Hi all! I had plans to write much more of the Greg/Gabe FFAU story during July since I have the whole month off, but unfortunately I had a series of gallbladder attacks followed by surgery yesterday to have my gallbladder removed. The surgery went great and I’m recovering as predicted. I plan to write as soon as I’m able and start getting stuff out as I can. In the meantime, check out @romirola, who has an incredible Mulan AU featuring Angel in the works right now. It’s truly a great piece and I love it. Also check out @angelcakeeee who is writing an actor au or my FFAU story! Absolutely delightful.
Thanks for your continued support through my fucking year and a half long hiatus!
FLASHBACK GREGORY KEATON??????? ROOKIE GABE???????????? oh my god we are so back everyone
im feeling as excited as I was when I first started reading the ffau,,, i cannot wait to eat this up all over again!!!!!
-🦀
Crab anon you are too sweet!! I love these two and I’m really excited to dig into the very specific ideas I have for their dynamic. I hope you enjoy the next few pieces as I finish them!!!
if i never see you again (you could be anything i want)
Chapter 1
Ao3 | 3.5k Words | Greg's POV
It was Gregory Keaton's first Christmas with the 10-19 and he hated his job.
_
Pre and post canon exploration of the complicated relationships between Gregory Keaton and Gabriel Shaw, shown through snapshots of five Christmases they spent together.
(This is FFAU Guys)
TW: Toxic work environment, mentions of military service, canon-typical blood and injury, car accidents.
It was Gregory Keaton’s first Christmas with the 10-19 and he hated his captain and he hated this town and he hated his house. He hated himself for feeling so inconvenienced by saving people’s lives most of the time. There was no other work for him, and no other town, and no other house. He knew that. Of course he knew that. But the black hole in his chest just wouldn’t fill up, no matter what he did.
“Rodrigez, I want those rims sparkling! Put your back into it!” Greg barked, shouting louder than he needed to right next to the poor probie’s ear. This newest crop of recruits was less than promising. Or maybe, along with back pain and regular, splitting headaches, this job had given him a new sense of hopelessness. The gift that keeps on giving.
“I’ve scrubbed them three times!” Rodrigez barked back. She had bite, and a fuck ton of it. It didn’t make up for her lack of discipline, but Greg could see it working to her advantage. If she could combine it with her intelligence, he could see her going much further. He told himself that he pushed her so hard to help her move past the instinct for anger over reason. He wasn’t entirely sure that was true.
“And you’ll keep scrubbing until they shine.” Greg replied. “Shaw!” He didn’t even have to look away from Rodrigez’s subpar job on the rims to know that his least favorite probationary firefighter was fucking up… something. He heard boots scrape against the concrete engine bay floors. A nervous laugh, an excuse already being stuttered through.
Gabriel Shaw was more than a disappointing recruit. He was lazy. He cut corners. He was fixated on the idea of being a hero, the sort of ideas that got guys killed. But he also fessed up every time he made a mistake. He had this disgustingly bashful smile that stretched across his face so smoothly that he just looked weird when it slipped away. When Greg called him out, Shaw always stopped, always let himself get caught red handed.
“Let me see your hoses.” Greg said, arms crossed. Rolling hoses was not an incredibly difficult task. There were a handful of different methods, all of which, if done right, could work for most firefighters.
Gabriel Shaw was not most firefighters.
Shaw walked him to the hose storage of Engine 2 and pulled out one roll. All in all, it wasn’t terrible work. As straight rolls went, it was… fine.
“Is this in service or out of service?” Greg asked. Shaw stalled, his body swaying back and forth rhythmically. He was always moving in some way, shifting his weight from side to side, twisting his fingers, eternally tapping some off-beat song onto his knees.
“Um…” Shaw looked back at the hoses. “Well… if it’s in the engine, I’m guessing it’s in service.”
“Shaw,” Greg sighed, plopping the hose back in Shaw’s hands, “you are the one who rolled it. There should be no guessing involved.”
“Look, see?” Shaw turned the hose to Greg, smiling triumphantly. “The male coupling is on the outside. In service!”
“Do it again.” Greg snapped. “Donut rolls. Precise. Perfect. Come and show me once it’s done.”
“Come on, Greg…” Shaw sighed, his shoulders drooping.
“I wouldn’t tell you to do it again if you’d done it right in the first place.” Greg seethed. “Do. It. Again.”
Just as Shaw’s mouth opened to say something properly stupid (Greg seemed to be the only person alive who could push Gabriel Shaw to actual, actionable anger), the tones blared in their ears. Greg sighed.
“Dahlia 911 to 10-19 Fire 1, Fire 2. MVC on Maclum and Shady Grove.”
“Fuck me!” Greg huffed. “Come on, Shaw.”
“Do I still redo the hose?” Shaw called over the tones as Greg pulled himself into his turnout pants.
“Obviously not!” Greg shouted. “Are you stupid?”
“I don’t think so!”
It was Christmas and five vehicles had piled up in one of the busiest intersections in Dahlia, and Greg was still gathering details as they pulled up to the scene. He wasn’t IC, that particular honor went to the lovely Captain Campbell. Campbell should have retired years ago. Hell, Lieutenant Sanders should have retired years ago too. Greg had his opinions on their out of date protocol and insistence on adhering to the traditions that had been proven by data to be ineffective. He made those opinions known, but it hardly ever mattered. He hadn’t taken the Lieutenant’s exam. He didn’t want the job himself. He just knew when something wasn’t working.
“Let’s clear the cars and establish triage.” Campbell shouted to the gathered firefighters and paramedics, hiking his turn outs over his gut. “C-collars across the board. I want a clean scene. Sanders, Keaton, Langley, Shaw, you’re extracting and examining. Rodrigez, Smith, Pratchett, you’re running triage. I want three zones just off the road. Go!”
“Captain,” Greg sidled himself up next to Campbell. He had opinions and he often made them known, but never in the earshot of probies, where they could be misinterpreted as insubordination. “Wouldn’t it be safer to move the triage area back a few yards from the road?”
“The ambulances will need easy access to the vics when they arrive.” Campbell grunted. “Listen, Keaton, I’ve been a firefighter for thirty years,” Christ, here he goes, Greg could recite this speech by heart, “I was saving lives at scenes like this while you were in diapers. Now get with Shaw and start clearing vehicles. Go!”
Greg swallowed his curses as he turned to the bouncing, puppy-eyed idiot standing a few feet off, absolutely eavesdropping on Greg getting his ass verbally handed to him.
“Come on,” Greg snagged a handful of C-collars from Engine 2 and shoved them into Shaw’s arms. “We collar, assess, extract, got it?”
“Yep,” Shaw trilled, “I’ve worked a few MVC’s before. I got it, don’t worry about me!”
Greg didn’t dignify that with a response.
It took the better part of half an hour to empty the vehicles. It was a three car pile-up, the middle vehicle- a tiny, silver sedan- was crushed between a work truck and a minivan. While Campbell and Sanders worked on the sedan (driver was DOA, the passenger wasn’t far behind him), Greg suffered through the minivan with Shaw.
Who the hell had their five kids crammed into a minivan at 10:30pm on Christmas fucking day? Eleven, seven, four, three, and fourteen months. Mom was exhausted, Dad wasn’t much better off, and both of them properly fucked by their airbags. The biggest headache of the night was teaching Shaw how to stabilize an infant without a C-collar small enough to fit her. Bumbling, overexcited idiot who teared up the second he saw the baby wailing in her carseat.
With the cars cleared and triage set up, Greg helped load the children into the back of the first ambulance on scene- the fucking arrival times in this goddam city, Greg could strangle every dispatcher in Dahlia- he heard one kid sniffle.
There had been little actual crying save the infant, the kids mostly in shock as they were assessed and pulled out of the mangled minivan. Greg looked up as the four-year-old- minimal bruising around the collar and sternum from her car seat, a small abrasion on the left temple from broken glass- began to cry.
“What’s wrong?” He said softly. Greg was shit with kids, especially little ones he couldn’t really hold a conversation with. “Does something hurt?” Obviously things hurt, Keaton, she was hit by a car!
“Andy’s not moving.” She pointed across the lit up triage area. Greg turned, his head snapping to the red zone where all of the kids had been funneled immediately. Shaw was knelt, his back turned to Greg, over the nine-year-old.
“Stay here.” Greg grumbled, depositing the girl into a paramedic’s arms as he marched towards Shaw.
“Come on, buddy,” Shaw was muttering, “open your eyes for me.” Greg rounded him quickly. Shaw was performing an infant sternum rub, pressing two extended fingers and gently rubbing Andy’s chest. The kid was laid out and pale, his eyes fluttering. His chest was stuttering, barely moving.
“Idiot,” Greg groaned, shoving Shaw out of the way. “He’s nine, you can put your back into it!” He replaced Shaw’s two fingers with his own fist, clenched, and roughly rubbed it back and forth across the kid’s sternum. “Come on, bud, come on…”
“I was- he just stopped!” Shaw sniffled. “We were talking! We were talking about baseball and he just passed out!”
“Come on, kid, take a breath.” Greg pressed down on his chest once, twice. The kid was properly out of it. Shock? It was cold out here and he had no blanket. “Get a paramedic!” He snapped at Shaw. “Christ, how long has he been down? How stupid are you?”
“He just- I don’t know! A minute? Maybe two?” Shaw turned towards the ambulance before he stilled, face slack.
“What are you still doing here?” Greg turned to shout at Shaw. “Go!”
When Shaw first moved, Greg was fairly certain he was going in for a punch. Greg had certainly earned it over the course of Shaw’s probationary period so far, but this hardly seemed the time. When Shaw did hit him, it was full body contact. Greg was shoved ass over tea-kettle, not having time to brace himself against the hit. He flailed, thrown a few fet back, and settled against the ground.
The air was knocked out of him, but Greg still forced himself to sit up, sucking in a sharp breath to begin shouting. As he looked up, Shaw’s name and every curse he could remember at the moment fast on his lips, he was met with a face full of kid. Shaw tossed Andy into Greg, knocking him back down again. The air he had barely regained was knocked right back out of him.
Greg didn’t even see it. He didn’t hear it, not until he heard Shaw cry out. But the car was there, giant and roaring and headlights flashing.
He had told Campbell. He had warned the old fucking idiot. Triage was too close to the road. Somebody could get hurt.
Shaw was screaming. His left leg was pinned under the front, passenger side tire. The SUV that had ignored the flashing lights and emergency vehicles and had plowed through their trauma scene was idling, and the driver was slumped behind the wheel. Medical event? Drunk driver? Later, Keaton. He needed to focus on the problems in front of him in order. The kid first, then Shaw, then the driver.
Greg turned over his shoulder and shouted sharply for assistance. Every first responder on the scene was turned towards them, momentarily in shock, standing still. With Greg’s strangled voice, they jolted into action again. Two paramedics rushed to Greg and Andy.
“Breathing,” Greg panted, “he’s breathing. Got a pulse just- he’s unresponsive. Figure it out. Check his spine!” After being thrown like that, Greg could feel his own back protesting. He couldn’t imagine having just been hit by a fucking car and then this. Bad fucking luck.
With Andy taken care of, Greg slid to his knees next to Shaw. He was curled up in the fetal position on his left side, hands scrambling against his thigh with his left calf crushed under the wheel. He was screaming, wordless and panicked, trying to pull himself out.
“Stop!” Greg ordered, one hand stabilizing Shaw’s knee and the other scruffing the back of his neck like he would a stray cat. “Stop it, Shaw, I’ve got you. Stop moving. Talk to me, can you feel your foot?”
“Fuck!” Shaw managed. He clapped a hand on Greg's wrist, nails scratching hard enough to draw blood. “Fuck, the kid- Greg- the kid!”
Crushed under a car and still worried about somebody else. Idiotic hero complex.
“He’s fine.” Greg replied, feeling for a pulse in Shaw’s thigh. Strong and fast. That was good. “You saved him. You’re an idiot.”
Campball huffed as he knelt next to Shaw, reaching around the tire. Greg knew exactly what he was doing even without seeing. Two fingers, pressed into the junction of Shaw’s ankle. Campbell’s face was grim when his beady eyes met Greg’s.
“I told you!” Greg found himself shouting. “I told you! And you didn’t listen! And this is what happens!”
“Enough, Keaton.” Campbell snapped. “Go check on the driver, I’ll handle this.”
“I’m not leaving him. This idiot just saved my life! And that kid! You check on the driver!” Greg was being insubordinate. He knew that, if he kept pushing, he was risking his job. The only job he could have. The only thing he was capable of doing.
But Gabriel Shaw was a pain in his ass. A hopeful, optimistic idiot who believed in heroes and saving lives. And Greg had forgotten that that kind of person existed. And that he used to be one of them. And that hopeful, optimistic idiot was pinned under a car and screaming himself hoarse and if Greg didn’t do this right, Shaw could become as bitter and disillusioned as him. And he didn’t think he could handle that.
“Careful, Keaton.” Campbell warned. “He’s got no pulse in his lower leg and he’s bleeding buckets. I’d like this scene to be handled nice and clean. But that’s all up to you.”
“This was your fuck up,” Greg replied, cold and calm, “and I’m ready to make that very well known. So I suggest that you don’t push me. Sir.”
Campbell held Greg’s gaze for another tense moment before breaking. He stood and made his way to the driver’s side door.
“Rodrigez, Talbot!” Greg shouted. He didn’t trust Sanders as far as he could throw him, and if that left him with probies and paramedics he didn’t know to handle this, then that was that. Greg cracked his neck as his people surrounded him, hands on Shaw, trying to hold him still on instinct. The panic and pain and guilt that was building up in him like bubbling stomach acid began to settle. He had his problems with leadership, but the grounding force of knowledge to be shared and people to be taught put him right back into his body. Steady, Keaton. Focus. “We’ve got to keep him steady and get this car off of him at the same time. The biggest factor is going to be his pain. His body is gonna fight. Talbot, I need you to stabilize his leg on both sides. The more he moves, the more damage he can cause to himself. Got it?”
“Yeah,” Talbot nodded sharply and put his hands where Greg instructed him. Out of all of his fuck up, terrible, no good probies, Greg liked Talbot the best. An Irish immigrant with ten years on most new recruits and a pregnant wife at home, Talbot was as steady and sure as Shaw was fleeting and self-conscious. He still knew next to nothing about emergency response, but Greg would take his steady hands and calm demeanor over just about anything else right now. Especially when he felt like his guts were going to shake out of his body any second now.
“Rodriguez,” Greg said, “I need your belt and something hard and straight.”
“Keaton,” Sanders’ head poked up from the driver’s side door, “you are not authorized to employ a tourniquet in the field! The statistics on limb damage are-”
“Completely outdated.” Greg snapped as Rodriguez fulfilled his orders without question. “Tourniquets have been standard issue in the military for four years.” Greg slipped the fabric belt under Shaw’s thigh, shushing softly when it elicited a few frankly pathetic sounds of protest that zinged right down Greg’s spine. “He could lose his foot, yeah, but he could keep his life. I’ll take the chance.”
A paramedic slipped him a pair of trauma sheers and Greg secured them between the two ends of the belt. “Okay, Shaw,” he said softly, “this is gonna hurt. I don’t know if you’re really with me, but I need you to stay still.”
He began to twist the make-shift tourniquet without any further warning. Shaw screamed. He jerked, twisted. Talbot held his leg still.
Greg’s mind went away from him for a little while. Screaming and clawing and bleeding and dying were not new to him. They were not foreign, far away details out of a story in the news. His father had been a soldier. So had his brother. So had his sister. So had he. Greg, at least, had the good sense to be a medic, and to get out fast. It was a betrayal that his father had never forgotten.
The Army didn’t give him very much of value. He already had the discipline only Military brats could claim. He already had an appreciation for how fleeting and delicate things like life and peace were. He already had a general distaste for the American government.
What the Army did give him was the ability to disappear inside of himself when shit got too heavy. When Shaw screamed and cried for his father, Greg was able to stop hearing it. When Shaw grabbed him, dug his nails in, begged him to stop, he was able to turn off the pain and focus. When Shaw went still and glassy with shock, he was able to push down his panic and focus on securing the tourniquet. His whole world narrowed down, focused in on a single, pin point moment. Nothing besides securing those sheers against that belt mattered. Shaw could cry and scream and drift away all he liked. Greg wouldn’t see or hear it until it appeared somewhere in his dreams.
He knew the next few hours only in the facts that would appear in his incident report. He secured the tourniquet. He oversaw the car being lifted off of Shaw. He checked for bleeding. He helped load Shaw into the ambulance. He rode with him, fingers pressed into his wrist to confirm his heart rate. The ride was an agonizing five minutes. They arrived to Dahlia General and a handsome resident took over.
Greg was left alone, covered in Shaw’s blood.
He washed his hands. The skin around his fingernails stayed pink.
The clock turned over. It wasn’t Christmas anymore. Greg was sitting in a stiff hospital recliner next to a sleeping Gabriel Shaw. He hadn’t lost his leg. He hadn’t lost his life. Greg looked down at his hands at the thought of that, at the idea of Shaw dying tonight while saving him. Christ, he would probably have had to pack it all up and call it quits after that.
“Is the kid okay?” Shaw’s voice was rough and lacked any of its usual mischief. At the sound of it, Greg wasn’t a soldier anymore. He settled back into himself, exhaled.
“Yeah.” He replied. “He was in shock. They got him back on the scene and he’s doing fine.”
Shaw relaxed back into his bed. His entire leg was engulfed in a cast and elevated. He looked a little funny, sprawled out on the bed like that. Greg couldn’t find it in himself to laugh.
“Good. Good.” Shaw breathed. “Man, I really fucked up, huh?” He chuckled, catching his side as pain rippled through him at the movement.
“You saved my life.” Greg grumbled. “Me and the kid.”
“You gonna be nice to me now?”
“Not a chance.”
They lapsed into silence. Shaw shifted around, taking stock of his body. He glanced at the clock and sighed.
“It’s not Christmas anymore.” He mumbled.
“Not for a few hours.”
“You don’t have to stay.” Shaw glanced up at Greg through his full, dark lashes. Greg could drown in those brown eyes.
“I just wanted to see that you’re okay.” Greg said. It was true. At least, that was what he told himself was the truth. That he had only lingered in the hospital because he wanted to know that Shaw was alright. What he really wanted was to avoid his empty one room apartment. It was dismal and got no natural light and had no Christmas decorations. At least the nurses had made an effort to hang little paper snowflakes and set up miniature trees in each room.
“I’m okay.” Gabe replied.
“You could have died.”
“So could you.”
Greg didn’t let that thought linger. If he let himself think about how often he flirted with death in his career, he would freeze. He had to keep moving. If he kept moving, he knew that everything else would work out.
“You would have done the same thing for me.” Shaw said. Greg met his eyes steadily.
“Yeah.” He replied. “You just shouldn’t have had to.”
“You don’t have to stay.” Shaw said again. His voice took on a wet, emotional quality that reminded Greg of a child asking to sleep in his parents’ room after a nightmare. Desperation. The fear of being rejected. Of facing the darkness of his room alone. Greg scowled.
“What if I want to?” He replied. Shaw stared at him for a moment, his expression unreadable.
“I’d guess you were high or dying or something. I don’t know.” Shaw’s laugh was high and ticked across Greg’s nerves like a massage.
Honor to the Pack: A Redactedverse/Mulan AU Fanfic [Prologue]
Hello, Redactedverse friends! I am here to offer a story that has been in the works for months: a Redactedverse/Mulan AU! Mulan is so very special to me, and once I began to play with creating a Redacted storyline within that framework, I just had to write it out. The plan is for updates to be about once per week.
Click here to read the Prologue of "Honor to the Pack" on AO3!
Taglist: None yet! (Want to be tagged when the story is updated? Please let me know!)
Find summary, tags, and more information under the cut.
Thank you for reading! All feedback is welcome and cherished!
Summary: As an unempowered person, Angel’s life goal is supposed to be straightforward: match with any empowered person who would take them and secure a real future. But when the infamous Quinn Fox invades Dahlia and citizens are asked to defend their home, Angel makes an impossible choice. To prevent their ailing foster-alpha from having to serve, Angel impersonates an empowered person and lands right in the middle of a whirlwind adventure. With a helpful empathy-daemon by their side, a rag-tag crew led by one grumpy (but handsome) alpha, and the smarts that come along with living in a magical world as an unempowered person, Angel sets out to save their home and bring honor to their pack.
Rated: T ; Word Count: ~34K over 26 chapters
Characters: Angel, David Shaw, Caelum, Quinn, Gregory Keaton, Milo Greer, Sweetheart, Asher, Colm Greer, Marie Greer, Gabe Shaw, Avior, Morgan Kyne, Damien, Huxley, Freelancer, Geordi, Treasure, Porter Solaire, Cutie, Alexis Getty, Felix, Corvus, Vega, Gavin, Warden, Brachium, Scorpius, Darling, Sam Collins, Lasko, Xavier
Tags: AU, Mulan AU, Adventure, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Banter, Angst, Trust, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Struggles, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Suspense, Slow Burn, Fighting, Disguise, Chases, Rescues, Found Family, Bravery, Grief, Romance, Love, Magic, Hope, Happy Ending, True Love, Pack Feels, Discrimination Towards Unempowered People, Slurs Towards Unempowered People, All Listener Characters are Gender-Neutral
A little while ago, @thatweirdomidas tagged me to post some lines I wrote this year that make me proud. Thanks, friend! It's taken me a long time to figure out what to post. I'm still working away (slowly) on the Redactedverse/Mulan AU, and it's so difficult to share snippets without spoiling things! So, I bring you a small, almost inconsequential moment of the story in this post. I'm proud that in so many stories, this one included, I've found a way for Blake to be punished for his obnoxiousness. Enjoy!
Tagging @pinksparkl, @scarscribblesstuff, @cyanbugremix, @ejunkiet, and anyone who'd like to share!
“Look!” a dreamwalker announced, ripping open his designer, button-down shirt. A bizarre design of a half-woven patch of sewn yarn displayed in purple ink across his chest. “This tattoo will protect me from harm!” He brazenly shoved his bare chest into the face of a nearby stealth. “Like what you see, Sweet Stuff?”
The stealth barely suppressed a gag. “Hmmm… Let me think about that, Blake…” They held onto their chin as if deep in thought. Without warning, they conjured a bolt of electro-energy that shot straight into the dreamwalker.
He collapsed to the ground, nearly vomiting.
A taller, lanky guy stepped forward, pointing and laughing. “Hope you can get your money back!”
Angel felt a cold sweat break out along their neck and chest. “I don’t think I can do this,” they whispered.
Dreamer, I love you so much, I really do...
But...
You took a walk in a park in the middle of the night and were attacked and almost killed by a vampire.
Then you met up with a man in a basement to have him invade your dreams to get your powers...
And then, after all of this, you go back to the same park you were assaulted in, in the middle of the night, completely alone and summon some random stranger to your side, you didn't even bother to read the profile of?
Dreamer???
I'm not trying to victim blame but SOME level of self preservation would go a really long way here.
Please...
Do it for me...
I actually love the indication (not confirmed, of course, we’re just getting into their trauma) that this sort of recklessness of self and putting oneself into dangerous situations could be a trauma response. It becomes ESPECIALLY fun when you think about how, mow that their powers have manifested, they might feel more emboldened and more protected than before. All of it culminating in them perhaps putting themself in a dangerous scenario n which they could get hurt…
Very slow progress is still progress, so I'm bringing you another snippet from my current WIP— a Redactedverse/Mulan AU.
Join the fun! Share a snippet of your WIP (any medium or fandom) and tag me to see your awesome work. I'll invite (with no pressure) @venuslove-28, @pinksparkl, @freyameddlesome, @belovedbow, @thee-morrigan and anyone who'd like to participate!
I'm really struggling to select snippets that don't spoil too much for the story... Spoilers available for those who ask. 😂
“Dahlian scouts!” Alexis Getty reported with a grunt.
Quinn stalked forward, each step slow and deliberate.
The two recruits trembled. Sure, they were soldiers, but the contra-fire elemental was kicking his heels at the ground to try to get away and the air-elemental was gasping for breath.
“Quinn Fox,” the air-elemental, Lasko Moore, quaked.
The vampire peered down at the two frightened men. He curled a bony finger around the necktie of the contra fire-elemental. “Good job, gentleman,” he laughed, exposing jagged fangs that (legend claimed) never fully retracted. “You’ve found my gang of bloodsuckers.” He gestured to the legion behind him.
“Empress Marie will stop you!” Xavier declared, hoping no one heard the catch in his voice.
“Stop me?” Quinn clutched at his chest like Xavier had scandalized him. “Empress Marie invited me. Without a warning, Quinn grabbed Xavier by the neck and hoisted him into the air. His thumb and index finger squeezed mercilessly, causing Xavier to see gray spots along the edges of his vision field. The vampire’s nail dug into his skin, drawing blood. “By setting her wards, she challenged my strength. Well, now I’m here to play her little game.”
Xavier began gurgling, trying to heave an inhale despite the growing pressure Quinn put on his larynx.
“Go!” Quinn tossed him to the ground with a chuckle. He licked at the droplets of blood coating his fingertips. “Tell your empress to send her strongest armies.” He raised his chin. “I’m ready.”
Xavier and Lasko scrambled to their feet and took off before Quinn could change his mind.
Quinn sucked his finger clean, letting it pop out of his mouth once there was no more blood to consume. “Alexis, how many bloodbags does it take to deliver a message?”
“One.” Alexis took off after the Dahlian guards. Xavier’s screams echoed throughout the forest. Not one of Quinn’s gang reacted.
absolutely positively need a breakdown of angels tattoos pls and thank you 🙂↕️🙂↕️
-🦀
CRABBB ANONNNN!!! You know I got you.
From the top down!!
POLYTROPOS: This is actually a word found in the first few lines of the Odyssey. It’s hard to translate, and a bunch of different translators interpret it differently. Entomologically, it breaks down like this; POLY- much or many, TROPOS- twisted or turned. Much twisty, as I like to say. Some translators believe this is a reference to Odysseus’s role as a jack of all trades. Some use it to reference the fact that he’s well traveled, in that he’s seen many turns in the world. Some use it to reference the many twists and turns his life has taken. Some use it to reference the fact that his mind, emotions, and attitude change on a whim. My favorite translator, Emily Wilson, translates it very simply; complicated. He’s a complicated man. My Angel OC is Guy’s big brother, and Guy studied the Odyssey in college. He told Angel at one point that he always pictured Angel when thinking about Odysseus. So this tattoo is really for Guy.
The Olive Branch: A reference to “turn the other cheek.” Extending an olive branch while also being a bit precocious.
The Neck Spiral: I mean… doesn’t it just look so cool? In reality, my Angel OC is fascinated by hypnosis. As a tattoo artist himself, he enjoys the repeated motions and finds himself in periods of hyper focus when tattooing. He wanted something that looked sick as fuck on his throat, but also wanted something challenging for another artist. Plus it is just so sexy to see David’s hand interrupting the lines.
HE’S VENUS AS A BOY: A reference to a Bjork lyric. My Angel OC is trans masculine, and he enjoyed the idea of something feminine (Venus/Aphrodite) becoming masculine.
The Wolf and the Lamb: for him and Davey ❤️. A lot of Angel’s tattoo designs revolve around American traditional wolves, which he enjoys the hell out of. On the opposite side of his chest is a lamb. That’s a reference to himself. Together they could be interpreted as either a wolf in sheep’s clothing or a sheep in wolf’s clothing. Also, the lamb is shaded in black in grey to reference Angel’s feeling of being a “black sheep” in his family.
Currently working on a map of my Angel OC’s tattoos!! I still need to design his sleeves and back piece, but this is what I have so far. The wolf and lamb are based off of other artist’s work since I don’t draw in American Traditional style often. If you’d like an explanation for any of his pieces, please let me know!!
Currently working on a map of my Angel OC’s tattoos!! I still need to design his sleeves and back piece, but this is what I have so far. The wolf and lamb are based off of other artist’s work since I don’t draw in American Traditional style often. If you’d like an explanation for any of his pieces, please let me know!!
A collection of snapshots of life in the 10-19. Different characters, different times, all essential to the characters in "the world (it burns through me)."
This chapter: Asher was supposed to be home an hour ago. David is overstimulated. Babe helps (reluctantly).
(Inspired by a wonderful brainstorming/writing session with @romirola Thank you as always friend!!)
TW: Depiction of autistic characters, overstimulation, discussions of past sexual encounters, discussions of David's trauma and subsequent shitty coping mechanisms, complex relationships.
It was the first Friday of February and it was eleven at night and Asher was supposed to be home an hour ago. Most of the time, Asher running late wasn’t a cause for concern. It was a fact of life you had accepted two years ago after your third date. By that time, he was three for three for being at least fifteen minutes late. He had no concept of time. You managed to train him to at least send a text when he knew he would be running behind, but that was about all you’d managed so far.
You knew that the anxiety building up in your stomach was not warranted, at least not yet. Asher’s job didn’t really care about shift schedules and ETA’s. If there was a fire in the last thirty seconds of his shift, it was his responsibility. It wasn’t the first time he had been late by a good amount of time and hadn’t had the time to reach you.
For as much as Ash was unpredictable, you were regimented. Everything you did, you did just so. You liked consistency in the same way Asher liked variety. So when he was late, you worried. You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.
You scrubbed the single dish you’d dirtied for dinner and stared at the clock that hung above your kitchen window. The window that looked up on the driveway. The window where headlights would flash through brightly as soon as Asher pulled in. Your dish was clean several minutes ago. You lingered anyway.
It was the first Friday of February and it was eleven-fifteen at night and Asher wasn’t home.
It was eleven-thirty at night and Asher wasn’t home.
It was eleven-forty-five at night.
It was eleven-forty-six.
Your plate was clean thirty minutes ago. Your wrists itched the soapy water.
Eleven-forty-seven.
Eleven-forty-eight.
He was dead. He had to have died in a fire.
Eleven-forty-nine.
He didn’t have life insurance. Even in his line of work, he had stupidly put off enrolling every time it opened up. Idiot. You were going to have to pay for the funeral for his charred corpse out of pocket. Might as well cremate him.
Eleven-fifty.
David was probably dead too. No way he would let Ash go down in a fire and not try to save him, even at the risk of his own life. At least David had life insurance. And no suffering partner to mourn him. The only person who would mourn David would be Asher.
Eleven-fifty-one. Headlights flashed through the window. You slammed your plate back down into the sink and turned off the tap.
“Asshole,” you muttered.
“Asshole!” You shouted, as soon as the door opened. Asher poked his head in and gave you a pointed, serious look, which shut you up for a moment and paused your anger-panic-meltdown. Something was wrong. Obviously, he wouldn’t show up two hours late without a text if everything was perfectly fine. He shouldered open the door and revealed exactly what was wrong.
David Shaw was leaning on Asher’s shoulder like he would fall out without his support. David’s dark, warm complexion was pale and drawn. His eyes were distant and red-rimmed. He looked like he was dying, but you couldn’t see any blood or burns.
“What the hell happened to him?” You instinctively lowered your voice as Asher led him to the couch.
“He’s… I don’t know.” Ash replied. “Weird, bad call. He got overwhelmed.”
You huffed out a sigh, scrubbing a hand over your face. Of course. Of course David was overwhelmed and of course Asher brought him here instead of his immaculate, silent apartment with no one to piss him off or tap against his hairline trigger.
You were not David Shaw’s biggest fan. He was a weird, mean guy. Most things he said he said with a curl of anger and cruelty in his tone. He treated Ash like a lackey and everybody else who crossed his path like active enemies, including you.
All of that you could forgive, in the end. You struggled with your own resting-pissed-off-face and most of the things you said came out in a cold, bitchy monotone. What really set your mind about David Shaw was an ill-planned threesome you’d seen through six months ago. The way that he looked at Asher and the way that Asher looked at him could only be one thing. Love.
It wasn’t a secret. Asher made his attraction to his best friend very known to you. You didn’t see the appeal, but that was likely because you and David looked just enough alike for self depreciation to curl around your guts when you looked at him. You knew that Asher thought you were both, as he put it, practically edible, but that he wasn’t going to cheat on you with David Shaw.
“He… changed. When his dad died.” Asher had shrugged and smiled when he explained it all to you. “He was always… stoic, but now he’s… yeah. I couldn’t be with him. Not emotionally. Not really.”
You believed him. You trusted him. You wouldn’t have suggested the threesome if you didn’t. But when you saw Asher with him like this, fussing over him like he was some sort of lost lamb, you couldn’t get the bitter taste out of your mouth.
Asher loved you in a way he couldn’t love David. Not safely. Not now.
But he loved David first. And he loved him totally. He loved him in a way that you didn’t think you understood.
You watched for a few minutes as Asher gently coaxed David out of his work boots and his ever-present, too-big leather jacket. David wasn’t much help, though he raised a hand to scratch at his chest as soon as his jacket was gone.
“What material is that shirt made of?” You asked.
“What?” Asher looked up, still straining to reach around David and unclip his wallet chain.
“The shirt. Is it cotton? Or a blended fabric?”
“I don’t-” Asher huffed, reaching back to check the tag. “50% polyester. Why?”
“It’s irritating his skin.” You mumbled. You sighed and finally stepped forward, reaching around David’s waist and pulling the shirt off. David lifted his arms obediently as you tugged on it. His chest was raw from how much he’d been scratching it. “Good?” You asked him. David nodded. “I’m gonna lower the lights and turn up the heat a little.”
“Babe-” Ash caught your hand in his for a second. “Thank you.”
“Yeah, baby,” you replied like it was nothing. It wasn’t nothing. It was actually a whole lot. But you wouldn’t say that. Not with David here.
You set up the house the way you would if you were overstimulated. You had spent a weekend fitting every light in the house with dimmers soon after moving in. The master-switch by the thermostat lowered everything from the biting full brightness to a softer, less intrusive glow. You raised the heat a few degrees, to the balmy seventy-two that you knew David kept his apartment at at all times. You closed the blinds to block any headlights from moving cars. You ran a soft cloth under lukewarm water and brought it out to the living room.
Asher had managed to position David on his side, curled in the fetal position, with a throw pillow under his head. David was running his fingers over the soft fabric rhythmically, his eyes closed but clearly not asleep.
“David?” You asked softly as you knelt next to him. “Is your chest hot? Itchy?”
“Y-yeah,” David managed, his voice cracking.
“Okay,” You replied, “that’s okay. I’ve got a damp cloth. It could help. If it doesn’t I’ll stop.”
You gently pressed the cloth to David’s skin. Your mind supplied memories of wiping the same cloth over David’s thighs and stomach as he panted, wrung loose, in your bed. He was overwhelmed then too. You should have known then, how very similar the two of you were. Was he diagnosed? Did he even know?
“Sorry,” David mumbled, face pressed hard into the pillow. “I don’t…”
“Shh,” you soothed, “don’t say sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I’m… ruining your night.”
You glanced at the clock in the kitchen as you shook your head, smiling.
“It’s twelve-o-two. Not a night anymore, so you can’t ruin it.”
He lapsed into silence again and you didn’t force anything. Asher started to strip away David’s thick, canvas work pants.
“What happened on the call?” You asked when the silence grew too thick to stand.
“Structure fire.” Asher sighed. “In an apartment complex.”
“God,” you mumbled. “Did you put it out?”
“Yeah,” Ash nodded, “after it ate through three units. Milo and David must have done twenty-something extractions by the end of it.”
“Not you?” You asked. Usually, Milo and Asher breached in fires.
“Nope.” Asher shook his head. “David’s… he’s been making me IC recently.”
“Huh…” you huffed
David Shaw didn’t strike you as the sort of guy that gave up control easily. As long as you’d known Asher (granted, two years wasn’t all that long in the grand scheme of things), he had always told you David was in charge of every scene they were called to. You didn’t know what it meant, him handing the title of Incident Commander to Asher. It seemed, from the troubled look on his face, that Asher didn’t know either.
“David,” you bent down in front of him, “do you wanna go to bed?”
“I…” David’s brow scrunched up, seeming to struggle with the decision. “I don’t have my toothbrush.” You huffed out a laugh.
“We have extras.” You said. “Come on, we can start moving that way.”
It turned out, Asher kept extras of the very specific brand of toothpaste David had bought for literal decades (he hated mint, apparently, said it was overwhelming), and an extra of the type of toothbrush he used (soft bristles). Under the bright bathroom light, though, one snag in your evening became clear.
David was filthy. Covered in ash and dirt and sweat. He was the kind of grimy that you would not allow in your bed. And he was the kind of grimy that would surely start tapping on his already frayed nerves in a matter of minutes.
“David,” Asher said softly, catching his attention, “you gotta take a shower, buddy.”
David Shaw did something you’d never seen before. His face screwed up and he began to cry.
Asher had to physically pull David into the shower in the end, and it took you both to scrub away the grime that was covering his body from head to toe. He fought you the entire time, flinching away from the warm water.
“I thought he loved swimming and stuff like that,” you muttered as David tried to press himself into the cold shower wall.
“He does,” Asher used his hands to scrub David’s skin instead of a loofa or a cloth. Too rough on his already sensitive skin. “He just doesn’t like it when he’s already…”
“Overstimulated.” You supplied. “He’s overstimulated, baby. You know what that looks like.”
You were blessed with pretty cool parents who recognized exactly the genetics they were passing on to their child. When you didn’t start talking when you were meant to, they had you tested. You were diagnosed early and you were taught some pretty incredible coping techniques.
But you still got overstimulated. You still had the occasional, proper meltdown under enough stress. Asher knew that, and he knew just how to help.
That was probably why, when presented with David’s predicament, his body took over. He brought him home. He lowered his voice, calmed his constant energy. He made him comfortable, gave him what he needed. Maybe Ash and David had never called this what it was, but this was something that they had done before, and something that Asher was incredible at. You could suddenly place where he got all of the practice.
Asher scratched his fingers through David’s short-cropped hair, shampoo trailing down his muscled, tense back. You shielded his eyes while Ash washed the soap out. You held him steady at his waist as Asher patted him dry with one of your extra-plush towels. Ash covered his ears while you blasted his hair with your dryer. You knew that, as unpleasant as the loud noise was, a wet pillowcase would be far worse in the long run.
Three sets of pajamas instead of two. Three pairs of socked feet shuffling from the bathroom to the bedroom. Three bodies, crowded into your bed.
David was pressed between the two of you, his warmth and yours and Asher’s mingling under the sheets. He huffed out a breath, eyes closing as he rubbed his cheek against your silk pillowcase.
“There you go, big guy,” you mumbled, brushing the too-fluffy strands of his hair off his forehead. Asher’s arm snaked around him and pressed him close, David’s back to his chest.
“We’ve got you.” Ash said softly, lips pressed into David’s skin. His green eyes flashed to you in the low light that leaked through the flowy curtains. Exhausted and drained, yeah, but still alert, still tuned in, and still locked on you. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You replied. “We’ve got you.”
You didn’t know who Ash was talking about out of the three of you. You didn’t know if it mattered. The digital clock on Ash’s nightstand blinked at you, harsh and red.
It was one-twenty-six in the morning. Asher was home. You decided, as David nuzzled against your chest, that nothing else really mattered.
Finalized my Darlin’ and Quinn designs which means I can start making art w/ them :D I love love love how this piece turned out (I’m trying to experiment with bolder colors, rough coloring, and planning)
Darlin’s tattoos are partially inspired by the world (it burns through me) by US3RNAM3_R3DACT3D (highly recommend the fic, its a firefighter/EMT AU)
Headcanons for the Shaw Pack Receiving a Jury Summons
David: David gets called for unempowered trial jury duty. He is selected to serve. The trial revolvs around an allegation of sexual assault and retaliation in a workplace. It doesn’t take David long to assume the role of foreperson of the jury. A natural leader, David keeps pristine attendance records, ensures all discussions are on-topic, and acts as a liaison for judicial communication. The trial lasts for three days. Verdict: Guilty.
Angel: Angel gets called for empowered trial jury duty. They are selected to serve. The trial revolves around a freelancer’s alleged use of a ward to keep an unempowered person out of their private residence. Thanks to Angel’s keen observations, analytical prowess, and thorough understanding of empowered law, they notice a few important gaps in the plaintiff’s case and help the rest of the jury see those gaps, too. The trial lasts four days. Verdict: Not guilty.
Asher: Asher gets called for empowered grand jury duty. He is selected to serve. Although Asher dreads serving. At first, he’s so disappointed that he has to sit there and not even participate in a trial! After the first day, Asher realizes grand jury is the ultimate opportunity to discover all sorts of crazy happenings that go on in Dahlia. He learns SO much. The only drawback? He can’t disclose any of the details. In fact, each day he reports to court, Asher has to spend the night shifted so he doesn’t accidentally say anything he shouldn’t. He hears 42 cases. 34 of them move forward with indictments.
Babe: Babe gets called for unempowered trial jury duty. They serve as an alternate juror. The trial revolves around identity theft and fraud of an elderly person. Thankfully, Babe paid attention throughout the proceedings because when a juror didn’t show up due to an emergency, Babe was ready to step right up and cast their vote. The trial lasted six days. Verdict: Guilty.
Milo: Milo has somehow never been called for jury duty.
Sweetheart: Sweetheart gets called for unempowered grand jury duty. Although they get called to report on the first day, they are dismissed randomly based on their juror number. Sweetheart is deeply disappointed. They desperately want to fulfill their civic duty.
Darling: Darling called for empowered trial jury duty. They are dismissed during the interview portion of the selection process. When asked, “Have you even been the victim of a violent crime?”, they answered, “How violent?”
Sam: Sam gets called for empowered trial jury duty. He is selected to serve. To his surprise, the case involves a high-profile celebrity accused of embezzlement. Sam certainly doesn’t recognize the name, but due to the threat of public bias, he is sequestered for the duration of the trial. He presumed sequestering would be like a mini-vacation, but after two days, he missed his mate, pack, and friends. Still, Sam takes his responsibility as a juror seriously because he knows the system depends on that if it is going to work. The trial lasted seventeen days. Verdict: Guilty
Headcanons for the Shaw Pack’s Favorite Holiday Activities
You've heard of Headcanons for the Shaw Pack's Holiday Volunteer Work. Now get ready for... Headcanons for the Shaw Pack’s Favorite Holiday Activities!
David: Having the chance to cook so much food for everyone. David absolutely loves that the holidays provide him with the perfect opportunities to prepare everyone’s favorite dishes and to try new recipes he thinks everyone will love. “Here, do me a favor and take it off my hands. I need more room in my fridge,” is a common refrain of the alpha.
Angel: Giving thoughtful gifts to everyone they love. Angel is a skilled gift-giver, always using their brand of kind attentiveness to give people gifts that are special, meaningful, and straight from the heart.
Asher: Decorating everything. Asher loves to find every way possible to add a bit of festive sparkle. Whether by adding a string of lights, a garland wrap, a touch of tinsel, or other creative designs, Asher leaves a trail of holly-jolly fun wherever he goes.
Babe: Watching holiday movies. Babe is reluctant to admit it, but they adore all of the cheesy-stupid-predicatable holiday movies that air October-December. After being logical and practical all year long, it’s nice to turn off their brain and simply enjoy the feel-good movies.
Milo: Sending Christmas cards. Milo spends weeks preparing his list of addresses, selecting the best cards for each recipient, and staging a photo featuring him, Sweetheart, and Aggro. He hand-writes each card, so pleased to connect with loved ones and share the amazing life he has built for himself.
Sweetheart: Listening to holiday music. Sweetheart will defend holiday music with their dying breath. There’s something inherently joyful about the many tunes. They love how there’s a holiday song for every mood. Between October and January, it’s not uncommon to hear the rough-and-tumble investigator humming along to the current holiday song in their head.
Darling: Seeing public cheer. Now that Darling is no longer living on the edge of danger, they notice how Dahlia gets a little bit kinder during the holidays. People smile more. They show more courtesy. Donations to worthy causes increase. It warms their heart to
Sam: Experiencing the shorter days. The earlier it gets dark outside, the more chances Sam has to spend time freely with his pack. He can operate at his own speed, without feeling like the clock is ticking.
Gabe: Planning the Shaw Pack’s Solstice Party. Ever since founding the pack, Gabe always loved to throw a wonderful party to show his pack how deeply he appreciated their respect, cooperation, and love. He knew that packs only survive and thrive if every member truly belongs. The solstice was a prime opportunity for Gabe to celebrate their wonderful pack.
David and Angel: The Turkey The main event! David prides himself in being able to roast the turkey to perfection. He has the routine down pat and times it so that the turkey comes out of the oven at the very minute the last guests arrive to the party. Angel, of course, oversees and helps David ensure that the turkey is properly prepared for baking. Additionally, Angel reveals themself to be quite a skilled carver, so they take care of that task, plating the light meat and dark meat separately and ensuring that not one bit of meat is left on the carcass (which David will use to make soup the next day.)
Asher and Babe: Peanut Butter Pie, Apple Pie, and Pumpkin Pie Asher’s favorite part of the day is dessert, and he always insists on providing many choices for the pack, even if David grumbles when Asher claims he’ll be bringing “a pie” and shows up with three. Babe defends their mate, pointing out that they did bring a pie… and two others. As Beta, Asher knows the tastes of everyone in the pack. He wants everyone to have a favorite something on the table, so he makes it a point to bring a few options. Besides, it’s not like he’s making the pies himself. He unabashedly pre-orders from the bakery down the street from his place. No one complains.
Milo and Sweetheart: The Dressing (even though Milo insists that it’s “stuffing,” not dressing. The fact that it is not physically stuffed into the turkey is moot.) Milo and Sweetheart make sure that the dish is seasoned perfectly and properly baked without drying out at all. The two spend the morning chopping the onions and celery as they watch the parade together.
Darling and Sam: Sauteed Brussel Sprouts Darling opts for this simple dish because they know exactly how to cook brussel sprouts so that they are crisp and tasty without turning them into steamed mush. They season them with garlic and olive oil. Sam also approves of the dish because he knows that green vegetables are typically high in iron, not to mention he loves a good sprout.
Gabe and His Mate: Crescent Rolls In his day, different pack members would often volunteer to host the dinner, so the alpha and his mate were often told to “sit back and relax for once,” especially once David was born. Still, the Shaws never felt comfortable showing up to an event empty-handed, so they opted to offer a simple contribution of crescent rolls.
Ciaran and Aíne O’Connell (Asher’s parents): Champ. These two humanborn wolves arrived in Dahlia as packless newlyweds straight from Ireland. They made it their mission to learn about their powers, shifter culture, and life in America, but that doesn’t mean they leave behind the traditions of their homeland. When it comes to Packsgiving, Ciaran and Aíne know they can handle the potatoes better than anyone else could ever hope to do. They contribute champ, a delicious dish made with mashed potatoes, butter, scallions, and milk, that is inevitably a hit with the other wolves.
Marie and Colm Greer: Macaroni and Cheese It’s the stuff of legends. Everyone in the pack looks forward to Marie’s mac and cheese. She makes it with only the freshest cheeses that she blends herself, whole milk, handmade macaroni, all bubbling underneath a thick layer of breadcrumbs.
it’s been a while since I dropped by, sorry I kinda fell off the face of the earth there, haha! I know I usually do long analysis asks of the chapters, so I apologize that I haven’t been doing that lately.
I honestly haven’t been engaging with the internet much, anxiety has been pretty bad lately, buuut I just wanted pop in real quick to thank you for sharing your writing.
Your fics have been such a comfort and escape for me, especially with everything happening in the world right now and I can’t thank you enough for sharing your stories. It can be really overwhelming right now to be online and see everything that’s going on, but your page and your writing have been such a safe space for me.
thank you again for everything!
I’ve been absolutely loving the most recent chapters
-🌃
Hello friend!! I also fell off the face of the earth there for a while, so that's okay! Thank you so much for taking the time not only to read my work, but to also respond with asks when you have the time/energy. It's wonderful.
I'm so glad that my work could be a comfort. I'm sorry that things have been so overwhelming and I'm sorry that I've been absent for a while and unable to provide some of that good good comfort. I hope I can get out more writing soon!
Thank you for dropping by to leave this ask literally months ago!!!! I appreciate you!!!
