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pavspatch · 1 year

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Selling to the "real fans" would be my Utopia — Gorski

ALL those fans who wanted owner Rob Gorski to leave Bower Fold have got their way. He has resigned as chairman and Stalybridge Celtic is up for sale.

The question now, is who will buy? Is anyone able to put their money where their mouth is?

In the midst of an unprecedented cost-of-living crisis, who has the funds to buy the controlling interest in a Northern Premier League club that is bound to come with an expensive price tag?

Will it prove possible to put together a supporters' co-operative? As you'll see below, that would be Rob Gorski's preferred option, but could it happen. My own experience suggests that while many people might be prepared to buy a single share for £10 or £20, far fewer would be willing to invest the kind of much sums needed for a realistic bid.

So what does the future hold? What are Rob Gorski's plans? What does he think of Celtic's current situation? Below, is a series of questions I asked him and the replies I received.

If someone wants to buy Stalybridge Celtic, how do they register an interest?

I haven't started to officially market the club externally, yet I’ve already had three parties showing an interest. I'll be asking all parties to submit their formal bids via the club’s accountants, David Lever at Warr and Co of Denton*. If they can't find his details they can also contact me directly.

In the past you've said you were prepared to consider selling Stalybridge Celtic but only to someone with the club's best interests at heart. Do you have some sort of fit-and-proper persons test lined up?

I'll perform my own due diligence on each interested party.

Most fans won't be aware of this, but I had a potential buyer from Singapore express interest about a year ago. For Rob Gorski personally, it was potentially a very tempting financial option. However, my research uncovered someone who had his own pure financial gain as his motive and he had taken over two other football clubs before only for him to close them both and capitalise on the land.

As a Celtic fan, notwithstanding potential large sums of money, I simply could not have lived with myself and so I closed that particular door.

I'll be vetting all potential new buyers to ascertain what they can bring to the club and what their motives and goals are. I'll then balance that with their financial proposal.

Do you have a price in mind? Are you looking to recoup what you've put in over the last 20 years or just a "serious" amount?

I do have figures in mind. However, I’ve already alluded to the fact that it will be an overall “package" and the intentions of the buyer that will also play a major role.

With national government changing housing legislation on building developments, I need to ensure that a potential buyer is not just going to take a 970-year lease on land worth maybe £7 to 8 million, and leave the club hoping to ground share with a Tameside neighbour.

I'll ensure there are some guarantees with regard to Celtic’s future. That will be written in to any legal document. 

While you look for a buyer, will you remain in charge or day-to-day affairs or have you stepped down and passed on the baton? If so to whom? A person, the board as a whole?

I have stepped down due to ill health. I need to have more tests and then maybe medical procedures, and that's why I stepped down, with immediate effect, a fortnight ago.

In fact, I have not been at a game for over two months now. I miss it terribly, but I have to look after myself.

Keith Smart has been taking care of everything in my absence and will continue to drive the club forward. Keith is simply an outstanding man. Professional, diligent and utterly honest.

Fans have no idea how difficult it is to run, (practically as well as financially), a non-league, part-time, football club. People like Keith and Gordon Greenwood are worth their weight in gold. I hope that other directors, who have been "less visible" step up to help them and others.

Has there been any sign of the much-talked-about fans' co-operative?

Not a word. Conceptually, that would be my Utopia — that the fans, the real fans, own Stalybridge Celtic. However, back on planet earth, Stalybridge, the town I love, is truthfully a town entering a depression that would be socially graded as D or E. Sadly, I suspect I won’t be hearing much back on that.

In your time as chairman/owner you put a lot of blood and treasure into the club and appointed a string of managers who came with an impressive pedigree. Why do think you were never able to achieve any success?

That's a question I've asked myself many times.

Jim Harvey’s kids were technically outstanding, but sadly lacking in physicality. Liam Watson was a major disappointment — his football was 20 years out of date — and Simon Haworth was shockingly negative.

So really, only Steve Burr brought good times the first time he was at Bower Fold in 2007-2011. The quality of football was a real joy with Dave Hankin burning down one wing and Steve Torpey down the other, with a really strong 16-man squad. It very nearly got us back up punching above our weight in National League North.

However, we’ve seen more and more clubs come through the pyramid with money I simply couldn't compete with. Not just Salford, Harrogate, Fylde and Fleetwood, but ones that came and went like Shaw Lane Aquaforce. All paying simply stupid money.

Stalybridge Celtic does not have an asset like Ashton United’s Cross Bar Club, which is effectively one of Hurst's pubs, or Hyde United’s 3G pitch, so the club relied on directors putting their hand in their pocket or an ever diminishing fanbase that was no longer attending due to Premier League lunchtime/early evening screenings.

Then there was covid, and of course the lack of a challenging team, which brings us back to the fact we simply couldn’t compete financially.  

Will you remain a fan or are you stepping away from football for good?

I will always remain a Stalybridge Celtic fan. I was a fan in the Seventies, I was when I lived in London and abroad, and I shall be until I die.

I remember telling Pete Dennerly, my predecessor as chairman, that I had some bad news for him back around 2007 when Ken Bates had invited me to join the Leeds United board. Pete fell silent, only for me to tell him the bad news was that I would only ever be a Celtic director and that he was stuck with me.

I respect other people who have been a director at different clubs. However, personally, I could never relate to that. It was Celtic or nobody for me. I need to look after my health first and foremost, but nothing will give me greater pleasure than buying Chris Willcock (a top man by the way) or Keith Smart, a beer after a great win on a Saturday afternoon next year.

Will Celtic avoid relegation?

I desperately hope so. When you see or hear about wages up and down the Northern Premier League, it makes you wonder how clubs stay afloat.

Without an asset to milk, or hugely disproportionate fan bases, clubs rely on directors and fans to cover ever-increasing costs and because Celtic have struggled financially off the field, it makes achieving success on it, much more difficult.

I think Chris Willcock has now got a much better quality squad than he had early doors. He effectively had to build it from scratch and he quickly realised he’d have to make a number of changes to ensure we could compete.

I’ve not been well enough to attend of late, so I've missed recent performances. However, I gather they are much improved and I sincerely hope and believe the lads can continue to improve and that they'll get that little rub of the green that will see them start to climb the table. 

*Warr and Co, 76 Manchester Road, Denton, M34 3PS — 0161 336 2222 — https://warr.co.uk

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kyndaris · 10 months

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Lab Specimen

Following the death of Queen Elizabeth II and the coronation of her son and heir, King Charles III, the public holiday on the second Monday of June that is celebrated in most Australian states was rebranded to the King’s birthday. As it was another day off, I used that time to meet up with suitor number 10.

Honestly, when the dating gets going, it’s like back to back dates. And when times are slow, it’s as dry as a parched watering hole in the middle of an El Nino drought.

Not that I think this is something I want. Dating is hard and every time it feels like I’m at a job interview, being vetted to see if I’d be good dating material (spoilers: I’m not). Everything is so artificial and forced that it’s a wonder that anyone is eve able to relax and let their guard down.

My immediate reservations about dating aside, texting Mr White Coat was a challenge in and of itself. While I may not have inserted questions for him to respond to, I did prime most of my responses with openings that he could have used to pose a question about my interests or provide his own example to possibly relate to. But as with all instances of my inability to communicate well (at least according to one of my friends), he either did not pick up on those cues or he just decided to stop chatting for a good few days before asking something else entirely.

It truly can be hard to have an engaging conversation between minds when people either don’t commit to the bit (occasionally failing to realise there’s a bit) or they just go silent for days on end. Not that I’m complaining. It’s always time I can put towards gaming.

But when it all comes down to it, the crux of my issue with Mr White Coat was the fact that he was a poor online conversationalist. Beyond that, the way he attempted to ask me out truly irritated me to no end. And I’m sure, dear readers, that you are mightily curious of what this poor man has done to earn my ire. Well, then, I shall oblige.

Let me build the scene:

We had chatted for a couple of weeks. During our chats, I established early that I didn’t drink alcohol because I didn’t like the taste. I may have possibly mentioned that I didn’t drink coffee either (although checking through my messages, I didn’t actually mention this at all but the way he asked me out seemed to imply something on that level). He, on the other hand, told me he couldn’t stand the taste of chicken. Whether or not that actually caused a severe gag reaction remained a mystery. For all I knew, he could have stomached it but chose not to eat it.

Yet, despite the fact that CHICKEN was a big no-no for number 10, Mr White Coat, in his temerity said: Now normally for a first date I suggest meeting up for drinks either at a cafe or pub, but clearly that’s not going to work here. So what does a first date usually look like for you?

Excuse me? How dare you? How in the love of all that is reality does the fact that I don’t drink alcohol mean that I cannot go on a date to a cafe or pub? RATHER, the fact that you don’t eat chicken or like the taste of chicken means that you have a far PICKIER palate than I.

In the end, instead of exploding at him for such a poorly worded question to ask me out, I pointed out that when I have gone on dates (count them, multiple! You are, of course, suitor number 10) I’ve circumvented the need for alcohol by ordering water or juice. If it’s a cafe, I can order water or a hot chocolate if the person I’m meeting is a coffee aficionado.

There are, in fact, a multitude of ways that I can go about this.

Unlike you, Mr White Coat, where the option of KFC, be that Kentucky or Korean, is not a viable option!

The audacity of this man!

Still, despite his missteps, I agreed to a date with Mr White Coat. Our meeting place was one of the many Oliver Brown cafes in the suburbs of Sydney.

Although I had initially wanted to take public transport for the date, I was forced to drive to the meeting spot as I had a further engagement later on in the day to catch-up with friends. For which, I was actually grateful as it served as the perfect excuse to call it quits if the date went sideways.

Of course, it wasn’t quite the disaster that I imagined it but it did feel like much of our conversation went nowhere. I suppose the problem was that I wasn’t all that curious about his life, nor was he that intrigued about mine either. Additionally, we never found a topic that would allow either of us to divulge deeply on.

But back to the date!

Despite my initial concerns that I would be late, I arrived with time to spare at the cafe. White Coat showed up a few minutes later as I was perusing the menu.

Once we ordered, we sat down at a stable and started on the long process of getting to know each other. And while I was irritated at his online persona, Mr White Coat was much better at the art of conversing in person. Which, in all honesty, isn’t saying much given how he absolutely dropped the ball earlier.

As usual, we talked about our jobs (although he didn’t really pry much into my occupation - which was a little odd now that I think on it), and where his family were located. We didn’t talk much about his hobbies but I did raise the topic of books as I stated that I had recently finished The Frugal Wizard’s Guide to Medieval England by our lord and saviour: Brandon Sanderson. I believe he told me that he got into Robin Hobb at an early age and I said that I fell in love with Trudi Canavan’s Black Magician trilogy back in Year 6.

In fact, most of the conversation was just surface level chatter about a few books that had caught our eye but it never went any deeper than that. Usually, when I talk about books with my friends that are receptive to the topic, I can talk about them for goodness knows how long.

It and writing are probably the two topics that really engage my interest and have me going on for a good hour if I was allowed to.

Of course, it’s not just everyone that I get so worked up with.

And with Mr White Coat, there was no spark or chemistry that was keeping me engaged. So, I didn’t talk too much and neither did he. Before I knew it, the churros I had ordered were gone and I was very non-discretely checking my watch.

To be fair, I had informed Mr White Coat earlier that I would have to leave early as I had arranged to meet up with friends later in the afternoon (as I said, it was an excellent excuse) and after 50 minutes in each other’s company, I was headed down to the southwestern suburbs of Sydney to enjoy lunch and friendly chatter with friends that I hadn’t seen in a while.

That and meet up with a fairly docile greyhound named Buttons.

Will Mr White Coat and I go on a second date?

Yes. Because at time of writing up this post, he’s asked me out on a second date and we’ll be checking out the French Food Festival at Circular Quay. Time will tell how well that date goes but I’ll be sure to keep you, my dear readers, updated on my dating shenanigans.

Oh, and if you’re wondering why Suitor Number 10 is called White Coat, it’s because he’s a lab technician at a high school. So, he’s not even a teacher! BUT he gets to enjoy all the school holidays and not have the stress that comes with a poorly compensated secondary teacher.

And because he’s a lab tech, he has numerous white laboratory coats. Hence the codename I’ve decided to give him.

#personal blog #dating blog #fantasy books #bad conversations #oliver brown #I've met 10 different people dating #who doesn't like chicken?

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berriesandjunnie · 2 years

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since i’m here again, meet loki - i promise i’ll put a photo of her at the end. she’s my two year old rex doe and the troublemaker behind the ivy. basically loki ate a small leaf of ivy, i caught her in the act and stopped her from reaching any more. because of that she may have just escaped deadly experiences honestly. she’s a rex cross and we have no idea what her and anubis (her brother) are crossed with but we think its giant.

in the rabbit world, size means a lot - if this had been persephone, luna or helios (all netherland dwarves) eating one leaf could have killed them because they’re so small (helios also proved this statement when he was neutered) but loki is a medium sized breed with a potential giant parent and her body would need a larger amount of ivy to end up fatal.

things i’ve done since she ate it (i know a lot of you won’t be rabbit savvy like myself but i’m saying this to disprove if anyone thinks i haven’t done anything for her):

- 4 slices of cucumber (high in water content; fluids while she metabolises toxins) she ate 3 of the slices herself from what i witnessed. she took the fourth slice from me, had a bite and i caught anubis finishing it

- i didn’t do it but loki and anubis free explore the patio as long as i’m out there supervising; it’s why they were out there in the first place. there’s hay scattered everywhere because it’s not a clean job filling hay racks and the two of them have been chewing at small sprouts of grass in the slab cracks so i’d like to add she was still doing this after she ate it

- i’ve scavenged the garden for dandelion, now unfortunately i only found 4 leaves because with 11 rabbits you’re always pulling up dandelions but she had all four leaves even if anubis managed to get some bites - dandelion is said to purify/cleanse blood in the liver i believe it is so i gave her some in case

- refilled loki and anubis’ pellet bowl; i only do this once daily normally in the mornings but yet again i wanted things in her system especially since she was eating everything i gave her. she was definitely hungry.

- one grape, high in sugar content and i was just testing her hunger but she ate literally everything i gave her

- two treats, more sugar but she took both happily

- ended the night at 10-11pm with 4 more slices of cucumber, loki got the biggest chunk i cut and ran off with it and i gave anubis a lesser one so he wouldn’t be an a-hole - i put the remaining two slices in their bowl and they were gone by the time i went to the shed, filled their hay up for the night and came back again after putting it away

it’s 4:01am right now, i’ll go down and check on her again however when morning hits i’ll be going to get romaine lettuce (i swear it’s loki’s fave) because it is another thing high in water content so it’ll be a differing option for fluids than cucumber has been. obviously in all cases take your pets to the vets in these situations but even the big branch of our vets that takes emergencies is closed because of staff illness.

anyways i promised a photo of her so here she is in all her glory, mummy’s girl.

#cafeshuaaa #lia’s pantheon

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astaroth1357 · 3 years

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How Often They Worry about MC…

For those who don’t know, I have a little dog named Charlie and she is a large portion of my world. There's no need to be alarmed, my dog is fine, but there are days where I hold her and all I can think about is how much I worry about her health down the line… I suppose we often do that for the people we love, particularly the ones who may not last as long as we will. Take that as inspiration if you'd like.

Lucifer

Near constantly.

If you tracked his blood pressure on a grid, you'd see it start to continuously rise about when he decided they were worth having in his life.

Lucifer is the eldest sibling to a whole crew of brothers so he's no stranger to worry. He worried about his brothers when they were young, he worried about them after the Fall, and he still worries about them now (even if he's less open about it).

But a part of him knows that his brothers can handle their own, at least to varying degrees. The MC, though? He's far less sure…

They've proven rather resilient, but also headstrong and reckless. Neither of which are good things to be in a place this dangerous...

If Lucifer isn't careful, he can catch himself staring at a wall or window just wondering where they are and if they're doing alright… If he called them every time he had a passing worry, their inbox would be full by the end each week.

He holds himself back because he doesn't have the time to constantly protect them, but that doesn't stop him from sending a text once or twice a day. They better respond or he'll start (secretly) panicking.

Mammon

He forgets their mortality from time to time, but every time he remembers it hits like a ton of bricks…

Mammon is a pretty "in-the-moment" person. He doesn't spend a lot of time dwelling on the future, but whenever he does the thought of losing MC always comes back to him again and again.

Like. It's gotta happen eventually, right? They're human, humans die, hell they don't even live that long to start with!

The MC can always tell when Mammon's getting worried because he'll get uncharacteristically quiet and pace around or hover by them…

Every little injury or strenuous task will suddenly seem like too much to him as well.

If they need to carry some boxes, he'll carry them all.

If they have to jog to class, he's carrying them.

If they so much as get a papercut, he'll have a heart attack.

It's not very hard to get Mammon out of these funks - he really does want them to reassure him that they're okay - but he's never going to get fully over it…

Not until he can steal whatever top secret immortality formula Solomon must have used anyway… He'll get it off that bastard eventually.

Leviathan

Thinks about it so often he has to actively try not to just to get any peace…

He dodges his fears for MC like a protagonist dodges lasting consequences. Every time he feels one creeping up, he's always got a distraction waiting…

"Hey where's MC at? I hope they didn't fall into the riv-OH HEY CHECK OUT THIS NEW GAME!!"

"What are they doing over there…? That looks hard, what if they bre-WAIT DIDN'T MY FAVORITE VOICE ACTOR JUST RELEASE A NEW PODCAST???"

"What if the MC dies tomorrow and they leave me all alo-DEVIL FIGHT 200! YOU CAN'T BEAT DEVIL FIGHT 200, LET’S BREAK MY HIGH SCORE!!"

Cut him some slack, his psyche cannot handle the idea of losing them on top of everything else he grapples with every day.

If, on the rare occasion, he does let himself fall down that rabbit hole he becomes extra clingy and practically begs MC not to leave his room… like ever. He'd bubble wrap them if he could.

Anytime they get really hurt or really sick he refuses to leave their side even if it means he has to awkwardly sit on the floor. He just needs to be able to glance at them every so often to be sure they're alive… Still breathing?? Phew…

Satan

He worries, preps, rationalizes, then worries again…

For Satan, knowledge is power and every scrap of information he can learn about MC is more power he can use to keep them safe and healthy.

Yes, he will want their medical history. Yes, he's going to need a list of prescriptions. Family members too. And no, you do not get a choice.

He'll read up on as many things as he can - pawn medical journals off of witches and get magical alternatives from Solomon.

The cycle usually goes:

1. He's lying awake at night because he just heard about some terrible bacteria that makes human's skin peel off or something.

2. He does all the research he can on this bacteria, its treatment options, best prevention methods, etc.

3. Gets right about to break out the rubber booties for MC to wear around, then realizes they have a very slim chance of catching said bacteria since it's only native to incredibly remote parts of Indonesia.

4. Feels instant relief that MC will probably not catch flesh-eating bacteria and can finally sleep again…

5. Hears of some other human medical horror from Solomon and starts to worry…

It's a vicious cycle indeed… But at least he's getting a lot of medical training. Soon enough he'll be the Devildom's version of a human vet (which I guess is just a doctor, come to think of it. 🤔)

Asmodeus

Lives so "here-and-now" that he doesn't remember often, but when he does it's always heartbreaking…

Asmo usually tries to worry about things as little as possible. It’s bad for the skin, you know? But when the MC is involved, all of that goes out the window.

Like how a delicate blossom eventually wilts in the snow, the MC is bound to leave them in time… Usually there's supposed to be something beautiful in that kind of tragedy, but perhaps he's just too close to them to find any romance in it.

The thought of their death gives him breakouts and anytime they get hurt or sick he's the first brother to offer them comfort. Every time.

Because he doesn't feel like he's as physically strong as he brothers, he tries to make up for it by minding their health in other ways. Anything to keep his MC strong and beautiful as always!

If Asmo is in a worrying mood, then he may also compensate by trying to take the MC out to a party or some fun event. Why sit around worrying by himself when he could be making memories with them now, right?

Beelzebub

It comes in waves, mostly at night.

When your thoughts throughout the day are mostly, "I wish I wasn't so hungry," it doesn't afford you a lot of time to think about much else.

In a way, it's a good thing since he experiences a lot less stress. But those worries are still there and they mostly plague his dreams…

Beel doesn’t feel hungry when he's sleeping, so a lot of his fears will make themselves known overnight. An injured or dying MC is often in his rotation of nightmares though, of course, he'd rather it not be…

After having one of these dreams, his first instinct is to always make sure the MC is okay. If they're with him, he'll hug them and check their heartbeat. If they're somewhere else, he'll go to them or shoot a text.

He has woken up without realizing his nightmare was all a dream though, and usually it's up to Belphie or MC themselves to console him while he cries… It's so heartbreaking, sweet boy just puts a lot of pressure on himself to be sure they're safe…

When he worries, it's like they're the most beautiful and expensive China set in a room full of bulls and hammers. If he could tape them to his side, he probably would. He gets scared for them that much…

Belphegor

More scared about it than anyone else in the House.

Despite his calm demeanor, Belphie is truly afraid of losing his loved ones beneath the surface… He's already lost one of his most dear siblings before, going through that again may just break him.

Unfortunately, he's also felt just how fragile the MC is firsthand... He's not even the strongest of his brothers, yet he was able to snuff them out so easily… Who's to say someone else won't try?

Like Beel, MC's death is a recurring nightmare for him but he can usually shake off his dreams fairly well, if not change them mid-sleep. More scary is when something is actually wrong with them or they're not feeling well.

Belphie always sets his inner laziness aside for the MC when he can. If they get sick, he'll usually be right along with his family to take care of them - even if he has to skip school to do so (not that he cares about class anyway).

When he's worrying about them, he tries to play it off at first, but soon enough they'll notice him acting overly concerned and losing sleep… Best to calm him down before he starts getting cranky.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons

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criminalmindzjunkie · 3 years

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Love Sick

Masterlist

Summary: A story about how Spencer’s worst decision ever somehow ends up being his best.

A/N: Happy Valentine’s Day, my loves! This fic is loosely based on a request I got about Spencer faking an illness to keep the reader from going on a date.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Content Warning: swearing

Word Count: 4k

Spencer has done a terrible, awful thing.

He wants to argue that he doesn’t know what came over him, but that would be untrue and he’s already met today’s quota on little white lies. Spencer knows exactly what possessed him to call you up at seven thirty on a Saturday night, and it wasn’t so that the two of you could discuss the weather or the recent upward trend in the stock market. Spencer’s spontaneous (panicked) phone call to you was a brazen attempt to abate the green-eyed monster that had been whispering dreadful things in his ear for the better part of a week.

To put it simply; Spencer is jealous, and he’s dealing with it rather poorly.

So poorly that he’s resorted to sabotage.

As he sits on his couch and worries at a hole in the bottom of his designated lounging sweatshirt, Spencer attempts to justify his actions. His tiny fib won’t hurt anyone . . . except, perhaps, one annoyingly perfect and stupidly handsome veterinarian. But Spencer can live with that. Potentially scorning an animal care specialist isn’t the thing that has his stomach in knots. That, he can live with. Spencer doesn’t even have pets, so there’s no longterm consequences as far as the vet is concerned. The notion of lying to you, on the other hand?

Spencer is positively sick with nerves.

He’s not sure why. Spencer’s gotten rather good at lying to you. Several months of pining for you from across the hallway of your shared apartment complex has turned him into quite the master of deceit, after all. He was a sucker from the moment he opened his door and lay his eyes on you, arms outstretched and wielding a plate of homemade sweets. The cookies were lovely, but the breathtaking smile on your face is what really did him in.

Since that first day, Spencer’s gone out of his way to ensure that he’s on the receiving end of that smile as often as possible. His efforts are never in vain; for reasons unbeknownst to him, you seem to enjoy spending time with him just as much as he did you. This mutual fondness results in most of Spencer’s off days being spent in your company. Spencer was certain that, with time, he would work up the nerve to ask you out on a date. He’s halfway to convincing himself that you might even say yes when your cat makes the unfortunate decision to steal a brownie from your plate and gulp the whole thing down.

Enter, aforementioned veterinarian.

The sound of your door opening from across the hall has Spencer breaking out into a cold sweat. His hand is halfway to his forehead, ready to wipe away the perspiration when he pauses. His body’s anxious reaction might just help him sell his story. Yes, Spencer thinks, this is a good thing. Authenticity, and all that.

Several soft footsteps are muffled by the door that separates him from you, and then his doorknob jiggles as you struggle to fit your key into the lock. A jolt of adrenaline surges through Spencer and in the blink of an eye he’s on his feet and sprinting to his bathroom in the name of authenticity. If he wants to keep up this ridiculous façade, and he really, really does, Spencer is prepared to fake it until he makes it. The alternative is far too mortifying. Failure is not an option.

Spencer cringes when he lifts his eyes to meet his reflection. He’s been told more than once that he’s an absolutely terrible liar, and the wide, guilty eyes that stare back at him confirm this. All it will take is one look at him and you’ll know something’s amiss. Perhaps it isn’t too late for Spencer to come clean. It would be embarrassing, yeah, but no less embarrassing than it would be an hour from now when you call him on his shit. But then again, there is always the possibility that you will get angry with him and leave, and Spencer isn’t willing to risk you walking away from him. Not tonight.

Spencer barely has the time to splash some cold water on his face and dive to the bathroom floor before you’re pushing open the door to his apartment and calling out his name. His brain, the part that isn’t rendered useless in his panicked state, reminds him of just how many germs can be found on the average bathroom floor. It’s enough to make him pause, but only for a moment. He takes a deep breath before slumping over against the toilet.

Showtime.

“M’ in here,” Spencer calls out in his croakiest voice. It comes out exactly as he intended, all rough and pitiful. Maybe he can pull this off, after all.

The soft pitter patter of your bare feet makes his heart rate increase exponentially. Spencer steels himself, recites a reassuring mantra in his head. I can do this; I can do this.

Spencer’s poor, overworked heart gets a much-needed rest when you step into the doorway. In fact, he’s almost certain it stops completely at the sight of you in a tiny red dress. A tiny red dress that leaves very little to the imagination. Spencer can’t even see past his mounting panic to enjoy the way you look. That damn red dress serves as a brutal reminder of why he’s sitting in his bathroom floor, clutching his toilet bowl and damn near drowning in a nervous sweat.

The thing is, Spencer hadn’t intended on sabotaging your date with the vet. He had every intention of staying in, wallowing in his sorrows and waiting up for you. Spencer even said this to Derek, who was kind enough to call him and remind him of how big of a jackass he was. Spencer didn’t need the reminder. He was well aware.

But then Derek said something that made Spencer’s blood run cold.

“And what exactly do you plan to do if she doesn’t come home?”

So, really, it’s Derek’s fault that Spencer promptly ended the call and dialed your number. It’s also Derek’s fault that Spencer is about to give the most convincing performance of his entire fucking life.

“I’m sorry I called you, but I didn’t know what else to do. I just feel so awful.” And he does feel awful, just not in the way you think.

You’re quick to close the distance between the two of you, dropping to your knees and brushing stray pieces of hair away from Spencer’s clammy forehead. His skin sings where your hand grazes it. If he didn’t have a fever before, he will if you don’t stop touching him.

“Don’t ever apologize, Spence. I wish you’d have called me sooner,” you murmur. Warm, concerned eyes drag across Spencer’s bedraggled appearance. “How long have you been feeling sick?”

Spencer gulps. “A few hours, I guess. I ate my leftovers from last night for lunch. Maybe that’s what’s wrong.”Lies, lies, lies!

Your brow furrows. “That’s strange. I ate mine, too, and I feel fine.”

Spencer doesn’t really have an argument for that, so he fakes a pained groan and rests his head against his arm. He closes his eyes and prays the intro to theater class he took in high school will pay off.

You must deem his act convincing enough because you press a soft kiss to the top of his hair and stand. Spencer hears the sound of a cabinet opening, followed by the sound of running water.

The tender touch of your hand on his shoulder has him raising his head and looking up at you, inquisitive. You place a cold washrag to his forehead, and Spencer melts into the touch. It feels heavenly against his hot skin.

“Do you think you could manage to take a shower?” you prompt, earning a feeble nod from Spencer. He doesn’t even have to fake the way he trembles as you run the damp cloth down his neck. “I think I have some broccoli and cheddar soup at my apartment. I’ll go change and grab it while you shower.”

Elation spreads through Spencer, pouring from his heart until it reaches the very tips of his extremities. He can’t believe his scheme hasn’t blown up in his face already.

With the help of your outstretched hand, Spencer rises to his feet and braces himself against the shower door. You make no move to remove your hand from his, and that gives him the courage to ask his next question.

“What about your date?”

You shrug and an easy smile spreads across your face. Spencer feels faint. He blames it on his imaginary illness.

“Don’t worry about that. The only thing I’m concerned with right now is taking care of you.”

Spencer bites down hard on the flesh of his cheek to keep a smug grin at bay. This is a victory he’ll have to celebrate at a later date.

Spencer enters his living room, freshly showered and donned in clean pajamas, to the sound of your voice speaking quietly into your cellphone. He halts just before he enters his kitchen, straining to catch a snippet of your conversation. As he leans closer to the sound of your voice, Spencer halfheartedly chastises himself. First, he deceives you, now he’s resorting to eavesdropping. Rock, meet bottom.

He’s just about to wrench himself away and retreat to the couch, when:

“I really am sorry about cancelling, especially on such short notice.” A short stretch of silence follows. “Next Saturday? Oh. Um, yeah, I’ll let you know, okay?”

Spencer is very much like a popped balloon; the earlier feelings of elation leave him in a harsh gust. Next Saturday? He barely managed to derail this Saturday’s date! No way he could get away with it a second time.

In the midst of his inner turmoil, Spencer misses you exchanging goodbyes with the vet before collecting Spencer’s bowl of soup. He’s still standing there, absolutely crestfallen, when you round the corner. You nearly collide with his chest, narrowly avoiding it by skidding to a halt in front of him. Your eyes run up his frame, assessing him, until they rest on his face.

“You scared me, Spence,” you chuckle. You cock your head to the side. Spencer imagines his expression is none dissimilar to that of a disgruntled frog. “You feeling okay? You’re not going to puke again, are you?”

Honestly, he might. The idea of you rescheduling your date with the vet is about as vomit inducing as it gets.

“I’m fine,” Spencer says on an exhale. Funnily, it’s probably the biggest lie he’s told all day. “The shower helped.”

His delivery is flat, but you don’t seem to mind. You smile up at him, relieved, and Spencer’s chest aches.

“I was thinking you and I could watch a movie?” you offer, and Spencer nods his assent. He can’t fathom turning you down. Not when you’re wearing an old sweatshirt you stole from his closet and a pair of fuzzy socks with little hearts on them. The ache intensifies.

“What are we watching?”

You plop down on the couch and look at him expectantly. He follows in suit, settling in beside you.

“I was thinking that you could choose,” you murmur as you place the bowl in his hands. Spencer shoots a teasing smile your way as he raises the spoon to his mouth.

“You mean, you’re actually going to let me pick the movie? I should get sick more often.”

His cheek earns him an exaggerated roll of your eyes.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mutter. “You always pick the movie.”

He can count on one hand the amount of times he’s gotten to pick the movie.

Spencer is about to launch into an impassioned rebuttal when the feeling of your fingers scratching against his scalp renders him speechless. His eyes dart to your face as you concentrate on scrolling through the TV guide, seemingly unaware of the effect the simple act has on him. Meanwhile, Spencer’s brain is short-circuiting.

You begin to read off a list of potential movies to him, but Spencer barely hears you. He’s practically purring as you twirl his curls around lithe fingers, his eyes threatening to flutter closed as an intense feeling of euphoria washes over him. Maybe it’s because he’s touch starved, or maybe it’s because it’s been so long since someone just looked after him. Whatever it is, Spencer embraces it wholeheartedly.

“-heard it’s pretty good. So, what do you say, Spence?”

Spencer pulls himself back to the present, blinking lazily at you. You’re looking at him, expectant, and Spencer’s eyes flit to the TV. His eyes skim its contents, reading briefly about a movie in which some family moves into a haunted house.

His face breaks out into a grin and he nods, because Spencer’s known you long enough to recognize that watching a horror movie usually results in you pressed tightly to his side and clinging to his hand. He also knows that nine times out of ten, you choose to watch a horror movie over anything else. No wonder he always lets you choose.

And sure enough, not even ten minutes in, Spencer is ditching his bowl of soup and pulling you into his arms. Once you’ve draped a blanket around the two of you settled in, you glance up at him.

“How are you feeling, Spence?”

Spencer responds by saying that he’s suddenly feeling much better.

Spencer Reid - 1, Veterinarian – 0

Spencer’s not sure at which point he fell asleep. All he knows is that he certainly does not remember sprawling out across your body, nor does he remember tucking his head into the crook of your neck. But this is how he finds himself when the sun begins to pour in through his windows the next morning, and Spencer can’t bring himself to care about how he came to be there.

Spencer guesstimates that it’s no later than seven in the morning. You’re still fast asleep underneath him, your chest rising and falling rhythmically with every breath. It’s early, and it’s Sunday, and Spencer can’t think of a single reason to wake you. Instead, he snuggles in closer, because he’d be a fool not to enjoy this while it lasts.

Unfortunately, the shrill sound of Spencer’s ringing phone shatters the serenity. He prays that it won’t disturb you, that you’ll remain oblivious and continue to sleep, but that hope is shattered when you begin to shift underneath him. Spencer makes quick work of peeling himself off of you before dashing to his kitchen and snatching his phone off the table.

He’s prepared to verbally assault whoever has the audacity to defile the sanctity of lazy Sunday mornings when a quick peek into the living room finds you still fast asleep on his sofa. He smiles, soft and fond, before pressing the accept button and bringing the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“I was beginning to wonder if you were still alive.” Spencer’s smile transforms into a grimace. Apparently, Derek Morgan doesn’t believe in lie-ins. “I was preparing myself for a rescue mission.”

“It’s seven in the morning. I was asleep.”

Derek lets out a low whistle. “Who pissed in your Cheerios, Pretty Boy?”

“You, when you decided that it was acceptable to ring me before eight,” Spencer whisper shouts. He knows that he’s being touchy, to say the least, but who can blame him? Five minutes ago, he was cuddling with the most beautiful girl he’s ever had the privilege to lay eyes on. Now, he’s shooting the breeze with a colleague. Obviously, Spencer would prefer the former to the latter.

“Jesus, kid. I’m going to take a wild guess and say that girl of yours didn’t make it home, after all. You okay?”

The guilty feeling returns and Spencer cringes. “Uh, define ‘okay.’”

Derek curses on the other end of the line. “I’m sorry, kid. Try not to beat yourself up about it, okay? There’s plenty of fish in the sea, you’ve just gotta put yourself out there. How’s this; you and me will go out next weekend and bar hop. I’ll teach you some Derek Morgan tricks of the trade. Soon enough, you’ll have forgotten all about her.”

“I don’t know, that might be hard.” Spencer scratches the back of his neck. “She’s asleep on my couch right now.”

A long stretch of silence comes from the other end of the line, and Spencer thinks for a moment that the call dropped. Unfortunately, he isn’t that lucky. A booming laugh erupts from the speaker and makes him jump out of his skin.

“My man!” Derek laughs, incredulous. “I didn’t think you had it in you, I’ll be honest.”

“It’s not what you think-”

“How did you manage that? Did the Good Doctor make a grand romantic gesture? Damn, I really hate that I missed that.”

“No, there were no gestures. And it’s not-”

Derek cuts him off. Again. “How’d she take the news? I’m assuming she took it well, if she stayed the night.”

“I didn’t tell her anything!” Spencer spits out, frustrated. “I… I told her I was sick. She came over to take care of me, and we fell asleep on the couch.”

Spencer’s proclamation is met with another long silence.

“So, you sabotaged the date?”

Spencer winces. “I did not sabotage it. I just… manipulated the situation a little.”

“Oh, you certainly did,” Derek chuckles. “How did you pull that off? I’ve seen you try to lie. That shit is laughable.”

Spencer opens his mouth to defend himself, but the pitter patter of socked feet approaching him from behind has his mouth running dry.

“Yeah, Spencer. How did you pull that off?”

Spencer had been correct in his earlier assumptions. The inevitable moment in which you called him out on his shit has arrived, and it’s every bit as mortifying as he expected. So mortifying that he can practically feel the blood drain from his face. And the thing is that he knows he deserves whatever you’re about to throw his way… it’s just that the thought of you being angry with him kind of makes him want to cry. And that would only add to the mortification.

He turns around slowly, his body rigid, until he’s met with the adorably rumpled vision of you with your arms crossed and your hair sticking up in all directions.

Spencer’s never seen anything quite so mesmerizing, and it hurts because he knows he’s ruined everything. He’ll never get to watch another scary movie with you tucked neatly against his side, or wake up in your arms again. He’ll never get to kiss you.

And the worst of all; Spencer will never get to tell you how he really feels. It’s a crying shame, because he thinks he could have been really good at loving you.

“Hey, Derek, I gotta go.”

Spencer presses the end call button and immerses himself in what has to be the most awkward stand-off of all time. You stand there, arms crossed, head cocked to the side with one hip jutted out. Spencer isn’t sure how you manage to look intimidating and endearing at the same time. He supposes the fuzzy socks are to blame.

Minutes pass, but they feel like hours. Spencer is approximately three seconds away from dropping to his knees and groveling when you finally speak.

“You sabotaged my date.”

Spencer lets out a strangled laugh. Perhaps humor is the way to go? It couldn’t hurt to try. In his opinion, the situation couldn’t possibly get any worse. “I think sabotage is a strong word. I prefer the term obstruct.”

You let loose a laugh of your own, but this one holds no humor. “And I prefer keeping the company of people who don’t lie to me.” Okay, maybe it can get worse.

Spencer visibly deflates. It was a stupid idea. He’s never been a funny guy.

“I am so, so, so incredibly sorry.” Sorry for lying to you, that is. Spencer isn’t in the least bit apologetic for ruining your date. Given the chance, he’d do it again - in a more tactful way, of course. Preferably, in such a way that didn’t involve him laying in his bathroom floor.

Spencer attempts to take a step forward, only to be rooted to the spot when you fix him with a look. He’s not funny but he is smart – smart enough to know better than to push it.

“Why did you do it?”

Spencer was really hoping you wouldn’t ask that.

“I-I…”

Apparently, an eidetic memory doesn’t stand a chance when it comes to confrontations involving pretty girls. One quirk of an immaculately plucked eyebrow and Spencer loses the ability to recall a single word of the English language. It’s tragic, really.

“Spit it out, Spencer.”

“I didn’t want you to go on the date.” It’s like ripping off a band aid, the way the words tumble from his lips. It’s painless at first, but then the sting sets in when he realizes what he’s done.

Your lack of reaction doesn’t help. Your face remains passive, as if he didn’t just offer himself to you on a silver platter. Spencer squirms uncomfortably.

“Why didn’t you want me to go on the date?”

God, this is excruciating. You’re clearly out for blood, and the twinkle in your eye shows just how much you’re enjoying this. Spencer would have never taken you for a sadist.

“Because…” Spencer trails off and allows his eyes to drift closed. If he’s going to do this, he’s going to do it his way. With his eyes closed, because he can’t bear the thought of looking you in the eye when you reject him. “B-Because I like you. A lot.”

Spencer hasn’t had a lot of practice at being wrong. In fact, he’s spent the majority of his life being right. It seems the universe is making up for that now, because he can’t seem to get a single goddamn thing right today.

You laugh at him. You actually laugh in his face. Mortified doesn’t even begin to cover it.

“You like me.” It isn’t a question.

Spencer keeps his eyes shut tight.

“Y-Yeah.”

You know how they say if you take away one of a person’s senses, all of the others are heightened? Spencer couldn’t disagree more. In the midst of his despair, he’s completely unaware that you’ve crossed the room and are now standing directly in front of him until you speak again.

“Well, that’s rather unfortunate,” you sigh. Spencer inhales a sharp breath when he realizes you’re close enough to touch. Still, he keeps his eyes closed.

“Uh, why is that?”

Spencer nearly jumps out of his skin when your hand reaches up and caresses the side of his jaw.

“Because, Spencer,” you murmur, silky and sweet. “I was hoping you just might love me.”

Spencer’s eyes fly open and he’s greeted by a lazy, contented smile. It’s similar to the one that greeted him when he opened his front door on that very first day, but it’s better somehow. Later reflection will determine that it’s better because it’s the kind of smile reserved just for him. And that’s all he’s ever wanted, really.

“W-What?”

“You heard me.” You tilt your head up and rest your palm on Spencer’s chest. His heartbeat is erratic, thundering hard against his ribcage. He’d surely be embarrassed if he wasn’t about to faint from shock. “Do you love me, Spencer Reid?”

Spencer doesn’t even have to think twice.

“More than anything.”

“Good.” Your thumb brushes across the apple of his cheek, eliciting a full body shudder. “I was beginning to think you would never catch up.”

Spencer must be hallucinating. That, or this is all a dream and any second now his alarm is going to go off. He subtly pinches himself on the thigh to test the theory. You can imagine his surprise when nothing changes. He doesn’t wake up in a pile of his own drool, and now the skin on his thigh stings.

“You . . . You like me, too?”

You shake your head. “No, Spencer. I love you, too. Why do you think I bake you cookies and spend all of my free time in your apartment?”

“Because my couch is better than yours?” Spencer deadpans.

“I mean, that certainly doesn’t hurt. But it’s not the only reason.”

“What about the vet?” It must be his guilty conscious talking, because Spencer cannot conjure up any other reason he has for asking such a moronic question. He, personally, could not care less about the vet. Full offense intended.

“Cameron is a nice guy, sure,” you trail off. Spencer doesn’t miss the way your eyes drift down to his lips before returning to his eyes. “But he’s not really my type.”

“And what is your type, exactly?” A giddy grin finds its way to Spencer’s face. He’s notorious for being chronically clueless, but even the master of imperception himself can see where this is going.

You snort, and it’s adorable. “Liars, apparently.”

It’s impossible to determine who moves first, but that doesn’t really matter. What does matter is the end result of Spencer’s lips colliding with yours. It’s earth-shatteringly lovely; slow and sweet and tentative. There’s no rushing, no frantic fumbling of hands. Just the reverent drag of your lips against his, warm and intoxicating.

Spencer eventually regains the use of his limbs and when he does, he’s snaking one arm around your waist as the other entangles itself in your wonderfully unruly hair.

You sigh a happy sigh against his lips and Spencer’s heart soars. In a completely unforeseen turn of events, the possibility of more lazy Sunday mornings is now back on the table. Thank God he’s better at lying than he gave himself credit for.

God, and Derek Morgan’s meddling ass.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer x reader #spencer reid fluff

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mountain-man-cumeth · 3 years

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What Went Wrong: An In-Depth Analysis of Muriel's Route

*Youtuber voice*

Below are the opinions of an uneducated individual on what could’ve left the majority of The Arcana audience dissatisfied. I will explore the plot, tropes, themes and morals of the Muriel route and try to explain what may have gone wrong. I will be treating the game as a novel since it's advertised as one.

1. Consistency. If you are unfamiliar with the chekhov's gun; it's a story writing principle that dictates each element you introduce should come into play (foreshadowing). Now let's start with a few story beats that were later abandoned or concluded in an underwhelming manner:

Muriel's blanket

Muriel's magic mark (on his back)

Forest spirit (spirits in general)

Lucio's upbringing

Circumstances of MC's death

Figurines/whittling/charms

Muriel's blanket is teased to be a tapestry, which would tie in with his later fascination with them later on, as it had been the only thing he had left from his past. MC neither sees nor comments on the blanket, we only know it exists thanks to other playthroughs and short stories.

Magic marks are an important point in the game. Every main route emphasises on how it affects the chosen LI. It's reveal is important in a way that it serves as a passage to a new act where the reader explores magic and Arcana pantheon as they are a monumental part of the overall worldbuilding. This exact point applies to the Heart of the Forest and how spirits interact with the world around them as well.

Whittling and Charm making are the only hobbies we get from Muriel's isolated life, their introduction helps the reader humanise the character by giving us a crumb of his everyday life. It's never mentioned again after the scene where MC asks him what he does. He doesn't idly whittle during their journey and charms only come to play in an offhanded reference during reversed ending.

The other two are also ignored but I will touch on Lucio later on.

Why do these matter? A few abandoned plot points don't make or break the story but on a grander level it hinders the audience investment. When we read, we like to think the details we notice will come to play eventually, we like recognizing references that were introduced earlier. I'm sure I don't need to give examples on this one, I don't think anyone will disagree.

2. Themes. Thematic influences this story utilized are all over the place, and it seems to me like it stems from the improper application of certain tropes;

The Hero's Journey

Home Sweet Home

Shell-Shocked Vet

Last of His Kind

etc.

Some of these tropes tackle themes such as;

Slavery

PTSD

Survivor's Guilt

Genocide

I'm not going to try to explain How to Write any of these topics. I'm not remotely qualified. I think it's better if I just give examples from popular media because whether you know how to write it or not, you can still understand when it's written well;

AtLA deals with genocide and survivor's guilt. It's in the name; The Last Airbender. Aang is the sole survivor of a culture he'd only had an opportunity to engage in for a handful of years. He left them with a childish tantrum and now they're gone forever. I can't think of another mainstream series that shows the gruesome reality of war and genocide better than this one.

When Muriel realizes his true heritage and loses Khamgalai is the point of the story where Luke sees his family's farm burned down, Aang goes back to the air temple, Treebeard walks in on the demolished part of the forest. (The inciting incident)

(Could also have been forest spirit’s death but it was too early in the story so I don’t consider it a missed opportunity.)

Up until this point the hero has their doubts, they're going through the motions but they are either underestimating the enemy or they're a passive protagonist. Either way, this is the point where the hero has to take the reins of the story. What purpose does this serve in Muriel's route instead? It simply validates Muriel's beliefs. He's useless, he isn't strong enough. We as the reader need a point to see where the hero takes a step to drive the story forward or whoever takes that step will steal the spotlight, it will be their story. As it is, this is the point where it ceases to be Muriel’s story.

PTSD got the worst end of the deal. Since Dragon Age fandom has a huge overlap with the Arcana I will use Fenris as an example; for those who are unfamiliar with the character, Fenris is an escaped slave. After the sex scene he vividly describes an experience that most people can easily identify as a flashback. The game never tells us that he was abused, it doesn’t show us him having a panic attack but it shows us that whatever transpired between him and the player character clearly triggered an unpleasant memory.

Arcana tries and initially succeeds to do something similar. We see that the character is untrustworthy, sensitive to touch, easily agitated, can’t sleep outside of his perceived safe environment… It introduces us the cause later on and the story has two options, each will drastically change the moral of the story:

Remember these as they will be important later on

Portray Muriel fighting as a bad thing; You can’t fight violence with violence angle or the fact that the villain’s forcing him into a situation where he’ll have to fight again makes the villain all the more intimidating.

Portray Muriel fighting as a good thing; He has the means to defeat the villain and he just needs encouragement. With great power comes great responsibility. By not fighting he willingly condemns everyone to an awful fate and that he is selfish.

I’d like to take a second to explore the 1. Option, I feel like the game may have intended to implement that idea but failed because of the implementation of Morga and choices presented for the player character: Morga is an Old-Soldier, these characters are often push the hero out of their comfort zone in an aggressive way towards complacency, they are a narrative foil to the mentor. For the first option to work the story had to show Khamgalai acting as a mentor and having the protagonists challenge Morga’s teachings(see Ozai-Iroh). As it is, Morga’s actions are never put under scrutiny (narratively) and her death feels hollow as a result. She didn’t sacrifice herself for the heroes due to her guilt, she died because she felt a moment of sympathy for her son which wasn’t explored before, she showed no intention to change nor any doubt.

It is clear the game choose 2. Option, it is a controversial choice given Muriel’s mental condition and the game is acutely aware of this, which is likely why Muriel’s PTSD will get carefully scraped from the story from here on out. (I won’t address other instances where his trauma wasn’t taken into account, I feel like this explanation should cover them as well.)

3. Morals. Every story, whether the author intends it or not, has a moral. The Villain most often acts against that moral and in turn can change the hero's perspective. Morals are not ideals; the morality of Killmonger isn’t that marginalised people should fight for their rights, it is that vengeance is just. Whether it’s right or wrong can be debated but what makes an ideal the moral of the story is in the portrayal. How the narrator depicts the events, how people around the heroes react... all are a part of portrayal.

The story choosing “Muriel fighting is a good thing” earlier puts in the foundation of a moral. The story tells us Muriel has to fight, it’s the right thing to do. He has to be brave for the people he loves.

This choice affects how his past actions will be perceived; now, him escaping the arena to save himself is cowardly, abandoning Morga is cowardly.

The story tells us it wasn’t, but shows us that it was. This is the end of the midpoint of the story, at this point we need to have a good grasp on what we should perceive as wrong or right for us to feel invested. If we zig-zag between the morals we won’t know which actions we should root for. But more than that, the conclusion will not feel cathartic as it will inevitably demonstrate the opposing ideals clashing at its climax.

Villain doesn't necessarily have to be sympathetic and Muriel's route makes no effort to make him as such, but they need to be understandable. What danger does Lucio pose to the status quo, what makes him a compelling villain? Whether he conquers Vesuvia or not doesn’t drastically affect Muriel’s way of life, he’s been in hiding for years. He doesn’t threaten to steal MC’s body, Muriel is not compelled to pick up arms to save his beloved. He wants to protect the people from going through what he’s been through, right? That is what the story wants us to think. But what has he been through? Fighting was his choice, Lucio tricked him into it. Lucio later tricked Morga, his own mother, to save his own hide. This tells us that Lucio is a manipulator, but he doesn’t manipulate his way into Vesuvia, he barges in with deus ex machina monsters. He doesn’t demonstrate his skills as a tactician by making deals with neighbouring kingdoms to get their armies. We don’t know his strengths therefore we don’t know his weaknesses. If he seems to be losing he can just conjure a giant dragon to burn everything down, we just can’t know. That is why the application of deus ex machina is highly taboo, the victories don’t feel earned and defeats feel unfair.

4. Tone. Playing with the genre is not uncommon and a game such as Arcana has many opportunities to do so. It is a romance story, everything else is the back-drop. The tone works best when its overall consistent but tonal changes act as shock for the audience to keep them engaged and keeping one tone indefinitely gets us desensitized. We can’t feel constant misery if we are not made to feel tinges of hope in between. Good examples of dramatic tonal change (that I can think of): Mulan - arriving at the decimated village, La Vita e Bella - the father’s death, M*A*S*H - death of Hawkeye’s friend. Two of these examples are mostly comedy which is why this tonal shift affects us so, it was all fun and games until we are slapped in the face with the war going on. There are no one liners in those scenes, the story takes a moment to show appropriate respect to the dead, it gives its characters time to digest and come to terms with loss. Bad examples are the majority of Marvel movies.

In Muriel’s route there’s never such a thing, Muriel has a panic attack and MC kisses him. This unintentionally tells us, the genre being romance, that the panic attack only served to further MC’s advances. It tells us that he’s never had the control of his life and it’s yet again stripped from him by the decisions of player character. This is not the only instance this happens. The story shoe-horns in multiple cuddle sessions between important plot beats. And it does the exact opposite during a moment where he is having a heart-to-heart with the person he loves by having the ghost of Morga appear to give an ominous warning/advice.

When he runs off during masquerade it’s built up to be an important plot point. Muriel will finally face his past, he’s been running away from it all along, and he will have an opportunity to be accepted back in. MC is supportive but ultimately, it’s meant to be Muriel's moment. But as I mentioned above this is not his story anymore so he’s not given any time to address his problems, instead a ghost appears to tell him what he needs to do, again. Because we need to wrap the story up, we don’t have time.

Remember how I said the 2 Options will be important later on, well here we are at the very end. Upright and reversed.

“Portray Muriel fighting as a bad thing”

This suggests that the triumph of Muriel won’t be through violence. Maybe he will outsmart Lucio in a different way, he won’t play his games anymore. This option suggests that Lucio will not be beaten by his own terms.

“Portray Muriel fighting as a good thing”

This option concludes with Muriel finally overcoming his reservations on violence and doing what's right to save the people he loves. And bringing justice to people who Lucio hurt.

If you are wondering why the upright ending feels random, this is likely why. The ending plays out as if the story was building on the 1st option while we spent chapters upon chapters playing out the 2nd one. It is unearned.

(The reversed ending, being reversed, also uses Option 1 path but in which Muriel can’t achieve his narrative conclusion)

The Coliseum is filled with people who are on their side against Lucio’s shadow goons. Because we can’t have people being on Lucio’s side without addressing the duality of human nature, even though it’s an important part of Muriel’s story. The people who watched and enjoyed Lucio’s bloodsport are no more, they are all new and enlightened offscreen. We completely skipped the part where Vesuvia comes to terms with its own complacency and Muriel simply feels at ease because the crowd is cheering on him now. This is what happens when you give the character a chance to challenge those who have been complicit in his abuse (masquerade scene) and completely skip it to move the story along.

Muriel doesn't get justice, ever. The people only love him now because he's fighting for them instead of his own survival. Morga or her clan doesn't answer for the massacre of Kokhuri, Vesuvia doesn't answer for the sick entertainment they indulged in and Lucio doesn't answer for Muriel's enslavement. It is not even acknowledged, nowhere in the story (except the very end of reversed ending, and even then it almost gets him killed so its clearly the wrong thing to do on his part) is a choice presented where Muriel has an opportunity to get any sort of compensation where he instead chooses to move on.

I don’t intend to straw man anyone but this is a sentiment I’ve seen a lot; “It’s a short story, a dating-sim, what do you expect?”

I expect nothing, I’m simply explaining why some people feel how they feel. It is a short dating-sim but it seems to me like it was aiming to be something more by borrowing elements that were clearly far above their weight range to tease something more and under deliver. It is okay to feel content with the story, and it’s okay to feel let down. If we had a unanimous decision on literature we would never be inclined to write our own stories.

#personal #muriel #muriel spoilers #tw: PTSD #tw: trauma #tw: slavery #tw: genocide #karayan

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gagmebucky · 3 years

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(please DONT reblog this post — the only way for me to justify even asking for this is for the people who’ve read and enjoyed my works to be given the option to donate if they feel anything they’ve read is worth something monetarily.)

okay 😭 my pride is one stubborn bitch so ive never wanted to make a post like this but 😅 the situation is getting serious not only financially but mentally as well! in july, my oldest cat passed away. i had paid $3000 in care credit/discover/deserve credit cards for an operation that was supposed to save his life but the next day the vet told us that he was too far gone and had to be put down anyway.

here’s a picture of my little baby, whitey, who had blessed my life every single day since he first came into my life:

i cannot express in words what he meant to me and the blessing it was to be able to have him and be graced with his love and attention. he was strong, smart and brave. he was sweet and protective, and i know where ever he’s gone, he’s getting the royal treatment because if anyone deserves it, he does. i can’t count the times he’s saved my life or my family’s life. it’s been months since he passed and i still can’t believe i won’t be able to hear his meow, see him, or feel him purr or just pet him. and i know no matter how much i cry, beg, pray or plead ill never get to to it again.

not going to lie it was very difficult writing that - feels like there’s a hot poker being stabbed into my check but i have to state that i fully understand and accept that this was my decision to do and thereby the debt acquired ultimately falls on me. i am currently working in order to pay that debt off but the pay isn’t much and i still have to pay bills for my parents and i’m sort’ve drowning in it. so if you have any spare money or anything like that, i would be beyond appreciative! please don’t feel any pressure or obligation to donate!

here’s the link to the gofundme, if you’re interesting in donating. alternatively if you want exclusive writing — a multi chaptered fic with 20 chapters and over 100k+ words and three one shots and deleted fics/drabbles — you subscribe to my patreon for an one time fee of $5 dollars!

#this shit hurts so bad #it's been months and i still breakdown every time #every bad thing i ever experienced he was there #i still pour a bowl of food for him whenever i feed our other cats #he was my heart and ever since hes been gone ive just felt hollow #the morning we had to put him down and got to say our goodbyes the way he meowed and clung to me my mom and dad was like #'it's okay i'm gonna be okay' the look on his face #i am so sorry for putting this all in the tags but it hurts so bad

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ayybtch · 3 years

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You’re Worth A Perjury Charge

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Part of A Mutual Weirdness

Summary: Bucky finds a kitten outside of your apartment and brings him inside. You make him be a responsible adult and take the cat to the vet to find out if it's microchipped, but Bucky is so head over heels for his newfound furbaby he’s willing to risk legal repercussions.

Word Count: 2,422

Warnings: None! Bucky being absolutely adorable with a cat

A/N: So I didn’t previously have a tag list for this series, but I started one for my Wanda fic and a couple people asked about it for this so I’m starting one! Let me know if you’d like a tag! Additionally, you don’t have to have read the part before this but it’s a little funnier if you have given that the script is flipped between them.

“Uh, Bucky, what the hell is that?” you ask, eyes wide at the wet ball of fur poking out of Bucky’s leather jacket.

Bucky looked down at the little white cat, smiling as it meowed softly. “I found this little guy by the trash cans downstairs. It was raining so I couldn’t just leave him there.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “If that’s where you found him, how do you know he isn’t one of my neighbors’ cats? I get wanting to get him out of the rain, but the heart eyes you’re giving him makes me think you want to keep him.”

Bucky frowned at you, “Of course I’m keeping him. Look at him, he’s soaking wet and looks half starved! Clearly, he’s not being taken care of if he does belong to someone, so really I’m just doing everyone here a favor by taking him in.” He glared at you as you started to laugh.

“Oh, I can just see the headline now: ‘Former Winter Soldier Locked in Cat Custody Battle’. Some little old lady who just adopted this cat - ” you laughed too hard to speak for a moment, “- is going to go berserk and sue you for everything you’re worth just because you like her cat.”

Bucky huffed and opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by the cat meowing. The smile on his face as he stared down at the little bundle of fur made you melt, though you did your best to hide that fact from Bucky.

Bucky nodded along attentively as the kitten continued to meow. “I know, she’s being so inconsiderate of your well-being, isn’t she? She’s worried about some little old lady suing me over you. Well, guess what? She can sue me all she wants, I’m not letting you go. Even if I have to lie to a judge and say ‘I plead not guilty in case of the missing cat. Please ignore the gentle meows coming from inside my jacket - ” He paused again as the cat continued to meow. “Mhm, you are absolutely right. You’re worth a perjury charge.”

What on Earth was happening here? You are the animal crazy one, not Bucky. Yet here you are, being the reasonable and responsible adult in a situation involving an animal. The irony of the situation hit you and you couldn't help but chuckle.

Your laughter eventually died as you noticed the heart eye expression on Bucky’s face. He was already completely enamored with the kitten. Sighing, you knew you needed to find a middle ground and fast.

“Bucky, baby, would you at least be willing to take him to go see a vet? We owe it to whoever might own the cat to see if there’s a microchip. If there’s not one, we can get a check up on the little guy while we’re there and make sure he’s good to go.”

Bucky stared at you suspiciously for a moment before responding. “What do you mean ‘good to go’? You don’t mean to get rid of him, do you?”

You shook your head. “No baby, I just want to make sure he’s okay so you have a happy, healthy kitty in your life.” You almost didn’t get your sentence out before he was squishing you into a hug. A small gasp escaped his lips and he pulled away abruptly.

“I could’ve squished the baby! Are you okay?” Bucky pulled out the cat and examined him anxiously. A small squeak left the cat, confirming he was okay.

While he agreed that a vet visit was in order, the new challenge was figuring out when to take the cat. Bucky refused to take him back into the rain, claiming it was going to make him sick. You conceded and agreed to let the kitten stay until the weather broke. That was all Bucky needed to start trying his hardest to convince you that he should keep the cat regardless of what the vet said. Every time the cat did anything cute, Bucky was gasping and pointing out how cute he was. He almost started crying when the cat pounced on a random sock laying next to the coffee table, swearing up and down he had never seen a more precious sight in his life.

The number of pictures Bucky was taking of the kitten as he explored the apartment was hysterical. Any time he took an exceptionally cute picture, he immediately sent it to you. You currently had 18 unopened messages from Bucky, each one a different picture of the cat. You finally had to put an end to it once the kitten curled up on a pillow in the living room, settling down for a nap.

You tugged on Bucky’s hand and led him over to a barstool and gestured for him to sit. You made two sandwiches, handing one to him once it was done. The two of you ate in silence. It wasn’t until you were almost done eating that you spoke.

“You know, it’s kind of refreshing having you be the one that’s animal crazy for a change.”

Bucky smiled at you sheepishly. “What can I say, you’ve rubbed off on me.” His voice was teasing as he spoke, but the slight blush on his face suggested this was all just as unexpected to him as it was to you. A second silence fell over you, but this time he was the one who broke it.

“So what should we name him?” he asked, pulling out his phone and scrolling through the new pictures on his camera roll.

You sighed and put your head in your hands. “Baby, I know you’re excited but remember what we talked about. We don’t know if he belongs to anyone yet. Let’s not go getting ahead of ourselves.”

Bucky sighed and nodded slightly.

Four days later, the two of you walked into the vet’s office hand in hand. It was the earliest appointment you were able to make without it being an emergency and you were worried that the extra few days did nothing but increase Bucky’s attachment. The kitten was adorable, you couldn’t deny it. There were times you thought about how nice it would be to finally have a little furry companion but you refused to keep an animal that could belong to someone else.

Once the three of you arrived, you were checked in promptly by the receptionist and were led into the exam room by an overly peppy vet-tech a few minutes later. Once inside, she gently grabbed him out of Bucky’s arms and made kissy noises at him as she began her portion of the exam.

Watching the kitten refuse to hold still during the weighing process was amusing to say the least. He kept moving around and trying to jump off the scale. It took several attempts, but she was finally able to record his weight. She fared a little better while taking his temperature given she was holding him, but the kitten still wiggled trying to escape her hold.

“I wonder why he’s being such a spaz right now. He had no issues with me holding him yesterday. At least, none that I noticed.” Bucky paused and turned to face you, confusion written on his face, “Did he give you a hard time when you held him?”

The vet-tech chimed in before you had the chance to respond, “He’s probably just decided you’re his person. Cats are a lot like people in that they pick their person and trust them to do things they don’t trust anyone else with. He doesn’t know me, so it makes sense he’s being a little fussy.” She set the kitten back on the exam table and he jumped into Bucky’s lap.

Bucky stared down at the little bundle of fur that was now purring as he rubbed his face against Bucky’s stomach. His expression was a mixture of shock, joy, and love.

For the first time since Bucky had walked in with the cat, you truly contemplated helping Bucky keeping him even if he was microchipped. He was going to be crushed if this cat belonged to someone else. Your stomach twisted at the thought. If we can’t take him home, we’re immediately going to the animal shelter and Bucky can pick out as many cats as he likes, you thought.

A knock at the door pulled your thoughts back to the room. A new woman in a white lab coat walked in with a smile on her face. “Good morning everyone, I’m Dr. Brown. I hear you guys were lucky enough to find a cat, is that right?”

Bucky nodded and looked down again at the cat with a smile, “Yes ma’am. I found him in the alley next to our apartment.” He carefully picked up the kitten still laying on his lap and handed him out to her.

Dr. Brown smiled again as she reached out to grab him. “Why hello there handsome, how are you doing today? I’m gonna check to see if you’ve got a microchip which won’t be too bad, but I may have to give you a couple of shots -” her sentence was cut off by loud meowing from the kitten, almost as if he understood what she was saying.

She chuckled before continuing, “I know, I know. Shots aren’t fun for anyone. But let’s find out about your microchip and finish the rest of the exam and see if they’re needed before we start complaining too much.”

Bucky reached out and gripped your hand tightly as she set him down on top of the exam table. She held a small rectangular device just above his shoulder blades for a few moments before setting it down and continuing with the exam. She spent the entire time talking to the cat as she went about the exam. She checked both of his ears and his mouth before moving on to checking on the various limbs in his body. Once the exam was complete, she turned to face the two of you.

“Well, good news on all accounts. Mister Man here is a perfectly healthy kitten. He looks to be about 16 weeks and is in great shape all things considered. He does not have a microchip though, so that leaves us with some options moving forward.”

You let out a sigh of relief you didn’t know you were holding in. Bucky remained silent, though his grip on your hand grew slightly tighter. Dr. Brown didn’t wait for a response before continuing.

“If you want to keep him, we’ll microchip him and start giving him his first round of shots today since we don’t know if he’s had any so far. We’ll also send you home with a little goodie bag with some treats, a small toy, and a packet with some basic information about caring for a new pet. If you don’t want to keep him, you guys are free to go and we can take him to a shelter from here. Fostering is another option if you’re not interested in keeping him but also don’t want him to go to a shelter.”

Bucky, who almost seemed to be in a daze after hearing there was no microchip, was suddenly brought back to life. “We’re keeping him,” he said firmly. The smile on his face was contagious and soon everyone in the room was smiling just as wide.

“Very well then, let me go get what I need so we can finish up here. I’ll be right back,” she said. You waited for her to leave the room before turning to face Bucky.

“Well, since he’s officially yours now, I think it’s finally time for you to start thinking of names.”

Bucky chuckled, “Yeah, about that... I kind of already named him. I decided on a name after you went to bed the first night he was in the apartment with us.”

You faltered for a moment, unable to hide your shock. “O-okay. What are we calling him?”

“Alpine. It seems like a good name for a cat.”

Twenty minutes later, you and Bucky were walking out of the vet's office feeling lighter than you did when you first walked in. Bucky was beaming as he looked down at Alpine, who was now officially his according to the paperwork stuffed inside his jacket. His joy was contagious and you were starting to feel the same sort of excitement Bucky had been feeling ever since he came across the poor thing in the alley.

“So what do we do now?” you asked, moving closer to Bucky. He wrapped his free arm around your waist and thought for a moment.

“Well, now that there are no foreseeable perjury charges over a cat in my future, I think it’s probably time to focus on my newfound fatherhood.”

You groaned as he spoke, “Does this mean I’m going to have to put up with Dad jokes from now on?”

The shit-eating grin on Bucky’s face answered for him.

The walk back to the apartment was quick. The two of you spoke occasionally, but mostly enjoyed the quiet comfort of just being close to the other. Once you arrived at your apartment building, the doorman greeted you. You were ready to wave and keep walking, but Bucky held you back.

“Hey man, could you get a picture of the three of us? We just adopted this little guy and I’d like a picture to commemorate it,” Bucky asked, letting go of you to pull out his phone. The doorman nodded and took the phone.

Once he was done, Bucky thanked him and the three of you finally made your way back to the apartment. As soon as he was inside, Alpine jumped out of Bucky’s arm and made his way to the couch. He curled up in what was now officially his spot, making your heart swell. You turned to see if Bucky noticed, but he was too focused on his phone.

“Already sending pictures of Alpine to Steve and Sam to brag about your newfound fatherhood?” you teased, arms wrapping around his middle as you spoke. He shook his head no and remained focused on the phone. Just as you were about to ask what he was doing instead, Bucky turned his phone around so you could see his screen.

You were stunned, completely unsure of how to respond to what you were seeing. Slowly, you opened your mouth and tried to find the words, “Bucky, please explain to me how our cat already has a verified Instagram account?”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #a mutual weirdness masterlist

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givemethatgold · 3 years

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Fix’er Upper Pt. 3

Pairing: Eventual Frankie Morales x F!Reader Warnings: Clumsy injury, more stupid fighting Length: 2.5k Notes: If these two dummies could have one (1) adult conversation they’d be in bed together by now. Instead, we get this! *waves around vaguely*

PART ONE, TWO

Money was tight. You had been trying to ignore the dwindling stack of cash, telling yourself that you didn’t actually need to fix the cracked drywall, replace the old oven, or fill in the missing patches of shingles.

That ignorance had finally come to bite you in the butt. You were rudely woken at three a.m. to the clap of thunder and the pat-pat-pat of rain hitting the house. You loved storms, the excitement of the lighting, and how fresh the air smelled once the rain had passed.

You rolled over onto your back so you could watch the lightning flashing between the cracks of your curtains. A tap on your forehead quickly destroyed the excitement you were feeling. The wet ‘splat’ was quickly followed by another, and another, and before you were able to scramble up and search for the closest thing resembling a bucket, it had turned into a steady stream.

“Fuuuuuuuck!”

The next morning, the sun rose and shed its light upon a beautiful scene. The leaves, now free from dust, were beginning to turn, the grass glimmered with raindrops, and the sky was clear. You, on the other hand, were a verifiable disaster.

Hair unkempt, heavy bags under your eyes, and wearing the first items of clothing you could find in your scramble last night. Your exhaustion was so complete, it hadn’t even dawned on you to change or freshen up a bit before going out into the public eye. All you could focus on was getting to Hank’s Hardware and buying all the shingles you could get your hands on.

Once again, however, you were harshly reminded of your dwindling savings and just how expensive fixing up a house could be. The owner, Allan if you remembered correctly, had shown you the right size and style for your home’s roof and you nearly choked at the price.

“You know,” he had said gently, “we do have the option of a payment plan. I don’t let just anyone use it either. It’s for trusted customers. I have a good gut on who I can trust.”

“Really?” You asked, feeling a little pathetic while also knowing now was not the time to let pride ruin such a good thing. “And, um, what does your gut tell you about me?”

“Welllll,” he smiled, hooking his thumbs into his suspenders and leaning back a little to size you up. “You’re hard-working, feel like you have something to prove, won’t back down from a challenge, and are in way over your head with that damn old house.”

“Oh.”

“No offense, ma’am! Sometimes I forget myself and talk to strangers the same way I’d talk to my friends.” He patted your forearm gently then hooked it back into his suspenders, pretending he didn’t notice you jumping at the physical contact. “But it’s true. No denying you won’t be able to shingle all by yourself. I’d offer, but I’m in no shape to be climbing up roofs.”

“That’s very sweet of you, truly. But I’ll manage! I doubt I could afford a handyman, so it’ll be me and my stubborn self scrambling around up there.” You joked, but it fell a little flat since the both of you knew it was the truth.

“I’ve got an idea...” Hank trailed off, his gaze searching around by the till. “Maybe you two can help each other out?” He fiddled at the computer for a minute, then grabbed a flyer from the corkboard mounted behind the counter before handing you two pieces of paper. One was a receipt of what you owed him after this latest excursion and a detailed timeline of when small payments could be made.

Glancing up at him, you gave him a watery smile and thanked him for being so kind. Allan waved you off and pointed to the second paper.

‘Help Wanted’ it read, ‘Morales Acres. Light physical labour, quiet environment, rate of pay dependent on quality of work.’

“So friendly and welcoming,” you murmured, sarcastically, under your breath. Not quietly enough though because Allan snorted out a laugh and agreed that the ad was worded very abruptly. However, he vetted for the owner of the farm and suggested you head over to see if he would be willing to trade labour for labour.

Or at the very least, you thought, pay you so you can afford a roofer.

Following the directions Allan had provided for you, you quickly found Morales Acres. Surprisingly, it was a very short distance from your own home, making you wonder if the owner had been one of the people to drop by during your first weeks here.

The driveway was a beautiful, winding drive. The view of the farm was obscured by thickets of trees on either side of the road but you managed to catch glimpses of a pond and a few bales of hay before rounding a bend and driving into the yard.

A small gasp left your lips at the sight. It was picturesque! Something out of a travel magazine, or on every city girl’s Pinterest board. The driveway came to an end in front of a statuesque barn painted in the classic red and white, stone walls cordoned off certain areas that, from where you sat, looked like they could be used to house sheep or hens. A few small sheds were lined up along the other edge of the yard but the main attraction was the neatly lined rows of apple trees all heavy with fruit.

Climbing out of the cab, you slowly made your way into the yard with your mouth hanging open dumbly. It was just so peaceful here and it was obvious that the owner cared deeply for the property. You were enchanted and fell immediately in love.

“You must be the help Allan called to say he was sending over,” a warm voice rang out.

Looking around for the source your gaze widened, then immediately hardened, when you caught sight of who was talking to you.

“You!”

“You?!”

To say it had been a smooth business agreement would be a total lie. You and Market Asshole, Frankie you reminded yourself to call him, had bickered back and forth for the better part of an hour before shaking hands. Surprisingly, you had both argued more for the other person’s benefit, something you had been mulling over since.

If this guy was such an ass, why was he also acting like his help with your renovations wouldn’t be worth as much as you picking apples? You knew your presence disturbed his peace, and that you weren’t as strong as he might have hoped his helper would be, and he still hadn’t trusted you with all the workings of his orchard.

So, while you weren’t going to argue anymore, you knew you were getting the better end of the deal: you help him gather his harvest and get it safely stored in the barn, then he spends the same amount of hours helping you. While the weather during September was prone to drizzle, you had convinced him that a tarp thrown over the baldest patches of roof would be fine and that the apples couldn’t wait.

He had grumpily conceded your point but had sworn that as soon as the last of the fruit was picked he’d be over to do a proper job of it. So continued the uneasy truce between the two of you for the past four weeks. The first week was the hardest as your hands, unaccustomed to work, blistered, and your muscles ached from sudden use. You had initially tried to pass the time by making conversation but you got the hint and stayed quiet once Frankie started choosing trees farther and farther from yours.

Slowly, however, the blisters healed and gave way to callouses. Your muscles became accustomed to the work and you were able to carry twice the amount as you had started off with. Your home could now boast electricity and running water everywhere it should be, and the pile of discarded furniture had been reduced to ash by a spectacular bonfire which Jacquie and her family had joined you in admiring.

Today started off as a normal day. You showed up for harvesting at the break of dawn, having discovered you much preferred the cool morning air over being up on a ladder with the midday sun beating down on you. The trees were obscured by a low fog that had yet to burn up, but you knew what section you needed to start on.

Enjoying the way the fog enveloped you, making you feel like you were in a magical world, you began to hum and your steps took on a dreamy dance-like quality. You had never taken lessons or had even been allowed to make such a spectacle of yourself while living with Brad but now you felt free enough to spin, twirl, and glide. Overcome with the joy your freedom gave you, you began to belt out “These Are a Few of my Favourite Things”, The Sound of Music having been played on repeat when you were a child.

Once you reached the ladder, you hoisted the basket onto your back and continued to sing whatever songs you could remember while you worked. A particularly boisterous rendition of “Do Re Mi” had you flinging your arm out wide and leaning back on the ladder for a dramatic finish.

The apples threw you off balance.

With a screech, you fell backward, managing to twist yourself around to land awkwardly on your hands and knees instead of on the basket of apples strapped to your back. You seemed to have come away unscathed, with just scratched knees and a throbbing in one wrist. Thankfully it wasn’t your dominant hand.

“Whoa!” Frankie called out, catching sight of you on the ground with the ladder tipped on its side, “Everything okay? Are you okay?”

Coming to a skidding stop next to you, he grasped the basket and slipped it off your back with ease.

You took a few deep breaths and nodded. “Fine! Fine, just bruised knees and ego...” you assured him.

“What were you thinking?!” He tore into you, “You could have broken your neck! Or ruined a whole barrel of apples! Then what would I do?! This job doesn’t come with health insurance for Christ's sakes!” Running his hands through his curly, brown hair he let out a huff of air and walked over to where your ladder lay on the ground.

“Un-be-fucking-lievable!” You called out, incredulously. While trying to get to your feet, to march over and wag your finger in his face, you put too much pressure on your injured wrist that caused pain to scream down your arm.

You managed to mask the cry of pain as a cry of frustration and got to your feet. Surreptitiously cradling your hand against your chest, you grabbed another basket and walked past Frankie to start climbing the ladder again. Looking at the ground so he wouldn’t see the tears of pain in your eyes, you mumbled, “I’ll be more careful, alright? I’m sorry.”

Stopping your ascent with a hand on your arm he stuttered out what might have been the beginning of an apology but he couldn’t quite seem to put the right words together so he just cleared his throat.

“Just...” he said in a much softer tone, “just be more careful. Okay? I can’t lose my best worker.”

The lame joke made you smile despite yourself.

“Employee of the month,” you replied in a dry tone, “hurrah.”

You shared wry smiles while a silent apology passed between the two of you. His dark brown eyes held a warmth to them you had never noticed before. Their hue reminding you of every tree in the orchard from the early light to the sunset, golden flecks reminiscent of the sun. His face, weathered from so much time spent outdoors, was marked with laugh lines, worry lines, and a small scar gracing his left cheek.

Your eyes wandered past the scar to note how long his scruffy facial hair had grown and how it had started to obscure those pleasantly pouty lips.

Then, with a start, you realized you were staring at this infuriating man’s lips like a hormonal teenager. With an embarrassed squeak, you quickly scurried up the ladder, hooking your elbow around each rung to avoid any more pressure on your wrist.

To say Frankie was coping well with having someone around would be a gross overstatement.

It’s not that he didn’t like the company or wanted to be alone. The problem was that he was starting to like her company too much, to care too much. And caring too much had been the root cause of all Frankie’s sorrows.

First, there had been his Dad, trying to impress the man who never even wanted kids. Then the force, always feeling like he needed to prove himself and desperate for praise. After that was his wife, ex-wife, and trying to be someone he wasn’t so she would stay interested and in love. The pressure created by caring about these people and the expectations they had for him drove him to abuse drugs. Then his friends came calling and Frankie went against his gut because they had cared so deeply about something and he had cared deeply for them.

His wife, his kid, his family, his job, his friends. He had cared more than they did and he had come away worse off. At least now he was clean and sober, and was very aware of the irony of him now making and selling an alcoholic drink.

No, it was best to stay alone. He loved too freely and put too much stock in being loved back and every. single. time. it hurt him.

So, he closed himself off from you. Initially, he didn’t think it was going to be an issue, especially considering how you two had met. But then he found himself smiling at your stories, idly leaning against a branch so he could watch your graceful moments. He hated watching you leave, knowing you were going home to that piece of shit house that he should really be fixing up for you.

He recognized the signs and nipped them in the bud; working farther away, replying to questions with the fewest possible words, focusing purely on work, and maintaining a professional relationship. It pained him to push you away but deep down he knew it was best for the both of you.

Which brings him back to this moment.

Frankie was too stunned to notice your awkward climb up the ladder. Standing there, dumbly, for another few seconds. Wondering, all the way back to the idling tractor, what the hell had just happened.

One minute he was just driving the tractor minding his own business and the next he was having a mild heart attack after seeing his only worker laying limp on the ground. Then, after arguing like usual, you had shared a...a moment and stared at his mouth almost long enough to tempt him to use it.

Part Four

If you’d like to be tagged please send an ask!

@rebelliouscat @pedro4ever @speakerforthedead0 @yespolkadotkitty @ilikechocolatemilkh @weirdowithnobeardo @pedro-pastel @disgruntledspacedad @a-skov @trash-dino-5000 @reader-s-cantina

#Fix'er Upper #Frankie Morales x reader #Frankie Catfish Morales x reader #Catfish x reader #catfish x you #Frankie Morales x you #triple frontier fanfiction #Frankie Catfish Morales fanfiction

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rafael-silva · 3 years

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found a home in you: a tarlos fic

The fire had been small and easy to extinguish, but as a precaution, Owen had sent TK to do a walk around the house to make sure it was out and everything was secure.

TK carefully inspects the side of the house, keeping an eye out for anything out of the ordinary.

He’s about to move on once he’s satisfied that everything is fine, but stops in his tracks when he hears a low whimper. It’s so small and frightened, he would have missed it if his foot had crunched the fallen leaves littered on the ground as he moved.

Alternatively: The last thing TK expected to hear during his walk around a house after a call, were low whimpers and cries coming from a nearby bush.

for the good things happen bingo: tarlos + adopting a pet

established tk strand/carlos reyes, fluff, team as family, soft carlos reyes, soft tk strand, domestic fic, cuddles, kisses, comfort, this is really 5.3k of pure fluff

5.3k | on ao3

*****

“Strand, report.”

TK presses down on the button to reply, momentarily sending static through the radio. “All good on the south, east and north sides, Cap. Moving to the west side now.”

The fire had been small and easy to extinguish, but as a precaution, Owen had sent TK to do a walk around the house to make sure it was out and everything was secure.

TK carefully inspects the side of the house, keeping an eye out for anything out of the ordinary. He’s about to move on once he’s satisfied that everything is fine, but stops in his tracks when he hears a low whimper. It’s so small and frightened, he would have missed it if his foot had crunched the fallen leaves littered on the ground beneath him.

He hears more whines. Careful of his speed and movements, TK follows the sounds, eventually leading him to a nearby bush. He switches on the flashlight attached to his turnout coat and shines the light into the shrub. He spots little movements, and then his eyes land on a small puppy, visibly shaking, trying to move through the tight space while looking at him with a fearful gaze.

TK’s face immediately softens and his heart grows a little at seeing the puppy.

Before he can move or say anything else, his radio comes to life and the sudden noise spooks the puppy and makes it retreat a little in the small space.

“TK, almost done?”

“Yeah, Cap. I’ll be just a minute,” TK replies.

The puppy is still looking at TK with an alarmed expression.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” TK speaks with a gentle tone, kneeling to be closer to the puppy, his movements slow and calculated. “You’re safe now.”

The puppy seems to relax the slightest bit at hearing TK’s voice, knowing it’s directed at it. However, still on edge though, the puppy still looks scared.

TK takes a look around, hoping to find anyone in the vicinity but quickly discovers it’s just him. Making up his mind, he takes off his turnout coat and lays it on the ground next to him, which proves to be the easy part. Sitting on his knees, he carefully reaches into the bush, aiming for the puppy but each time he gets close, the puppy’s cries get louder. Instinctively, TK pulls back and then tries again. After a few times, he manages to delicately wrap his hand around the puppy, pulling it out of the bush through its screaming and fidgeting. TK supposes the screaming could mean one of two things: the puppy has never been held before, so the human touch is foreign to it or the puppy has a negative connection with said human touch. The second option breaks TK’s heart a little.

He then efficiently wraps the puppy in his coat and holds it close to his chest. Although he could still hear some whimpering, the puppy seems to calm down a little at being held this way. It’s a warm Austin day, the sun’s heat bouncing off surfaces in the hot atmosphere, but TK supposes the puppy hasn’t felt the kind of warmth that comes with being gently held before.

“Hey, what’s that?” Paul asks when TK emerges, being the first to notice the little lump in TK’s arms.

Before TK can reply, the puppy’s little head sneaks out through the fabric, slightly intrigued by the new sound that is Paul’s voice.

“No way!” Mateo’s face lights up, his voice filled with excitement at seeing the puppy.

It’s clear the new stimuli and voices scare the puppy a little, because it turns its head towards TK again, looking for reassurance.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he smiles at the puppy, then to the crew: “Found this adorable little girl while doing the walk around.”

Judd’s the first to approach TK and the puppy, a smile spread on his face. “Hey, sweetheart.” He slowly extends his arm and pets her a few times. She’s still shaken but doesn’t cry at Judd’s touch.

“Do you mind for a sec?” TK asks Judd.

“Not at all,” Judd replies.

TK then carefully hands the puppy over to Judd, watching as Judd does the same as he did and holds her close and she snuggles against him. And the sight of seeing a big man like Judd cradling a tiny puppy against his chest is enough to melt any heart.

TK jogs over to Owen. “Can I ask around real quick?” He gestures to the crowd of onlookers that have gathered near the house.

“Sure,” Owen nods.

However, the peace is short lived, and at noticing TK’s absence, the puppy starts whimpering loudly and fidgeting in Judd’s hold. “I think she wants TK,” the Texan says as the rest of the team gather around to watch the puppy.

“Aw, she’s already attached to him,” Marjan says, her voice calm and playful.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Judd says lightly to the puppy. “TK will be back in a second.”

TK joins them a few minutes later. “She’s not anyone’s puppy, no one has seen her before.”

“Well, I guess that means she's coming back with us,” Judd says as he hands her back to TK. “Besides, she’s already attached to you, man.”

“Hey, come here,” TK coos, adjusting her against his chest. Being back in TK’s arms stops the whimpering coming from the puppy.

They hear Owen announce that it’s time to go and they all start piling into the firetruck, TK is the last one to get in, sitting by the window as Owen closes the door and hops into the front. The start of the big, loud engine startles the puppy and she starts shaking again, TK instantly runs his hand gently over her small body, trying to reassure her and calm her down. It works after a few minutes, and it seems like she grows a little braver because she’s climbing out of TK’s coat and taking a look outside the window as the city goes by in a blur.

TK still has a firm hold on her, and he’s looking down at her with a smile.

“Oh, this is just way too cute,” Paul speaks up, followed by him snapping more than a few pictures on his phone.

“Buttercup is at the firehouse today,” Mateo points out.

“It’s gonna be fine,” Marjan replies. “He’s the sweetest boy.”

“He is,” Owen joins the conversation. “But I guess we’ll find out his tendency towards jealously.”

“Yeah,” Paul agrees. “We all know how he is when it comes to his favorite person and how protective he gets.”

All eyes turn to TK at Paul’s words.

TK playfully rolls his eyes and chuckles. “It’s gonna be fine. If anything, I think he’s going to be super protective and loving towards this little girl.”

The truck is parked in the firehouse ten minutes later, and everyone jumps out while TK cautiously steps down.

“Alright, everyone, you know your chores,” Owen instructs. “TK, you take care of this little girl, get some towels, set them up for her and pour her some milk into a bowl and fill another one with water.”

TK nods and makes his way up the stairs, securing his hold on her as he ascends the steps.

He puts her down on the towels until he gets the water and milk for her, but as soon as he walks away, she starts crying and takes small steps in an effort to follow TK into the kitchen.

TK smiles when he notices and leans down to pick her up. He moves around the kitchen to retrieve a couple of bowls and then opens the fridge to take out the milk, using one hand to get everything ready.

Once the milk and water are set near the towels, she manages to take a few licks of both before she’s going back to TK.

“Alright, come here,” TK leans back against the cushion, settling her on his chest. She snuggles against his AFD t-shirt and closes her eyes.

TK keeps running his palm over her body, both to keep her calm and to make sure she’s clean until he takes her to the vet.

The ringing of his phone wakes her up, but doesn’t scare her too much. She’s clearly content in TK’s care.

TK smiles as he reads the caller ID.

“Hey, babe,” TK answers, the smile evident in his voice.

“Hi, baby,” comes Carlos’s reply.

“How’s your day been?”

“Fine,” Carlos replies. “Went on patrol for a few hours and back at the station now. Lunch break. How’s your shift been?”

“Last call was interesting,” TK responds.

“Yeah? How’s the puppy?” Carlos asks, and TK can practically hear the smirk in his voice.

“You heard already?”

“Yeah,” Carlos chuckles. “Not heard as much as saw. Paul sent me a couple of pictures.”

“Ah,” TK mirrors Carlos’s chuckle.

“It may be the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen,” Carlos adds, affection radiating through his voice.

“She’s so small, Carlos,” TK says, his voice filled with awe. “She was so scared and she was shaking so much. She cried when I have her to Judd for a minute.”

“She feels safe with you. I know the feeling,” Carlos expresses, his tone filled with love.

A blush colors TK’s cheeks as he continues running his hand over the puppy’s short fur.

“How’s she doing?”

“She’s currently asleep,” TK replies. “Hold on.”

TK expertly snaps a selfie, showing him comfortably lying back against the cushions and the puppy propped up on his chest, fast asleep with a peaceful look on her little face.

“Check your messages,” TK tells Carlos once he sends it.

It takes Carlos a few seconds to reply. “My heart is exploding with how cute this is, Ty.”

TK chuckles.

“I have to go back to work,” Carlos says with some sadness. “But I’ll pass by the firehouse after my shift.”

It was one of the days Carlos finishes work before TK, and he’d usually head home right after, making dinner for them and waiting for his boyfriend to come home. But the puppy definitely calls for a slight change in plans.

“Okay, babe. Can’t wait to see you. Be careful, please.”

“I will,” Carlos promises. “Can’t wait to see you too, babe. And be careful, too.”

Once they end their phone call, TK looks up and sees Owen approach him with a small smile on his face. On cue, the puppy wakes up and stretches her tiny legs, letting out a yawn and then settles her eyes on TK.

“Hi, sweetheart,” TK smiles back at her.

“Can I?” Owen asks, gesturing to the puppy.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” TK nods. “But beware, she may not like it, given her track record with everyone. Don’t take it personally, though,” he adds with a chuckle.

The puppy proves TK right, because she lets out a cry as soon as she’s off TK’s chest. Owen raises an eyebrow and gently puts her back down, watching as she stops crying.

“It’s kinda hard to not take it personally,” Owen jokes. “I’m glad she feels safe with you.”

TK nods. “I’m getting attached to her, too. But we need to find out if her family is looking for her.”

“What are you thinking?”

“Carlos and I are off tomorrow, we can take her to the vet and check if she has a microchip. We can take it from there, and see what the options are if she doesn’t have a chip,” TK explains. “And for tonight, I was thinking of taking her back home with me, if Carlos would be okay with that.” TK takes a hold of the puppy, moving her up and steadies her against his collarbone, she snuggles there and pushes her face into TK’s neck, making him giggle as her nose brushes against one of his ticklish spots.

Owen nods. “That sounds like a good plan.” He spots movement from the corner of his eye and turns to look over his shoulder.

Buttercup makes his way into the space and goes straight to TK.

“Hey, buddy,” Owen says, petting Buttercup’s soft fur. “We have someone for you to meet. Let’s see how this goes.”

Buttercup looks between TK and Owen, his eyes questioning and then landing on the puppy.

Buttercup sniffs once and then twice and gets closer to her.

TK feels the puppy’s muscles tensing under his touch as she moves and sits up, looking at the older dog with wide eyes.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” TK reassures the puppy with a soft voice, gently rubbing her back.

Owen slowly takes out his phone, careful of his movements so he doesn’t spook either dog. He opens the camera app and starts recording a video.

Buttercup sniffs a few more times, watching the puppy closely and then looks back up at TK again, his brown eyes speaking a thousand words.

Buttercup licks the side of the puppy’s face, and TK’s face splits into the biggest smile. He can feel her start to relax, too.

“There we go,” TK speaks. “You like her, huh, bud?” He ruffles Buttercup’s fur.

Buttercup’s response is a wagging his tail and giving TK a smile.

“Good boy,” Owen laughs, dropping a kiss to Buttercup’s head.

TK gets to his feet, Buttercup’s eyes trailed on him, and he takes a few steps away from the couch into the open area, Buttercup on his heels. TK puts the puppy down on the floor, and instead of crying this time, she gravitates towards Buttercup.

TK’s face lights up at the bond being forged between the two dogs. He watches as Buttercup walks over to the rug and plops down, the puppy following his steps and circles around a few times before settling down between Buttercup’s parted front legs, snuggling against his fur. Buttercup rubs his head against her little body in response and then lowers his head to the ground.

“He’s definitely her biggest fan now,” TK chuckles.

Owen nods with a smile on his face.

TK takes out his phone and captures a few pictures. He then opens his text thread with Carlos and attaches one of the photos.

TK: [attachment: 1 image]

TK: Puppy and Buttercup introduction is a success.

TK: More than a success, actually. They’re best friends now.

*****

Carlos parks his Camaro on the side of the firehouse, keeping the truck’s path clear. He walks in through the bay doors, dressed in his civvies, and spots Judd coming down the stairs. The firefighter notices him at the same time.

“Hey, Reyes,” Judd smiles, meeting Carlos halfway.

“Hey, Judd,” Carlos replies.

Judd gestures to the stairs behind him. “Your boy is upstairs with the newest addition to the crew.”

Carlos laughs. “An adorable addition.”

Judd nods, “damn right. Already has everyone wrapped around her little paws. Go join them, I’ll be back up in a sec.”

Carlos nods and takes the stairs. He follows the echoes of “aww” and the chuckles that come after until he steps into the living area, where everyone is seated (some of them on the couch, others on arms of said couch) while watching Buttercup and the puppy play together in the center.

It’s such a heartwarming sight, it could uplift anyone in a matter of seconds.

Carlos feels a smile take over his face, chuckling himself when the puppy pushes her body upwards and sets her front legs against Buttercup’s nose in an attempt to get the big dog to play with her. It seems Buttercup understands the size difference between them, because he’s gently nudging her sideways until she jumps back on the floor.

The puppy seems to be satisfied with that because once again, her excitement shows as she jumps on Buttercup again.

Carlos’s chuckle draws attention to him.

“Hey, Carlos,” Marjan says first as everyone turns to face the officer.

“Hey, guys,” Carlos responds, his eyes catching TK’s green ones.

“Hi, babe,” TK gets to his feet and walks around the dogs (who both look at him when he gets up, eyes questioning and follow his movement) and to his boyfriend.

He wraps his arms around Carlos in a tight embrace, Carlos’s own arms holding TK tightly.

“Hi, baby.”

TK brushes a kiss to Carlos’s lips when they pull back. “Rest of your shift went okay?”

“Yeah,” Carlos nods. “All went fine.”

“Good. Come on.” TK takes Carlos’s hand and leads him to the couch.

Satisfied that TK isn’t going anywhere, Buttercup and the puppy continue playing together.

TK snuggles into Carlos’s side, an arm wrapped around his waist while Carlos has his arm wrapped around TK’s shoulder.

“She’s so much cuter in person,” Carlos says with awe. “She’s so small. I want to hold her.”

“She only lets TK carry her,” Marjan warns him. “She cries if anyone else tries to.”

Carlos shares a quick look with TK. TK silently telling him go for it.

Carlos shrugs and gets up, carefully and slowly approaching the puppy.

She watches him with a wary look as he gets closer, but she doesn’t flinch away or hide.

And she proves everyone wrong when she doesn’t cry as Carlos picks her up. He holds her in his arms and right away, she’s cuddling against his chest, content and happy. She closes her eyes when Carlos begins running his hand over her body.

“Oh, now I’m officially jealous,” Paul quips.

That draws a collective chuckle from everyone.

TK gets up, stands next to Carlos and places his hand on Carlos’s arm.

“It’s easy to feel safe with you, too, babe,” TK’s smile widens and there’s so much softness and love in his gaze as he watches Carlos with the puppy.

Carlos turns his head towards TK and plants a kiss to the firefighter’s temple.

The bell goes off moments later, echoing through the firehouse and making the puppy startle and shake against Carlos’s hold.

“Hey, hey, babygirl,” Carlos soothes, “it’s okay. I got you.”

Carlos continues running his hand over her fur as the crew start filing out. TK hesitates for a moment, looking at his team rushing down the steps and getting into their gear.

“I’ll stay,” Carlos says, reading TK’s mind.

“Okay, thank you,” TK nods.

Carlos closes the distance between them and plants a tender kiss against TK’s lips.

“Please be careful.”

“Promise.”

Carlos watches TK leave, catching up with the rest of the team and jumping into the firetruck. Once the truck is out of sight, the officer looks down to see that Buttercup had gotten up and walked over to him.

Making sure the puppy is supported against his chest, Carlos frees a hand and pats Buttercup’s head.

“Come on, buddy,” Carlos says, moving back to sit on the couch.

Buttercup follows and settles by Carlos’s feet.

*****

The call goes smoothly but it takes more time than expected. The team is out for a couple of hours, returning to the house tired and in need of showers all around.

TK watches as everyone makes a beeline towards the showers, but he makes his way to where he left Carlos instead. He wants to see Carlos before showering, and he knows the officer would want to see him too, to make sure he’s okay.

He’s about to call out for Carlos but stops the words short on his tongue when his eyes land on his boyfriend. A smile is immediately breaking on TK’s face, heart swelling with love at the sight. Carlos is lying back on the couch, similar to how TK was in the selfie, with the puppy asleep on his chest, in the officer’s protective hold. His eyes doesn’t miss how Buttercup is also asleep by Carlos’s feet.

TK fishes his phone out and takes more than a few pictures, setting one of them as his phone’s home screen.

He’s about to retreat to the showers when Carlos stirs a little. TK likes to think they sense each other’s presence, and Carlos most definitely agrees.

TK walks over to his boyfriend, dropping a soft kiss to his forehead. “Hey, babe.”

That gets Carlos to fully wake up, blinking his eyes quickly to get rid of the sleep as he looks up at TK.

“Hi, babe,” Carlos clears his throat. “Everything went okay?”

TK nods. “Took a while, but everything and everyone is fine. Got an hour left for shift.”

It’s Carlos’s turn to nod, and looks down at the still-sleeping puppy.

“You two are adorable,” TK chuckles. “I’m gonna hit the shower real quick and I’ll be right back.”

TK returns less than thirty minutes later in a fresh uniform and smelling like Carlos’s body wash. The officer smiles when he notices and lifts an arm for TK, which TK happily sits in front of and leans into Carlos’s side.

The puppy is still asleep, and not wanting to wake her up, TK settles for placing his hand on the side of Carlos’s chest, his hand rising and falling with Carlos’s even breaths.

“So, I was thinking,” TK stars, a speck of nervousness coating his voice, “would you be okay with taking her home until we find out if she has a chip tomorrow at the vet?” He pauses, studying Carlos. “And we can take it from there.”

Carlos gives TK a gentle smile, lighting up his brown irises. “Yeah, of course. Can’t imagine leaving her anywhere else. She feels safe with us.”

TK responds by kissing Carlos’s cheek.

Both their attentions are grabbed when the puppy wakes up and gives the cutest little yawn either of them have ever seen. She does like Carlos, but her eyes still dart around, and Carlos can feel her excitement when they land on TK.

Carlos chuckles.

“Hey, sweetheart, come here,” TK says, reaching out to carefully lift her off Carlos’s chest and holds her close to his own.

“You look good with a puppy,” Carlos’s eyes glitter with affection.

“You look good yourself,” TK replies with the same look in his green ones.

*****

“Well, that was a bust,” TK sighs, pushing the condo door open and walking in, Carlos right behind him.

“Yeah,” Carlos says, closing the door and setting the crate on the floor near the couch.

They were returning from their vet appointment, both to check on the puppy’s general health and to look for a chip as planned. The vet had told them that she was in good shape, a little undernourished, but with a good diet, she’ll be fine. However, no chip was to be found.

TK pushes out another sigh and drops onto the couch, running a hand over his face.

Carlos hovers near, still standing and slips his hands into his front jean pockets. “Maybe it’s best we give her to the local shelter? Maybe they can help find her owner.”

TK stays silent for a few moments before he’s shaking his head. “What if they can't find them? I can’t just hand her over and not know what’s going to happen.”

TK’s eyes are filled to the brim with sadness, a heavy pang echoing inside his chest.

“Yeah,” Carlos speaks a moment later, joining TK on the couch. “Neither can I.”

TK knew that there was a possibility of finding her owner, and he knew that returning her would be difficult. But he also knew that it would be a good thing, that it meant that she has a family out there, that she’s known love and warmth. But with no chip, the odds of those things being a reality aren’t as high. It’s true not everyone immediately chips their dogs, and TK will do everything he can to find her owner if they exist. But another reality sets in, a truer reality, and it breaks TK’s heart a little. A reality which he speaks next.

“She’s lost,” TK whispers, his eyes drifting to the puppy sleeping in the crate.

He’s playing with the strings of his hoodie, the nervous energy surging through his veins evident in his hand movements. Carlos knows TK’s habits when he’s feeling worried or anxious, and it all revolves around his slightly shaking hands.

Carlos reaches out, taking TK’s hands into his own in an attempt to comfort TK and lessen the trembling.

“Hey,” Carlos says, his voice quiet and soft. “She found you, she found us.”

“She’s really attached to us, Carlos,” TK turns to face the larger man with pleading eyes. “Giving her to the shelter will scare her even more.”

Carlos nods. “Okay. We’ll go back and see what the options are.”

*****

They return a couple of hours later after visiting the shelter. Turns out, even if the dog isn’t microshipped, the owner (wherever they may be) still has a legal hold of the dog for a period of time. If the owner does not show up after that time is done, the dog becomes available for adoption. Carlos and TK were given three options:

Give her to the shelter and she’d be put up for adoptions after the legal hold is up.

Give her to the shelter and put their names down for first rights to adopt her if her owner doesn’t show up.

Be a shelter-at-home foster to keep her out of the shelter during the legal hold and they’d be able to adopt her if her owner doesn’t show up after the time is done.

In all three cases, they were encouraged, along with the shelter, to look for her owner.

After sharing one look with Carlos, TK said they’ll take her home.

And here they were, an hour later, watching her sleep in the fluffy bed they bought her, along with some toys (both of them couldn’t resist buying the cute toys they found) scattered around her. She had played a little with a small squeaky ball until she tired herself out.

TK puts his phone down after sending a text to his dad with updates just as Carlos places a steaming mug of tea in front of the firefighter.

TK smiles in appreciation and moves into Carlos’s space once the officer sits next to him. TK is lying on his side, with his back resting against Carlos’s chest and is enveloped in Carlos’s arms. Carlos soothingly runs his thumb over TK’s skin to help relax his boyfriend.

A movie is playing on TV but neither man is paying much attention to it.

TK breaks the silence. “What if no one shows up for her?”

Carlos drops his head a little to kiss the top of TK’s head. He has a feeling TK isn’t finished speaking, so he remains silent.

TK continues a moment later. “Also, what if someone does show up for her? I know we’ve only had her for a couple of days but I kind of can’t imagine not having her now. The attachment is…strong,” he expresses.

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” comes Carlos’s voice from above.

“She only let me and you carry her…that’s gotta mean something, a sign. It feels like she chose us,” TK says, looking up at Carlos, so much vulnerability drawn on his face.

“It does,” Carlos agrees. “It’s gonna be hard if someone shows up for her, but that would also be a good thing, Ty. It would mean that she already has a home, maybe even siblings.”

Hearing Carlos voice the same thoughts that had been running through TK’s own mind just days ago helps make him feel a little lighter. Because they are true, it would be a good thing if her owner shows up and a smile flashes across TK’s face at the thought of the puppy having siblings, all of them running around and playing together. It’s a happy thought.

But there’s always the other possibility.

“And if no one shows?” TK’s voice is slow, as he treads lightly.

“Well, like you said, she chose us.”

TK moves at Carlos’s words, sitting up so he can properly face his boyfriend as he asks his next question. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” He can’t help the dash of hope that rings in his voice, a smile desperately tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“We become dog dads,” Carlos confirms with his own smile, leaning in and brushing a kiss to TK’s cheek.

The smile that overtakes TK’s face is blinding, his eyes lighting up and joy surges through his veins. He closes the distance between them again with pressing his lips against Carlos’s, and Carlos chuckles into the kiss before returning it.

And TK knows in his heart that no matter what happens over the next few days, the puppy will be well taken care of.

*****

“Ready?”

TK and Carlos find themselves back the shelter two weeks later. No one had reached out in regards to the puppy, so as soon as the legal hold up was done, they immediately jumped at starting the adoption process. It all went by smoothly, and after an interview and a home inspection, they were officially declared fit to adopt her.

TK couldn’t contain his excitement, and it made Carlos beam at his boyfriend’s eagerness and joy, which added to the officer’s own happiness, too.

“Ready,” TK replies to Carlos.

And then they’re both sign each of their forms in unison.

“Congratulations,” the lady behind the desk smiles at them. “And you little miss,” she turns to the puppy sitting in the crate on the desk. “You have a family of your own now.”

TK feels like jumping with joy, and he does. Carlos chuckles at how TK bounces a little on the heels of his feet and thanks the woman.

“Here,” Carlos says as he reaches into the tote bag sitting at his feet.

TK’s eyes soften when he sees Carlos holding out a small, red collar.

“I thought you should be the one to put it on her,” Carlos expresses, his expression as equally soft.

“Babe,” TK whispers.

Carlos turns to open the crate and gently carries the puppy and holds her against his chest. She’s facing TK with a smile of her own. She knows what just happened.

TK unclips the collar and pulls at it until it fits her neck, then clips is there and smiles at her.

He grabs his phone and opens the camera, pointing it at Carlos and their puppy.

Carlos holds her higher against his chest and looks at TK.

It’s probably TK’s favorite picture of all time.

*****

The ride home after a trip to the pet store is filled with positive energy as soft music blasts through the Camaro’s speakers, TK sitting in the passenger seat with the puppy on his lap. They had agreed on her name.

Once parked in front of the condo, TK carefully gets out of the car, balancing her in his arms as Carlos grabs some of the new things they bought for her, leaving the rest to be retrieved later, including bowls, food and two playpens: one for their home and one for the firehouse.

They had talked to Owen a few days earlier about bringing the puppy to the firehouse on the days they’re both working, and Owen had instantly agreed. He had also said that he’ll be bringing Buttercup by the firehouse more frequently, too, so the two dogs could spend time together.

The 126 group chat had erupted with excitement when TK texted them those details.

Carlos pushes the door open and walks in, lowering everything he’s carrying to the floor and steps to the side to let TK in, closing the door after him.

“Welcome home, Luna,” TK announces with a big smile, placing her on the floor.

She looks up at both men, her little tail wagging from side to side and earns herself chuckles from Carlos and TK as she starts running around the living room.

“She feels more at ease now,” Carlos says.

“Her energy level is definitely showing now,” TK adds with another chuckle.

Carlos moves closer to TK and wraps his arms around him from behind.

“She found a home in you,” Carlos kisses TK’s temple.

TK leans back into Carlos’s hold, covering the officer’s arms with his own hands.

“She found a home in us,” TK rejoices.

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feanorianethicsdepartment · 3 years

Text

the last of my thoughts on the homecoming au, the au where maedhros and maglor are taken back to tirion at the end of the war of wrath and proceed to be relentlessly abused by elves more interested in them being ‘normal’ than happy. it’s pretty much exactly as dark as you’d expect from that description, lots of medical/caretaker abuse towards the mentally ill, just a horrible situation in general. one last time, @sunflowersupremes wrote the original au this is an extrapolation from, and @outofangband listened to me blather on about this for ages and contributed lots of ideas of their own. part 1 is here, part 2 is here. this the last part, it isn’t quite as intense as part 2, but it’s a lot more hopeless. also there’s some off-screen torture

on the first post i made about this au, i got some comments to the effect of ‘oh this will only last until person x bails them out’

there were several suggestions - fingon, nerdanel, any of the ainur. it seems like there are a lot of people who’d want to get maedhros and maglor out of this nightmare

seems. these aren’t necessarily my usual interpretations of their characters, but for the purposes of this au i can easily imagine a finrod who already bore a grudge over the whole letting-their-younger-brothers-steal-his-kingdom incident and subsequently heard the version of the nirnaeth where the fëanorians left everyone else to die. he is the only other person in the palace who knew beleriand, and he loathes them so viciously he can barely stand to look at them. they’re lucky he doesn’t do worse

i can easily imagine a nerdanel who was already having trouble processing what her husband and sons did at alqualondë when eärendil and elwing told her every awful thing they’d done since in the span of half an hour. she smashed all their statues, burned all their gifts, and curled up sobbing in a ruined house, wondering why she was such a terrible mother her children grew into demons

and this isn’t long after that, that wound is still fresh. whatever vain hopes she held that the boys she loved were somewhere in there are shattered when she sees them, and they’re talking and laughing just like they did when they were young

like nothing had happened. like nothing had changed. like the monsters had always been waiting patiently for their chance to strike

(they just didn’t want her to see the things they’d become)

i can easily imagine a fingon who is blazingly furious with maedhros over the later kinslayings. he spends most of their only meeting railing at maedhros, and the apologia his caretakers offer up only makes him angrier

so does the fact that maedhros won’t defend himself, won’t even raise his voice. does none of this matter to him? did it ever?

(it does. but maedhros knows what will happen if he yells at his cousin, and he is just so exhausted)

fingon is eventually asked to leave. maedhros’ minders tell him that if he can’t keep his temper around their patient, they’re going to have to cut off contact until maedhros is in a better mental state. fingon snaps that that’s just fine by him, and storms off into the city, trying to hold back his tears

the ainur, now, the ainur would definitely drag them out of the palace and haul them up to the máhanaxar. finarfin’s managed to get as much out of eönwë

what would happen to them after that, eönwë refuses to say. finarfin suspects he doesn’t know, and none of the valar will until they’ve had a chance to actually, like, hold a trial

even so, it becomes pretty obvious to finarfin fairly early on that the noldor simply can’t give the brothers the help they need. it’s plain to see that they’re very unhappy and they’re recovering slowly if at all. whatever the valar decide to do with them, odds are good they’d end up in some permutation of elf afterlife therapy, with well-practiced carers and the family they’ve lost. for their sake, and the sake of the people around them, handing them over to the valar would clearly be the best option

except finarfin doesn’t. he keeps his nephews in his palace, where they break things and make messes and generally give their caretakers constant headaches. when asked why, he always talks about the soul-deep terror on maglor’s face when he asked him not to give them to the valar

he’s not lying about that. but he does have other motives

there’s lots of suppositions in finarfin’s reasoning. there’s every chance the valar would throw them into the deepest depths of mandos until the second music. there’s every chance maedhros would choose to disappear into the woods and never trouble court again

but if the valar do decide to send them to lórien with no limits on their movement, and if maedhros does still harbour nelyafinwë’s political ambitions...

the closest finarfin has gotten to admitting it, even to himself, is saying that the noldor have enough problems right now, they don’t need a succession crisis on top of everything else. sometimes he’ll joke about not wanting maedhros to set up another functionally autonomous military government out in the wilderness

but it’s hard to deny that a maedhros, free to act, with his head screwed on straight, could potentially be the single biggest threat to finarfin’s crown

not that he doesn’t want his nephews to get better! it’s heartrending to see the pain they’re in, he sincerely wants to see them happy

he’d just prefer them to be happy in a way that's... convenient

maedhros and maglor’s contact with the outside world is kept to a strict minimum and heavily monitored when it does happen. they’re only allowed to visit the public parts of the palace when their caretakers know exactly who’s going to be there and if they can be trusted to not make a fuss about the brothers’ presence

it’s all in the interest of keeping the peace, you understand. maedhros’ followers are difficult to handle at the best of times, if they somehow got it into their heads that the last of their lords were being held captive in the palace...

well, finarfin says over tea. maitimo can see the wisdom in not provoking a civil war, can he not?

(he will not bring death to the blessed realm again. not even if his last baby brother is rotting away to a shell, not even if he’s being smothered to death from the inside out. he will not, he must not)

(if he did, there would truly be nothing left but the monster)

and then, one day, maglor gets the chance to escape

his minders aren’t paying much attention to him, he’s been a lot quieter since they put the gag on him. he’s small and fast and good at sneaking around, by the time they notice he’s missing he’s already found a way out of the palace

he jumps out of a third-floor window, bites down the pain, and runs. he clears the grounds and disappears into the city

he makes for - he doesn’t know where. subconsciously, he navigates towards the craft guild districts, where his family’s staunchest supporters always were

except the city’s changed a lot since he was last loose in it, and before he knows it, he’s completely lost. he wanders the streets half in a daze, his raw nerves unused to the bustle and noise of it all. wherever he goes, people stop and start and turn away

finally someone calls him over. ‘hey, you want that collar off your neck?’

it’s a smith of some sort, he can tell that much. they’re smiling, welcomingly and without pity. he’s rushing over to them, nodding his head, before he can even think about

the trouble is, maglor doesn’t remember the faces of most of the people he saw in beleriand, but they all remember him

the trouble is, this smith was at sirion

back in the palace, who gets access to the brothers is very strictly controlled. which isn’t to say that nobody tries to hurt them; finrod tends to put the worst spin on things when he’s asked for advice, there’s all kinds of minor acts of sabotage, and they come across innocuous-seeming harmful objects more often than mere chance would seem to allow

but even their caretakers can tell that letting desperate revenge-seekers get near the brothers wouldn’t be particularly conducive to whatever recovery they’re hoping for. anyone who might randomly come across maedhros or maglor in a hallway is intensely vetted for ulterior motives, and while this process isn’t airtight it does filter out the most obviously malicious

and outside of that bubble, none of that applies. the smith does take maglor’s gag off, purely to hear him scream

soon enough, the palace guard tracks him down. they take him back to the palace, where he’s bandaged up and comforted and then, as a special treat, allowed to see his brother

(they’re kept apart more often than not these days. being around maglor makes maedhros agitated, being around maedhros makes maglor sullen. they’re just more cooperative when they’re alone)

maglor does the same thing he’s done every time he’s seen his brother for the past year, which is immediately bury his face in maedhros’ chest and shudder. it takes him a moment to remember he can speak now

‘we’re trapped’ he whispers. ‘we’re trapped’

because he was screaming for what felt like hours, and nobody came to help. as he was being carried back to the palace, he saw the scorn and the disgust in the passers-by’s eyes

there’s nobody who will shelter them outside the palace. there’s nowhere on this continent they can go

and that - that’s the end, in a way. maedhros remains stubborn and ill-tempered, never quite letting them forget he doesn’t want to be here and doesn’t like what they’re doing, but the fight goes out of him. he does what they tell him just as biddably as he did before they took his brother’s voice

maglor, surprisingly, takes a turn for the better. he starts acting cheerful again, doing everything that’s asked of him with a smile and a wink. he’s making excellent progress, his minders tell finarfin

(they don’t tell him what maglor looks like when the mask starts to crack)

finarfin is very pleased to hear that one of his nephews is finally starting to recover! it’s been a long, painful journey, but it looks like it’s all at long last working out

to celebrate, he decides to give maglor a gift he’s been holding onto for a while

he calls maglor into his office. the tension in his posture is a bit worrying, but his expression is all makalaurë, a casual, mildly disrespectful grin. he swans into the room, flounces into a chair, and asks what his uncle wants

finarfin praises him for all the progress he’s been making, and hands him a letter

it’s from elros

the first line is ‘how are you doing, you old bastard?’ it calls him a kinslayer six different ways in the first three paragraphs. it asks him how many people he’s stabbed since he got back. it closes off by wishing him some fun loud arguments with maedhros

finarfin was a little concerned maglor still not might be in the right emotional state for it, but the tightness bleeds out of his nephew’s frame as he reads. a couple of times he even bursts into snickering that sounds more genuine than any sound he makes in court

he finishes reading with a truly relaxed smile on his face. then he freezes, and looks up at finarfin

in a tiny, quiet voice, so unlike the way he talks nowadays, he asks, ‘may i write a reply?’

finarfin hates to take the wind out of his sails, but maglor deserves to know. ‘that letter is centuries old. i’ve been holding onto it until you were ready to read it.’ he shuts his eyes. ‘i’m afraid elros passed some time ago’

maglor’s head drops. the letter in his hands begins to shake. little whimpers escape his trembling body. finarfin walks over, places a hand on his shoulder. ‘i’m sorry, we -’

that’s not whimpering, finarfin realises. those are growls. his nephew’s head snaps up, face twisted with rage

maglor tries to tear finarfin’s face off -

and that’s all i have. these headcanons have been exhausting to write, i’ll clean them up and put them on ao3 in a bit, but not now, if for no other reason than it’s 3am. again. i hope these weren’t too incoherent. going to try to unbanjax my sleep schedule now

#homecoming au #maedhros #maglor #finarfin #fingon #abuse //#mental health issues ///#torture ///#my terrible fic #it is done. at last i am done #this is the most depressing thing i've ever written #i was kind of trying to get it all out in one go #or as close as i could get with how long it turned out #i wrote most of these at ass o'clock in the morning when i really should have been asleep #i'll try to make them less midnight ramble-y for ao3 #gah. i hope the characterisation is at least functional #these feel more disconnected than i'd like but this ain't a story it's a collection of headcanons #brain has nominated my maglor's wife oc for person who could actually get them out #kidnapping one's evil husband for fun and spite!#it's either that or elrond #or they fade first #or maglor attacking finarfin spells the end of everything #... if it does i don't want to write it right now #i've thought about this au too much #please come quick with the serotonin pokemon gold for the 3ds virtual console

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avengerscompound · 3 years

Text

Until the End of the World - 20

Until the End of the World: A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Word Count: 1640

Rating: E

Warnings: Hospitals, breastfeeding, nothing major

Synopsis: Four years after Steve and Bucky got to the bottom of the HYDRA conspiracy that had led to you and your son being hunted for the first three years of his life, you, Bucky, and Steve have carved out a nice life together. Things are calm and you feel like a family unit. When Geo starts calling Bucky and Steve ‘dad’, a decision is made to try and add to your family.

Things aren’t as calm as they seem. When your pregnancy hits the papers, HYDRA rears its head once again, and Steve and Bucky need to track you down to protect the family they had created.

Chapter 20

Steve was dozing when one of the babies started to cry. He was up and out of bed as the second one’s cries joined the first and you and Bucky stirred and sat up. He’d slept lightly - his mind full of thoughts about Geo, Gal, and his daughter. He had juggled all the options as he’d seen them. Lying and saying Gal was his. Trying to adopt him legally. Finding his family and returning them. He considered the best-case scenarios and the worst-case ones. That with the lingering worry about keeping you and Geo safe, and expunging all records of you from any databases they might have left, did not lend itself to a good night’s sleep. Steve picked up the little boy first, he was crying louder and his face was screwed up and changing color. “Hey little one,” he soothed, bouncing him a little. “I bet you don’t know what’s what.”

Bucky moved beside him and picked up his daughter. “Guess we change them and try to feed them?”

“Gal might need a bottle,” you said as Steve took the infant to the changing table. “I don’t know if I should breastfeed him or not… I mean people do that right? Wet nurses used to be a thing. But then… my milk hasn’t come in yet, and he’d already be having milk, and I’m barely making colostrum.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Steve assured you. “I’ll get one of the staff to bring in a bottle. FRIDAY?”

“It’s on its way,” the AI confirmed.

Bucky finished changing the girl and brought her over to you. You adjusted the back of the bed so that you could lean on it while sitting up and put a pillow in your lap before taking her from Bucky. Geo grumbled and tried to readjust. The babies had well and truly woken him, but he seemed to be trying to ignore that the world existed anywhere else except tucked into your side, safe-and-sound.

As you attempted to get the baby to latch a nurse came in with a bottle. “Here you are, Captain Rogers,” she said, handing it over. She turned her attention to you and began to fuss around you. “Do you need help?”

“Yes, please,” you agreed. “It’s been a while.”

The nurse helped you to get the infant latched as Steve sat down and began to feed Gal his bottle. When she left again Steve looked over to you.

“We have some things we need to arrange,” he said.

You looked over at him, the alarm you were feeling was written all over your face. “She asked me to take care of him.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Steve said. “I know, and we will. But I’ve been thinking about it, and as much as lying and saying you had twins sounds like a quick fix, it’s something that is easily disproved, and it takes his history away from him. You were worried about taking John’s connection away from Geo. Shouldn’t we let Gal grow up knowing as much about his background as he can know his parents too? His mom died trying to protect you all. She should be honored and remembered too.”

You frowned and looked over at the little boy in Steve’s arms. “What if they take him from us?”

Steve looked down at the baby in his arms and frowned slightly. The worst-case scenario in his head was that they took him and ended up accidentally giving him straight to HYDRA. He would do what he needed to, to prevent that from happening, but he wanted to trust the system to trust him given he had given so much of himself to protect it. “Sweetheart,” he said gently. “If you and Bucky decide that we should lie and say he’s biologically ours - that you gave birth to twins - I won’t fight it. I’ll do whatever I can to protect that secret. But if this little boy has family, they have a right to know about him, and maybe - maybe, keeping him safe means letting him be raised by them.”

You frowned and caressed your daughter's cheek, as you seemed to process the words. You looked over to Bucky who was sitting quietly watching you both. “What do you think, Buck?”

“I think…” he said slowly. “I think Steve makes some good points. There’s definitely a risk, but if we do lie and they find out, we could lose all the kids.”

“Alright,” you agreed and shifted the baby to the other breast. “We need to make sure he’s safe, no matter what.”

“We will. If the worst-case happens, and the powers that be decide we aren’t a suitable home, we’ll make sure the family that takes him is vetted by Wanda, and no record of where he came from follows him to where he goes.”

You frowned and nodded. “Okay. Well, how do we do this?”

“We sometimes work with a lawyer,” Steve said. “He’s a defense attorney but he understands the position we’re in and is pretty good at arguing it in court. He might be able to help with this a little or at least recommend someone who can. In the meantime, I’ve had FRIDAY looking into this little guy’s family.” He sits Gal up and puts his empty bottle to the side and while he supports his head, he gently rubbed the infant’s back until he burped. “At least then we know where we stand.”

“Right,” you said, putting your breast away. Bucky got up and took the baby from your arms and you began cuddling Geo. “Okay. I guess we better do that.”

“FRIDAY?” Steve said, looking up. “Have you found anything?”

“I am still checking all possible leads,” she said. “But from my searching of the files we obtained from HYDRA, participants were selected in the initial trial based on a lack of family ties. From what I gather the child’s biological father was raised in foster care and changed homes at least a dozen times.”

You furrowed your brow and Steve looked over at you. “Is that true? Is that why you never spoke about your family?”

“I didn’t know about the others. I know John was an only child whose parents died in a car accident when he was seventeen. And I was raised by my grandparents. My grandpa died when I was twelve, and my grandma when I was nineteen. I don’t know who my father even is, and my mother is around, but I don’t speak to her,” you explained. “I guess the difference was enough to not draw the link.”

“It makes sense,” Bucky said. “They were doing some pretty intense human trials. If something went wrong, then they good make you disappear and no one would be there to ask questions.”

“If Gal has no family, that might make it easier,” Steve said. “We’ll keep looking into things, but we’ll do this the right way. We need to lodge a birth certificate for him, which isn’t going to be easy either.”

The three of you fell silent for a little while. It was a weighty silence, full of anxiety and unspoken worries. This was Steve’s family now and as much as he wanted to protect them, he was beginning to fear he wouldn’t be able to.

“There’s something else we need to decide,” Bucky said, cutting through the heavy silence.

You and Steve both looked over at him curiously and Bucky smiled down at the little girl in his arms. “We still haven’t picked her name.”

“We were tossing up Rebecca or Sarah,” you said. “Does she look like one more than the other?”

Steve moved and sat on the edge of the bed beside you and Geo. He rubbed the boy's back gently. “What do you think, Geo? What does she look more like to you?”

Geo poked his head out from your side for the first time and looked over at Bucky with the baby. He furrowed his brow like he was really considering it. “Ember.”

“Ember?” Steve asked.

“We didn’t even consider that one,” you added.

Geo’s lip began to quiver and he hid back in your side. The stress of everything obviously making it too hard for him to be questioned.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Steve said. “We didn’t say no, we’re just thinking about it.”

“It might be good for her to have her own name, without the burden of living up to anyone,” Bucky said.

“I kinda like how it’s related to fire,” you said. “Geo is earth, Ember is fire.”

Steve smiled and rubbed Geo’s side. “That is a nice theme. Gal doesn’t really fit it though.”

“What does Gal mean?” Bucky asked.

“Gal is a Hebrew name meaning ‘wave’,” FRIDAY responded. “As in waves in the ocean.”

The three of you looked at each other with your jaws dropped open. “That feels like fate,” you said.

As much as Steve resisted the idea of fate, there were too many things that had happened to him that let him ignore it. The fact that he and the boy he had grown up loving were both sitting here in a relationship when they should both dead and buried was one huge example of it. He wasn’t going to ignore it now.

“I think you’re right, Geo,” Steve said. “I think she’s an Ember too.”

Geo sat up and smiled looking over at his sister.

“Ember sounds a little better with Rebecca than Sarah,” you added. “Is that okay with both of you?”

Bucky’s face lit up and that alone sold Steve on the name. “Sounds perfect,” he said. “Ember Rebecca Barnes-Rogers.”

You leaned over and kissed him gently, your lips softly grazing over his. He vowed in that moment, that no one would ever threaten his family again. He’d personally make sure of it.

// NEXT

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #stucky #steve rogers x bucky barnes #stucky x reader #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #captain america fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #until the end of the world

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