice. Jack Kelly wasn’t a planet, but he wandered, always in search of freedom.
or: Jack Kelly grows up, makes mistakes, and finds where he belongs.
[id: @britishsass bob's one to judge his husband is a cactus in his mind]
Well of course now that you've pointed it out I have to write it.
a sequel to this ask send me prompts!!!
“It’s much better than it used to be,” Bob said, his voice muffled.
“Mmph.”
“I’m doing fine now, really.”
“Mmph.”
“Helmut--”
“Mmph.”
“...do you wanna see the cactus version of you that’s in here?”
There was a long, long pause. Then, very gradually, Helmut released Bob from his death grip of a hug and straightened up.
“Yeah,” he said. But his face was still tight and sad, and his eyes drifted across the barren little island and the endless ocean around it.
There was no way for Helmut to know it, but it was better than it used to be--although of course it would have been hard to get much worse. The island had grown as the sea around it receded. The sand was now dotted with patches of beachgrass and flowers, especially thick around the bases of the pots.
But the last time Helmut had visited, this place had been a garden.
“Bobby--”
“Come on,” Bob said, taking Helmut’s hand.
“Bobby.”
“It’s never going to be the way it was,” Bob admitted, looking up at Helmut. “But it’s not going to be like this much longer. I’m better now. Okay?”
At last Helmut smiled, though sadness lingered in the corners.
“Oka--oh my god, I’m adorable.”
Bob scratched his cheek and tried not to sound embarrassed.
“I mean, they’re just representations of people who are important to me. That’s not how I actually see you--”
“Look at the little hat!” Helmut exclaimed, not listening in the slightest. He crouched down to get a better view. “And the petals for my hair--Oh I love it, Bobby, this is amazing. Hey, if we show it to Lucy, do you think she’d be able to crochet it for me?”
“No! We are not having Lucy crochet my mental representation of you,” Bob said, putting his hands on his hips and glaring at his husband.
“Is it because you don’t want her in here? That’s fine, I’ll just draw her a picture.”
“No.”
“Yeah, I’m definitely going to ask her to do it. I’m going to put it on the dashboard of the Feel Mobile. Ooh, maybe I’ll get those giant googly eyes for it.”
“Helmut!”
“Look at him, Bobby! He’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen! I want to look at this every day of my life.”
“Is this because I didn’t like the ear-me in your mind? Is this payback for that?”
“Nooo, why would I do a thing like that?” Helmut said, and from the way he couldn’t take his eyes off the little cactus, Bob honestly wasn’t sure whether or not to believe him.
listen, I can’t wait to be able to show you all the cover for my book at the end of the month. I’m going feral just looking at the sketches my illustrator sends me. It looks so good and it’s not even done yet!
I can’t believe that in a bit over two months this book will be in people’s hands
“What? Dad! That’s it? That’s all you have to say? What about how much older he is?? What about your gun??? Dad!!” Stiles shouted down the hallway.
“He seems like a nice enough kid.” The sheriff answered simply.
It was true, Derek was nice. He was more than nice. Stiles still had a hard time thinking this thing between them was actually something. Something other than incredibly good sex and cuddles, also holding hands and making out at the movies, that was nice too.
Derek had actually took that job as a barista at the coffee shop on the corner of main street because he wanted to save money and take Stiles away on a ski trip during the holidays. It took a lot of will power to not freak out because Derek was actually thinking about the future. A future together.
The future as in two months from now, but still, that was a lot! Stiles could barely believe it.
“Bring him over for dinner next Friday!” His dad shouted from downstairs after a while.
Ah crap, there it was. No more sneaking around in secret. Stiles had an official boyfriend.
Pairing: (platonic) Anatole Kuragin & Helene Bezukhova
Rating: G
Summary: Anatole gets sick and is a dramatic bitch about it
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Anatole had only one thought when he woke up.
Which was fuck.
He could tell he was sick before he even opened his eyes. His body was about a million pounds heavier than it was yesterday, his nose blocked, and his brow damp with sweat.
"This is not what I meant by 'Anatole is hot.'" He mumbled to himself, wiping the moisture from his forehead as he forced his aching body to sit up.
Might as well see what he was dealing with. With a tremendous amount of heroic effort, Anatole dragged himself out of bed, then immediately wished he hadn't when the floor started getting closer.
Thunk.
Contrary to what Anatole had hoped, the softness of his carpet did not prevent it from hurting like a bitch when he smacked his face straight into the floor. He groaned.
Swallowing his pride, and probably also some goopy sinus shit, Anatole surrendered to the helplessness of his current situation. He could not go on alone.
"Helene!" He called as loud as he could with a clogged nose and a dying throat. Which-- surprise, surprise-- was not very fucking loud. He clung to the hope that she was close.
"What do you wa-- jesus fucking christ," Helene's voice came from somewhere near his doorway. It was hard to know exactly where, as he couldn't see shit but carpet right now. "What's wrong with you?"
Anatole rolled over onto his back with more struggle than he thought was reasonable for the universe to demand of him. He could see his sister in this new, slightly less terrible position, standing over him and pinching the bridge of her nose.
"I think I'm sick."
"No shit, Ani. you're a real genius."
"Just help me--" Anatole said. "Please, 'Lena? Help your sick little brother?" He tried to look as sad and weak as possible, which wasn't hard, because he was laying on the fucking floor with enough heat radiating off of him to keep a small house warm.
She sighed. "Fine. Relax your body so I can pick your stupid ass up."
Anatole probably couldn't have his muscles do anything other than relax right now, but he tried to get more floppy anyway. He closed his eyes, and released any tension still left in him. This way, he could ascend to being Relaxed².
Soon, Anatole had the familiar sensation of Helene scooping him up and into her arms, just like she'd done when they were children. Her labored breathing told him that it wasn't easy for her anymore, but his primary concern was just getting back to his bed. She could handle carrying him two steps.
Apparently she could also handle chucking his weakened, sick body like it was an empty can of pepsi and her name was Tara, because Anatole was suddenly midair.
Then he hit the mattress, and the impact broke all of his bones. His whole entire skeleton. Completely nerfed.
"Ow."
"Stop whining, you little bitch. Go back to sleep," Helene said, covering him with his blanket. "Let me know if you want anything when you wake up."
Anatole smiled. "You're an angel, 'Lena."
"You're delirious. Go to sleep."
"Okay. I love you."
"Shut up," Helene rolled her eyes, turning to go. Then she stopped, looked back to him, and sighed. "Fine. I love you too."
Contented, Anatole closed his eyes, and allowed himself to sink back into sleep as Helene's footsteps left the room.
