The quiet hum of creation still clings to your name—how charmingly it betrays you.
I’ve watched your strokes whisper the kind of secrets only the brave dare translate. Your lines breathe in a way most only mimic—you coax life from silence itself.
And now, the Ghost comes knocking once more, bearing a single word wrapped in shadow. Will you take it, artist? Sketch it, breathe it, twist it into being? 👁️
Come now, Nawy—indulge me.
Show me what your hands make of the dark. ♟️
And here you are, charming Ghost, entering my den with a challenge
Bring it on, I say, let's see what your mind can conjure
For the hand-holding prompts: 11 for Amberprice or 34 for pricefield! Or both if you feel like taking two separate prompts from one person :)
Can't resist some tender amberprice :) I might dip back in and do the pricefield one, too, but in the meantime have this:
(CW for panic attack)
Over twenty-four hours on a train with Rachel, and Chloe’s still not sick of her. A full day of too-little legroom, of bumping into Rachel every time one of them stretches, of sleeping sitting upright (or trying to sleep, at least), of Rachel’s morning breath right in her face, of constant rattling and motion. A full day of sharing earbuds and swapping stories, of Rachel napping with her head bouncing lightly against Chloe’s shoulder, of poking fun at the other passengers and commiserating over the subpar canteen food.
Chloe never thought the first night she’d spend outside of Arcadia Bay would be spent in a cramped train seat.
The world of the train is its own little bubble of reality: not Arcadia Bay but not really the outside world, either. The fact that she’s finally out doesn’t hit until they disembark.
Chloe has never seen so many people before in her life. She’s pretty sure there are more people milling around this train station than there are in the entirety of her hometown.
Rachel seems unfazed. She’s already in full Cali mode, sunglasses pushed up onto her forehead as she flicks through the map on her phone. She’s talking about a mile a minute, brimming with excitement and with no nerves in evidence, but all Chloe can hear is her own ears ringing as her vision starts to tunnel.
She doesn’t belong here. She shouldn’t be here.
A fish out of water, she gasps at air and chokes.
“Chloe?” Rachel’s voice pierces through the haze. Chloe can’t answer.
Cool, smooth fingers lace through Chloe’s, squeezing soft but firm. Jasmine perfume wraps itself around Chloe like a blanket.
“Let’s sit down and take a breath, okay?”
Chloe lets herself be guided to a sitting position atop Rachel’s bulging duffel bag. People flow around them like water around a boulder, hardly seeming to even register their presence. “Breathe with me. Can you do that?”
Chloe tries.
There are too many people. Too much noise, too much movement. She doesn’t know any of these people. Why are there so many people?
“Come on, babe, you can do it.” Rachel kneels in front of her, one hand still holding hers firmly and the other loosely cupping the back of Chloe’s neck. She crouches there until she’s all that Chloe can see, pools of patient hazel staring warmly into her.
Chloe gasps, a drowning woman surfacing at last. The air tastes like Rachel’s sweat and perfume, like home. “I’m sorry,” she says when she can draw enough trembling breaths to speak.
“Shhhh,” Rachel admonishes softly, stroking the damp hair at the nape of Chloe’s neck. “No apologizing. Just breathing.” She rests her cheek against Chloe’s and Chloe tries not to feel too embarrassed when she realizes she’s crying all over Rachel. “In and out, nice and slow. Breathe with me.”
Chloe closes her burning eyes and lets herself relax against Rachel. The first few breaths she draws are short and shaky, but the longer they sit there the steadier her breathing gets. “We’re really here,” she says finally, her voice still rough as hell.
“We’re really here,” Rachel affirms quietly. “Are you okay?”
“I will be. I think.” She wants to apologize again. She should be celebrating, shouldn’t she? She’s out of Arcadia Bay. She’s in California with Rachel, just like they’ve always planned. These are good things. Why is she crying and having a panic attack and dragging Rachel down like a fucking idiot?
“Hey,” Rachel says, gently squeezing Chloe’s hand, “hey, stay with me. I’m scared, too, you know.”
That startles Chloe out of her spiral. She draws back, blinking, leftover tears spilling from her eyes. “You what?”
Rachel smiles at her. “This is kind of a big deal for me, too, Chloe. I haven’t lived here since I was fourteen, and I still had my… Well. I still thought James Amber hung the moon, back then.” Her smile turns wry for a moment before slipping back into gentleness. “So of course I’m scared. It’s you and me now, and I don’t want to fuck this up.”
“You won’t.”
Rachel’s eyes turn sad. “I’m going to do my best not to.” She forces a smile. “So come on. Let’s go straight to the hotel and crash on a real bed. The rest of L.A. will still be here when we’re ready for it.”
Part of Chloe wants to get started on the real things right away. L.A. is an expensive city. They won’t last long on Rachel’s savings. They’ll need to find jobs, a real place to stay…
“Come on,” Rachel repeats, tugging on Chloe’s hand. “We’ve got the rest of our lives to worry.” Chloe lets Rachel pull her back to her feet. “In the meantime, we’ve got a hotel reservation. We’ve got room service to order, bad TV to watch, and a pool to commandeer.” With that, she leads Chloe back into the crowd. Chloe holds onto their luggage with one hand and lets Rachel guide her by the other.
It’s a lot. There are still more people than Chloe has ever seen all at once, and there’s still too much noise and heat, too much going on. The future is still uncertain and very possibly doomed. But then the doors open and they’re outside, and the sun is so dazzlingly bright that Chloe has to blink back startled tears. Rachel turns and winks at her over her shoulder, and Chloe finds herself smiling back at her like a lovestruck goop. “Hey,” she says, almost laughing, “we’re in L.A.”
Rachel grins back and drops her sunglasses into place. “We’re in L.A,” she agrees, pulling Chloe in for a quick kiss. “We made it.”
Bakudeku requested by @nona-inc Angst w/happy ending, AU modern times. Longer than I’d planned to write but stories go where they wanna lol.
Got the idea here
A Second Chance
In his adulthood, Izuku Midoriya did quite well for himself career-wise. He had a nice home and lived comfortably even though it was alone. Relationships had never really crossed his mind, which he chalked up to the turmoil of his childhood. It wasn’t a terribly horrible one but coming from divorced parents is never easy on young child minds. Why get close to anyone if they’ll probably leave eventually? That was a lesson bolstered by the end of primary school when his best friend ditched him for the popular kids.
It was Halloween night, and Izuku’s simply followed his normal routine after work consisting of dinner while watching a bit of television. Trick or treaters were a rarity in his neighborhood, so there was no sense in celebrating the holiday. As he waits for the news, he lets the current show drone on in the background while he scrolled mindlessly through his social media. He didn’t pay a lot of attention to what acquaintances posted and mostly looked for interesting or funny posts instead.
“Deku...”
Izuku’s brow furrows slightly at that ancient nickname. He looks at the television characters on the screen, had one of them said it? But instead of the tv show, he finds a fuzzy, staticky screen. He grabs his remote assuming something had gone wrong with the channel or service when...
“Deku, I’m sorry...”
“What the?” Izuku starts clicking the buttons and getting no response. The screen stays stuck, yet that voice... it was a familiar voice from long ago...
“...I’ve watched you from afar for all these years, because I could never admit how much I loved you and now it’s too late. I’m so sorry Deku. You’ll always be my only true love.”
Silence. Dead silence for a flash of a second when the television loudly blares back to life and startles Izuku out of his seat into a standing position. “What the fuck is going on?!”
The show had ended, and the news is now on in its regular-timed slot.
‘Breaking news, a major four car accident on the I10 highway has left 3 people dead and one in a critical condition. The victim identified as 37-year old K. Bakugou had been transported to the hospital for treatment. Police have closed off the highway in both directions, so anyone traveling in that area should use alternative routes...’
As he watches the footage of the accident story, Izuku’s hand unconscious covers his mouth and tears gather in his eyes. “Oh my gosh....” That was the voice he’d just heard! Of course, Katsuki was the only one who ever called him Deku.
He quickly calls one of the nurses at his hospital and they confirm that the man had in fact been transported there 15 minutes ago.
“Oh! Dr. Midoriya! We were just about to call you! Yes, patient Bakugou was brought in unconscious, lacerations to his arms and chest, broken leg, possible punctured lung, internal bleeding, concussion, and brain swelling which is why I was just about to call you in.”
“I’ll be right there.”
The entire way there, Izuku struggles to rationalize the message. If Katsuki was unconscious, how could that have been his voice? Then again that’s if you believed his television had somehow sent the message in the first place! Oh, this was entirely crazy! Izuku didn’t even know why his logical mind was allowing him to believe it had happened if not for the coincidence of the news coverage.
But as a neurosurgeon, he had to put all those questions aside and focus on the task at hand. The description the nurse had given him already indicated major problems, but it wasn’t until his own physical examination that determined the true extent of the damage. Primary surgical nurse Uraraka already had set up the operating room by the time Izuku arrived.
“The patient was revived once by EMTs in the ambulance and a second time in the ER after his heart stopped. Right now, the patient is intubated and prepped for emergency surgery.”
“Thank you, nurse Uraraka.”
Along with a fellow doctor, Izuku switched into a hyper focused mode. He works to repair the damage to the patient’s brain while the other doctor simultaneously focuses on internal chest injuries. Time was of the essence to stem the blood loss and mitigate further damage if they had any hope of saving the man, because even if he made it through the surgery, only a miracle would bring him back at this point.
It was now a waiting game. They keep Katsuki in a medically induced coma for the first three weeks as his body worked hard to repair itself. Once he was brought out of the induced coma, he still didn’t wake up, was breathing with the assistance of a machine, but at least the man’s heart was functioning normally. Surprisingly, Katsuki’s parents remembered Izuku and were grateful their son was in familiar hands. They’d initially flew in after the accident, but the cost to stay for such a long length of time would be too steep. So, after they returned home, he kept them up to date.
Each day that passed by, Izuku would check in on Katsuki’s progress like a normal doctor would, but at night he’d go home and ponder the ghostly message that had come through the television. He’d told no one about it because who would believe something so crazy? It just didn’t sound like the man, or rather child he remembered. Never once was there any indication Katsuki had romantic feelings for him, especially considering it was him not Izuku that ended their friendship. They saw each other in passing though middle, then high school and still nothing. So why is he now being told this?
Some say that when you die, any regrets you have must be released or your soul cannot ascend to the next plane. Izuku wasn’t religious or spiritual and before that Halloween trick he would have said he didn’t believe in anything beyond what he couldn’t see, touch, feel, and analyze. Ugh! Maybe that’s why this was all driving him so crazy. He wanted answers but the one person who could give it to him was stuck in a coma.
“Everything okay doctor?” One of the LPN’s asks Izuku. “I just need to check on the patients vitals.”
“Do what you need to nurse, I’m just visiting before I go home for the night.”
“Yes, doctor.” The woman makes her chart notations and leaves them alone again.
Because of Izuku’s standing at the hospital, he’d gotten Katsuki a private room. The man was taken off the breathing machine a week earlier and this way he could monitor the man without being pestered. There were times he would spend a few hours just watching the man sleep, trying to study what had become of his childhood friend. Through research, Izuku learned Katsuki had moved here around the same time that he’d started his internship at the hospital. Before that the man lived in the same town as the medical school he attended. It appeared Katsuki really was keeping track of Izuku, never married, and just worked in the marketing field.
Izuku squeezes the man’s hand with his eyes closed in a silent conversation. The only sounds being the beeps and noises of the machines to break the stillness. Lost in his own thoughts, he didn’t know what to think, what to feel, just that this man was dredging up long buried emotions that part of him was afraid to open up. Hadn’t he built up a good life, albeit a lonely one, it was still by his own wit and merits whereas Katsuki always had it so easy. The man was a smart, handsome jock, popular, and had been on track to do great things. While he was the geeky kid with freckles and wild green hair who the popular kids teased.
They were so close as little kids, all through preschool and the first years of primary. Katsuki was the extroverted one pulling him along on make believe adventures to emulate a shared love of a comic book character. In fact, it was with Katsuki’s help that he’d weathered his parent’s divorce. He idolized the stronger boy and wished he was Katsuki, not a weak like little nerd... perhaps having his child’s heart broken, really was the reason he swore off ever caring about anyone else again.
Did he just?! Izuku’s eyes pop open when his hand squeeze is returned by a weak one. Katsuki’s eyes are still closed and nothing else seemed unchanged. Perhaps it was just a nervous tremor, they happen sometimes. But no there it is again! Izuku stares down as the weak squeeze slowly turns into a grasp of his hand.
“Katsuki?”
A third squeeze. That meant the man was alert enough to hear and understand! Friend or not, it was the kind of thing to get a neurologist excited! Izuku quickly moved into doctor mode again and starts checking all the stats as well as alerting the nurse on shift.
“Welcome back Mister Bakugou.”
The man squeezes his hand.
“I’m your doctor, Midoriya. You might remember me...”
The man squeezes again and tries to talk, but after being intubated for a long time the throat tends to be dry, sore, and the muscles weakened. All that comes through is so faint it’s barely audible.
“Mister Bakugou, you’ve been unconscious for almost two months now, please try not to talk just yet, everything will be fine.”
But that only makes the man angrier. Furious red eyes flashing, Katsuki grips harder to Izuku’s hand using what little strength he has to try and pull him closer. So, Izuku leans in. “Calm down, it’s gonna...”
“Ma—y...” angry growling noises. “Mar...”
Obviously, the man wasn’t going to stop until he gave in, so Izuku leans in even more until his ear is practically next to Katsuki’s mouth. “I’m sorry?”
“Marry me damnit!!”
Izuku shoots straight up. “What?!” Is the guy serious?! The first words out of his mouth is that?! Wow... Katsuki really hasn’t changed, feisty as ever even after almost dying.
“Pa-pa—per pen!”
“H-hold on, just try to calm down please! I don’t want you to strain your heart!”
Midoriya grabs the chart, flips the paper over to the blank backside, and puts a pen in Katsuki’s hand. He holds it steady as the man scribbled shakily. ‘No waste 2nd chance marry me Deku.’
“Mister Bakugou, this is...”
The man pounds his fist on the bed then scribbles more. ‘Stop call me that! nickname!’
Izuku sighs and squeezes his eyes closed for a second. He hadn’t used that name since primary just like he’d hadn’t heard Deku all these years. “Kacchan. Happy now? I-I can’t just say okay. You—y-you ditched me remember and now you suddenly pop up and expect me to marry you?! Kacchan you almost died, I get it, that’s a scary thing to deal with, but you just need time to process...”
Katsuki writes, ‘Nothin 2 think bout. No more regrets,’ Then he mouths out the rest in a whisper, “I love you Deku.”
Izuku sighs, “I’m not saying yes or no Kacchan. Just get well first okay, then we’ll talk about everything.”
“Fine.” The man closes his eyes again seemingly satisfied with the answer.
He squeezes Katsuki’s hand. “I’ll see you in the morning Kacchan.”
When Izuku leaves that evening, he couldn’t help but walk out with a flutter in his chest and a pang in his heart. There really was a lot he still needed to get off his chest, but... he felt the honesty from Katsuki. If his dying regrets had been strong enough to reach him via spiritual mail, and the first thing he wanted to talk about was love, then... ‘take the second chance Izuku.’ Not everyone gets one.
If you're accepting prompts from that hand holding thing... 36 Amberprice please
Amberprice? Always. 36 = unconsciously searching out each other’s hand while sleeping. Enjoy!
---
The stars are bright in Arcadia Bay. Back in L.A. they were mostly figments of Rachel’s imagination, buried deep beneath the perpetual smog and light pollution. It’s the one thing she’ll miss when she makes it back to her hometown.
She and Chloe will have to find some new activities to replace getting high in the junkyard and stargazing when they get to L.A. If they ever get there. Sometimes Rachel isn’t sure she’ll ever manage to get Chloe out of this town. For all that she constantly complains about it and everyone in it, she seems strangely married to it at times. Like a fox in a trap who just can’t get up the nerve to chew off her own foot even if it’s the only way to get free before she dies. Sure, there’s a loss, but isn’t that pain better than dying stuck in a trap?
It’s easier to believe on a night like this, with the stars shining down on them from above like a promise and Chloe snoring softly on the truck bed close beside her, blue hair splayed out like a halo.
It’s never easy to be intimate with Chloe. To fuck her, yes, to kiss her, of course, but to be intimate? It feels too dangerous, too precarious. Too heavy. It means too much, makes things too real.
She wonders, sometimes, if things might be different once they leave Arcadia Bay. When there’s no more Vortex Club to impress, no parents to appease, no reputations to uphold. Maybe in L.A. they’ll be able to carve out moments of tenderness. Maybe then she’ll be able to brush strands of hair from Chloe’s eyes without having to couch it in jokes about her slovenliness. Maybe then Chloe will be able to rest her head on Rachel’s shoulder without Rachel teasing her for being “so gaaaaaaaaayyyyy.” Maybe then they’ll be able to just… be.
Maybe. If they ever leave.
Until then, Rachel lets the stars blur out into nothing, and she lets her mind drift away until she’s dreaming too deeply to care that her head is slumped onto Chloe’s chest to ride her every breath. Under the soft hood of sleep, there are no reputations to uphold and nothing to fear. No masks to wear, no fronts to put on. And so when Chloe’s fingers find Rachel’s in her sleep, Rachel doesn’t roll her eyes or make jokes. She twines Chloe’s cold fingers in her own and holds on tightly.
33 on the hand holding prompt for Amberprice? I also just entered the Amberprice fanfic world and I love the ones you've written! Just also wanted to say good job :)
By the time I actually finished writing and posted this, you're probably much more deeply into the amberprice fanfic world, but I hope you enjoy this nevertheless! A belated welcome to you, and thank you for your kind words. Amberprice is such a lovely mess and always fascinating to write.
33 = bandaging the other’s hand and not quite letting go
CW for mild descriptions of injuries and blood, referenced domestic abuse, referenced self-harm, referenced underage drug use.
---
It’s a good thing Chloe’s window is already ajar when Rachel shows up, because she’s pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to open it to let her in with only one hand. So she just lies there on her bed, flat on her back, and stares at the ceiling listening to the soft scramble of Rachel’s boots on the garage roof. Rachel shoves the window open the rest of the way and climbs in.
Chloe’s room is dark except for the dim glow of Christmas lights. She’s been lying on her bed pretty much since David stormed out hours ago and can’t be fucked to put the lights on.
“What the fuck? Why’s it so dark in here?” Rachel clicks on Chloe’s floor lamp. She walks over to the bed and crawls over Chloe’s body. “You didn’t answer my texts. What’s going on?”
Chloe lets go of her aching hand and holds it up. “Sorry. My hand’s fucked.”
Concern melts the annoyance from Rachel’s features. “What the hell happened?” She slides down next to Chloe and gently takes her hand, studying her bloodied knuckles.
“Step-dick,” Chloe says thickly around the lump in her throat. “He caught me smoking. In my room, dammit. Barged in like he owns the place. Chewed me out…” She clears her throat. “Decked me pretty good…”
Rachel’s hand gives her wrist a light squeeze. Chloe shrugs helplessly. “Anyway,” she continues. “He freaked out as usual, left with his panties in a twist. I couldn’t slug him back, so I kinda took my rage out on the wall.”
“Oh, Chloe,” Rachel sighs like it pains her. “Did you break anything?” She gently presses on different parts of Chloe’s hand. It hurts, but not enough.
“Dented the wall,” she offers.
“Not quite what I meant. You can move your fingers?”
It aches, but Chloe wiggles her fingers then flips Rachel the bird.
“Lovely. Well, your sense of humor definitely isn’t broken.” She eases back off the bed, tugging Chloe gently by the wrist. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Chloe goes along without an argument. It stings when Rachel washes the dried blood off her mashed up knuckles. It stings more when she dries them and dabs them with rubbing alcohol. Chloe barely reacts. She’s had worse.
“This is a real mess,” Rachel laments. “You’re lucky you didn’t break a finger.” She gives Chloe a smile and it’s almost convincing. “You need to be more careful with this hand,” she scolds. “I had plans for it tonight, and now they’re shot to shit.”
Blush creeps up Chloe’s neck into her cheeks. “I’m still pretty good with my right,” she offers with forced bravado. “Not to mention my tongue.”
“True, but not exactly the point.” Rachel kisses her bruised knuckles lightly, soft lips on tattered skin, then starts to loosely wrap her hand in gauze. “Hell, you’re still bleeding a little. I’m guessing you didn’t stop at one punch?”
Chloe shakes her head. She didn’t keep track of how many times she hit the wall, but it was enough that she left smears of blood and skin in addition to the dents in the drywall.
“You need to stop hurting yourself,” Rachel says, surprisingly firm.
Chloe makes the mistake of looking Rachel in the eyes. Her stare is intense, unwavering in its focus, and once Chloe’s locked eyes with her it’s impossible to look away. “Yeah, okay, next time I’ll just punch him instead of the wall.”
Rachel purses her lips and shakes her head. “Chloe… You need to stop.” One hand keeps holding hers aloft. The other trails its fingers down the bare skin of Chloe’s forearm, fingertips bumping over the fading scars and fresh scabs in their tidy rows. Chloe twitches under her touch. “I hate to see you hurting.”
Chloe swallows hard. She almost wants to pull away just to escape the intensity of Rachel’s attention, but Rachel holding her hand is such a rare comfort that she can’t bring herself to move.
Rachel’s thumb caresses Chloe’s battered knuckles through the gauze. Her other hand reaches up to cup Chloe’s jaw. “Promise me.”
Chloe leans into her hand instinctively. Anything, she wants to say. “Promise you what?” she asks instead.
“Promise me you’ll stop.”
Chloe’s stomach twists. I can’t. The admission claws at her throat, hot with bile. I don’t know how. Tears sting at her eyes and she shakes her head, pressing her bandaged fingers into Rachel’s gentle hand.
I can’t do this on my own.
I can’t do this at all.
“Promise me,” Rachel insists.
What happens if the pain gets too much? What if I can’t hold it in anymore?
What happens if I fail?
What happens when I fail?
“I promise,” Chloe lies.
Rachel rewards her with a dazzling smile and raises her injured hand to softly kiss her palm. She goes up on her toes and Chloe dips down to meet the touch of her lips. “Good,” Rachel says firmly as she pulls away. “Lucky for you, I scored on my way here. Let’s eat so many fucking edibles you forget you even have hands, much less why one hurts.”
Chloe lets out a chuckle she doesn’t feel, and when Rachel tugs on her hand she follows.
