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theywhowriteandknowthings · 6 months

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The Princess and the Duke: Chapter 3 Eye of The Storm

This blog is a 18+ space, Minors, do not engage. If you are under the age of 18 you are not welcome here. Please heed these warnings and the warnings put in place on each individual fic and chapter. Your reading and consumption of my work is your responsibility but I will endeavour to mitigate any discomfort for you, the reader, as possible. Once again, this is a 18+ space and minors should not interact. Specific Warnings: SA mention/implied, Dave gets violent with the SA'er, alcohol, past SA, trauma, women having to take precautions because of men's shitty behaviour, drinking, male masturbation, sex work, cam work, let me know if I missed anything.

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Word count: 4.2k~

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The next few weeks pass without incident, your mom seems to take a break from her current fling. That, or she’s getting better at hiding it.

But you’ve decided it’s none of your business anyway. You’ve set up your room to block the light better, re-arranged a few bits of furniture, and ditched the sad beige sheets for black and purple satin ones.

You’re almost certain Dave caught you looking at him the other day when he was swimming. Fucking yourself to the thought of him in the shower became a regular occurrence after that. You hated yourself a little for it, but at the end of the day, light masturbation over a fantasy couldn’t hurt anyone, right?

You shake it off as you prep for your stream, your new cream and gold masquerade mask in position as you sit in a gold silk robe and black lace panties. You log in to your Cam Dolls account and start up the test footage lobby.

You nod to yourself as you flop down onto the bed, testing out the angles as you lay on the bed with a sweet smile on your face. You practice a few poses, making sure your face is nice and concealed with the new mask before resettling into your office chair.

You check your inbox, grateful for the automatic filtering of images the site provides. You have the option to click through to view any image that comes in, but the default blur protects you from what you can only estimate have been thousands of dick pics men have sent over the years.

DukeSilver09 sent you a photo.

The notification shows up mere seconds before you’re due to start streaming, but on some strange whim you open it, almost hoping to see what your most generous patron is packing. He’d recently removed the anonymous flag from his username and when you had looked back through the transaction logs, you’d almost fallen off your chair at the lifetime tip total.

You click the image and there’s a strange warmth in your chest as you see the beautifully captured photograph of a single flower in a vase. A lily. Pink hues bleeding through the centre of the white petals, orange anthers almost luminous in the evening light.

You look up to see you’re already overdue to start. You yelp softly to yourself as you hit the space bar, starting the stream.

~*~

Dave hopes Luna likes lilies, he’d seen the bouquet at a local florist, purchasing it on a whim as he thought about how much your mom might like it. He was really trying, especially since she’d clearly taken a break from Bryce.

But your mom was in one of her usual moods, punishing Dave for her mistakes, for the fact she wouldn’t be able to see Bryce for some time. So, the flowers had gone unnoticed, or actively ignored, so naturally, his thoughts drifted back to Luna.

Because if they didn’t drift to her, it would be you he’d be thinking of, and he can’t let those thoughts take root. He had taken a photo of the single stem, choosing the prettiest of them all, and snapped away for over an hour until he got the perfect shot.

As long as the job goes well tomorrow, he’ll be home by dinnertime. He wonders absently if you’ll be home, you’d been texting frequently throughout the business trip, and he justifies it by telling himself he’s just trying to be a good stepdad.

“Hey there Daddy, you miss me?”

Dave’s mind goes blank as he discards all thoughts about his life at home as he reclines on his bed in his hotel room in Tbilisi. Luna has recently started calling her viewers Daddy and it nearly gave Dave an aneurism the first time he heard it. She’s dressed in Dave’s favourite set, the black lacey thong and matching bra with peekaboo slits. Her nipples are already stiff and inviting.

“You bet I did baby.”

Dave hums under his breath as he pulls his dick out of his sweatpants, it’s too hot and he wishes he were nude, but after the incident in Borneo he vowed to never sleep commando on a mission again.

“I’m missing you so much,” She says with a soft coo as she pouts at the camera, “Haven’t gotten laid in weeks, and these toys just don’t cut it. Might put on a slutty red dress and try my luck this weekend.”

Dave watches in reverence as Luna goes through her new routine, with a generous sprinkling of Daddy added in for effect. He comes hard over his fingers and abs, breathing heavily as he hears Princess Luna come undone as well. A name falls from his lips without thinking, your name, but it’s not until he’s coming down from his high the realisation hits him.

He’s thinking less and less about Princess Luna when he watches her, and more and more about you.

~*~

It’s been a week since Dave got home, and he’s been giving you the cold shoulder. Your mother keeps nagging you about getting a job, or maybe even re-applying for the bar. She assures you lawyers get better pay in Texas due to the cost of living being so much lower than somewhere like New York.

But you’re just not interested.

A notification comes up on your phone as you’re sprawled out on your bed, covered in just a hoodie and yoga pants.

Dave: Have you seen my USMC hoodie?

You look down at the olive-green article of clothing swamping your upper half as you smile. The USMC logo faded and worn, but still very visible as it stretches across your breasts, and you chuckle to yourself. It still smells like him, even though you stole it weeks ago, before his business trip to the Middle East. You should feel guilty, you should wash it and put it back where you found it, but you don’t want to.

You: Not seen it, sorry old man.

Dave: Dammit woman, relent with the “Old Man” shit.

You smile to yourself as you know he’s been watching Parks and Rec, the tongue-in-cheek use of “Dammit woman” something he’s picked up from Ron Swanson.

You: Never, also, I have a bone to pick with you.

Dave: Oh?

You: The Last of Us is fucking sad, I gave you a light-hearted, whimsical series about friendship and joy. I just cried my fucking heart out over Bill and Frank.

Dave: You started watching it without me?

You scoff, as if he has any right to be annoyed at you after the cold shoulder, he’s been giving you.

You: Not my fault you’ve been avoiding me.

You hit send and instantly regret it. Fear pools in your stomach as you consider un-sending it before he can read it. But you’re out of luck, the double blue tick under the message tells you there’s no going back. He types for a few seconds, the ripple of three dots flashing once, then stopping, then flashing again until he stops typing completely.

“Shit.”

You grumble to yourself before throwing your phone to the foot of the bed. You lie back, exhaling through your nose as you try to devise the best way to walk this back. Your text tone pings, and you scramble to the edge of the bed to read it.

Ashleigh: You still on for tonight babe?

You groan at the prospect of going out, but maybe it’s what you need, to get away from Dave. To clear your head. Maybe you’ll even bring someone home.

~*~

Dave doesn’t see you, nor hear from you for the rest of the day. He checks his emails, watches some more of Parks and Rec, then works out. He pushes himself to overexertion, trying to burn the feelings away through sore muscles and the inevitable endorphin rush.

He heads up the stairs, fresh out of the shower, in just a pair of grey sweatpants and a white short-sleeve Henley. Water droplets bead in his hair as he lets it air dry. He grabs a beer from the fridge and sits at the breakfast island to scroll through the news on his phone. International news was surprisingly quiet on his recent job, which both relieved him and made him a little bitter at the lack of infamous, anonymous, acclaim he so often basked in after a job.

“Hey mom, I’m heading out, Ashleigh’s here!”

His head snaps up at the sound of your voice and he curses the way his body reacts to it. Dave takes a steadying breath as he hears you coming down the stairs, your steps are slower, more purposeful than your normal hurried stomping. Dave hates that he can tell something is up just from hearing your footsteps. He convinces himself it’s because of his line of work, but he knows it’s not that.

“Oh, hey Dave, found your hoodie.”

Your voice sends shivers down his spine as he looks up from his phone. His nostrils flare and his mouth is suddenly drier than the Sahara. The red dress is impossibly tight, showing off every dip, curve, and swell of your body. A small silver clutch in one hand and a very familiar looking green hoodie in the other. Your heels are so tall he can barely understand how you are able walk in them, which explains the change in your gait.

“Hey, thanks.”

He nods curtly before taking a swig of his beer, his eyes flicking straight back to the news on his phone. He has to look away, he’s already at half-mast and the guilt that gnaws at his stomach is already too much to bear.

“Jesus Dave, lighten up, it’s Friday night.”

You sigh before throwing the hoodie over the stool opposite him. You both turn to look towards the front door as Ashleigh blares her horn.

“Have a good night,” Dave murmurs your name as he rakes his eyes over you once more, he sees the way you look at him, devouring his domesticity as he consumes your purposeful display of raw sexuality in turn. He doesn’t understand you and that pisses him off. It’s his job to read people, to know them, and yet here you are, making him feel more nervous than he has done in decades.

“Sure, you too, Duke.”

Dave’s blood runs cold as he chokes on his beer. You give him a confused look as Ashleigh blares her horn again.

“Duke, like Duke Silver from Parks and Rec? Fuck, I’ll remember not to crack wise at you again.”

Before Dave can answer you’re gone, slamming the front door, which in turn makes your mother yell after you. He groans as he drops his head into his hands. His dick aches as he adjusts himself in his sweats before finishing his beer. He heads to the fridge, grabs the rest of the six pack before scooping up his hoodie.

He almost comes in his pants as he pulls it over his head. All he can smell is you. That coconut body wash you get imported from the UK, your caffeine shampoo that smells like black pepper and pine, and something he’s never had the pleasure of experiencing before. Your natural scent, like nothing he has ever known. Sweet, but musky. Soft, but tinged with perspiration. It’s intoxicating and cloying, he feels like he’s being smothered to death but making no attempt to stop it.

“I’m going to hell for this.”

~*~

You don’t know where it all went wrong.

You’re sat on the wet, filthy tiles of Tristan – the guy you went home with because you thought might have been a good lay – and his housemates’ bathroom. Mascara tracks down your cheeks and you think your nose is broken, blood drips onto the floor between your legs as you sob into the palm clamped over your mouth.

“Open the fucking door.”

Tristan’s nasally voice barks as he slams his body against the flimsy barrier between you. Your dress is torn, you don’t know where one of your shoes is, and you’re fumbling with your phone to try and get hold of Ashleigh. But every time it goes to voicemail. You grind your teeth together in frustration as you swallow your pride and call Dave.

It rings twice before he declines the call. Your heart clenches tightly in your chest as more tears spring forth. You try again, and again, and on the fourth attempt he finally picks up.

“What?”

He barks down the phone, and you let out another hiccupping sob at his tone. You pull your phone away from your face ready to hang up but as your finger trembles over the red “End Call” button you hear his voice again.

“Hey? Hey, what’s going on?”

His voice immediately softening as he hears your distress.

“Dave I-,” You sob again, “I need you to come get me.”

“Where are you?”

You reel off the address, inwardly praising yourself for making sure to jot it down on your notes app when you decided to go home with this asshole. Unfortunately, it isn’t the first time you’ve had to get someone to help after a one-night stand has gone wrong. You thought you’d learned from your mistakes, but if that were the case you wouldn’t be here right now.

“Maps says it’ll take me fifteen minutes, think you can hold on for that long sweetheart?”

“I think so.”

“Want me to stay on the line?”

“I don’t have much battery left, but yes, please.”

“So, want to talk about what happened?”

“Sure,” You take a steadying breath, grateful for the distraction, “Was having a great night, Ashleigh found someone to go home with, nice looking girl too.”

“Oh yeah? And what about you?” You hear the Mustang roar to life in the background as a car door slams.

“My guy was nice looking, not so nice when it came to fully informed, enthusiastic consent.” You laugh bitterly as your toes curl in discomfort. There’s silence on the other end for a few seconds and you have to check your phone hadn’t died.

“This fucker hurt you?”

Dave’s tone is impossibly dark, menacing even as you try not to think about how much that turns you on.

“No, but I think I broke my nose when I headbutted him.”

Dave laughs at that; a soft exhale and you feel like he approves of your ill-gotten injury.

“You make the fucker squeal?”

“Something like that,” You laugh, finding Dave’s voice soothing as you hear the engine snarling in the background as Dave races through the streets of Austin, “I’m sorry Dave, sorry about being such an ass.”

“Enough of that, I’m not far now, hang on baby, I’ve got you.”

Baby.

The pet name shouldn’t get you so hot and bothered, but it does, despite sitting in some shit-head’s bathroom, his blood and your own smeared on your lips and your eyes raw from crying. Despite everything, you’d give anything to hear him call you that again.

“Dave it’s been like ten minutes at most, how?”

“Ran a few red lights, might be speeding a little, doesn’t matter.”

“Dave, don’t do anything stupid for me.”

“I’d do anything to keep you safe,” Your name spills from his lips and you finally let go. Tears stream down your cheeks as you finally admit to yourself that you like Dave way more than you should. All you want is to be wrapped up in his arms as he just holds you.

“Ok I’m out-.” The line goes dead, and you look down to see a blank screen.

~*~

Dave sprints up the stairs, pistol tucked into the back of his sweatpants as his breath comes in short, aggressive bursts. Logically he knows it’s just that your phone died, but the moment the line went dead something inside him snapped.

He composes himself as he reaches the apartment door. He can hear multiple male voices on the other side and his jaw ticks to the side as he tries to control his rage. He knocks gently and waits for the door to swing open. A broad, blonde-haired, blue-eyed asshole appears as the smell of cheap cigarettes and booze rolls over the threshold. Dave smirks at the state of the larger man’s face, his right eye is swollen, and his nose plugged with tissue.

“Hey there, which one of you fine gentlemen is Tristan?”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“That doesn’t matter, all that matters is you’re going to let me in, show me where your bathroom is, and I’m going to take the woman hiding in there home, understood?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, get lost.”

Tristan tries to slam the door in Dave’s face, but he anticipated this. He slams his palm against the flimsy door before shoving with all his might. Tristan is caught off guard and stumbles back into the apartment.

“I’m so glad you decided to be a prick.”

Dave’s smile doesn’t leave his face as Tristan comes at him swinging but unlike Tristan, Dave is sober. He ducks under the blow with ease, he jabs Tristan twice in the side, precise strikes to the kidney and liver. Tristan makes a sound like a wounded animal as he thrashes around.

Dave dances around the lumbering oaf – toying with his prey – loving the thrill of dominating such a bigger man with just good footwork and keen reflexes. It makes his blood sing in his veins; his smile is so wide it burns his cheeks with exertion. He could do this for hours.

He lets Tristan flail for a bit longer, but the joy quickly fades as Dave remembers why he’s here. He cracks a swift uppercut to the asshole’s jaw to finish him off. Tristan crumples like a sack of shit and Dave flexes his hand, working out the pain from the impact.

The other two spring up off the couch and before they can cross the distance Dave has his gun pointed at Tristan’s head.

“Either of you touch the girl?”

Dave barks as he cocks the hammer back in a warning. Both men shake their heads, holding their palms up in surrender as Dave nods slowly.

“Good, now I’m going to get the girl and take her home. I’m a federal agent, so if you two shit heads or this one,” Dave gestures with his gun at the unconscious lump on the floor, “Come after her, or try and report this to law enforcement, I will come back, and I won’t be as merciful.”

Dave stalks through the apartment, calling out your name and the moment he hears your voice it’s as if nothing else matters. He makes a beeline for the only closed door in the apartment and knocks gently. The door opens and his heart seems like it stops as he takes you in.

Your dress is ripped, there’s so much blood on your bare skin, your eyes are puffy, and your make-up is smeared all over your face.

“Let’s get you home.”

Dave scoops you up into his arms and he carries you out of the shitty apartment, you don’t miss the way his lips brush against the crown of your head as you bury your face into his chest.

~*~

Your mom is asleep – or more accurately, passed out – by the time you and Dave return home. Dave tries to take you upstairs, to your room, but you protest meekly.

“No,” You breathe as you fist your hands in Dave’s blood-stained hoodie, “Don’t want to be alone, can we go downstairs?”

“Whatever you need.” Dave responds, his voice barely more than a whisper as he lowers you down. You test your balance and the moment you can stand you pull away from Dave. You’re embarrassed, you’re almost thirty years old and you’ve just relived one of many horrific moments in your life that you swore you would never let happen again.

Worst of all, you got Dave mixed up in it.

“I’m just going to lock up, head on down, I’ll be with you in a minute.”

There’s a brief pause where your eyes meet, and you know he didn’t mean it that way but the look on his face tells you he realises how it sounded. He coughs awkwardly and turns towards the kitchen. Your eyes widen as you see the gun tucked into his sweatpants, the hem of his hoodie caught up around the handle, exposing the piece to you with mother of pearl grips glinting as he walks.

You stumble downstairs into the basement and make your way into Dave’s room. His PC is on, but you don’t notice the Cam Dolls website open as you stumble into the ensuite, if you were in any other state of mind, you probably would have.

You strip off, your damaged dress practically coming undone at the seams. You spend what feels like hours under the hot water, lathering Dave’s shower gel over your body. You wrap yourself in his scent and wash it off. Only to repeat the process again and again as you try and wash the touch of your assailant from your skin. Eventually you give up, the intrusive thoughts muted as much as you can hope for as you wrap yourself up in one of the fluffy grey towels on the shelf.

You step out into his bedroom to see a grey US Navy t-shirt, a pair of black sweatpants and your baby blue moccasin-style slippers in a neat pile on the end of Dave’s bed. The bedroom door is closed, and you quickly slip into the clothes left for you. The PC monitor is now off, but you’re not paying much attention to your surroundings anyway.

You head into the basement to see Dave sat on the edge of the sofa, elbows on his knees and hands clasped together as his strong chin rests atop them. He’s lost deep in thought as you approach. You seem to startle him as you sit down next to him. He turns to look at you with a vacant stare.

You can’t help but drink him in, his plush lips part softly, his dark eyes swimming with emotion as he looks you over. You want to straddle his hips, kiss him, and lose yourself in him, just like with his body wash. You want him to make you forget, you want him to comfort you.

But most of all, you just want him.

“Hey.” You say softly as you search his dark eyes for any indication of what he’s thinking.

“Hey.”

“I think I just popped my nose, doesn’t seem broken.” You say as you scrunch up your face and wiggle your nose, only wincing slightly at the stab of pain the action brings.

“Good.” Is all Dave can muster as he feels his heart break at the sight of you. You’re forlorn, lost, vulnerable. He laments that your usual sass and barbed tongue are ostensibly muted.

He feels responsible somehow, maybe if he’d not been so wrapped up in his own internal struggle, he would have gotten you to stay in, watch tv together. Do anything else but let you go out and let someone hurt you.

“Dave?”

His head snaps up as he realises that he’s been spiralling.

“What? What can I do?”

“I don’t want to be weird,” You take a deep breath as you try and muster the courage to ask for what you need, but you fumble, “But could we put something on the TV?”

“Of course.” Dave answers almost without thinking but he can’t understand your hesitancy.

“Cool, cool,” You nod quickly before you just let go and ask for what you want, “Shit, no, that’s not what I wanted to ask. Can you- can you hold me?”

Dave’s brain almost short circuits as he replays the words over in his mind like a broken record. He opens his mouth and closes it a few times before you chicken out. You feel the sting of rejection constrict tightly in your chest and you feel the tears burning in your eyes as you realise how fucked up you must sound.

“Sorry, forget it, I’m just drunk,” You lie, “I think I should just head to bed.”

You move to get up but the press of Dave’s broad hand on your thigh stops you in your tracks. You look up to see longing in Dave’s eyes as he gives you a soft, vulnerable smile.

“Come here.”

Dave removes his hand from your leg as he leans back, spreading his arms wide, an invitation.

You take a shaky breath, and do as you’re told. You scoot closer to him, pulling your feet underneath you as you lean into his chest. You let out a soft hum as his one arm moves from around the back of the sofa to curl around you. His other hand falls to your knee, squeezing gently as you press into him. He removes his hand from your knee for a brief moment to start the next episode of Parks and Rec.

You both know it’s wrong, that this is crossing a line and coming back from this would be difficult, if not impossible. But neither of you can bring yourselves to stop, not now, and maybe not ever.

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allovertheplace-writing · 1 year

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Demon Slayer + Genshin Impact + Persona 4

"We don't see each other all that often anymore. I think we both know we've fallen out of touch."

Character(s): Mitsuri, Alhaitham, Adachi, Itto

Genre: Angst + Hurt (/ Comfort for Itto and Alhaitham)

Type: Drabble

Description: Miscommunication is something that ruins even the loveliest of relationships

Warning(s): Gender-Neutral Reader(Default), Reader is Part of The Corp(Mitsuri), Reclused Reader, Hints of Depression, Reader Has a Fear of Abandonment(Mitsuri, Alhaitham), Romantic, Toxic Relationship(Adachi), Pure Comfort/Fluff(Itto)

Do-du-du here to tug at your hearts strings du-du-do

➢ Mitsuri

"I think we should stop involving ourselves with each other!"

"What?" It took everything to steady your voice, yet it wavered as if you hadn't at all. "I- We haven't seen each other in months and we haven't been on missions either..I just..." Her eyes, ever so intent at studying the panels at your feet since she arrived, met your own, "Wha-" A gasp left her at the tremble of your lip and twitch of your brow. "(Y/n), no- don't cry! Ohh, please.." Her hands rose to your cheeks, but they stopped short when you shrunk back and instead pushed themselves to her chest. "I'm- I'm sorry.."

She was sorry. For what you hadn't a clue. Was it the fact she said something so hurtful or was it because of the way she made you react? Either way it had your cheeks warm with tears that burned your eyes; with tears that carved a new, invisible line against your skin. No apology or long hug could reverse the stab wounds made by her words - her intent.

➢ Alhaitham

"..is that what you want?"

"Yes. It would be for the best." You wanted to scream, throw up, cry- something. Anything to protest against his request to end all relations between you both; anything to let him know you did want to be with him. Yet all you could manage was a plain tone and simple noddings as you bit your tongue. He wasn't happy with what you had. He didn't get the passing quips and small smiles from you anymore, things that had been a staple in your relationship. If you could just push your heart back into your chest maybe you could say 'They're still here, Haitham! I'm still here! It's hard to do it nowadays, but I can.'

"Is that all you're going to say?" For a moment you thought he heard you, that perhaps you did say it out loud like you wished. But when you glanced back to him, he stood just as he had when he entered your study. "All I can manage to say, Haitham-" A crack in your voice was all it took to blur your image of him; to the blur the dancing sun that fell into the room and painted him gold. And a quiet gasp from your aching lungs was all it took for him to hold you; to help you hold your heart together.

➢ Adachi

"I just don't think it's working out anymore is all."

Nonchalant. Everything about him spoke it. The way he slouched, the way he talked, the way his brows were raised like he only said he wouldn't be able to get coffee with you today. It irked you even when you felt your heart drop into your stomach. In the beginning it had a certain charm to it, made you relax when you were nervous and made conversations easy. But now? You wanted nothing more than to return home. Screw the lunch you made him. "So we're over?" You could see how he perked up at the curt tone you used, as if he was happy you were upset. It made your gut twist into itself. "That's what I said." He didn't hide the quirk of his lips.

Truly if he was going to be that way then you had every right to do the same. "Alright then. Have a good lunch." A simple wave of the lunchbox had his eyes wide. "H-hey!" A huff fell from your lips at his yell, "You're the one who ended it, babe." There was a burn behind your eyes and a gentle blur when tears tickled your waterline. You weren't going to let him see you fall apart though. Not after all the other times he got to.

➢ Itto

"We're still together, right!?"

The door he threw open just about broke when it slid into it's sliding pocket, an almost thunderous thwack shaking it. "Of- of course we are..! Itto-" You shifted back from the table you were seated by as he hung onto the doorframe. "Yeah! Yeah..'course we are!" He beamed even as his lips began to tremble, even as his grip tightened on the frame. "..Itto?" He lurched forward, leaning over you before dropping onto your shoulder(and upper body), "Some mean bean people...uh, they said some...things." A sigh passed through your nose, your hand coming to rest on the back of his head, "You shouldn't listen to mean bean people. They're mean bean people!" You grumbled a little, trying to lift his spirits, "They don't know anything anyways. Because if anyone notices anything about me first when it comes to you, its how much I love you."

You wouldn't tell him how your heart fell, how you wanted to cry right as he asked if you were together. All you would do was shower him in tiny declarations of adorement and precious kisses to every inch of his face.

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phoenix-is-the-hottest-thing · 1 year

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Hey a little psa for the new adult fandom folks from Twitter

If you don’t want minors to interact with your posts or some of your posts, “minors dni” in your bio isn’t going to be a good way to achieve that.

When seeing posts, people’s descriptions don’t show up unless you look for them. When a “minors dni” banner is on a post, it’s usually at the bottom, so the potential minor has already seen the content, and even if it’s at the top, they will have to scroll past it anyway.

Here are some solutions you can use that will actually achieve something:

Manually block any minor you find (very effective but time consuming. annoying for people who eventually age out of your dni.)

Say minors please block on the post itself (relies on the minors listening to you, can get old real fast, but at least it’ll actually be seen)

Tag posts you don’t want minors to interact with something consistent (doesn’t need to be nsfw; I’m just talking about anything you want them to know not to interact with). I use #lemons because I’ve been reading fic for way too long and I think it’s funny. (this relies on others filtering this tag themselves, thus giving them agency in the situation. That’s what I aim for but if you don’t want that, add another solution— just keep in mind some adults won’t want to see that content either, and maybe you’ll want to find those posts later yourself, so it’s good to do this regardless)

Tag the post #nsfw, which is probably going to do something weird like take it off search or automatically give it the mature community label. Pretty sure those posts are hidden from minors. (honestly they’ve changed it a bunch of times so try your luck or don’t.)

Use a readmore and warn for what you’re about to show above it. On mobile, type :readmore: and newline; on web, it has its insert button like photos or links, which is a squiggly line. (this is great for suggestive pictures or whatever else you wouldn’t want someone to catch a glimpse on while mindlessly scrolling. It doesn’t stop anyone from interacting though.)

Use community labels to signal mature content. This will automatically hide the post for minors, and allow adults to either also have it hidden (default), blur it, or leave it alone. This can be changed in your settings. Note that, even labeled, pictures of sex acts are still forbidden on tumblr due to the Apple Store and payment processors being run by puritans people who refuse to tolerate that kind of content in case they accidentally get caught up in sex trafficking. Twitter only got an exception because it was big enough that they thought it was more profitable to turn a blind eye. Tumblr is being made an example out of, having been threatened and taken off the app store over this. (In other words they did not remove nsfw content to bully creators. It was at gunpoint.) You will have to link this stuff while only showing a more sfw picture if you want to share this content, privatter style. I don’t think non previewed linked content is monitored so it should be ok??

There’s probably other ways I haven’t thought of. A combination is great!

Additionally, you can make a blog password protected (a priv, basically), post privately (only visible to you) and disable reblogs on a post (tagged people can still reblog I believe).

If other people find your post inappropriate, they can also submit it to be reviewed as mature content, and it’ll get forcibly labeled if tumblr rules they’re correct. As far as I know, unless it’s something that’s illegal, tumblr posts won’t get removed in any way— only the pictures tend to get replaced by “this picture was violating content policy”. Some blogs I believe can also get marked as mature? I’m not sure how that works.

So! Depending on what you need and want with your minor dni, you have a bunch of solutions to pick from, and by all means get creative if you can think of more.

Happy posting!

#honkai impact #hi3 #phoebe rambles #psa #twitter #tumblr

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mytheoristavenue · 1 year

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Let's talk about the new Tumblr update.

And what we can do to make it easier to use.

What do I think of it?

Firstly, I'd like to thank @thelaundrybitch for helping me understand the new community label update. I want to preface by saying that I don't think this is a bad idea. No matter what site you build a platform on, if you specialize in 18+ content, there is never a guarantee that your audience will only be 18+, not without guidelines. I understand what Tumblr is trying to do, and I truly think it can be a really useful tool in protecting adult creators from minor interactors who just don't respect boundaries.

That being said, I'm not sure that this new system is nailed down yet. It definitely has it's bugs and downfalls. I like to think that these things will smooth out over time, but that remains to be seen.

I also want to explain that my feelings on having 18- followers are mixed. On one hand, I have a ton of content on my blog that I don't feel the need to label as mature, but then again, I have a lot of very sexual works as well. This is the biggest reason that I feel the labels will be beneficial to blogs like mine.

Why is it a problem?

While I feel like this update is for a good cause, like I mentioned before, it's not without it's issues. The main one that I have been experiencing is that whenever I use the labels, it's almost as if I get shadow-banned. Not only do those labeled post get absolutely no visibility or interaction, but many other of my non-labeled posts take a drastic plunge in interaction. After conferring with the aforementioned creator, I was enlightened to a potential solution.

How can you help?

I wasn't aware that when this update took effect, everyone, even aged profiles, had their label settings defaulted to censor and hide all mature posts. It is my understanding that minor accounts will not have the option to alter these settings until their entered birthdate shows them to be over age, but everyone who is shown to already be above 18 has this option.

On a desktop browser, you should be able to simply access the drop down menu that comes from you account icon, go into your settings, and scroll down toward the bottom. When you find your settings, provided you are allowed, you can customize what you would like to be shown (sexual, addiction related, or violent content). The mature label encapsulates all these topics, and you will need to allow these to be shown if you would like any of them. There is also an option to have these posts with these topics blurred, meaning that they will still appear to you, but with a censorship filter, giving you the choice to view or not.

It doesn't appear that these options are built into the Android version of the app. As for IOS, I believe the settings are there, and also have the option to hide addition content, so be on the look out for that! Here are some posts who can explain that end better that I can, and thank you to @thelaundrybitch for directing me to them.

@internetgremlin-writes with a more in depth explanation

and

@ariapmdeol with a slightly more simplified explanation

The bottom line.

In conclusion, if you enjoy the content that I put out, and would like to continue to see my stuff, please consider adjusting your settings. And if you're unable to do so due to age, I welcome you to the fluffier side of my page and encourage you to come back for the other when the time is right. The fact of the matter is, putting out work that would usually be such a hit and having nobody get to see it is discouraging to say the least, but I have faith that we as a community can not only learn to live with this change, but benefit from it.

Thank you so much for taking the time to read this and for doing what you can to not only improve my experience, but yours as well. I hope you all have wonderful day, much love! 💕

#community labels #to my followers #tumblr staff #tumblr update #18+ content #psa #tmnt #stranger things #cowboy bebop #mha

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gay-and-n3on · 2 years

Text

a couple of thoughts on tumblr, and what I would do if I could run the website

note, I have no experiences in running websites or any authority, this is just a shower thought made whole, also note I’ve been on tumblr for the past 4~ years

First off, the main problems I see with this website as of now:

-lack of moderation of genuinely harmful content (cp, sh, proana, ect ect)

-lack of consistency of moderation, on regular and blazed posts, and harmful content in blazed posts

-bigots using this website as a platform to spread there ideals

-a disillusionment between the people running tumblr and what people want

-sanitisation in attempt to gain wider appeal

-slow intergration of algorithms (based on your likes, ect)

My first and instant changes would be:

Proportional to the user size, train a team to have the same ideals and rules for advertising posts and regular adds. Rules would be common sence stuff, no bigotry, explicit sexual content*, doxxing, advertising illegal practices, ect ect

CHANGE THE REPORTING SYSTEM!!! I feel bad I can’t remember the post, but they detailed a system that I think all socials should have tbh. Each user will be able to report any post, if a post is correctly flagged the user will earn credit, so if another post is flagged by them it will be bumped as more likely that it’s genuine, so the post should be reviewed faster as it’s more likely to have illegal/whatever content. Inverse is true, if a user frequently does false reports, there credits go down as it’s less likely that the post is genuinely harmful. also accounts that are frequently (rightfully) reported would be warned/suspended, ect ect

change the flagging/marking system! New one that has been implemented is miles better, but with some tweaks it could be improved significantly. There should be 4 warnings, drugs/alcohol, blood/violence, mature content, explicit content. And instead of being set categories, they should be boxes that can be ticked. I think the current system with the hide/blur/show is pretty alright, but I think it should default to blur, and permanently hide on accs that are -18

*I will elaborate on this later

my secondary fixes, things that would not be immediate

FIX TAGS! Make what ever is wrong with the tagging system not wrong, so that even if a tag has three posts, you can see those posts!

add polls! Also, you should be able to add them to reblogs!

With approving of advertisements, I think tumblr should try and market towards artists, creators and other small businesses to make ads, and I think something that could be interesting is if depending on the filters you have on/off you see different ads! So if you have the blood/violence filter set to show advertisements say for gorey art or taxidermy would show up that wouldn’t be suitable for a normal audience. The same could also apply to other categories

*this could also apply to nsfw art/services in the same fashion as FA does

I might add more thoughts when I think of them, but this is my ideas in this exact moment

#Cp mention #some random thoughts in light of the new stuff #I wish staff weren’t such fucking cunts

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alfredosauce50 · 3 years

Note

whenever youre free, can you write yandere 2p china headcanons? im just thinking abt him 👉🏽👈🏽

Yandere 2p! China headcanons

Getting together with you was hard enough. But now that you’re his, he can’t go back to being a second choice he’s always been. He’s never letting you go.

Zao doesn’t have a single yandere characteristic by default, but when he does, ooh boy. It’ll take some time for him to deviate from his normal personality and mental stability, but given enough paranoia and infatuation, he will start losing his sanity, then, his ability to distinguish between right and wrong. And the terrifying thing is, he doesn’t even know it. By this logic, he is by far, the craziest yandere you’ll ever have the misfortune of encountering.

(There isn’t a lot of fanart on 2p! China so have this fanart of Wei Wuxian for visual purposes)

Home life

He’s very into kissing, so much that he’ll sneak some in while doing the most mundane things. When he talks to you, he will hold your waist and fill the brief moments of silence with kisses. In his eyes, having his lips on yours while a conversation happens is being ‘productive’ as he makes the most out of being with you. Before anything escalates, which ends up happening more often than you’d prefer, you’ll pull away and clamp a hand over his mouth. He’ll lick your hand and laugh at your reaction.

He bathes with you. He could’ve gone with the more economical option of showering, but he’s far from broke. And plus, he can do so much more while sitting down. You usually stay on the opposite end of the tub, but he’ll pull you onto his lap and whisper this in your ear, “Don’t be shy, kitten. This is your throne.” As you sink into his embrace, which ends up hotter than the water you’re submerged in, he will caress your back and make out with you. Once you’re pleading for air, he will pull away and trail a tongue up your neck instead. When you’re with him, he never actually lets you catch your breath, ever.

Zao is very mindful of your comfort. Perhaps not when it comes to something sexual, per se, but he will always bring you a blanket if it gets a little chilly. If you forget to put socks on, he will put them on for you without asking. Whenever you go out, he will bring a bag with him and most of the things inside are either yours or for you.

Spoiling you is a given. He can’t imagine a better way to put his hustle to good use--to give you things you want. Even if you don’t ask for anything, he never fails to get you something you end up loving. But there is one thing he won’t ever let you touch. Substances. Zao is so overprotective in all aspects of your life, he doesn’t even like you drinking. He’s a little more lenient on weed, and will let you have a few puffs of his joint.

He always covers up at home, and will get a little flustered if you catch him indecent. Zao doesn’t wear a lot to bed, like tank tops and underwear, so he isn’t shirtless very often. The only time he doesn’t get embarrassed is when the mood is... You know. And he’s doing you-know-what with you. Otherwise, he will call you a pervert, but really, he’s teasing you more than expressing embarrassment. Because clearly, that’s rich coming from him.

Yeah. It’s not news how big of a pervert he is. Nor is he ashamed of it. Any dirty thought that crosses his mind, he will never fail to relay to you. It leaves you mortified when he tells you what he wants to do to you, in detail, especially when he isn’t being self-aware. Save that for when you get home, you idiot! But the private sphere only makes him even worse.

He calms down at night, thankfully, and lays in bed with you on his chest. This is where his love language starts speaking to you. Connecting to you emotionally and mentally is how he shows he loves you. This takes place in long, deep, and random conversations, and if not, he will just captivate you in his dark eyes and stare at you endearingly. “What are you thinking about, kitten? I hope it’s something related to me~” Then, he’ll dig his hands through your hair and massage your head as he breathes you in until he gets intoxicated with you.

When he gets jealous

He’s the type to get so jealous, it becomes suffocating for him--especially when he doesn’t outwardly show it. So whenever anyone remotely shows interest in you, he’ll keep his cool for the most part, but will get very irritable and clingy. It doesn’t matter how subtle they were, it could’ve been a single glance, even, but alarms will go off. He will pull you into a tight embrace and bury his face in your neck until they leave. You don’t really mind because he isn’t giving anybody trouble, but you do find it cute when he immediately returns to his soft side afterwards.

Zao isn’t the biggest fan of conflict, even if he’s more than capable of it. Instead, he will gravitate towards his intelligence and cunning to outdo anybody he hates. Stalking is definitely on the table if he needs to get to know someone, then, when it comes down to it, sabotage. He will do anything to keep them busy so they wouldn’t have to see you. And he succeeds every time without you finding out.

Unlike most SO’s, it’s easier for him to get jealous over friends than love interests. He values the emotional aspect of your relationship with him the most, and gets very upset if you bond with people other than him, platonically or not. To make up for it, he demands your attention and ensures the time you spend with him is two times more fulfilling than whoever it was you were with. This is the fundamental reason why he’s more susceptible to getting jealous--literally anybody is a rival in his eyes.

This is all the more reason to be so much more paranoid and restless than other typical yanderes.

When you argue

He doesn’t agree with you on a lot of things, so it’s like talking to a brick wall. Objective subjects are easy to get through when it’s straight up facts, but if the topic is about what he can or cannot do in the relationship, save your breath. You will never get through to him. When he feels entitled to something, he takes his own side, regardless of what you feel about it.

Nevertheless, he will do the bare-minimum of leaving you alone in the meantime when you’re upset. That’s how he somehow respects this boundary he just crossed. But a few hours later, he will go back to normal, which means he will be affectionate even when you’re not in the mood. This cues the second phase of the fight. While you’re trying your damndest to push him away, he will corner you, physically and mentally.

While he hugs you tight, he will force you to look at him while you cry. It’s invasive and suffocating, but the night always ends with you making up with him. Be it kissing or other means. It’s unfair, but no matter what he does, you can’t help giving in to him. And he knows this very well. That’s why he keeps doing it.

Psychology + When he snaps

He is much more intelligent than he lets on. Even though he already knows you like the back of his hand, he studies you every day. If you asked him what you were thinking about, he could probably guess it. That’s what makes him such an intense lover. You can’t hide anything from him if you tried. Hence, he has a terrifying amount of control in the relationship, and he will use it to his advantage.

Zao is a good multitasker. He can juggle his ‘job’ and hobbies while keeping you in the palm of his hand. There is absolutely nothing you can do without him finding out, and this is precisely how he keeps himself miles ahead of you.

As everything progresses, he will tolerate less and less. His love language is how much quality time he gets with you, along with emotional connection. Eventually, he will start ruling out the prospect of you having any of these things with anyone besides him. That includes friends, so he will start isolating you from them, all until the only soul you are truly close to is him. Soon, you will have to rely on him for everything, which he absolutely loves. He will make himself the only person in your life.

As this continues, he will become obsessed with the idea of your co-dependency on him. Zao always loved looking after you, but he isn’t satisfied with that anymore. Being your own person? Hell no. Every single thing you do, he will be in the backdrop. If not, he will be next to you, and start influencing your own thoughts until you can’t even trust yourself.

At this point, he is manipulating you to accept everything he does. And he succeeds a lot of the time, especially when he’s so unfazed. You start wondering if you should be this unfazed, even when what he’s doing is wrong.

If one of your friends tries to intervene, he will make sure they won’t see the light of day ever again. He has a lot of connections, and combined with how cunning he is, he can get them to disappear with the snap of his fingers. He will keep doing this until every single person in your life is gone if he has to.

Zao acts purely on his own desires. It’s his moral compass. Right and wrong will blur together so long as it’s for you, and there’s nothing he won’t do. Murder is as casual of a topic to discuss and do as having breakfast.

A lot of psychopaths would at least get the thrill of doing something so heinous, but he won’t give a shit. He won’t bat an eye. He won’t feel the smallest shred of remorse and carry on like nothing happened. But what he will feel is satisfaction.

If you find out what he did

You can cry all you like. He’ll only feel remotely guilty because you’re heartbroken, but it passes pretty quickly when he’s happy with what he’s done. You could try running away too. Try. But he always finds you. It doesn’t matter if you leave the country and go into hiding. He will follow you to the ends of Earth for the rest of his life. What can he say? He loves a good chase. It’s a fun game of cat and mouse he knows he’ll win.

Every time he finds you, he’ll sneak up to you from behind and whisper, “Are you done, now? Let’s go home already.” If you try to run away again, he’ll just catch you and hold you tight, even while you’re thrashing in his arms. “I can do this forever, kitten. You have nobody else to go to, and nowhere else to be. So don’t waste your energy and come back with me.”

Response to ask:

Of course :) I’m honored you submitted an ask to me after thinking about him 🤗 He’s definitely one of my favorites! Zao’s gotta be the most fleshed out 2p next to Allen. Since 2p’s aren’t canon, they rely solely on the fandom’s interpretation and ability to dish out content on them. I haven’t seen any proper yandere stuff on Zao, so I think this is a first. And boy, he’s a terrifying one for sure. I feel like he embodies the worst of the yandere trope because he’s into psychological manipulation. Worst isn’t the right word, actually. I believe ‘accurate’ is a better way of describing it. This is what a real yandere looks like.

#yandere #yandere headcanons #headcanons #hetalia #2ptalia #2p!china #2p china #2p china headcanons #Axis powers ヘタリア #axis powers hetalia #request #ask answered #hetalia fanfiction

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artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

Ever in Your Favor, Chapter Six (Rosnali) - Athena2

Summary: We find out what happened to Rosé, and the Games continue.

A/N: Thank you so much for the incredible feedback on chapter five!! It made me so happy to see and I’m so glad how people enjoyed it. I’d really appreciate hearing your thoughts on this chapter as well!

Denali chokes back her scream as Rosé collapses, not wanting to give away their position. All the teams have targets on their back now, the danger even higher. And Rosé is motionless on the ground.

“Rosé, wake up. Please wake up.” She shakes her shoulder, mind running through a hundred possibilities. It can’t be because of the rain, or Denali would be affected too. Probably not poison either; they’ve been eating the same things. Whatever it is, she needs Rosé awake. Denali taps her cheek, dimly registering that Rosé shouldn’t be this warm. Her green eyes slowly blink open, and Denali loses herself in them for a second.

“What…happened?”

“I think you fainted. Or…” Denali trails off when she smells smoke. Thick gray clouds of it blot the sky, and where there’s smoke, there’s… “Fire. Oh, shit. Fire.”

A tower of flames writhes toward them, licking at the trees and filling the air with the scent of burnt pine. The fire is too large to be natural–figures the Gamemakers didn’t even wait five minutes after their announcement to unleash something.

Denali scrambles for their stuff, tugging Rosé’s arm. “We gotta go, we gotta go now.”

Rosé winces as she staggers to her feet.

“Can you run on that leg?” Denali asks.

“Do we have another option?”

It’s a fair point, and the flames are close enough to feel their heat. She puts her head down and runs, Rosé trailing behind her. They need to find shelter, somewhere safe enough for Rosé to rest. They’re not far from the mountain, and there has to be a cave or crevice they can hide in. They just have to get up there.

They sprint across a valley with the fire just feet behind them, and the only good thing is that it protects them from other tributes–no one can attack them with a wall of fire in the way. They trudge through weeds and gnarled roots on the mountain passes, Denali wordlessly catching Rosé when she stumbles, beating out the dying fire. A slit opens between two rocks, so small Denali’s trained eyes hardly see it. It’s big enough inside for both of them, and Denali’s shoulders loosen slightly. They should be safe for a few days, probably more if she disguises the entrance better. There’s even a stream nearby.

Rosé collapses against the wall with a gasp. Her face is ghostly pale and twisted in pain, her body drenched in sweat as she trembles.

The pain probably made her faint, but Denali thinks of how hot she was, and her heart sinks with what she doesn’t want to acknowledge. Their first aid kit didn��t have antibiotics, or a needle and thread—the Gamemakers wouldn’t make things that easy—so Denali had just rinsed the wound and wrapped it tight. Maybe it wasn’t enough.

Denali kneels beside her cautiously. “I need to look at your leg.”

“No.” Rosé clamps her hands over the wound with a wince. Denali isn’t sure if Rosé doesn’t want to admit that something’s wrong, or if she’s afraid of getting medical help from Denali. Denali isn’t a doctor by any means, and part of her wants to leave Rosé alone, pretend everything is fine, but she can’t.

“Rosé, you fainted.”

“Only a little,“ Rosé mumbles. "It’s nothing, I’m fine.”

There’s a hint of fear in her voice, and Denali softens. “I just need to check it, okay? I’ll go slow. And I used to hunt, remember? I’ve seen dead animals a lot worse than your leg.”

“Denali Foxx, did you just compare me to a dead animal?” Rosé asks in mock outrage. Her hands ease off her leg, Denali’s humor relaxing her like she hoped it would.

“Well, let’s hope we can avoid the dead part,” Denali says. “The animal part was spot-on, though.” She carefully moves Rosé’s pants down, grateful for her undershorts because Rosé’s bare skin is not something Denali can handle right now. She unwinds the bandage, her stomach churning once the wound is uncovered, red and inflamed and oozing at the edges. Denali knows, and the red lines streaking up Rosé’s thigh confirm it.

Blood poisoning.

“Oh,” Rosé says quietly. “Fuck.”

—

“Okay, don’t panic.”

“Pretty sure you’re the one panicking,” Rosé says. She sits against the cave wall, slowly getting her breath back while Denali paces.

Denali stops, wringing her hands together. “I saw leaves that draw out infection by the stream. I’m gonna get them. Stay here.”

“Not like I can go anywhere.” Her leg is throbbing, and moving will only make things worse.

Denali grimaces and heads out, desperate for a purpose, for something to help. Rosé knows the leaves aren’t enough to fix her infection; she needs real medicine from the Capitol. She has no idea what it would cost a sponsor to send it, because that kind of medicine isn’t a possibility in District 12, where the default prescription is drink some whiskey and sleep it off. If something’s really wrong, you usually don’t make it.

Denali rushes back in with a bundle of green leaves, crushing them up and making a paste with water. It’s not enough, but it can’t hurt, and Rosé won’t upset Denali when she’s trying so badly to help.

Denali’s movements are frantic, nothing like the measured motions for stringing her bow, and she almost drops the paste.

“Hey,” Rosé says. “Let me put it on. Your hands are shaking.”

“Yeah, because I care about you, you idiot.”

Rosé would make a snappy comment, but she sees how much Denali is shaking, how her eyes are wide in genuine fear. Denali really cares about her, and Rosé has a rush of affection for her.

Rosé gently takes the mixture from Denali. “I’ll do it, okay?”

Denali laughs bitterly. “You’re the one who’s–”

Rosé cuts her off before she can say how bad things are. “I’m gonna be fine, okay? This isn’t how I’m going out. I’m not going out at all, but if I do, I’m going out fighting, with my sword in my hand.”

Denali nods shakily.

“I’ve got some of the steadiest hands in the district,” Rosé continues, hoping to soothe Denali’s fear. “Cake-decorating hands, baby.” It slips out before she can stop it, and any worries are stopped by the fact that she should be saying this, should sell their romance for the camera. But none of this conversation has been for that; every part of it was real for Rosé; her need to soothe Denali, take away her fears, her insistence on making it through this. Denali must know it’s real too, because she’s smiling now, and she actually laughs, Rosé’s heart lightening at the sound.

“Too bad you can’t pipe icing at the tributes,” Denali snorts.

“Laugh all you want. I guarantee I could take someone out with a piping bag,” Rosé says. Her own laugh is strangled by muttered curses as the paste stings on her wound, but swearing is all she’ll allow herself. She won’t whimper like a baby in front of the Capitol, and she won’t add to Denali’s worry.

“What was it like, working at the bakery?” Denali asks, throwing her a line, a distraction, and Rosé takes it.

“It was…it was fun, really. My dad did the cakes, my mom did the breads. Me and Jan and Lagoona helped.” She rolls her eyes and smiles. “We mostly just played and tried not to get in trouble. When we were a little older, we’d make the cookies together, and my dad started showing me how to decorate cakes when I was ten. I still remember the first one I did that was good enough to sell. White icing with little pink and yellow roses. He let me put it in the window and everything.”

Rosé tries not to think of those days, of how happy and carefree they were, because it only makes the fact that days like that are now hard to come by hurt that much worse. But maybe it’s okay to tug memories over her like a blanket. She remembers running around the kitchen playing tag with her sisters, their father shaking his head fondly. She remembers the smell of yeast, watching her mother knead the bread over and over, mesmerized by the rhythms. She remembers the squishy piping bag in her hand, her father guiding her along, how he always said what a good job she did.

On her good days, when she leaves the house, she goes right to the bakery, soaking in the sweetness as golden and warm as the pastries her father makes. If she’s really up for it, she’ll even grab a bag and decorate a cake, the world fading away as she makes flowers out of butter and sugar.

“That’s really nice.” Denali smiles as she hands Rosé the bandages from the first aid kit.

“Yeah.” Rosé winds it around her leg, grateful to have the wound hidden again. It’s fine. She’s fine. She just has to outlast it until she and Denali are the only ones left. They can still win. “We should have a victory cake after we win.”

Denali leans in with the medical tape, her touch gentle as she tapes the bandage in place. She’s so close that their foreheads almost touch, and Rosé stares at Denali’s focused brown eyes, all the air knocked out of her lungs.

“Thanks,” she manages.

“No problem.” Denali smiles. “And I’m holding you to that victory cake.”

—

Denali tries, as hours blur into days. She tries to stay hopeful, to not let Rosé see how worried she is. Denali shouldn’t even be this upset, this stressed; Rosé is the one with her leg cut open and an infection burning through her, yet she’s calm and Denali can’t sleep because she’s afraid something might happen to Rosé while she does. She knows the odds, knows how bad things are, but she tries to ignore it. She tells herself it’s natural to worry about her teammate, but she hasn’t been this worried about someone since her father died and her mom couldn’t get out of bed. She hasn’t been this close to anyone since then either, but being thrown into the arena like this, trusting each other to survive, has brought them closer than Denali could have imagined. She’s grown to really like being around Rosé, hearing her laughter, watching her eyes soften when she tells stories about the bakery. She doesn’t want to lose her.

Losing Rosé would put Denali at worse odds, anyone can see that. But Denali doesn’t see her as just an ally anymore, and losing her would be losing a friend. A friend who’s been with her through the arena, who understands feelings Denali can’t even put into words. She won’t lose her. She can’t lose her. If anyone is stubborn enough to outlast an infection, it’s Rosé, and Denali lets the thought give her hope.

“How are you feeling?” Denali asks when Rosé wakes up.

“Fine.”

Denali touches her forehead gently, Rosé’s breath hitching at the touch. “You’re still pretty warm. I found some painkillers in the first aid kit. Nothing major, but they can’t hurt.”

Rosé nods, accepting the pills with some water. She becomes a bit more herself when they kick in, her eyes losing the shadows of pain and lightening up. Denali hopefully offers her breakfast, but Rosé shakes her head.

“Not hungry.”

Denali winces. It’s not a good sign.

“Not an option. If we’re gonna win, you need to eat.” Denali digs through their bags again, offering Rosé dried meat and apples like she didn’t refuse them five seconds ago. They need something light, something easy on her stomach. “If we had soup, do you think you could eat that?”

“Probably, but do you think soup is just gonna drop out of the sky–”

Something clangs at the mouth of the cave, and Denali finds a silver canister attached to the parachute. She unscrews the top and smells savory broth and vegetables. Clearly someone agrees that Rosé needs to eat, and she thanks their mystery sponsor.

Rosé snorts. “I’ll be damned.”

—

Soup keeps arriving, and Rosé keeps fighting. She does her best to eat, to keep her composure so Denali doesn’t worry. Denali’s only getting snatches of sleep, every second focused on Rosé, and Rosé doesn’t want to give her too much cause to worry.

Aside from the dull pain and the fever clinging to her like fire, it’s not so bad in the cave. It’s like their own little world, far away from the arena’s dangers. Just her and Denali, together like at the Training Center. Denali peeks her head out each night to hear the anthem and see if anyone’s died. So far, just the man from District 9. There’s still five tributes left, and Rosé knows something has to draw them together eventually. They both hate sitting here, being helpless, wanting so badly to go out and end things, but they can’t. Rosé can’t even sit up without getting so dizzy she almost loses whatever’s in her stomach. It’s her fault they’re stuck here, and she burns with guilt that she might cost them the win with her stupid infected leg. If someone would send the medicine, she could manage. Her leg would still hurt, sure, but she could power through long enough to get her and Denali home. Why hasn’t anyone sent it yet? She’s grateful for the soup, but surely someone in the Capitol can afford the medicine, and surely they would have sent it by now. What are they waiting for?

Maybe because Rosé is just laying on the cave floor like a baby, and they want to see her do something that’s worth the money they’d spend. Proof she’s worth dipping into their pockets. Deep down, she thinks they want more of the love story, more reason to watch them. Would kissing Denali be enough? Announcing her love? It’s terrible to do that to Denali, though, terrible to use her to stay alive. We’d be using each other, Denali said ruefully, but this feels like too much.

So Rosé talks instead.

She talks about the bakery, about the time Jan tried her own cake recipe and the thing was burnt outside and raw inside, or the time Rosé and Lagoona kept flicking flour at each other until they looked like ghosts. Denali laughs and laughs, and Rosé is grateful she’s let these stories out, grateful to share them with someone besides her sisters. She can’t remember the last time she talked this much, and even if it exhausts her, she keeps going. Because if she’s talking, Denali knows she’s okay.

“What was it like? Learning the woods stuff from your dad,” Rosé asks, hoping Denali doesn’t notice how her words slur.

Denali grabs a piece of cloth she’d cut from the sleeping bag, dips it in water, and rests it on Rosé’s forehead. She gets water from the stream each morning, and though it’s barely cool anymore, it’s heaven against Rosé’s hot skin, and she sighs in relief.

“It was…quiet,” Denali says finally. “Peaceful. He was always in the mines, so it was the only time I got to be with him, really. He didn’t talk much, but he was there, and it was enough. He would show me all the flowers and plants and tell me these rhymes about what was safe to eat. And he showed me how to use his bow. It was bigger than me the first time we practiced.” Denali smiles, and Rosé does too, heart warming at the image of a tiny Denali holding up a bow twice her size. “It felt so right in my hands,” Denali continues. “He drew targets on the trees until I got them all, and then he’d have me aim for certain leaves. Everything I can do with my bow is from him.”

“He taught you well.”

“Yeah. I–sometimes I wish he could’ve seen how good I got with it. I wish he could’ve seen me win,” Denali says sadly.

“He’d be proud of you. I know it,” Rosé says, touched that Denali trusts her this much, that she’s shown this part of her.

There’s a lightness in her eyes Rosé doesn’t think she’s seen since Denali was a kid–the kind of lightness Denali was rarely without as a kid. It was why Rosé had sneaked cookies in her bag years ago, trying anything to ease the sadness. And being with Denali now, closer than they were as kids, closer than Rosé has been with anyone besides her family, makes her ache to do it again. To be there for Denali’s pain and sadness, and do her best to lighten the load. To maybe let Denali do the same for her. Because all this–spending time with Denali, being on her team–feels so right. They’re the perfect team, and they’re both going to win, and go home. And if–when–they do, Rosé won’t lose Denali again.

When she first got home after her Victory Tour, she spent most days in her room, tired yet fighting sleep because of what she might see, the excitement of her return crushed by the weight of what she had to do for it. She was cold to her sisters when they tried to help, cold to Denali when she tried talking to her. She isn’t proud of it, and while she fixed things with her sisters, she never formally did with Denali–she just let them drift, though she forced herself to work extra hard when she mentored Denali. Surviving the Games could have reunited them, but Rosé let it push them further apart, because it was something she didn��t want to share with anyone–especially not someone she cared about. But she’s sharing it with Denali now, and she’s grateful to. And when they go home, she won’t let them drift. She’ll work to keep Denali in her life, to go outside more, to appreciate what she has.

“Do you want more soup?” Denali asks, once more desperate to help.

“No.”

“Just a little more?” Denali pleads. “Please? For me?“

Denali’s eyes are too much for Rosé. “Anything for you,” she says, and even in the cave, she can see Denali blush. She eats three more spoonfuls, then turns to Denali. “Can you do something for me now?”

“Anything.”

“Get some sleep, Denali. Please. I’ll be okay, I swear,” she says before Denali can protest. “You need to rest.”

“But–”

“I have my sword. I’ll wake you if anything happens. I’ll be fine for a few hours.” Rosé fixes the sternest look she can muster, and Denali finally gives in.

“Don’t let me sleep too long,” she says, slipping into the sleeping bag. Her breaths even out in minutes, and it tugs at Rosé’s chest how much Denali is exhausting herself to look after her. The stress of the arena slowly leaves Denali’s face in her sleep, and she could be nine again, curled up in her sleeping bag for a sleepover with Jan. The determined kid who used to protect other kids from the class bully and beat the older boys in races during recess. The determined woman who’s been there for her since the reaping, who didn’t give up on her and helped her fight again. Who makes her want to live again.

Rosé grips her sword tightly as she watches Denali sleep, and when Denali lets out a little sigh, it occurs to Rosé that if she were to confess her love, it might not be a complete lie.

—

Hours after Denali wakes up, things take a turn for the worse. Rosé is too weak to feed herself, and turns her head away when Denali offers her soup. Her skin is so hot she instantly dries out the cloth Denali puts on her forehead. She slips in and out of consciousness, her sleep full of whimpers for her sisters, and Denali vows not to mention it to her.

“I’m sorry,” Rosé croaks. Her eyes are closed, and Denali isn’t sure she’s fully awake.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Denali says, trying to keep the worry from her voice.

“Your mom’s…necklace,” Rosé says. “We nev-never went back.”

Right. They were supposed to go back that morning, but the announcement came, and Rosé collapsed, and then the fire arrived. Denali had forgotten about it in the chaos.

“It’s not your fault,” Denali says quietly. “That fire came, remember? We couldn’t have gone back anyway.” She bites her lip. “I’m the one who’s sorry. You got hurt saving me, if I–”

“Don’t,” Rosé says. “Not your fault.” She wheezes, the talking taking too much out of her. “Maybe you should go on without me.”

“Not a chance in hell,” she growls so fiercely that Rosé doesn’t even attempt to argue.

Rosé grunts as she reaches for her jacket, and her shaky fingers unclasp the lion pin and offer it to Denali.

Denali’s heart sinks. “Rosé, I can’t take this, it’s your sister’s.”

“I promised Jan I would bring it back to her. Denali, if I can’t make it, I need you to make it. I need you to bring this home to her,” Rosé says seriously.

Rosé would never give away the pin–the promise–unless she was really worried about being unable to keep it, and Denali blinks back tears of helplessness.

“No–no. Don’t think that, Rosé. You’ll bring it to her yourself,” Denali says. She can’t even consider bringing this pin to Jan, can’t even consider that Rosé won’t be with her. The past weeks with Rosé have only left Denali certain that she never wants to be apart from her again.

“Just in case. Promise?”

Denali knows Rosé won’t take no for an answer, and she doesn’t want to upset her. “I promise.”

“Good.” She sleeps again, and the pin sits like lead in Denali’s pocket.

—

By night, Rosé’s forehead burns Denali’s hand. Denali helplessly watches her toss and turn, like she’s trying to get the heat off her. God, Denali was so stupid. She seriously kidded herself that Rosé would magically get better. Rosé’s held out longer than most, but blood poisoning isn’t something you get better from–not without serious medicine.

Denali’s no stranger to pain or misery or suffering–her own or someone else’s. But she watches Rosé sweat and shiver and she can’t bear it. Rosé used to give them piggyback rides even when they were too big, hiding the backache with a smile. When Jan forgot her homework, Rosé ran home and back, handing Jan the work just as the bell rang. When an older boy kept bothering Lagoona, Rosé threw herself between them, firmly standing her ground until he left her alone. She was a hero to her sisters, to Denali, though now Denali knows Rosé isn’t so much a hero as a woman who’s made mistakes and is just trying to survive. Rosé should be home with her family, piping beautiful roses on cakes. Not thousands of miles away, suffering on this hard cave floor. It hurts Denali to even look at her. It should be Denali trembling with fever and pain. Would be Denali if Rosé hadn’t taken that hit for her. This is all Denali’s fault. How could she spend so long preparing for a fight and be too slow when the attack finally came? All the dreams of them going back home, of inviting Rosé over for breakfast, of taking her on walks in the woods, are slipping through Denali’s hands.

No. She’s not losing Rosé. She turns the lion pin over in her hand. What had Rosé called it in her interview? A symbol of love and home, Denali recalls, and more tears sting in her eyes. This is the one of the most important things in the world to Rosé, and she gave it to Denali, wanted to give her this piece of love and home. She trusts Denali to bring it home if she can’t. She trusts Denali, period, when she hasn’t trusted anyone in years. And Denali trusts her. Trusts her in the arena, trusts her in this cave, trusts her to talk about her family with. Rosé isn’t going home without this pin, and Denali isn’t going home without Rosé. There has to be a way to get the medicine. What if she–

Rosé coughs, her brow furrowing in pain.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Denali says quietly, for Rosé’s benefit as much as her own.

Rosé stills, opening glassy eyes. “Jan?” she asks hoarsely, and Denali’s stomach drops. The fever is high enough to mess with her brain—what if it’s too late even if she can get the medicine?

Denali hesitates, heart in pieces, wondering if she should play along or tell the truth. If she plays along, Rosé might get upset after realizing she’s lying. But denying it might upset her even more, and Denali can’t hurt her.

“Yeah, it’s me. It’s Jan,” Denali says. She strokes Rosé’s hair and hums the lullaby Rosé hummed to Finn, and it’s not quite right, but it soothes her anyway.

For a few minutes at least, and then she stubbornly opens her eyes.

“You’re not Jan,” Rosé says, and before Denali can wonder if she’s mad, she smiles. “You’re Denali.”

Denali blushes. “Yeah, I am.”

Rosé looks at her in wonder, a shy smile on her face. “Denali, I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

“I love you.”

Blood roars in Denali’s ears, her heart racing. What the hell is Rosé doing? She must still be delirious, she doesn’t know what she’s saying–

“I’ve loved you for a while,” Rosé continues, her eyes clearing a little, her voice sincere. “And you’re so special to me that I want you to know. I want everyone to know.”

And then Denali understands. Rosé has mustered up one last plan to get the medicine. A love declaration on live television. If this can’t get a sponsor’s sympathy, nothing can, and Denali has to play along. This is the game, it’s what they agreed to, so why does it feel so real, like at the interview? Why does part of Denali want it to be real? It’s just a game, she tells herself.

“I…I know, Rosie. I know you love me.” Why can’t she say I love you back? Rosé’s damn life is on the line, but the words won’t come out. But maybe she doesn’t need words. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” Rosé breathes.

Denali holds her breath as she leans down to meet her lips. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t imagine this before. She was eleven when she realized she wanted to kiss girls, and so what if her fantasy kissing partner had red hair and green eyes? It was just her imagination. Nothing real. And Denali doesn’t know if it’s real now, but she’s doing it.

Rosé’s lips are fiery, but soft and delicate. Denali knows this has to be believable, so she runs one hand along Rosé’s arm, the other stroking her sweaty hair. If Denali’s heart was racing before, it’s running a sprint as the kiss deepens, and she feels more alive than she has since the fight in the clearing. It’s been so long since she’s kissed anyone, touched them so tenderly, and she wants to do it again and again. But she shouldn’t enjoy it this much, because it’s just a game, right?

Right?

She doesn’t have time to think, because a clanging at the cave mouth announces the arrival of their saving grace.

—

Denali tears the lid off the container. Inside, there’s a syringe, a needle and thread, bandages, and painkillers. Denali grabs the syringe, whispers an apology to Rosé, and sticks it into her arm.

Rosé, falls asleep seconds later, exhausted from the talking and the kiss. Denali isn’t sure if that’s good or bad. She assumes the medicine is a fast-acting Capitol creation, since she only needs one syringe. But how fast? Minutes? Hours? She doesn’t know how much longer they can hide here before the Gamemakers force them out.

Denali sighs. She might as well stitch the wound properly while Rosé is asleep. For the first time in the cave, her sleep is peaceful, and Denali feels a rush of gratitude. The lines of infection are already fading, and she stitches the wound with new hope, tinged with anger. All that work, all that suffering, for one little syringe. How could the Capitol have something that practically works miracles and make it so hard to get?

“Rosé McCorkell, you better wake up soon,” Denali says. “Because if you die on me after all this, I swear I’ll bring you back just to yell at you! I–I’ll haunt you for the rest of your life! I’ll–”

“‘M pretty sure I’d be haunting you, since I’m the dead one.” A wide grin crosses Rosé’s face as her eyes ease open.

“Rosie, you’re–”

“I’m okay. I feel like shit, but I’m okay.”

Relief slams into Denali, filling the cave with joy, and she cups Rosé’s cheek gently, feeling that she’s alive and okay. Denali isn’t going to lose her.

“Thank you, Denali,” Rosé whispers, and Denali knows how much she means it.

“We look out for each other, remember?”

Rosé nods as Denali helps her sit up. They eat the last of their food, making a plan to wash up at the stream, find food and water, and re-enter the arena.

Five tributes. That’s all that’s between them and the train home.

“One more thing.” Denali carefully re-pins the lion on Rosé’s jacket, ignoring how the touch reminds her of the kiss–just a game, just a game. She’ll have to deal with the kiss at some point, but not now. “Let’s go. We’ve got a game to win.”

#rpdr fanfiction #s13 #denali foxx #rosé #rosnali #lesbian au #hunger games au #angst #hurt/comfort #ever in your favor #athena2 #tw blood #tw injury #concrit welcome

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luninosity · 3 years

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So I’ve started putting Magician (the sequel / spin-off to Sorceress - which was my first-ever pro published fantasy story, way back when! m/f, bisexual main characters, a single mom, a prince, a dragon!) up on AO3, mostly for motivation / wanting to get excited about it with people!

(And it’s technically fanfic, properly, now, isn’t it? For my own story? *laughs*)

Anyway, if you might like...a magician in need of redemption (he was the villain, or at least the problem, of the first story!), and an optimistic prince who likes books, and tropical fruit, and also (eventually) only one bed at the inn...chapters 1 & 2 are up now! More soon, I promise - I’ve got about 30k written already! And you don’t really need to’ve read the first short story first; I think it stands alone fairly well!

Read at AO3 here! Teaser below.

The world’s greatest living magician, lying on his back on a rocky ledge halfway up a cliff and bathed in sunshine, felt the boat’s arrival on the shore below like an uninvited knock at a private door. He did not enjoy it.

He didn’t move for a moment. He did not feel like it, and there’d be no rush. Nobody’d get past his wards.

He kept both eyes closed. Sun streaked red behind his eyelids; gold warmed his skin, his hair. His body soaked in the sensations of strong heated stone, sank into stone, became stone: learning how the rock felt when bathed in lush late-morning light. His edges blurred, softened: time slowed, thrummed, grew earthen and deep, salt-lapped and wind-etched. He might’ve been here for centuries, unhurried. Equilibrium and erosion, solidity and reshaping: a balance.

He had needed balance. Something he’d thought he’d known, once. Something he no longer understood.

He’d thought the island might help. Being rock for a while, or the wind, or the seaspray: being suspended amid them all. Being alone, because he was not sure he recalled how to be human, not well enough.

The island was warm—Lorre had always shamelessly adored being warm—and far enough from the mainland that he’d been mostly undisturbed, and close enough to trade routes that he could occasionally walk on water out to a boat and barter some repairs or some healing for some news of the Middle Lands and King Henry’s court at Averene and the Grand Sorceress Liliana. Lorre had promised not to magically check in on Lily or their daughter; he was attempting to keep that promise.

Equilibrium. Difficult. Sunlight was easier. Sunbeams were weightless. Stones did not have to think about human promises. Human perceptions.

The knock came again. It was not physical, or not entirely. It was a presence, an unexpected intruder standing below, shuffling feet in the sand and no doubt wondering where precisely a magician could be found, being faced with a towering blank cliff and no visible habitation.

Lorre sighed, pulled himself back from frayed edges and heavy sleepy light, and sat up, pulling a robe on in an unfussy tumble of blue and gold, mostly just because he liked the caress of silky fabric on bare skin. His senses shifted, dwindled: more human, though not entirely. He’d been a magician too long to not feel the threads of brilliance—cliff, vines, fish, grains of sand, sea-glass polished by waves—all around.

He peeked over the side of the ledge. Behind him the cave yawned lazily, reminding him of sanctuary: he could simply walk back inside, the way he had for several years now, and ignore the new arrival. That generally worked.

He was rather surprised someone’d found him at all. He wasn’t exactly hiding—oh yes you are, said a tart little voice in his head, one that sounded like Lily’s—but the island, after a bit of work on his part, nearly always concealed itself from maps and navigation charts. At the beginning a few enterprising adventurers had managed to track it down, young heroes on quests or proving their worth by daring an enchanter’s lair or begging for Lorre’s assistance in some revenge or inheritance or magical artifact retrieval scheme.

He’d ignored all but two of them. The illusion-wall kept everyone out, simple and baffling; the island had fresh water but little in the way of food. Mostly the adventurers’d given up and gone home, years ago; he couldn’t in fact recall the face of the last one. Two had become nuisances, loud and shouting; one of those had actually threatened to drink poison, melodramatically demanding Lorre’s assistance in collecting a promised bride from a glass mountain, claiming he’d die without her.

The young man currently standing on the beach was neither loud nor melodramatic. In fact, he was calmly considering the sheer cliff-face, which revealed nothing; he stepped back across the small curve of beach, shaded his eyes, seemed to be measuring. After a second he put a hand up, obviously checking the edge of the cliff: having noticed the very slight discrepancy where sea-birds dropped behind the illusion-wall a fraction sooner than they should vanish in reality.

Intelligent, this one. Lorre dangled himself over the ledge at an angle which would’ve been dangerous for anyone else, and watched.

The young man had dark reddish-brown hair, the color of autumn; he wore it tied back, though a few wisps were escaping. He’d dressed for travel, not in shiny armor the way some knights and princes had: sturdy boots and comfortable trousers, a shirt in nicely woven but also practical fabric, a well-worn pack which he’d swung down to the sand. He wasn’t particularly tall, but not short: average, with nicely shaped shoulders and an air of straightforward competence, not trying for impressive or intimidating.

Lorre, despite annoyance about the interruption, couldn’t help but approve. At least this one had some sense, and didn’t walk around clanking in metal under the shimmering sun.

The young man called up, “Hello?” His voice was quite nice as well, not demanding, lightly accented with the burr of the Mountain Marches but in the way of someone who’d been carefully sent to the best schools down South. “Grand Sorcerer?”

Lorre mentally snorted. He didn’t have a proper title, not any longer; if anyone did, it’d be Lily. His former lover, now wife of the brother of the King of Averene, was by default the last Grand Sorceress of the Middle Lands; she’d started up the old magician’s school again, welcoming and training apprentices. Lily always had been better with people. Lorre was not precisely welcome in Averene.

The young man said mildly, “I expect this is a test; I thought you would do that, you know,” as if he thought that Lorre might answer, as if they were having a conversation; and looked around. “I’m meant to find you, is that it?”

That was the opposite of it. Lorre on a good day barely recalled how to be human, and certainly wasn’t fit to interact with them. He’d lost his temper with the melodramatic poison-carrying prince, strolled invisibly onto the shore, asked the poison to turn itself into a sleeping draught, and then poured it into the idiot’s water flask. Then he’d found a passing ship and dumped the snoring body onto its deck. He hadn’t known the destination, and hadn’t bothered to find out.

His current young man was looking at driftwood. Lorre wondered why. He was getting a bit dizzy from leaning nearly upside down; he considered the sensation with some surprise. A swoop of gold swung into his eyes, distracting and momentarily baffling; he pushed the strands of his hair back with magic.

The young man found a stick, one that evidently met his standards for length and strength. He kept it in front of himself; he walked deliberately toward the cliff, and the illusion.

Oh. Clever. Avoiding traps. Testing a theory. Lorre found himself impressed, particularly when the young man watched the tip of the driftwood vanish and nodded to himself and then set rocks down to neatly mark the spot.

The island was not large, and the beach even smaller: a jut of cliff, a tangle of vines, a small lagoon and a trickle of water down to the shore. The illusion hid the cave-opening, but there wasn’t really anywhere else for someone to be; the young man figured that out within an hour or so of methodical exploration, and returned to the shore, and looked thoughtfully at the cliffs. He’d rolled up his sleeves and undone the ties of his shirt, given the heat; he had a vine-leaf in his hair, along with a hint of sweat.

Lorre, in some ways still very much human, couldn’t not stare. Something about those forearms under the rolled-up sleeves. That hint of well-muscled chest. The casual ripple of motion, broad shoulders, heroic thighs.

“I suppose,” the young man said, very wry, still looking at the cliff as if perfectly aware Lorre was watching, “I should introduce myself. I think I forgot to, earlier.”

I suppose you should, Lorre agreed silently. Since you’re here. Disrupting my life.

He ignored the fact that he’d had no real plans. Meditation. Quiet. A hope for calm.

A hint of dragon-fire slid through his veins, under his skin. A memory. Restless. Beckoning. Dangerous.

#sorceress #magician #my fic #original fic #gay romance #fantasy #redemption narratives!#only one bed! eventual sex!

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kikiyakno · 3 years

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✧ Little Star

Date → Some day during the week prior to the Masquerade event. Feb 2021 Setting → Kian’s Grandparent’s Home. Santa Monica, California Triggers → None, but does include descriptors of fish cutting so if that’s not your cup of tea... Mentioned → Yi Jae-Sang , Seong Sunwoo , Brandon Kelly, Song Minjoon , Maverick Maxwell, Yong Chul Synopsis → ★ Stars are born when large gas clouds collapse under gravity.

The invitation was weird, it was random, it definitely was fishier than whatever fish it was Kian’s grandmother was scaling on the cutting board, but Kian held the weirdrandomandveryfishy invitation close to his chest. This was it. This was exactly the shimmering gold ticket his family and their restaurant needed that would definitely turn everything around.

Except…Gyeonggi Grill was having no part of it.

Just about every eatery in Pico was on board, even the ones Kian didn’t particularly think should be serving food (looking at you Pete’s Palace) and the ones he personally considered to be competition. There was no haste in the flood of Facebook posts on his feed of businesses confirming and promoting their attendance in response to the mysterious invite. It was hard not to feel the clamoring excitement over a party at an art museum. The more he refreshed pages, the more he heard about people talking of it between deliveries, the more Kian felt that this was possibly the shining light for Gijis to be seen again. They would sign up, get paid for it, and best of all to serve new people ~rich people~ to ultimately bring business back in.

This big chance and his grandparents were radio silent. Kian couldn’t understand.

“Momo,” Kian whined loudly to his grandmother with a soft bounce on his heel. Even with his call the older woman didn’t look up from her work and feed into his melodramatic call. He huffed, the lack of response making his brows deepen further in frustration. “Momo, everyone who’s anyone will be there. They’re paying vendors to be there. This went out to a ton of people, probably everyone we know! Seriously! Everyone’s talking about it. This isn’t just something someone planned on the block, yakno. It’s a huge deal.”

The pressed enunciations of his words make Kian stop to take a breath. In consideration, he defaulted to speaking in Korean when he was at home and not surrounded by any of his friends. His grandparents had never requested that he do so, but on his own Kian decided that it was a respectful gesture. Just because English was his preferred language, forcing them to speak it with him didn’t seem fair. It takes him seconds to catch his breath before Kian starts up again.

“This party is exactly what we need, Momo. We can serve…..we can serve the soy garlic chicken! And you know people absolutely love our fried chicken. They talk about how good it is all the time! You know normal chicken places in America don’t double fry. And when they try, it sucks. That’s what makes ours so good! We can stand out with that! Guaranteed!”

His grandma still didn’t respond, head down and much busier in her re-work of separating scales from the fish. However, there was a soft smile that had made a way to her face now. The passion and sincerity in his voice tickled her ears, especially when a little twist of the accent Kian had arrived at her doorstep with slipped free. Her grandson spoke with fire but not the kind that sought to burn others. He also spoke awfully fast. Which wasn’t too out of the norm for her grandson. Years ago she noticed Jae, Sunwoo, and Kian all shared that oddity.

The lull in the room pressed in on Kian and he broke through it with a giant huff. He waited still, watching her work the knife with expertise. He bit his lip to stop the clench of his jaw and the tightness from impatience building in his throat.

“Mo—“ “Do you want to cut the fish? It’s your favorite before I clean it.”

Cut short mid breath, Kian blinked wide at the knife being placed aside for him. She still didn’t look at him, but stepped aside for him to join her. The words sitting on his tongue blew away on a sigh, obediently setting the invite away and beelining to the sink to wash his hands. He steps beside her to take the knife as he starts cutting through the skin. The silence lingers on, aside from the edge of the knife occasionally drags against the cutting board. Kian works as asked, but fast. His cuts are clean and precise despite having his conversation stalled.

“You aren’t listening to me.” He says in an undertone, looking down at his work as he goes. “I am, Ki-Hyun. I am listening.” Her voice is fond and silvery. Kian knew he was doing his cutting well. “Then why aren’t we joining everyone? Why aren’t we preparing for the event, Momo. We can serve food there.” “...” “They will give us money. They pay, it won’t be free yakno.” “...” “A lot of people will be there. A lot of people who will love our food like they used to.” “...” “Maybe it’ll be enough money to help us catch up, Momo.” “Kiki, please slow down and watch your cut.” “Please stop ignoring what I am saying.” Kian’s voice rises a few notches from his soft mutter. He pauses his cutting, noting how his clean work had suffered as he had tried to discuss. He evaluates briefly if his volume had gone too high to be seen as disrespectful, or if he could go on. Soon after he disregards his worry. He was tired of making these pleas and not getting answers. “Why are we not participating? Why aren’t we going?”

The sharpness in his tone takes her by surprise, but she is no stranger to determination. She can’t fight the look on her grandson’s face anymore, sighing herself before she gingerly responds.“...We can’t afford to close an entire day, Ki-Hyun. That’s a day’s business lost.”

“They’ll pay twice that! Maybe triple than what we make in a day!”

“We can’t guarantee that, Ki.”

“I can! It’s all over Facebook! Twitter! Other businesses saying they’ll be there and got paid! Remember when I made those accounts for us? People have tagged us—ah, mentioned us! They want to know if we’ll be there.” His voice brightens, contrasting her modulated one. His falters down instantly, however, seeing how her eyes widen then dampen in gentle confusion. Social media was still an entirely new world language for her. “Customers that are going to the party are asking about our food being there. They want us to be there too, Momo.” He defines for her with warmth. Kian can see her understand with his explanation, but she looks away from him before he can see a different turmoil in her eyes.

“We can’t gamble on something everyone else sees as lucrative. And...it would have to be more than a day to prepare for such a large number of people…that means we would have to close for longer to accommodate. Everyone on our staff would have to work longer.”

“Right, and then I’ll get Jae and DaeDae and Mason, and some of my new friends to help us all out and make things easier. And-and Minjoon loves being in the kitchen. If not, him and Chul have networks online too! I know they’d be super happy to help us find the hands we need. Maverick likes food trucks and stuff, he could talk to people! Oh, and Brandon might could help us with clothes and let us borrow something nice to go in!”

“Ki-Hyun.”

“He would find you a really nice dress. Remember I told you that’s what he does, yakno? He’s really good at it. Remember he called me from out of town? He was in a Fashion Show out of state! People love his stuff!”

“Ki-Hyun.”

“And you know Jae would probably take off all his jobs to help. DaeDae would help too. Buuttt he’s the only one we might have to pay with food, so—” “Ki-Hyun.” Kian stops. Moreso to take a breath than to listen.

“Ki-Hyun, we don’t even have enough in our inventory right now to do so.”

“Yes we do, we—” “Kiki.”

Kian blinked wide, and she simply shook her head against it. He hadn’t even finished! Each idea of his was shot down in seconds.

Excuses, excuses, excuses. These weren’t answers they were excuses. He didn’t notice how his hands had started trembling or how an ill taste of bitterness wrapped around his tongue.

“Maybe if you stopped preparing that sweet chili wing combo every Monday and Wednesday night, we would have enough.”

“Kian!”

“Momo, if Sunwoo was going to come back he would’ve by now. I told you that. But you still do that every night for two days a week. It’s been a month. That’s four weeks. Combos come with six pieces, but you give him two extra. So that’s about thirty-two pieces of meat we’ve had to throw out in the last month because of one person that could’ve fed five or more people.”

Kian knew he had crossed a line and he could see it in her face. He braced for anything, but she only fired right back at him.“And I will keep making what I want for him because those are his nights he works late. It’s too late and dangerous for him to stop anywhere else!”

“You don’t get it. He doesn’t CARE!” Exploding, Kian lets knife go to drop onto the table as his world suddenly blurs. “He doesn’t care! He-He doesn’t care and he won’t come back! They aren’t coming back. Cause they don’t care. They don’t care. And YOU don’t care!” Kian steps back, immediately remorseful but a throaty sob obstructs his apology. The busy pattern on his grandma’s shirt melds into one in the watery world. “You don’t care! You won’t let me help. You don’t think I know we’re behind! I work because I know we’re in trouble. But you and Grandpa keep...trying to HIDE it and not make me worry. But that just makes it worse! I worry anyways! I’m 27 now and you’re getting older, but I see you work every single day. Then you come home, tired, but then for ME you pretend we’re doing okay when we’re not. We’re NOT!! No matter what we do it’s not enough. I keep working and working and working and working but it’s just not enough! It’s not enough for you to stop pretending like I can’t help! It’s not enough for my friends to feeling like they don’t have to baby me and take care of me and pay for me to eat all the time! It’s not enough for me to ever see you stop working, or rest well at night, or for us to think about taking road trips like we used to or flying away on vacation!” Kian stops to wipe his face with his sleeves in a rush, face wet as though he had been standing in rain. He pushes his face into them to have his cry, only to feel his chest heave in harder when in the brief darkness he only imagines the glittering, serene lights of Paris. He shuts his eyes tighter and tears his face away in a hurry, feeling the accumulation of months of his world caving in on itself finally collapsing on top of him.

“I-I’m tired, halmeoni. I’m tired of us pretending. This is our one chance and you say no! Why are you giving it up so easily? Why are you giving up?! Wh-wh-why am I the only one who cares? N-N-No one cares! No one cares but me!”

Kian feels like he’s going to give way again before strong arms pull him close from behind. He breaks regardless, knowing now that at some point his Grandfather had come into the room. At this point Kian’s grief commanded his outburst.

“I’m sorry i’m not Kyung-soo. I’m sorry i’m not good like Kyung-soo so you could finally rest and have plenty of money and friends and nice clothes like he does. If I wasn’t here your family would love you and send you the money you need and you wouldn’t be dealing with this. They won’t even help you because of me. It’s my fault. I’m so sorry we can’t be happy and enjoy things like normal people. I’m so—!”

Kian felt warm hands take his cheeks and his body be squeezed harder. Momo had been hushing him and only at her touch had he quieted. He didn’t know how long she had been trying to, but his Grandfather’s face was buried heavy into his shoulder. Momo smiled, relieved to see that she had gotten through to him, but Kian could finally see her face was just as wet—and tired—as his. As familiar as she was to determination, her heart ached to see overwhelming frustration cripple the brightest heart she knew. She could be angry, she could be upset, but while Kian said one thing, she heard another. Hopes, wishes, blame, and shame but most of all that passion and sincerity. Yes, it hurt to be the one hit by his fire this time, but this detonation of Kian’s was different than all the others she seen before it. She swiped over his cheeks with her thumbs, still working on a smile despite her own tears.

"Don’t let go of any of those dreams of yours, little one. We will figure this out just like we’ve figured out everything else. Keep hoping. It’ll be alright. I promise.”

#— self para.#[ :) ]

13 notes · View notes

junietc · 4 years

Text

car rides with you - peter parker

peter parker x reader

pairing: peter parker/spiderman x reader

word count: 6567

warning: swearing, some asshole who doesn’t know how to respect women, and fluffffff

a/n: i’ve had this in my drafts for way too long so i decided to finish it before i forgot it ever existed. its really long but i hope you’ll enjoy a one shot with our favourite little peter benjamin parker :)

send in requests and share your love ~

If you were being honest, it wasn’t like you needed Peter to drive you to and from school each day. You had options. You could take the bus or ask your dad to pick you up or even walk. But having a personal chauffeur didn’t hurt, and if he was so nice as to offer it, then how could you say no?

Plus, it was on his way. Sort of. It was only a detour of about a block; maybe less a detour and more an alternate route? Either way, his apartment complex was hardly two minutes away. Five minutes to walk, three with your bike, six if you hobble over with a tweaked ankle.

This was a route you’ve been intimately familiar with since you became best friends in the seventh grade. Back when your hair was barely past your ears after a platinum blonde mishap (you still immediately dyed it green after lobbing off half of it) and Peter was wearing the same hideous Star Wars sweater every day. Somehow, both of you believed these fashion choices would help improve your social status.

Both of you were delusional.

Luckily, by ages sixteen (you) and seventeen (Peter, by default), you’d come to your senses. Sure, Peter’s penchant for sweaters persisted – why would any one person need five of what was basically the same sweater? – but you grew your hair back out and kept its inoffensive natural colour. And neither of you wore shirts with puns on them. Not anymore.

Earlier this year, back when you were still sophomores, Peter passed his driver’s test. Now with a full license and his aunt’s old sedan, he’s taken the habit of waking up the whole neighbourhood with his obnoxious honking.

Okay, maybe not the entire neighbourhood. Really, just you.

Still, today was no different.

“Hey, Peter,” you yelled out as you swung the door open, “How about shutting the fuck up?”

You shoved your feet into your shoes and scrambled out, backpack dangling off the crook of your elbow and burnt toast between your teeth as you try to shut the door. Peter leaned across to push open the passenger door so that you could throw your things into the backseat. Papers flew out of the half-zipped bag and spilled onto the floor.

“For the expletives, I’m afraid I’ll have to only give you a three-star passenger rating,” Peter quipped.

You frowned deeply, pulling the seatbelt. The mechanism got stuck, and you had to pull it out a few more times again. Peter just grinned at you, clearly taking joy in your glares.

“So, ready for the chem test?” he asked, shifting the gears.

You rolled your eyes, knowing very well that you had sent him a distressed voice message at four in the morning of you crying, saying how you were going to fail, but decided to respond as nicely as possible. “Fuck off.”

He chuckled. He pulled up to the intersection, slowing down but not stopping at the sign.

You mock gasped. “Wow, illegal. Imagine if there were cops. I’m going to have to give you two stars. I can’t have my Uber driver potentially getting arrested.”

He sighed, shoving you with his free hand. You almost scolded him for not keeping both hands on the wheel (one star!), but he began talking before you could. “You should know, that if I ever was sent to jail, it would never be for something as lame as not stopping at a stop sign”

You snorted before rolling your eyes. “Oh? What would it be for then? Pirating video games?”

“Exactly.” He winked exaggeratedly; you shoved his face to focus back on the road. You looked down at the charred toast, which had been sprinkling crumbs all over your lap. It was far from appetizing, but your stomach growled, and you decided to scarf it down – it was that or no breakfast at all.

Peter laughed at the wince you tried to stomach what was basically a brick of carbon. (Honestly, he laughed at your expense a lot. Some friend.) “I really don’t know why you haven’t just started waking up earlier. I mean, I pick you up at the same time every day and-”

“Okay dad. I’ll start waking up earlier,” you lied.

“I hope you know that I know, you’re lying.”

You flipped him off.

-----

Lunch seemed to be the only time that you and MJ ever got to hang out at school, so you took pride in making the most of your conversations.

The two of you shared a laugh and through your peripheral vision, you saw Ned and Peter waving at you before coming to sit down. “So, what are we talking about?” Ned asked as you turned to face them with a smile.

“Where MJ is going to hide my body after she kills me,” you notice her crack a smile as Ned and Peter both give you strange looks. “I was thinking maybe throw me in a river, but she thinks that burying me twenty feet underground would make it harder for the cops to find.”

The two boys looked at you apprehensively as MJ chuckled as you grinned cheerfully. “Should I be concerned?” Peter asked before you all laughed.

“Anyways. I was thinking of finally taking my driver’s test. I decided might as well get it over with no?” MJ and Ned both nodded at your suggestion, MJ even mumbling something among the lines of “finally”. Peter on the hand looked, well, skeptical.

“You want to take it now? Out of the blue? Why? I thought you wanted to wait until you had a job,” he questioned.

After taking another sip of the juice box you managed to steal from Ned, you shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I might as well get it over with. I mean, it’s been well over six months since my written test and I’ve been practicing enough with you and my dad, so I should be fine.”

Peter nodded, though a slight frown still prominent on his face. The conversation steered over to a completely different topic when Ned brought up the chemistry test causing you to pretend to bawl and everyone to laugh.

After lunch had ended, you said your goodbyes to Ned and MJ as you and Peter stopped at your locker. You were in the midst of grabbing your book when he sighed heavily, causing you to stare at him. “You know if you really wanted me to stop driving you, you could have just said so,” his voice was offended as you scoffed.

“What? Where would you get that idea from idiot?”

Huffing slightly, he shrugged, “I don’t know, maybe when you said you wanted to finally get your license.”

“Are you serious? I’ve been meaning to get my license for the past few months you dummy. Plus, I can’t count on you to drive me everywhere. You’re busy with your own life, you know with that Stark internship and everything. Not to mention, you’re still going to have to drive me to school, since I don’t even have a car,” you roll your eyes at the boy.

A light smile started to tug on his lips. “Alright. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t trying to get rid of me,” he joked as you snorted in response.

“Oh trust me, I’ve been trying since the day I met you,” Peter pouts as you flicked him in the forehead. “Stop with that face. You know I suck up to how cute each time,” his cheeks tinged a pinkish hue as you ruffled his hair and laughed.

“O-Oh. Yeah, haha. Sorry,” he murmured as you started to walk in the opposite direction. He caught up with you before heading over to English – which truly was your worst subject – and sitting next to each other.

Peter fiddled with his pencil for the most of class while you aggressively took notes, wishing that Mr. Petersons would slow down and breathe.

“Alright class. That’s it for today but if everyone could just pick their partners for the project and try and get started over the weekend, that would be great,” as he dismissed everyone, you and Peter turned to each other, giving a silent acknowledgement that you were each other’s partner.

Heading out of the classroom, you and Peter both went your separate ways. “See you after school!” you waved before heading to History.

History was blur of numbers, years and dead people that you were going to have to remember for an upcoming test, so you were thankful that the clock had finally read 3:00. Your teacher finally dismissed you, causin you to rush to the parking lot, seeing Peter already sitting in the front seat. “Hey there Parker,” you knocked on the window as he smiled and unlocked the door.

“Hey, how was history?” rolling your eyes, you told him about the dumb test you were going to have to study for. He laughed as he buckled his seatbelt, “well at least you have the weekend to study for it. Speaking of which. When do you want to meet to work on the English project?”

Sighing slightly at the reminder that you had other things you also had to work on, you bit your lip. “Are you cool with Saturday? I’ll just walk over, maybe at like three or four,” Peter nodded as he started the car.

“Sounds good to me.”

------

Swinging around Queens was always a nice break for Peter, seeing all of the buildings and feeling almost weightless was a nice distraction from all of his studies and duties but he always seemed to forget the time when he was doing so.

Cue Peter – well Spiderman I guess – hurriedly swinging back to his apartment when he received a text from you saying you were at his door. “Shit, shit, shit!” he swore, finally reaching his window and climbing in.

As he changed to some regular clothing, May’s voice echoed throughout the little apartment, talking to you as footsteps approached. “He’s been in his room for quite a while. I’m not sure what he’s been up to,” Peter was frantically trying to search for a shirt in his mess of a room when the footsteps got closer. “I have some muffins I baked earlier on the counter, feel free to have one if you get hungry. I’ll be off for a bit so just call if you –” May’s voice seems to be getting closer when she suddenly opened the door, revealing you staring at him, neck immediately snapping to turn the other direction. Peter tried covering himself with a pillow as May immediately said she had to go and left you both alone, very uncomfortable.

You stood there, unsure of what to do and more so, where to look. Though obviously you looked away and allowed Peter to have his privacy finding a shirt, you couldn’t help but think of his shirtless figure. Since when did he start working out? ‘When did he get those abs? Is this the same Peter that literally dropped me during a drama performance last year?’ you thought to yourself, cheeks tinging pink as Peter finally put on a shirt.

“Hey, um – sorry about that. I was just –”

“Nope! It’s alright. We can just forget this ever happened,” you rushed to say, shaking your head.

Peter blushed before nodding. “Right. Let’s just erase the last two minutes from our brain.”

You swung your legs as you sat on his bed. “You weren’t doing anything weird right? Because I know that guys - “

“That’s not what I was doing! I was just changing,” he shook his head as you laughed. “Asides from that. Do you want to start working on the project?” You nodded as the two of you got to work.

– a few hours later –

You were both hard at work, basically finished the first two parts of the project, leaving only the last section left when you flopped onto Peter’s bed dramatically. “I’m so exhausted,” you whined, as Peter chuckled.

“We only have one more part to do and we’re practically done the project, so do you want to finish it now?” Peter asked, still typing in his laptop.

You pursed your lips, pondering on the idea of that but shook your head ultimately. “Nah. I’m tired. Plus, we’ve been working our asses off the past three hours. I just need to breathe.”

Peter laughed at your dramatics before he asking question. “Do you wanna watch a movie?”

Obviously agreeing to a break in any form, you nodded eagerly and headed over to the living room. You managed to steal a blanket from his bed and bundled yourself up as Peter turned on the television. “So, what are we watching?” he asked, flipped through the collection of old DVD’s.

“Can we watch Star Wars?” he pleaded as you rolled your eyes, this was probably the third time this month he wanted to watch Star Wars, but you agreed to it anyways.

“Fine, just don’t be annoying about it again.”

------

The weekend seemed to breeze by with you desperately trying to study for the history test, and with only a few mental breakdowns and a couple thousand replays of your favourite song, you were ready.

Obviously, you severely underestimated how cruel Ms. Gail could have possibly been and left the classroom wanting to punch yourself, or her, in the face.

Luckily you didn’t have to endure another class seeing as the day was over and you could get home to your bed to cry in private. But before that of course, you were forced to see Peter’s face.

A light smile was etched on his face as you settled in the car. “So how was the –”

“Don’t bring it up. I am already debating whether or not I should throw myself off a building,” you groaned, leaning your head back on the seat. Peter laughed before trying to reassure you that it really couldn’t have been that bad, but you responded with, “no it really was. I honestly think I only got one or two answers right.”

Trying to raise your spirits, an idea popped in his head. “Do you want to get sandwiches at Mr. Delmar’s? Maybe that’ll lighten up your mood,” he suggested as a bright grin formed on your face. As devastated as you were, you were sure that a full stomach would make everything better. “Alright let’s go.”

Obviously, parking was a nightmare in central Queens, so, you decided it would be easier to walk there instead. The two of you headed to the small corner shop, making light conversation. After opening the door to the store, the two greeted Mr. Delmar, Peter snatching a packet of gummies worms and you going directly to pet Murph, Mr. Delmar’s cat.

“Hey Murph! How’s my cutie doing?” he purred in response before you walked over to the cash with Peter. “Hey Mr. Delmar! Business running smoothly?”

He smiled at you before answering. “Of course. I’ve got my two most frequent costumers keeping me in business,” you and Peter laughed before ordering your sandwiches, paying and heading off.

You walked back to the school and got back in Peter’s car, eating your sandwiches in the school parking lot. The two of you conversed, making up dumb scenarios and silly topics for a while. Peter nearly choked of laughter as you tried to defend Tik-Tok.

“Not all of Tik-Tok is thirst traps okay! Maybe yeah there’s a weird subsection of it, but it really depends on the algorithm! Most of the users are sane – ish,” you argued as Peter shook his head.

“I really don’t get it. And somehow you stay up until morning watching them! Didn’t you do that when Vine was still around?” he took a pause, a dramatic gasp escaping from his lips. “You’re not saying what I think you’re saying are you?”

You placed on a hand on your chest in slight offence. “No! What? Listen, I’m not saying that Tik-Tok is better than Vine, don’t get me wrong but –”

“But what? Tell me?” he raised a brow at you, suspicious as to which team your truly were on.

You shook your head laughing before punching him on the side of his arm. “You’re such a piss off Parker. Hey, should we get going? It’s getting late,” Peter looked at the time on his phone before nodding, taking a final bite of his sandwich before starting the car.

“Oh, shoot you’re right,” you smugly flipped your hair, as he rolled his eyes.

“Aren’t I always?”

----

“You said yes?” Peter demanded, trying to keep up with you as you walked to your locker.

Sighing as you rummage through your locker you answer, “Yeah I said yes. Noah is a good guy and quite frankly, I don’t see why it would even matter to you?”

“You said that you would think about it!”

Turning to face him as you shut your locker closed, you rolled your eyes. “That was nearly a week ago and I’ve thought about it since then. Besides, it’s not like it’s that big of a deal. It’s just one date.”

“You see that’s where it starts!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation. “It’s just a first date but then it’s a second and a third and soon he’s your boyfriend and he’s the one driving you to school and everywhere and then, where am I?”

You shook your head laughing slightly at the brunette. “Would you calm down Peter? You’re getting way too ahead of yourself for the first part. And yeah, maybe it’ll be more than one date but trust me you can keep driving me to school. Also we’ve been best friends since middle school, I wouldn’t just ditch you when I got boyfriend,” he seemed to calm down, nodding slowly at the words you were saying but he knew it was more than just being allowed to drive you to school. “I’ll see you around okay?” you smiled before heading off to meet up with Noah, who was standing with a group of his friends.

Peter’s smile faded away shortly as he watched Noah wrap his arm around your shoulder. He was too busy thinking of different scenarios to notice Ned had come up beside him or the fact that you had slapped Noah’s arm away. “Hey Peter. What are you looking – oh. Sorry man,” Ned tried to console Peter, but the words seemed to pass his mind. Sighing, Ned tried to pat his shoulder. “I mean, it is kind of your fault.”

“Excuse me?” the words seemed to catch his attention as he turned around to face his best friend.

Ned shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets. “Hey not trying to be rude but maybe if you hadn’t chickened out into asking her out, you could’ve been the one dating her,” Peter stared at his friend, slightly hurt but also aware that everything he was saying was right.

“Yeah, maybe if I had.”

He couldn’t help but look at you wistfully, his heart almost aching at the idea of you going out with anyone else but him but at this point, what could he really do?

Waving bye to Ned, Peter headed off into his car and drove home since you were already going with Noah on your date. Once he got into his apartment, he saw May and smiled. “Hey Pete, how was your day?” tucking his hands in his sweater pocket he sighed slightly.

“It was okay, I guess. Erm – I’m gonna work on my assignment in the library. I’ll be back in a bit,” he said, heading off to his room to grab a few things.

May shouted from in the kitchen, “alright! I’ll be heading off to grab a few things. Just be back before dinner!” he grabbed his suit and tried to get some fresh air to distract himself.

----

A month had passed, and you and Noah were happily dating, much to the dismay of Peter, who constantly tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his heart every time you two would display physical affection, but it was whatever.

You got in his car and buckled your seat belt without a word to Peter. You were tired of schoolwork as you always were, so you weren’t as talkative as you usually were. Slumping into the chair and sighing heavily Peter stared at you.

“Everything okay?”

You looked at him surprised, nodding. “Of course! I’m just really exhausted. Got a lot of work, that’s all.” You sighed, looking at the text on your phone. “Hey, we should get going. May’s probably wondering where you are, and I have a date with Noah so I can’t be late.”

The moment that Noah’s name was mentioned, Peter mentally rolled his eyes but nodded and started to drive again.

He dropped you off at your place before texting his aunt May that he would be heading over to the library to work. He drove over and got to the library, trying to find a place to sit.

After finding a seat, he pulled out his laptop and worked for a while, maybe a few hours or so before heading back home. May still wasn’t back and Peter really needed some air, so he put on the suit before leaving through his window and swinging around. It was a nice distraction as he watched the sun slowly start to set, dealing with a few petty crimes around the neighbourhood. He was about to call it a day when he heard a shout coming from someone.

“Hey! Get off me!” the voice sounded awfully familiar and as soon as he realized who it was, Peter’s stomach dropped. “I said get off!” you were shouting from about a block away, trying to keep a man away from you.

“Oh, come on, you look all nice and dolled up. Why won’t you just –” the man started before you started to attack him with your bag. Sure, you weren’t scared of him, but you were really hoping he would catch a clue and leave you alone for the rest of the night. You were tired and your feet hurt, and the sun was setting so you really didn’t want to be walking alone back to your place in the dark. You’d forgotten your phone like a dumbass in your room, so there really weren’t that many options. “You bitch! I can understand why you’re walking all alone! I wouldn’t want to be near such a whore either!” the words sank into your skin as you made a disgusted face at the man.

“Listen if you could please just leave me alone it would be –” as you placed your hands up trying to be defensive, the man grabbed onto your wrists and started to pull on you. “Stop! What are you –?”

“She said stop.”

Your head whipped around, and you saw Spiderman hanging from a web. You watched the man smirk and laugh for a minute, his hands still holding onto your wrists. “And what are you gonna do? From what I’ve heard about you Spiderman is that you’re just a kid. Don’t think that I’d fear a –”

Before he could finish his sentence, Spiderman had knocked him cold with a single blow to the face. He turned to you and tried to make sure you were alright. “Wow, I wasn’t expecting him to get knocked out. Are you alright miss?” you nodded, trying to massage your wrists, damn that guy had a firm grip. You glared at his lying figure, still holding onto your wrists. Spiderman’s eyes, or well, you couldn’t really see his eyes through his mask but whatever, moved to your wrists. “Are you sure? Here, let me see.”

He took your wrists gently, examining the potential bruises and making sure you were okay. You smiled before taking back your wrists. “I’m alright, honestly. Thank you for your help, even though I didn’t really need it,” you stated, causing him to scoff.

“Um what? From what I saw, he was holding you and you couldn’t move,” he crossed his arms making you snort.

“That’s because I was trying to reason with him before kicking him in the balls,” you mentioned, causing Spiderman to choke in response. “Kind of stupid that guy. I mean my legs weren’t restrained. But whatever. Thank you though. I do actually appreciate it,” you smiled and was about to walk off before he kept talking.

“Why are you walking alone? I mean it’s getting late, no? Why not call someone to drive you home?” he asked making you stop and turn around.

You placed your hand on your hip and shrugged. “I don’t know. I just thought it would be nice to get some fresh air so I just decided to walk. But I’m starting to think I should just take the bus for the rest of the way back.”

“I could swing you back?” Spiderman’s offer was a surprising one, considering how this was your first time encountering the hero. Though it was a bit skeptical, you agreed to it, wanting to go home. “Just hold on tight alright?” he asked as you nodded, latching yourself to him, arms wrapped around his neck. You heard his breath hitch slightly as you wrapped your legs around his waist but ignored it as he shot a web up and started to swing.

You screamed loudly, the adrenaline of being so high up and swing fast soon kicking in. “Do you even know where we’re going?” you shouted, the wind smacking you in the face. You rolled your eyes before giving your address to him and soon landing safely at your windowsill. Thankfully, your widow was still unlocked so you lifted it up and slid in. Before he left you tapped his shoulder. “Thanks Spiderman.”

“Not a problem. Just being your friendly neighbourhood Spiderman.”

He left soon, leaving you in your room, bored. You walked over to your desk and saw your phone there, a bunch of texts from MJ asking you how your date went so you went and responded. After binging a bit on Netflix, you decided to get ready for bed, knowing Peter was going to come honking at the door the next morning.

----

“Wow, you’re early for once,” Peter joked as you sat in his car. You rolled your eyes at him, before turning on the radio. “How was your, umm, date yesterday?” he asked, clearly uncomfortable.

You raised an eyebrow, confused as to why he had suddenly taken interest into your date with Noah. “It was the same as usual I guess,” you shrug. “Why?”

“You walked home last night?” he huffed, causing you to readjust your position. You awkwardly nodded, because you knew he was going to go into his “you shouldn’t be walking home alone late at night” speech.

“Yeah,” you admitted, as he stopped at the red light. “How did you know –”

He kept his eyes on the road before speaking. “Why didn’t you tell me?” you pursed your lips, shrugging once more. “I went to bed pretty early for once. I just forgot about it, I guess. Sorry,” you tried to apologize yet Peter’s face stayed stern.

“Why didn’t Noah drop you off?”

You were shocked at his tone but answered him, trying to keep your own temper. “He said he had to go somewhere once we were done the movie. He apologized for your information. He’s got more in his life then just me.”

“No one goes on a date with someone and just leaves because they were ‘busy’,” he argued. You rolled your eyes at his behaviour.

“Would you cut it out? It really wasn’t that big of a deal,” you snapped, crossing your arms and turning to look outside of the window.

Peter turned to you and glared. “Not that big of a deal? I heard some guy tried to attack you,” he retorted, causing you to turn back and face him, confused as to how he knew.

“Who told you?”

“That doesn’t matter!” his tone was harsher, making you wince at the volume. He took a breath and regained his composure. “I just can’t believe Noah let you go home alone. Why didn’t you take the bus?”

You were getting tired of his protective behavior, sighing. “Oh my god Peter. I’m not a helpless child, I can walk home on my own! For your information I didn’t have my bus pass. Besides it was hardly dark!” your attempts to reason with him fell on deaf ears.

“There were so many other things you could have done though!”

“Like what?”

“You could have called me!”

“You were busy! You have a life that’s not taking care of me twenty-four seven! I don’t want to have to rely on you for every fucking moment of my life!” you retaliated, breathing heavily. “Besides, I didn’t even have my phone.”

“You could have –”

“Could have what Parker?” you were sick of him treating you as if you were incapable of doing anything. “I get that you’re just trying to look after me, but I can handle things on my own!”

“Can you? Because it seems like the one time you are on your own you get yourself in situations like yesterdays!”

“You think that it was my fault? You think that some guy trying to assault me is my fault? Are you fucking serious right now? You know what, I’ll just get Noah to drive me home tonight seeing as you clearly don’t trust me walk home on my own, because I don’t want you to drive me anymore. Don’t wait for me after school,” and with those words, the car had come to a stop and you slammed his car door, leaving Peter to slap himself across the forehead at his stupid mistake. Groaning to himself, he placed his head on the steering wheel.

“What the fuck did I just do?”

------

It had been two weeks since you and Peter’s argument and neither of you had spoken to each other since. There had been awkward moments where you two would cross paths, like if you were hanging out with MJ and Ned, but you made it seems as if it were your sworn duty to ignore the boy. You sat with Noah and his friends at lunch and either walked home or had your dad pick you up.

That was all until one fateful night.

It was maybe eleven, possibly even midnight, and Peter had just gotten back from patrol. It was boring that night. Nothing happened, maybe a guy flashing people down the street but asides from that, the city was calm.

He had climbed back into his room and sat down on his bed, laying up at the ceiling. He hadn’t done much the past few weeks since he didn’t have you to bother him with, so his life was boring. He laid there for a few more minutes before his phone buzzed.

He was quick to get up and grab his phone, wow addicted much, and his eyes squinted when reading the name, making sure they weren’t deceiving him.

you: hey

you: do you think you could come over?

Peter: ofc! On my way right now

you: thanks :)

The ride to your house was short and before he knew it, you were sitting beside him, awkwardly staring forewords. “Can we drive? Anywhere is fine,” you mumbled under your breath, latching on your seatbelt.

Peter nodded and started to drive off. He glanced to look at you a couple times, watching as you anxiously played with the sleeves of your sweater. Maybe ten minutes had passed, and you motioned for Peter to park the car on the side of a quiet street.

“Me and Noah broke up.”

Peter looked at her surprised. “Oh. Do you want to talk about – “

“Do you still have those movies you downloaded on your phone?” you asked quickly, avoiding his previous question. He nodded as you smiled. “Can we watch one of them in the back? I really just don’t want to think about anything.”

Peter smiled at the girl. “Anything for you.”

So, the two of you sat in the backseats of Peter’s old sedan, wrapped up in an old blanket and watching trashy romcoms together.

And it was perfect.

-----

The two of you had finally made amends after the incident and nearly a month had passed until the two of you were working on a project in Peter’s apartment.

While Peter was vigour sly typing up the document, you laid on his bed, playing with various Knick knacks he had scattered around his room.

“Peter?” He hummed his response before you continued. “What’s the first thing that comes to your mind when you think about me?”

“Sorry?” He paused his writing, confused at why you had suddenly decided to go into such a deep question.

You sat up for a second, repeating the same question. “What do you think of when you think of me?” you collapsed back down onto your back and laid your head on your arms. “Go on. Answer it?”

He took a second to think about it before answering: “Annoying.”

“You think I’m annoying?” you deadpanned, rolling your eyes at his childish answer.

“Undoubtedly. Every day I wonder how far I can shoot you into space,” he joked as you threw one of his pillows at his head. He caught it with ease, turning on his chair to face you. “Why are you asking? Did someone say something?” he asked defensively.

You shook your head, playing with some strands of hair, braiding them carelessly. “No. I was just kind of sitting in my room earlier today and stumbled over a Tik Tok where a girl asked people what they thought of when they thought of her, so I just wondered about it. I asked MJ and she said that I reminded her of comfort and that one time we plotted to kill Ms. Gail,” Peter looked at you with a cocked brow as you shrugged. “I mean, at least her answer wasn’t as rude as yours.”

“Oh, come on. It was just a joke,” he tried to reason with you as you laughed. He left his desk and sat at the bottom of his bed beside you, taking a second to think about it. “I guess the first thing I think about, when I think about you, is cars.”

“Like the Pixar movie?”

Smacking you with the pillow he was holding, he rolled his eyes, “and you wonder why I said annoying?”

“You love me,” you stated, as Peter sighed.

“No, but like cars. More so car rides,” he stopped himself, thinking of all the memories you have made in the car rides you had been on. “Like, I guess car rides with you are what I think of. Like how I pick you up and drop you every day. And all the stupid conversations we have, or watching you trying to put yourself together in the mornings when I pick you up. I think about the arguments we have gotten into, the tears that we shed, the terrible jokes you made, the movies we watched in the back of the car on your phone late at night,” a smile tugged at his lips as he thought: ‘It’s where I fell in love with you.’ He leaned his head back on the mattress of the bed. “I guess it’s just, our special thing.”

You smiled to yourself at his answer, as you laid on your back staring at the ceiling. “That was a solid answer Parker,” you teased him. You slid down the bed, so that half of you was lying upside down and turned to face him.

“Yeah well my real answer is just annoying,” he laughed before turning to face you. You both hadn’t realized how close you were to each other’s faces. Your nose was almost touching his as you stared into his soft brown eyes.

Neither of you moved.

Just the sound of silence and your heartbeat going haywire.

“Do you want to know what comes to my mind when I think of you?” you asked smiling. “I think of how many times you’ve been there for me, showing up at midnight with your old sedan and your hair a mess. I think of how you always seem to be there no matter how pissed off I am at you or the world. I think of your cute face and how you always manage to make me smile. I think of how much I really love you Peter Parker. How your dorky face manages to be my entire world.”

Peter’s mind seemed to unravel as the words left your mouth. “You, love me?”

A light scoff seemed to escape your lips before you responded. “I do. Have been since sophomore year, but if you don’t feel the same, don’t feel obligated to answer. I know it’s really-“

His lips sealed over yours before another word could have been spoken. His hair tickled your eyes as you two got closer together, his hand placed on the back of your neck. The two of you parted, your eyes staring longingly into his. The two of you shared a pair of love sick smiles.

“I guess that means you love me too?”

“You have no idea.”

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #peter parker fluff #spiderman #spiderman x reader #tom holland #peter parker imagine #peter parker oneshot #marvel imagines #marvel #Avengers #peter parker imagines #spiderman homecoming #spiderman far from home #peter parker blurb

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kobolds-top-hat · 3 years

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Session Update

So we’re in the town, we went back after the monster guy got magicked away. Next day we decide “This river has been out of water for awhile we should go solve that” and we start following the river. I, having read many warrior cats, make a joke “This is where we fight the beavers for the lake water” and then there’s ACTUALLY beavers with a giant dam. These beavers are special though. They’re the size of horses (Big enough to decapitate Kobold if he got bit fun fact, the dm actually told me they counted on me being in stealth because I’ve yet to fail a stealth roll). So Irenar decides to use magic missile on them. Their player thinks magic missile will blow up the dam. But it’s a missile in the “thrown projectile” way instead of the “exploding rocket” way and so it doesn’t destroy the dam, and just upsets the beavers. The beavers are, of course, not happy about being attacked and charge us. So we start fighting them, and Kobold panics a bit and defaults back to the first spell he learned, color spray. Which as you can imagine is not the best spell for firing into a group of beavers and your party. Luckily, instead of color spray, he casts guiding bolt. He doesn’t actually KNOW that spell, which is worrying, but he’s kinda in the middle of something so he can’t think too hard about that. He hides. There’s some more fighting, Leona summons some weird tentacle magic, Val discovers the insides of the beavers are rotting by killing one, irenar keeps having wild magic surges, which cause one of the beavers to heal to full health twice, and ALMOST caused all the cloth in the area (So the clothes Val was wearing and possibly Irenar I don’t actually know what her armor is like) to turn invisible, but it was one off the magic table, instead all our coins teleport on top of one beaver. The beavers do this weird thing where they blur and then you get bit without them seeming to have moved and their bites are poisonous when that happens, I don’t remember the fight too well I’m sorry. And the fight is very abruptly ended when Kobold sprints to the dam, and destroys it with shatter. Luckily, the only ones who fail their dex save to not get swept away are the two living beavers. Also luckily we got our money back on the way back to town (We used the river to get there). At that point, we run into Marcel, who invited us to some fancy party earlier. (His whole deal SEEMS to be that he got a bunch of money off artificial silver (Which has a lot of magic uses) and now he invites poor people to parties, buys stuff from them, hires local musicians, argues with other nobles about that stuff) and he’s like “I was informed you guys were travelers and might not have fancy clothes, so I’ve brought tailors to help” so we all get fancy dresses (Yes even Kobold, he’s fine with this. He doesn’t really know anything about fancy clothing and what kinds are for what, and even if he DID he’d be like “Gender roles kinda cringe” and done it anyways) and then we go to the party, it’s all fancy, there’s lots of food, Kobold knows what none of it is, Irenar dances for four hours, Leona eats an entire baby pig (It was cooked, not a live one dw), Kobold learns that Guiding bolt is a cleric spell, which is weird because he’s not a cleric, and then we all black out for... unknown reasons... and that’s where the session ended

#dnd #d&d #ttrpg campaign #rpg #ttrpg #Dungeons and Dragons #not a meme #summary #5e #Kobold #val #irenar #Leona #koboldstophat #The SilverMist Campaign

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ecoamerica · 19 days

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youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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heyitsani · 3 years

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I Keep My Eyes Wide Open All the Time Chapter 1

Word Count: 3001

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Major character death (eventually), Mentions of past rape/non-con (eventually)

Pairing: Jason Todd/Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne/Jon Kent (mentioned)

Summary: With the potion to restore his memories, Damian is given the choice. Remember or remain ignorant.

Notes: I decided to take the plunge and post the follow-up to When You Move I Move in a chapter story instead of just one massive piece. It’ll be seven chapters total. The first and last will be in present time, the five between will be the past.

If you have not read the other story, this one won’t really make much sense. So you can read that here: WYMIM

You can also read it on AO3 here

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The flight from Gotham to the small airport in the depths of the UK had been uneventful and Damian had welcomed the time to sort out his thoughts. His father had reacted strangely when he had told the man he needed the jet to take him to where Richard and Todd were currently staying, at their request. He had even gone as far as to call Richard and confirm that he had indeed called Damian and asked him to come.

Years had gone by and yet his father still had little trust in his word. It was tiresome and he honestly didn’t know how to right it.

At least Richard believed him.

And Jon. That was enough, he supposed.

But the flight over had allowed him to think of all the possible reasons as to why his presence was being requested above all the other members of the family. And while he felt honored, he was still curious as to why. Above all that, though, was the fact that after months of secrecy and awkward encounters between Richard and Father, Richard was finally going to reveal what it was Fate had shown him and Todd.

“We are about to land, Mr. Wayne. Shall I take your refreshments?” The attendant looked down at the tray that held a cup of tea and a few untouched crackers. Nodding his acceptance, Damian thanked the man as he cleared everything up and headed to the employee area. A glance out the window of the plane showed vast amounts of green. Trees and fields as far as the eye could see. It certainly was a pleasant country.

“We will be making our descent now, Mr. Wayne. Please make sure your belt is fastened and your belongings secure,” the captain’s voice came over the speaker and Damian followed the instructions before he went back to looking out the window.

What was so special about this place?

He couldn’t see anything significant. Even if something about it seemed almost familiar.

Shaking that train of thought away, he looked forward as the wheels hit the tarmac and the plane slowly came to a halt.

“Is there anything else we can do for you sir? Your father told us to remain stationed until you were ready to return.”

Standing, Damian smoothed out the wrinkles in his slacks before grabbing his bag. “No, I believe I have everything I need. Thank you for the pleasant flight. I will call the captain when I have an idea about a timeline,” he addressed the man, who gave him a smile and a nod. “Do you both have accommodations?”

The man chuckled. “Yes, sir. We are taken care of. Enjoy your time.” Nodding, Damian slung the bag over his shoulder and made his way to the now open door that the stairs had been rolled up to. Ducking out the doorway, he shielded his eyes and took in the surroundings carefully before he stepped out fully. From his spot he could see a sleek black car with Todd leaning against it, arms crossed and sunglasses hiding his eyes. Richard stood ahead of him, hands in his pockets and mouth moving as he spoke to the man behind him.

He knew he had been spotted the instant Richard’s hand was raised and flagging him over. And Damian couldn’t stop the affectionate roll of his eyes as he made his way down the steps and toward the two men.

“Dami!” Richard smiled brightly, openly. No one smiled the way his older brother did. No one who had lived through what he had still had the ability, yet this man never failed to do it.

“Richard,” Damian greeted, easily stepping into the waiting arms for the customary hug between them. It had been an adjustment to him when he had first joined the family. Physical affection was not the League way. But it seemed to be Richard Grayson default setting. And though it took time, eventually Damian had reached the point where he welcomed it. Almost expected it, even. “Todd,” he greeted the other man from over Richard’s shoulder.

“Gremlin,” Todd said back, affection clear despite the offensive name. He watched the other man push off the car as Richard released him from the hug. “Shall we? Dickie ordered a whole spread to be sent to our room so you two could talk while I’m out running a few errands.”

Damian looked at Richard with a raised brow, but his older brother just smiled and wrapped an arm around his shoulders even though Damian had passed him in height a few years prior. So Damian didn’t question it and simply allowed himself to be led to the backseat of the car, seated between the two men.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He could see why Richard and Todd had picked this hotel the moment he entered their room and made his way to the balcony. The view of the courtyard and the peaceful air about the entire place was enough of a selling point. But the rustic, old world feel? That only enhanced it. Leaning against the railing, Damian let the two men talk quietly near the door without him listening in. He knew Todd was leaving so he and Richard could talk about whatever this was about, so he could grant them the privacy in this moment.

“Dames, want something to drink?”

Looking back at his brother, he nodded and moved over to the chairs that the food and drinks had been set up by. He accepted the glass of wine that Richard offered with a quirked brow.

“It’s legal here,” was the shrugged explanation he received. So, he took a sip and sat down on one of the chairs as Richard did the same. “Where should we start?”

Taking a moment to think about it, Damian examined the rich red liquid in his cup. “Why am I here? Of all the family, why me?” He looked up to see Richard nodding and looking out into the distance.

“Jay and I are getting married tomorrow and we wanted you there.” He almost dropped his glass at that revelation. Not at the fact that they wanted him, of all people, to be there. But the fact that they were getting married.

“But,” Damian blinked, trying to form a proper thought. “You have only been seeing each other for six months now? Or was this going on before the incident?”

Dick smiled over at him. “We’ve been dancing this particular dance for many centuries, Little D. That’s what Fate showed us. He showed us lifetimes upon lifetimes of Jason and Richard or Dick and Jay. Lifetimes of us being so close, yet so far.”

That was surprising. Many centuries. That was a lot of lifetimes.

“I have loved him for over a millennium, Dami, but we have never been allowed to be fully happy. Duty, law, or prejudice, along with a curse, has kept us from truly belonging to each other,” Richard explained. And Damian felt his heart clench at the thought of the two of them being close but never fully being able to give into their love. He thought of him and Jon. How he cared so deeply for the other man but feared what Father would think. Feared how he would react should anything happen to Jon because of him. But never had an outside force worked against the two of them. He couldn’t imagine how that would feel. “Now we can finally be together in the eyes of the law and I don’t want to wait anymore.”

“But me? Why not Father?”

Richard smile turned a little sad and Damian watched as he set his cup down before turning to look at Damian fully. “Because you were our son. Because you were of my blood and Jason loved you as though you were of his.” Dropping Richard’s gaze, Damian processed those words. “You were my son with a woman who was not kind or good, in any of her lives. She did some horrible things, but she also gave me you. And that love, that affection, has always been yours. Each and every lifetime, even though you are no longer my blood, you have always been mine.”

Except this one, the unspoken words hung heavy.

Looking back to his brother, Damian furrowed his brow. The words made sense. They fell in line with the emotions he often warred with. The feeling as though Richard was more of a father than Bruce Wayne. But blood did not lie. And Damian had seen the analysis. He was indeed a Wayne. But since coming to Gotham, he had always felt more like a Grayson.

“I know you feel it,” Richard broke through his thoughts. “I knew something was wrong the moment I met you in this lifetime, but I didn’t know what. This is the only one where you have not been mine through some means. And it has always felt so wrong.”

“That is why…the morning after, that is what Todd was referring to.” Richard nodded and leaned back in his seat. Damian watched him turn his eyes toward the balcony view, like he was seeing something only he could see. “Richard?”

“Beyond my own feelings on the matter, I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to undermine Bruce any more than I already have over the years,” his brother admitted to him. The sadness and the regret were heavy in his voice, and it made Damian hurt for him. He had never known Richard had struggled with this for so long. Sure, he had been aware of blurred lines when his father had “returned from the dead” and taken his place back in the family. But he hadn’t known it was still on-going. “I didn’t want you to struggle with the separation as I had been.”

He was surprised when Richard stood from his chair and sent Damian a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes before heading over to the small bedside table and opened a drawer. He couldn’t see what it was the older man had taken out of the drawer, but he knew it was small since it was enclosed in his fist. Instead of questioning, he simply waited for Richard to sit back down and set a small vial of vividly blue liquid on the small table between them.

“What is it?” Damian questioned, keeping his eyes on the vial.

“Your memories,” Richard said softly. That pulled Damian’s attention from the vial to Richard, confusion and curiosity warring in his head. “The sorceress, we called her a healer back then, who planted the curse on Jason and me during our first lifetime together is immortal. She approached me yesterday and gave me that. She said it would open your mind to the previous lifetimes in the same way Fate had done for Jay and me.”

Green eyes darted back to the vial and Damian reached out to take it almost reverently into his palm.

“I still believe my concern is valid. I do not want your relationship with Bruce to suffer because of this. I do not want him to think I am laying claim to you through this,” Richard admitted but Damian kept his eyes on the vial that sat so innocently in his palm. “But the decision is not mine to make. If you want to remember, then you deserve to have that chance.”

Did he want to know? While Richard and Todd seemed happy, he knew there were things that had etched a deep sadness in Richard when they had first encountered Fate. He remembered the lines of pain around his eyes when the elder thought no one was watching. The whispered conversations between him and Todd. How Todd had held him in on random rooftops in Gotham and Richard’s shoulders could be seen quivering from the next rooftop where Damian had observed the pair. He had wondered what could have upset his brother to the point where he would allow himself to fall apart where anyone could see him when he so rarely allowed himself to appear to be anything but strong and steadfast.

“You don’t have to decide right now, Dames,” Richard broke through his musings, drawing his gaze away from the vial yet again. “Take however long you need to decide. Whether you take it this instant or in a year or however long, you just need to be sure it is what you want.”

Damian took a few more moments to consider the liquid in the small vial before he tucked it into the inner breast pocket of his blazer. “I do not know what I will do. But I will consider your opinion on the matter when I decide.” Richard nodded and leaned back in his chair, taking up his wine glass again. “What does Todd think about it?”

“He thinks you should take it. He thinks that you should know just as we do.” Richard heaved a sigh and looked away from him. “He thinks that the lines are already blurred beyond repair.”

That surprised Damian. While he wouldn’t argue the point, he was surprised Todd had observed it. But perhaps he shouldn’t be considering that Todd always seemed to be watching. Since letting go of his vendetta against Batman, getting control of the Pit, he seemed more observant. Maybe even more than any of the other family members, besides Cassandra.

“I do not believe his observation is wrong.” Richard’s eyes widened and he sat up straight. “Not in my regards, at least. I will not speak for you on the matter. Father is my blood, of course I respect him, but he never earned it. But you…” Damian paused, trying to think of the best way to put his feelings into words. He had never had to do this, and he wasn’t quite sure words were enough. “You fought for me. You wanted me. Even when I had tried to kill Drake and was horrible, you tried. Father just expected.”

The words were heavy with implications, but Damian wasn’t sure they were the right words.

But then Richard’s hand was on his forearm and Damian was seeing the all too familiar look of love in the sapphire blue eyes. And Damian knew it was enough. His point had been made clear without him just coming out and saying it.

“I suppose this is only to be expected given the truths you have revealed to me, that were already revealed to you.” Richard hummed and gave his arm a squeeze before releasing it and lifting his wine glass to his mouth. “You know what I’m going to do, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Richard nodded, eyes slipping closed. “Because it is who you are. Even if you didn’t take the potion tonight, you would eventually do it. I knew the instant I decided it wasn’t my choice to make that you would do it.” Damian watched him sigh before looking back to him. “You don’t remember it yet, but this isn’t the first time you have gone against what I think is best as far as what you know.”

Damian figured it probably wouldn’t be the last time either. Not when Richard was always so intent on protecting him from what he felt he could protect him from.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Slipping off the blazer, Damian laid it down on the bed before he pulled out the vial from the hidden pocket and moved over onto his own balcony. The night air was crisp, but it was still warm enough to not be uncomfortable. Despite his years in Gotham, he had never gotten used to the cold after his childhood in Nanda Parbat. The heat was always much more to his liking. But the current air was nice. This was a temperature he could handle.

It also helped clear his head as he considered his options.

The potion would be taken, that much he knew. But did he want to take it tonight and sleep on the memories or would it be better to wait until he was home in Gotham to do it? Would it make it easier if Richard were there or would it only make things more difficult? Richard had seemed so concerned about the strain it might cause between Father and son, but Damian heard what he would never say. He was worried Father would find out and use it against him in some way. Damian wasn’t a fool; he knew the kind of man his father was. He knew the kinds of things he had done to each of his children over the years. He knew how easy it would be for Richard to be pushed from the family.

But he also knew that if his father did that, Richard would take more than just Todd with him in the feud.

Looking down at the vial in his hand as he leaned his arms on the railing, he thought about what Todd had said to him when he had walked him to his room for the night.

“Don’t let Dick fool you into believing he doesn’t want you to know the truth. He wants you to know. But things with your dad and him will forever be complicated. And Dick takes responsibility for much more than he should.” Todd paused and looked at Damian, contemplative and pensive. “Abandonment will always be his biggest fear. It is why he treads so carefully these days. He’s so worried he’ll lose Bruce again and then the rest of us as a result.”

It had been such a foolish thought for Richard to have though given the history between his father and Richard, he supposed the fear was well founded. But Damian knew Richard would always have Todd and himself, which meant it was a risk Damian was willing to take for him.

So he twisted the top off the vial, raised it in a silent cheers and swallowed the liquid when it slipped into his mouth.

#jaydick #damian wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #anikah writes #past lives au #my writing #nightwing #red hood #robin

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lonelyandlovelorn · 4 years

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Idiots

A/N: I’m kind of putting my feelers out to see if anyone wants any Pietro Maximoff content, because I love and miss him and I just think sibling dynamics are always fun additions in these stories.

Genre: straight fluff, my friends

Warning: Did I swear in this? Idk, here just in case

Word count: 2000

Pairing: Pietro Maximoff x fem reader

Summary: Wanda is so tired of watching her brother and her teammate pine after each other.

Masterlist

Wanda made a point not to actively pick through her teammate’s heads. Whatever she found out passively from knowing what people felt or perhaps projected too much was not her fault and she could not be held responsible. That being said, Wanda had found out something very interesting. It wasn’t so much new information as a realization based on compiled data. She had noticed that her brother and Y/N had grown close to each other very quickly. However, what she had slowly observed over time was a spike in positive emotions from Y/N each time Pietro entered the room, or sometimes even at the mention of his name. While it could have just been happiness at seeing a close friend, there was always an undercurrent of something else. It wasn’t something she would have labeled as lust, it was much softer and shyer than that, but it was a certain sort of attraction. After realizing that this was happening and what it meant, Wanda began to watch Y/N, hoping to witness this reaction and see what she gave away on her face. Since she hadn’t been a spy or secret agent before joining the team, she wasn’t assumed to be a good actress by default. With low expectations, Wanda was impressed to see that there was nothing to outwardly give her away. She had the same expression on her face to greet him as all of her other teammates.

As his sister, Wanda had been aware of how Pietro felt towards Y/N since they met her. He had immediately been attracted to her, and had been in no way subtle in hiding it. Wanda was aware though, how oblivious people could be when in regards to their love lives. Pietro flirted with Y/N, which she took as a joke, and Wanda had always assumed that she hadn’t returned his feelings before noticing this reaction from her. For her brother’s sake, she was grateful it was mutual; for her own sake, she knew she was in for a world of frustration. Pietro was a flirty guy, but when he truly liked a girl, he was bashful and stupid around her. In short, her brother was an idiot most of the time, but he was even more of an idiot when feelings were involved.

Having only known Y/N for about two months, Wanda wasn’t certain what to make of her yet. The two didn’t hang out together on their own, just with the team. From the way she treated her teammates and her brother, Wanda was inclined to like her, but she didn’t want to make up her mind just yet. She decided to get to know her before trying to play cupid. She also hoped she could get her to admit her feelings with little-to-no difficulty. Wishful thinking, of course.

Wanda invited her to have a girls night with Nat. She considered letting the spy in on the information she had, but she figured she probably already knew. Natasha and Y/N showed up at her door in pajamas, bringing a bowl of popcorn and a bottle of wine. That was good, maybe the alcohol would loosen her up a little bit. She welcomed them both into her room and couldn’t help but notice that Y/N looked nervous. She smiled gently at her in hopes of calming her down, and it seemed to work, at least a little. She still had an air of nervousness around her, but she explained that it was mostly because she didn't want to intrude on their normal bonding time. Nat and Wanda quickly put that out of her head by reassuring her that they wanted her there. After they had spent about half an hour together, painting their nails and sipping on wine, she seemed to loosen up fully.

Wanda made sure to inconspicuously keep her glass topped off. The more alcohol she had in her, the more likely she was to be honest.

As can only be expected at something called girls night, conversation turned to gossip and relationship. Natasha was pretty tight-lipped about how her and Bruce were doing, but Wanda wasn't afraid to gush about Vision a little. After a moment, their eyes both turned to Y/N who had obviously been hoping they wouldn't ask her about her love life. A coy smile painted Wanda's face as she spoke.

“So, Y/N, do you have your eye on anyone?” It was interesting for Wanda to watch her reactions, because even though she could feel the wave of embarrassment and fondness wash over her, her face betrayed almost none of it, save for a little warmth high in her cheeks. If it wasn't so frustrating, Wanda would have been impressed.

“I guess I do.” Wanda and Natasha waited for more, but quickly realized that was all she intended to say on the matter. Wanda was impatient and already too frustrated from watching the two of you everyday to dance around the subject.

“You mean my brother.” She didn’t state it as a question, there was no room for denial. For a moment, she felt guilt at the way anxiety spiked through the girl across from her, but she spoke before Wanda could say anything.

“I don’t see why it matters,” she said, almost sounding defeated. Natasha and Wanda exchanged a look.

“It matters because you guys are practically in love and you’re not dating.” Completely unconvinced, Y/N quirked a brow at her in disbelief. “I didn’t realize before that you were completely obtuse,” Wanda said, exasperated.

“Pietro isn’t in love with me.”

This time, Natasha spoke up. “Oh come on, Y/N. You might have been able to hide how you feel, but Pietro didn’t. I thought for a long time you weren’t interested, but now I see you’re just an idiot.” Y/N almost looked hurt at being called an idiot, but quickly squared her shoulders

“I’m sorry that you guys think I’m an idiot, but there’s nothing there. He’s always been that way, flirty and a little dumb. It’s been like this since the day I met him.” She sounded like she was arguing, but Wanda could feel how defeated she was inside. Thankfully, she had a counterargument.

“Have you ever considered that he’s been interested since he met you?” It was obvious she hadn’t by the way her eyes widened. It would have been funny if Wanda wasn’t so tired of witnessing this mess.

“What are you expecting me to do about it?” Y/N was out of arguments but definitely still wasn’t convinced.

“Stop the pining and put me out of my misery.” At the confused look she received, Wanda continued, “I’ve been able to feel your guys’ feelings since forever and I’ve just had to watch absolutely nothing happen for way too long.”

For the first time in front of her teammates, warmth spread up Y/N’s cheeks and her expression was clear as day. She looked to Natasha, who only nodded at her in agreement with Wanda. “Well, I’m not going to do anything right now.”

“That’s fine, but soon,” Wanda urged.

Nothing happened.

It had been two weeks and nothing at all had happened. The only change was that now the rest of the team knew about the ridiculous romance. They made a point of making vague joking remarks at both of the idiots in question. Still, even though at this point it was completely obvious, nothing changed.

Pietro had a habit of zooming around the tower. He dashed through the halls in a blur of silver, endlessly annoying certain members of the team. Sometimes he did it simply for the opportunity to look around and see what was happening in the building. That was the cause of his trouble today.

He was running through the halls, looking for the most interesting group of people to spend time with. He came across the common area, where most of the team was gathered. It seemed like people were gathered to watch a movie, as Sam, Bucky, Steve, Wanda, and Nat were all sitting on the couch chatting as Y/N bent over to look for a movie in the media case under the TV. No one was even aware that Pietro had entered the room until a loud thunk was heard. Six sets of eyes swung to see in sitting on the floor next to a wall, rubbing his forehead.

Sam and Bucky guffawed at the dazed look on Pietro’s face, but Y/N rushed to him in concern. Wanda sent Pietro a look of disgust while also laughing at him quietly. She knew immediately what had happened.

Poor, innocent Y/N had no idea that her team had quickly gathered from how she had been standing, and where his eyes had been drawn, what had happened. “Are you okay? What happened?” The question seemed to draw out more laughs from Sam and Bucky, even pulling a chuckle from the good Captain himself. Y/N looked around at her teammates in confusion as they watched embarrassment take over the speedster’s cheeks.

Sam called out to Pietro after his laughter died down a little, “Yeah, speedy, why don’t you tell her what had you so distracted you ran into a wall.”

Pietro could only bring himself to answer, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

This time, Nat piped in, “Guys, be quiet, his fall had absolutely nothing to do with how she was standing.” A barely-there smirk on her face showed that she was having her share of the teasing.

Y/N whipped her head back to look at him, only to see him looking down in embarrassment. In that moment, Wanda could feel the way her heart warmed along with the surge of confidence that went through the woman as she looked over the man she loved. A grin overtook her expression as she looked him over once more. “Is that so? You should at least have the decency to ask me out before staring at my ass.”

Pietro nearly gave himself whiplash with how quickly he met her teasing eyes. Realizing she had just flirted with him, he quickly asked, “Would you like to go out with me?” Even though she had suggested it, everyone in the room could see that those words had stunned her. After a moment of staring at the man blank-faced, as his confidence visibly waned, a delicate and shy smile calmed him in the way only she could.

“I would love to. Just don’t run into any more walls.” They had obviously forgotten they were being watched, as Pietro surged forward to press his lips against hers in his excitment, moving so fast that she didn’t know what was happening at first. They broke apart as they finally heard the whoops and cheers coming from the people on the couch. They both looked over at them, broad smiles on their faces. After watching the other Avengers laugh and cheer for their happy moment for a few seconds, Pietro stood up, pulling Y/N with her. In the blink of an eye, he had scooped her up and sped out of the room with his girl in his arms.

None of the team was quite sure how to react until they heard a loud groan and a sigh from Wanda as she leaned her head against the back of the couch. Her muttered and exhausted, “Idiots,” sent them all into laughter once more.

#Pietro Maximoff x reader #quicksilver x reader #Pietro x reader #pietro maximov #lonelyandlovelorn #avengers #imagine #reader insert #x you #x y/n #quicksilver #marvel #fanfic #fanfiction #idiots #age of ultron #aou #x reader #fem reader

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lonestarbabe · 3 years

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Grief is a Lantern

The 126 deals with their grief. (AO3)

Glimmers in the Night

Debris hangs in the air in Austin, and the volcanic matter looks like snowflakes, falling through the apocalyptic sky. It’s beautiful and heartbreaking all at once. With tragedy, there always seems to be corresponding beauty that feels like a cruel taunt more than a way of balancing the awfulness. T.K. wants to be somewhere else because it hurts to exist in his own brain. His body is heavy with the weight of what he has seen— the melting flesh, the smell of burning skin, and the horror of losing someone so close. The thought of snow creates a pang of yearning for New York and her white winters. New York isn’t his home any longer, but it’s his history, and whenever grief creeps into his life, T.K. can’t help but grieve the simpler times in New York before everything became so hard. He longs for real snow, not the bastardized disaster-snow that has fallen upon Austin. He wants to be six years old again, making snow angels in the park before the snow turned to ash and before the pollution started to clog his mind. His brain remains congested no matter how far he runs from the chaos that dawns the minute innocence and ignorance are lost. With all that hangs in the sky, T.K. can’t see the stars, so the night feels lonelier.

Within every great natural disaster, there are the little disasters that go unknown to the wider universe— the human tragedies that are just blips compared to the broader chaos that mother nature has inflicted. Faces become blurred as casualty numbers scroll across news banners and names are shoved behind the fear-inducing title of whatever “once in a lifetime” event has just happened. Losses are sensationalized, and rubberneckers wear you down with their stares. It is hard to have a tragedy so personal be the world’s because the grief becomes even more inescapable. It’s there when you flip on the TV; it’s there when a friend from long ago calls to see if you’re okay; it’s there when you go to the grocery store to get midnight salty snacks and the cashier cannot stop talking about it, even as you are moments away from breaking down and crying. The grief comes at you from all angles. You feel so many feelings that you aren’t sure which are yours. Your pain feels exposed, and you don’t know how to tuck it back inside of you, back into its cage until you’re ready to face it.

T.K. isn’t ready to face what happened. It’s only been a few hours, and he is still running on adrenaline and whatever chemicals are lingering in his body to keep him going. He’s not let himself think too much because he knows that the emotional crash that he’s going to face isn’t one that he can handle alone. T.K. knows enough about himself that he knows that he doesn’t handle feelings well. He’s been working on coping skills in therapy, but in times like these, when unexpected things happen, his brain always wants to revert to old patterns, the ones that are a quick fix for so problems that have not so quick solutions. He knows that he needs to be careful with himself for a while, and he’s not going to take shortcuts to feel better.

The highs and the lows of life get to T.K. the most. He loves the high and is debilitated by the lows, and too often, he seeks the gray middle. The levelness that allows him to robotically function. One moment he was celebrating his dad’s life and not too many later, someone’s life had been taken, and it’s like every time things start to be good, something sours the sweetness. In times like these, T.K. defaults to feeling numbness, and he knows that when the numbness hits, he’ll want to feel something— anything— because anything’s better than trying to process emotions he cannot access. Numbness helps him cope, but it also deprives him of the light. The joy becomes enshrouded by the darkness that prevents him from engaging with himself.

Going home doesn’t feel right after everything that has happened, and T.K. knows he can’t sleep in his own bed tonight. Unable to think too hard, he follows his gut and goes to be with the person he most wants to hold. Carlos had told him to come over if he needed to, and T.K. doesn’t care if he was just saying that to be nice. He needs to see Carlos. To know that he’s still there, to feel his skin, and to prove that this horrible night is real. Until he sees Carlos, he’ll worry, so he drives the eight miles to Carlos. It’s late, so there’s little traffic, and T.K. thanks whatever’s up there for little blessings because he doesn’t have the patience to sit and wait for other people to get moving when his life already feels like it has hit a standstill.

He feels unsettled in a way that makes his head light with the desire to escape the truth because he doesn’t want to accept what has happened. It would be easier to deny the facts just a little longer. To let himself sleep one last sleep without the burden of tragedy. Tomorrow, he’ll wake up with a piece of lead in his brain, pressing his head against the pillow with an unwillingness to get up and face everything that has happened, but today, he’s unfocused and his world is a haze with a gray filter. He can see the pixels in the air as his eyes try to find any stray beam of light. He grips the key in hand, pressing the cool ridges into the palm of his hand and letting the feel of the cut metal remind him that he’s not floating in outer space alone. He’s here, on earth, seconds away from seeing the man he loves. He’ll be okay if he can just push his body a little further.

The adrenaline is starting to crash, and his energy is waning, but he has to go just a little further. It is that distance, the small but profound one, that keeps his legs holding him up. A few steps more and he will be by Carlos’ side. T.K. drags his feet to the door of Carlos’ house. He slips into the apartment, being as quiet as he can because it’s late and Carlos is probably asleep. He doesn’t mind if Carlos isn’t awake, and it might be easier for him to be asleep. T.K.’s tempted to turn back and isolate himself. He thinks it might be less painful if he doesn’t have to meet Carlos’ eyes, but he shakes that thought away. Knowing that Carlos is there and safe is what matters. T.K. doesn’t need to talk or anything like that. He just needs to see that Carlos is there because loneliness magnifies pain.

As much as he doesn’t need Carlos’ consoling, relief strikes him when he sees that Carlos is waiting on the stairs. Carlos’ face nearly makes T.K. lose it, those brown eyes that say all the things T.K. has tried to ignore. Even with the sadness between them, Carlos is still so inviting. He feels like safety. T.K. takes a breath, exhaling the air that’s been lodged in his chest. He uses whatever remaining energy he has to make it to the stairs, and he can’t take them with much gusto, but pulls his feet up, and he goes to where Carlos is waiting. He feels his heart flutter at the thought that Carlos had not gone to sleep. On a day when sleep is so tempting an escape, it means so much to wait up and choose to endure the slow-motion hours when you can fast forward through the longest minutes, the time when there’s nothing left you can do.

Carlos reaches out to T.K. to take his hand, and guide them to bed, but T.K. can’t do it. He can’t lift his arm. He can’t reach out. He can’t move his legs any more than he already has. It’s all too much, and all he can do is drop his body against Carlos’. He collapses against his boyfriend— oh, how he loves that word— and he lets his airy head find the solidness of Carlos’ arm.

T.K. can’t move his head from Carlos’ shoulder as he starts to feel a hot bubbling in his stomach. Tim didn’t deserve to die. It’s unfair and aggravating. 2100 degrees of anger makes its way through T.K.’s body, and he wants to scream as he clutches onto Carlos to keep him grounded, but the truth is that as hot as the anger is, it freezes as soon as it hits his chest. So, he sobs because he’s so sad. He thinks he’s sad, at least. Feelings are confusing. They shift quickly and blend. They camouflage as one another, and T.K. doesn’t have the energy to know how he feels other than “not okay.”

The day wasn’t supposed to go like this. T.K. should still be at work, attending to calls from people doing things that they should have known better than to do. No one had predicted the disaster that had unfolded. Even when they knew they were dealing with something so dangerous, T.K. had focused on saving people. It hadn’t occurred to him that they would fail to save one of their own.

T.K. can’t find words, so he doesn’t try. He lets Carlos hold him, and he sits on the stares feeling no comfort but feeling as at peace as he possibly could. The tears fall from T.K.’s eyes as Carlos presses kisses against T.K.’s head and pulls T.K. closer with a firm arm; they are quiet tears, the ones that give none of the release of a sob. There are only a few of them, but they are more than T.K. usually lets another person see. They stream down his face, warm and salty. They make his face itchy, but the knotted ball of energy in his chest remains strong. As the tears slow, T.K. hides his face in the wet splotch he’s left on Carlos’ shirt. Carlos rubs his back, and T.K. wonders what he did to deserve a man like this, one who will sit on the stairs as a sad soundtrack plays mournfully in T.K.’s mind.

T.K. doesn’t know how long they sit there, but eventually, Carlos shares the first words between them, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Without having to think about it, T.K. shakes his head. “I just want to sleep.” So, they sleep, letting the awful day become part of the past. It’s a step forward, but it doesn’t feel much like one.

When T.K. wakes up a little after four, Carlos is just waking up. His eyes are bleary and his head is heavy. He doesn’t want to move. Even the act of moving his lips feels like too much, but he musters the strength to speak. “You’re still here,” T.K. says to himself more than Carlos. He rolls over to the other side of the bed, turning so he can pull his arms around Carlos, “I thought I would miss you.” T.K. brushes his hands over Carlos’ face to make sure he’s real and this isn’t just a mirage. “But you’re still here.”

“I’m here,” Carlos confirms. Carlos takes the hand on his face and wraps it in his own. T.K. stretches his neck to kiss Carlos. “I’ve got work.”

“You were just at work,” T.K. says with a sigh. He doesn’t want Carlos to leave just yet, but he also isn’t going to ask Carlos to stay because he knows that if he did, Carlos would.

“I know, but they need me there. I won’t be too long.” Carlos looks T.K. over. “You’ll be okay?” He’ll be okay. He’s been through enough trauma in his life that he knows he can handle this one. He knows how to stay away from the edge and keep his head screwed on. Therapy hasn’t been a useless pursuit as much as he would like to say that he didn’t need it.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” T.K. puts on a brave face. “Meet up after your shift?”

Carlos nods, giving T.K. another kiss. “But for now, go back to sleep. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“I need it,” T.K. replies, but he knows that he won’t go back to sleep. T.K. doesn’t want to sound clingy. He doesn’t want those old fears of someone he loves leaving and then not coming back to come back full force, but he can’t help the panic he feels as he watches Carlos get ready for work. He knows Carlos is good at his job, and he knows how to take as few chances as he can, but dangers always lurk for first responders, and the light starting to fill the sky reminds T.K. that the night is never far away.

The Trap of the Rising Sun

Owen is the leader of the 126, so he knows that he has to keep a strong front whenever possible. People look at him to know what to do. When bad circumstances start to fragment a team, it’s always a good idea for someone to act like they’ve got it all under control— to use an authoritative voice and assure them that somehow they can survive the storm that has hit them. Owen wants to be that person for his team, but the truth is that he doesn’t have it under control. His head is spinning with memories of the past, and that never does any good. He’s being pulled back to the darkest time of his life. Loss of life is never easy, but losing someone that you know well and that you should be looking out for is even more heartbreaking. Owen doesn’t want to let his mind linger too long on what has happened because it won’t do him much good. He’s got to push forward. For better or for worse, he’s always been the type of man to push through tragedy, and he’s not going to stop now.

Owen hasn’t slept much; he’s sure that none of them really have, but he’s up bright and early because with so much on his mind, sleep seems like a waste of time. He hopes the morning will give him some sense of clarity, some cosmic meaning to something that mostly seems meaningless. He’s not much of a believer, but with the yesterday that he had, he’s willing to believe just long enough to give himself some peace. The sun is just starting to poke its head over the horizon, and Owen’s got coffee brewing because he knows that there’s no way he’s getting back to sleep. He’s got to find the courage to face the day. He’s been spared death. His cancer didn’t kill him, and now, he owes it to the people he loves to be strong, and if he can’t be strong, he’ll settle for breaking down when he’s alone.

Austin was a new opportunity for Owen. He’s good at those. When things go wrong, he’s a firm believer in creating something new. Ditch the past, and move forward. When T.K. had overdosed, he decided it was time to start something new yet again. In the time since, he’s created the nicest station in all of Texas, but it is not architectural inspiration that gets the job done. It’s the people. He’s always said that the firehouse has always been his family, and now more than ever, that’s still true. He came to Austin not knowing anyone, so the 126 has become the center of not just his work life but his social circle as well. They are the people he wants to celebrate his victories with, and they’re also the people he worries about when the chips are down. He’s got so much love around him now, and it’s a wonderful feeling, but it also means that he has so much more to lose than he ever has before.

Owen worries about what will happen to the station after this loss. They’ve become like a well-oiled machine, and they’ve learned to function as smoothly as they can with each person’s strong suits. They lessen each other’s weak areas and pull each other when they’re feeling down. They’re still getting used to Tommy, but everything was going well. The 126 was adjusting, and they were bouncing back after Michelle left to follow her passions. It seemed that every time they started to get settled that chaos would strike again and send them into a whole new tailspin. Owen doesn’t know how many high-stress, high-heartbreak situations they can take. He hopes they don’t bottle up the hard feelings they will face in the coming days and months.

When he gets up, before the sun has pulled itself fully into the sky, he sends T.K. a text. He trusts his son, but he’s still a father. He still stays up late at night fretting over his kid and praying that he’ll make it through the week unscathed. Maybe this hasn’t always been true in the past, but T.K. is his first priority, and Owen knows that something like the death of Tim can shake anyone to their core, especially someone who has always been raw and sensitive like an exposed nerve. T.K.’s been better lately. He’s been happier, and he hasn’t had to see his therapist as often, but no matter how good someone feels, one crisis can cause them to go spiraling backward, and Owen cannot let that happen, but he also knows that he can’t be too pushy or overbearing, so he keeps his text simple, Are you okay? I’m here if you need to talk. And he hopes that if T.K. isn’t okay that he’ll reach out for help. Owen doesn’t care if T.K. talks to him, but he has to talk to someone when life gets too overwhelming.

Owen isn’t sure how the rest of his team is going to cope with this crippling blow. Many of them have already been through a lot. They each have traumas and hurts that shape how they see the world and react to calls. They’ve learned to come together over their hardships. They’ve become so close over the past few months, and when you’re that close, it makes it hard to go bravely into the danger. You start to second guess your instincts, and when that happens, you may make deadly mistakes. When you’re a first responder, you can’t psych yourself out. You’ve got to maintain your focus even in the face of fear. The minute you freeze up, you put yourself in a bad situation, and it’s Owen’s job to make sure that no one freezes up. He has to keep the team’s confidence up and remind them that they are still capable. Somehow, he has to convince them that while losing Tim was tragic, it wasn’t something that they could have changed. It just was, and while there are always more solutions in retrospect, they trusted themselves at that moment, and they worked to the best of their ability.

Will Judd be thrown back, thinking about the devastating loss of his crew? Judd’s made a lot of process with his PTSD, but Owen knows better than anyone that PTSD doesn’t just go away, even with a lot of work. Usually, it lingers for quite some time, even as the symptoms mostly dissipate. Owen doesn’t feel his own symptoms much anymore, but they’re still there, sometimes, and there’s no rhyme or reason to when they appear, but traumatic situations certainly never help. Owen knows that Judd has a good support system. Grace would go to the ends of the Earth to make sure that her husband is okay, but there are times when it doesn’t matter how good the people around you are. You have to fight yourself, and you have to learn to face the fears and hurts that you’d rather shove aside. Owen admires the progress Judd has made because he knows how hard it is to wake up with your whole life changed. He knows how hard it is to move forward and find a new purpose when your old one is suddenly gone.

Will Marjan think twice before trusting her instincts? Marjan’s best quality when on duty is her ability to trust her instincts. She’s not a rule-follower, but she’s also not reckless. She knows what she can handle, and her confidence allows her to complete insane feats. She makes what she does seem superhuman, but the real skill she has is to know her limits because when you know your limits, you can dive into a situation without overthinking it. Marjan is savvy, strong, and morally-driven. She knows who she is, and as long as she remembers to keep her pride by her side, she doesn’t have issues. Owen worries that she’ll have more doubts. She’ll think twice when she only needs to think once. Owen doesn’t want anyone on his team to be reckless, but he needs them to listen to their gut, especially Marjan because she knows what she has to do in an emergency without having to fret too much about it.

Will Mateo feel secure about his place on the team? Mateo always had his doubts that he belonged on the team. He feels stupid, Owen knows that, and no matter how much anyone tries to tell him differently, Mateo always feels like the kid-probie, who is trying to fill firefighter shoes that are perpetually too big for his feet. Mateo still has a lot to learn, but he does things that others think are unimportant. His contributions don’t always go noticed, but that doesn’t make them unimportant. He may never have viral videos of himself saving people as Marjan does. He might not be able to deduce with pinpoint accuracy like Paul, or he might not be able to look like a force of authority like Judd, but he is important to them. That’s what is so great about the 126— no one is replaceable. They can throw more bodies into roles, but they’ll have their own unique contributions.

Will Paul’s wall of reassurance crack? Paul can read people from across the firehouse, but he is hard to read. He’s self-contained, and he doesn’t often let it show when he’s hurt or angry. He’s an emotional stabilizer in a firehouse filled with passionate and lively people, and he is a great listener, but Owen worries that Paul keeps too much to himself. With so much that Paul doesn’t show others that he’s bound to break down eventually. Paul knows how to handle his emotions, but a person can only take so much, especially a highly empathetic person like Paul. He takes on other people’s pain, and Owen wants him to know that the crew is willing to take on some of his pain as well.

Will Tommy forgive herself? She had been tough on Tim, which was just how she operated. Owen knew that you had to be tough sometimes to keep everyone safe and make sure that they could live up to their potential. Still, it was never easy having to be the bad guy, even when it was warranted. It was even harder when you didn’t have a chance to show the other part of you that wasn’t strict and severe. Tommy was a good person, that was for sure, and Owen had no doubt that given time, she and Tim would have developed a better bond. Unfortunately, time was never a guarantee.

And then there’s Nancy, who was without a doubt the closest to Tim. She’ll take the loss the hardest, and Owen knows enough about her that he knows she’ll have trouble adjusting to working without Tim by her side. They’ve been through a lot together. Nancy had just lost Michelle, and now she was losing Tim too. At least Michelle was still around, even if she didn’t check in as much as she promised she would. Tim was gone forever, and that would be a hard reality for Nancy to swallow.

Owen considers his own feelings on the loss, and he can’t shake the idea that he yet again escaped death when it should have been him. When he got cancer, the universe seemed to be righting itself, but then he had survived that, and it felt off-balance again. He was overstaying his welcome, and somehow, he kept surviving even though he was sure that he’d used up his fair share of lives.

The firehouse isn’t going to recover from this loss for a while, Owen knows. It doesn’t matter if you lose your whole crew or you lose just one of those people, any loss still strikes a firehouse to its core. A firehouse is only as great as the people in it. It doesn’t matter how fancy it looks, a firehouse without good firefighters and good paramedics will never have the heart it needs to survive. They’ll feel Tim in those halls long after their grief has faded and things have gone back to “normal”— whatever normal means. For now, they’ll have to do the best they can. They’ll have to learn to lean on each other and seek help when they need it, but they didn’t get where they are without resilience.

Mornings Always Come Too Soon

When the morning comes, Mateo isn’t ready for it. Everything seems more real in the light, and he doesn’t think he can face the brightness. He wants to roll down his blinds and hide in his apartment until someone drags him away, but he knows that’s not an option. He’s got to be normal, or as normal as he can be under circumstances like these. Inaction is only going to make him feel worse, reminding me of all the actions he could’ve done and didn’t do when Tim was in danger. Mateo has made it through the night, but his mind is still dense with the feelings that don’t seem to abate, so he goes for a run, and he hopes that moving his body will shake off the fizzy feelings loose from the pit of his stomach.

What-ifs loop in Mateo’s head to the rhythm of his feet against the pavement. There’s nothing I could have done, Mateo tries to remind himself, but it does nothing to break the wonders that will perpetually be in his head. There’s always another option in life. Mateo believes for everything that goes wrong, there’s something that he could have done better. He has the unshakable feeling that if he were somehow better that the results would be better. He feels so small and so limited. He’s finally made it to be a firefighter; yet, he still doesn’t feel like he belongs. He feels like an imposter, and he keeps waiting to fit in and feel like he’s finally got what it takes, but no matter how long he does the job, he still keeps thinking that one day the 126 is going to see that he never belonged and that he never had what it takes to be a firefighter. He worries that he’s too dumb. He fears he’s incompetent. He knows none of them would say that those things were true, but that doesn’t mean he believes it.

Mateo’s still exhausted. It’s only just become day, and he’s barely gotten any sleep, but his body needs to get going. Doing something will make him feel less powerless. When he was a kid, loss used to be so much easier. He’d pray to God, and even if things still hurt, at least they made sense. Now, it’s not like he doesn’t believe, but his faith is less of a sure thing. He mostly has it in moments of desperation when belief is the only thing that can give him any comfort. It’s easier to believe in God when you are alone. In those lonely, pained moments, Mateo thinks it would be easy to believe in anything. But it is the God he was raised with that always pulls him in and provides nostalgic comfort. As much he is filled with uncertainty, Mateo wants to believe, so sometimes he can brush away his doubts for the safe cocoon of ignorance.

With all the doubts and sorrows that threaten to fill him to the brim, Mateo’s running. Running is what he does when he needs to clear his head and shake the jumble of words that have gone unspoken. He doesn’t know where he’s going, but going somewhere is not the point, so he lets his feet move in whatever way feels right. He doesn’t want to have to think too hard right now, so he lets his instincts take over and focuses on his breathing. In that way, running is like meditation. Mateo has never been one who has the disposition to sit down and meditate, but he can do this. He can push against the air and center his thoughts through movement. As much as he tries not to think, he can’t stop. The thoughts bombard him, and he knows that trying to censor them only creates toxicity in his body, so he lets the thoughts exist, and he doesn’t try to push them away just because they’re uncomfortable, but running distracts him enough that he doesn’t have to give his full mental energy to the looming thoughts.

Above all, Mateo feels so stupid. It’s his default feeling when things go wrong, and he knows why, but knowing why has never changed how incompetent he always feels. He’s a troublemaker. He doesn’t mean to mess things up, but somehow, he always seems to mess them up. He gets confused or he is focusing on the wrong thing. Whatever goes wrong, Mateo is never doing what he should be where he should be doing it. He imagines being there to warn Tim. If he’d just been several feet closer, maybe he could have done something, but he was so far away, and he doesn’t even remember what he was doing when it happened, so chances are that it was nothing that important. He should have known better— they all should have— but Mateo especially. He’s the probie, which means that he has the least important things to do— right? – so if anyone could have dropped what they were doing to be near Tim, it should have been him. He failed, and he wonders how long it will be until people call him out for his constant failures.

He wonders if things would be different if he was somehow better. If he was better. He’s always been towards the bottom of the pack in everything he does, and on the 126, it’s exactly the same. He isn’t the biggest. He isn’t the bravest. He isn’t the smartest. He does his work, but he can’t help but feel like he doesn’t do it quite up to par. He’s wanted to be a firefighter for so long, and in the face of this tragedy, he can’t help but worry that he was never meant to be one. He wonders if the truth is that he’s never been good enough and he never will be. It pains him to think, but he has to be realistic with himself. The way he sees it, he’s just not the type of guy who excels at anything.

Mateo knows that he should have been there for Tim. He’s made it a priority to attend to details that no one else did because he wanted to show that despite what people kept telling him, he wasn’t stupid. He doesn’t have the observational skills of Paul, but he goes to extreme lengths to do the job right, and maybe he goes to extreme lengths to overcompensate for all the deficiencies that he feels make him trouble.

There’s a part of him that knows that what happened wasn’t his fault, but that part of him is buried under the louder part of him that tells him he can do nothing right. He is just a troublemaker. He’s always been a troublemaker, and wherever he goes, disaster follows.

Mateo runs until he’s out of breath, and he continues to run long past the point of exhaustion. He can’t seem to stop his feet. He’s been training for a marathon, so he normally wouldn’t be so exhausted so early in a run, but with so little sleep and pushing himself rather than pacing himself, it’s no wonder that Mateo’s run isn’t normal. The grief has knocked him out of step, and now, he’s gone from being an adept runner to trying not to trip over his feet.

Mateo’s experienced loss before, and it never gets easier. You learn coping techniques and the pain lessens over time, but it doesn’t become something you’re ever prepared for. It’s not like running. No amount of practice makes grief any less strenuous. It is surprising, rage-inducing, and plain sad every time it happens. Mateo’s best friend’s brother had died when they were sixteen. He had known that Rex was going to die— they’d known for months that the cancer was terminal— but that hadn’t mitigated any of the shock Mateo felt when he got the news that Rex had actually died. He’d prayed for weeks, hoping for a miracle. He’d sustained himself with that hope, thinking that somehow it would be okay. It felt like a blow to everything Mateo believed in when Rex died anyway. Mateo has learned that humans can’t stop having that little blip of hope. Even cynics, somewhere deep aside, are desperately wanting to believe that the unlikely good may happen.

He runs up, and he feels himself still in front of the church. The steeple is foreboding, and the cross on the front is so big. It used to fill him with sheer awe, but now, it fills him with so much more: confusion, fear, hope, dread, anger, joy. And yeah, it still fills him with awe because there will always be a part of him that loves the church and God. Even as he doubts the meaning of life and the cosmic forces behind it, he still takes comfort in the idea that some greater than all someones is looking down on him. He likes the idea of heaven and life after death because the idea of there being nothingness when you die terrifies him because losing your sense of self is the worst fate for any person. He never wants to stop being himself, and he wants to believe Tim has not stopped being himself either.

Tim Rosewater is gone, and Mateo wants there to be a reason for such a tragic loss. He wants it to make sense, but his thoughts are jumbled, and he wonders if this is a side-effect of his dyslexia or if everyone feels this way in the face of grief.

Late Mourning

Michelle doesn't find out that Tim has died until two days after it has happened. She’d been swamped with work to the point that she’d barely paid attention to the news, let alone her text messages. She knew about the volcano, of course— she wasn’t that detached— but she hadn’t let herself think that someone she knew had been injured. She’d shoved away any worry because it didn’t serve her, and she pushed herself further into work. Maybe that attitude made her selfish, she wasn’t sure, but it’s how she’s always been. When things go wrong, focus on just one issue and pretend away the rest.

When she gets the news, Nancy calls her, sounding a lot sad and a little mad. Nancy doesn’t wait to break the news. In fact, she sounds like she expects Michelle to somehow already know, but it’s not like Michelle has been talking to many of her ex-workers. She hasn’t even had much time to talk to Carlos. It wasn’t for a lack of want, but with the pandemic and so many changes in her life, it was the perfect storm for growing distant from the people she cared about. With how packed her schedule has been, she barely makes time for her mom! She wants to be the kind of person who will fight for friendships and who always answers her messages, but that’s just not Michelle.

She becomes obsessed with something, and then, she cannot stop thinking about it. It takes up all the time and it robs her of all the attention she should commit to other things. Her mind lags behind what Nancy has been saying. Finally, Michelle says, “Why didn’t anyone tell me sooner?”

She can hear Nancy scoff, “You know we love you, Michelle, but you haven’t exactly been here. And you aren’t great about answering calls.”

“Yeah,” Michelle agrees. “I’m sorry.” She’s sorry for a lot of things that have happened in her life, even the ones that are not her fault. She’s sorry for not spending more time with people before she lost them. She’s sorry for all the times she’s focused on all the wrong things. She’s sorry for the misses calls and texts. She’s sorry for the missed opportunities of reaching out. She’s not sorry for knowing Tim, though, even though it aches that he is gone. She’s not sorry about all the good times they shared.

“About not answering or Tim?” Michelle can’t tell if the question is hypothetical, but she answers it.

“Both,” Michelle confirms.

Nancy’s voice sounds choked, “We needed you. Tim was really upset when you left. He took it the hardest.”

“I know, but I had to do this.” She’s explained why she left. She couldn’t have stayed when her passion changed.

“We get that. We’re not mad at you for leaving. We’re mad at you for not being there for us,” Nancy’s voice is angry and accusatory. Michelle knows she’d never speak this way if she wasn’t dealing with a broken heart.

“I’m sorry,” Michelle tries again, but that won’t absolve the sorrow she feels or the guilt that is starting to eat at her. She can apologize all that she wants, but there’s no way to make the situation better for anyone.

“You’ve said that. I don’t want your apologies. I just thought you should know what happened. Even if you’ve got a whole new life away from us.”

“Is there anything I can do? Did someone take in Buster?” She sounds like she’s offering to take him in, and she regrets the words. She doe not have time for a cat right now.

“Tommy took him,” Nancy says with relief in her voice. Michelle feels as relieved as Nancy sounds. “He’s doing well. Dogs get all the credit for being loyal, but cats can be pretty loyal too.”

“I trust Tommy,” Michelle says. “I wouldn’t have left if I didn’t, but she’s had a hell of a start.”

“Yeah,” Nancy says without much life in her voice. She and Tim were an unbreakable duo. Ever since they’d both been on the team, they’d gotten along. They were so distinct from one another, but they somehow fit. They made each other feel better when calls got bad and they understood the rigors of the job in ways that other people couldn’t.

“How are you, Nance? Are you okay?” Of course she’s not okay, Michelle scolds herself.

There’s a long pause between them. “Listen, Michelle, I’m not really in the mood for talking this all through right now. I just wanted to make sure that you knew about Tim. I know you cared about him.”

“I do,” Michelle adds before saying goodbye and hanging up the phone. When the line is silent, Michelle feels the weight of the truth landing straight on her. Her eyes water, and she’s not a crier, but it’s been a stressful time. This has all happened during a pandemic. Lots of bad things have happened to people, but she was fortunate that no one close to her had lost their life. The tragedy had not been hers, but this one is.

She doesn’t regret following her passion, but she wishes she’d kept in contact better. She’s never been good at maintaining relationships. She’s always been mission-oriented, focusing on what she can do for the world and forgetting all the parts of her life that give her joy. Michelle tries to remember the last time she talked to Tim, and she can’t quite place when that was. They’d never been chat on the phone after work pals, but they’d hung out at the same places, and they’d talked when the moment arose, so he was still someone important to her. She still hated the idea that someone she spent so much time with was gone because when you go through long shifts with someone, that is bound to bond you.

Michelle has never been one for long goodbyes, but it would have been nice to give Tim a final goodbye. They can’t even have a normal funeral because the pandemic makes even that last goodbye dangerous. She can’t see Tim again. He is gone, and she doesn’t get the chance of closure, so questions rally through her mind. She wonders if she could have changed things. If she was there, Michelle doesn’t think that anything would be different, but she still can’t help but wonder. Has she let down people she cares about yet again?

But the truth is that the questions she asks aren’t ones that will ever have answers. She doesn’t have time to battle her thoughts. She’s always coped best by throwing herself into work. Michelle takes a breath. She gets to work again. She can grieve later, when it is dark and her tears can hide in the night, but it is only late morning, and she is going to get through the day.

Harsh Daylight

It doesn’t take long for Paul to notice all the ways the firehouse has changed since Tim had died. You can feel the difference as soon as you walk into eh building, and it continues to percolate as the firefighters try to adjust to the new order that doesn’t include Tim. Paul knew that it wasn’t going to be easy, but he may have underestimated how hard it would be to function as a firehouse. He’s never been part of a firehouse quite like the 126 before, though. Stations were commonly tight-knit, but his had always been cliquey, and they’d never quite made him feel as at home.

He’s always been good at observation, but it doesn’t take his skills to notice how profoundly things have changed in just a short time. Everything has been thrown in a new direction. They were just starting to get used to Tommy’s role at their station, and just as soon as things were starting to even out, mother nature came in and wrecked their order. They have to learn to get back into a new swing of things, and it hasn’t been easy for anyone. They’re still mourning, but they are back at work, trying to make the best of things.

Everyone has been quiet. It feels like they’re in a ghost town, and it’s unnerving to see such vibrant with so little to say. Paul doesn’t usually say much. He’s always been the type to sit back and read a book as the others played games, but he still likes to chime in and throw in a quip every once in a while. Without Tim, the dynamic has been shifted, so no one bothers saying much. They greet each and they use pleasantries, but it’s like no one can figure out how to break the silence. Paul doesn’t push them to speak, but he observes that they are not.

He sees the way Nancy’s eyes glisten when she thinks no one is looking. She keeps to herself when she can, hiding in the corners of the firehouse when she’s not needed elsewhere. She does her job, but she doesn’t look at people the way she used to, and she mumbles when she speaks. She’s forlorn, and Paul can see when her thoughts shift to Tim because there’s a light in her eyes that dims when her attention is pulled back into the present.

Paul feels how hard Marjan punches when they spar. She’s got so much anger, and he wants to be there for whenever he can. He’d felt that same kind of all-encompassing anger when he had lost his dad, so he knows how important it is to find healthy outlets and to know that other people are willing to help if you need it. He knows how hard that anger is to combat because it is the most combative feeling, so he suggests they go for a round of boxing whenever he sees Marjan start to tense as the anger becomes more intense.

T.K. and Judd, he notices, are more alike than either would admit. They both run hot and cold. They go from quiet moodiness to snapping at anyone who looks at them the wrong way. They’ve always tended to anger, but not the same kind of anger as Marjan has. Theirs is more animalistic, and it’s more unpredictable. Marjan handles her anger well, but Paul worries about how the anger impacts T.K. and Judd.

Mateo seems okay, but Paul sees him praying more than he ever did before. Paul isn’t even sure that Mateo is that religious, but he knows that Mateo was searching for higher meaning. Paul can understand the draw to a higher power, but he doesn’t have one for himself. He sees the guilt in Mateo’s face, and he wonders if that’s connected to Mateo’s newly revived faith.

Tommy, meanwhile, is trying to deal with some guilt of her own. Paul can tell that she feels bad about what she said to Tim, but he doesn’t know much about her to understand her thought process more fully. She tries to put on a strong face when she comes to work, but he can sense the cracks of insecurity. She has a lot to adjust to, and her starting moments were less than ideal, but Paul has a feeling she’ll get better with time and learn that they’re a welcoming bunch.

Owen is nearly unreadable, but he’s more cautious with the team. He takes more risks himself while not letting his crew do things that he deems, “too high risk.” Paul knows that Owen wouldn’t think twice before running into danger to save any one of them or even a stranger. It doesn’t seem healthy, but Owen doesn’t seem open to the idea that his issues may be more alive than he thought.

While the people are downtrodden, Buttercup has been extra lively. He scurries around the firehouse, trying to cheer anyone up who looks like they’re in a sad mood. Everyone smiles when they see Buttercup.

The team dynamic no longer runs smoothly. It’s bumpy and they all feel a little clumsy on calls. The paramedics are the most affected, but even the firefighters seem out of sync. They aren’t communicating as clearly and it feels like they’re back to the days when they just met each other and had to know how each person operated. It’s stranger now because they aren’t strangers and they know each other well that it shouldn’t be hard to adjust, but it has been hard, and sometimes, it feels like they’ll always have a bumpy dynamic.

With all the quiet and feelings, Paul spends most of his time with his nose in a book, and reading seems to calm his nerves enough that he can breathe through any grief that pops up. Paul wonders when the appropriate time is to start laughing and joking again.

There’s nothing predictable about grief, but Paul thinks he’s handling it fine. He’s not yelling. He’s not crying. He’s moving forward. Paul is going through the process swiftly and easily. It’s not that he’s not upset. It’s just that he isn’t reacting in extremes like the rest of his team. His response has been more demure, and he wants to keep balanced for his team because he knows that’s what they need of him. He’s not grieving in the normal way. But what’s the right way to grieve? He’s grieving the way he knows how, and he’s not sure it’s the best way, but it gets him through his shifts and through evenings alone.

Paul looks in the mirror, taking in his reflection, and he notices that maybe he’s not okay as he thought. He looks sullen and quiet. His eyes look tired and his clothes look just a bit more unkempt than normal. Looking into the mirror, he can’t fool himself. He can’t pretend that he’s perfectly normal, even though the wrong things are so subtle that any normal person couldn’t notice them. He’s grieving. He’s grieving just as much as anyone else. Paul’s learned to process hurt efficiently to save himself from the prolonged pain. The trick is that he doesn’t try to push what he’s feeling away. He’s learned to accept his feelings or at least deal with them as they come. He’s not perfect at it— no human is— but he is doing his best, and he’s trying to get through the pain without anyone noticing that he is hurt.

The Hottest Noon

Tim has been dead for a week, and Marjan is still angry. It still feels like it has just happened, and Marjan knows that a week isn’t long, but it’s much too long for her to still be angry. The rage has not yet become embers. It is hot and she struggles to control the intensity. Marjan is not an angry person. She usually can let problems and hardships roll off her shoulders. She doesn’t believe in anger. She thinks it does more harm than good, and she knows that it doesn’t fix anything; it only prolongs her own suffering. Even so, she can’t seem to get rid of the anger. It keeps bubbling up when she least expects it, and it makes her feel like a frenzied mess of a person. She doesn’t like to look herself in the mirror when she is angry because that is not who she is. It is someone she doesn’t recognize, and it is someone she needs to escape. She doesn’t know how to stop the rage, though. How does she move on from the anger to whatever comes next?

She’s been good at keeping her feelings within. She’s cried a little, but she has hides the part of her that wants to destroy everything she sees because she doesn’t know how to express that without bringing down the people around her. She calls her mom when she can, because her mom is the calmest person on earth, but even those calls have limited impacts on Marjan’s state of mind. She can’t help but wonder if something about Tim’s death broke something inside her.

The rage isn’t stagnant, but it’s always there, waiting to come out and poke at her. The rage is dull when it isn’t so sharp that she feels like she has to lash out just to ease her nerves. It is in the back in her, aching but far enough away that she can take some calming breaths and feign normalcy. The rage is too bright, most times, like noon sun. It is bright in her eyes, so bright that it’s hard to discern the rage from any other feeling. They all muddle together under the brightness of the anger. She knows other feelings are blossoming, but they all fail to shine as brightly as her anger.

She’s been doing a lot of boxing with Paul, and he doesn’t say a word when she asks him to lend a hand. When she’s alone, she spends time with a punching bag. She thinks it’s better to share the rage with a friend, but sometimes, she is too ashamed of how angry she still is even after time has passed. Marjan hasn’t talked about it. She’s not one to keep her feelings bottled up, but with all the grief everyone is feeling, she doesn’t want to say too much. She doesn’t know how to put anger into words, and the more time passes, the more abstract the anger becomes.

The boxing doesn’t quite cut it. It helps her blow off steam but not enough steam, so she joins the Austin Annihilators. It feels good to be back on her wheels. The physicality of roller derby helps Marjan let out some of the tension she has been holding. It lets her let the anger out without having red knuckles. She gets more bruises, but that’s just part of the sport, and the ache in her body after playing feels good. It gives her an escape and a purpose. In roller derby, her anger is a tool.

Derby girls have a reputation for being tough and aggressive, but the truth is that while they’re badasses on the track, they’re a family. They don’t push Marjan to talk about anything, but she knows they have her back. They’ll point it out if she seems distracted, and Marjan feels more comfortable expressing her grief to them because they didn’t know Tim. She can get some perspectives that aren’t so close. It’s refreshing to have some new faces, ones who can keep an open mind and keep her from getting too lost in her feelings. Most people wouldn’t understand how rewarding roller derby is. They think it’s just violent— because they’re girls playing a contact sport— but it’s a sport just like any other, and for many of the girls, it’s the best emotional outlet that they can find.

It’s hard to sustain rage, but Marjan wants to. She wants to hold on because letting it go means she’ll have to face the other feelings that the anger has been covering up. But ultimately, she can’t keep the anger burning in her heart. The more she tries to hold that rage close to her heart, the more the sadness settles in her core. She doesn’t want the anger to become a part of her more than it already has. She wants to relinquish its claim on her and learn to move on from the pain her anger has caused. She wants to feel the sorrow if she must because grief is not just anger, and she must explore all parts of her grief before she can heal.

The Other Side of the Dome

It’s late afternoon, and they’ve just gotten back to the firehouse, and the morning had gone easily, but things had changed when a big fire broke out in the afternoon. Judd can feel his heart hammering in his chest. His mind has been on the edge. It’s been preoccupied with fear and burning with the repetitive thought that it’s only a matter of time before he loses someone again. Tim dying has brought up old memories, and they make jittery and anxious. He’s been snappish and everyone can tell that he’s not his normal self. He’s had to schedule more appointments with his therapist, and that’s fine, but it shows that he’s not fine. He feels like he should be over this by now, but his PTSD has been stronger in the past few weeks than it has been since just a few months after he started his therapy. While it’s been nearly two years since his last crew died, the wound is still fairly fresh, but Judd just wants it to go away.

Marjan nearly got trapped in a burning building and the fear of losing someone else had hung over them all as they waited to see if she made it out alive. Judd had almost lost it when she was in there. He heard explosions in his head and he struggled to keep his head in the present. Owen had noticed and let Judd take a step back, but it hadn’t done much to help. Judd didn’t want to step back. He wanted to help, but there is nothing he could do but wait. The seconds dragged as he stared at the building, trying to get his head back where it should be so he could actually do his job rather than feeling like he’s losing his mind.

She’d come out of the building with a grin, an ashy one but a grin nonetheless. Her voice had shaken, but she’d reassured them that she was okay. Even now that he knows that Marjan is fine, he doesn’t feel any better. Marjan’s back to being her usual daredevil self, but Judd feels shaky. He’s already lost enough, and he struggles throughout the shift. Anytime a situation gest vaguely dangerous, he has to fight the temptation to pull his team members and try to shield them from what his brain keeps telling him is dangerous. He wants to protect the ones he loves, but when they’re on the job, he can’t let his protective urges get in the way of them doing their jobs.

He goes home that evening, and he feels a constant throb of anxiety. “What’s wrong?” Grace asks her husband, immediately seeing through his façade. He should have known that he couldn’t hide this from her, and to be honest, he doesn’t even want to try. He’s learned that it doesn’t serve him to keep silent. He and Grace have been stronger since they learned to communicate in more productive ways.

“Marjan’s gonna get herself killed one of these days,” Judd grumbles, “Or T.K., or the Captain. Even Mateo seems more reckless these days.” The more he thinks about it, the more likely it seems that someone is going to get hurt, but certain members concern him more because they dive into danger without thinking their actions through.

“Do you think you might just be extra worried?” Grace asks, face gentle. He feels her hand on his face, and it makes him feel at peace. He thanks the heavens that Grace is a part of his life. He never deserved someone so perfect. He was honored to call her his wife.

Judd fights the temptation to yell. He used to be the guy who couldn’t talk about what he was feeling without shutting down, so at least he’s still got his communication. Therapy has helped him deal with tough conversations better. “Of course, I’m extra worried. I just don’t want to lose anyone.”

Grace pulls Judd into her arms, and she wraps her smaller body around his. “It’s normal to worry. I worry too,” she admits. “I was so scared when I got the call the day of the explosion.”

“I thought I lost everything that day, but yet again, I’m in a position where I have so much to lose.” No one could replace his old crew, but he’d created bonds that were just as special with the new 126. They were still building his relationships, but at the end of the day, they were there for one another.

“And isn’t it the best feeling in the world to have so much to lose?” Before, he would have grumbled and shut down when the conversation got too “mushy,” but he didn’t mind it so much anymore.

Judd nods, “It sure is.” He hates the thought of losing another person from his family, but he knows that it’s a whole lot better to have them than to push them away so that he doesn’t get hurt.

You Can’t Escape the Sunset

It’s only been a couple of weeks since Tim has died, so they’ve all begun to heal, but the wound still feels fresh. Austin is still recovering from the damage that Mother Nature had brought down on them, so all around, people were more demure, but the sadness was lifting, and for those who didn’t lose loved ones, they could go back to being their regular, happy selves. Not everyone is so lucky. Grief is still heavy upon Austin. In some ways, it is a comfort not to move on. Grief feels incomplete when it is rushed, so when it doesn’t feel like a stabbing pain or a dull ache, it is like a weighted blanket, heavy but somehow comforting. Grief is a weight on your chest, but you need that weight to push out the pent up feelings that result from the complexity of loss.

Grief can impact you even when you’re at a distance from it. It ripples and touches people you wouldn’t expect it to touch. Carlos didn’t know Tim well, but he’s been around the station enough that Tim’s absence is tangible. He can feel the empty space in their lives, and it makes him anxious and plain old sad. Because he’s used to seeing his favorite firehouse being lively and joking with each other non-stop when they’re not on a call. The whole 126 is quieter. Their wounds are too fresh to make jokes, and they’re just trying to get back to functioning because they all know that there are still lives to save. There are always more lives to save, no matter how many they lose, and that’s one of the hardest parts of being a first responder, you’re fighting a neverending battle, and for all the grief you’re forced to carry, the potential for loss never ends. It may be someone close to you, or it may be someone you’ve only just met, but first responders constantly deal with loss. That loss is worth all the lives they save. Even Buttercup understands that something dreadful has happened, and he’s been extra attentive to the firefighters, making sure that they get attention whenever they need them. They’re not back to normal, but they’re staying together and that’s what is most important.

Michelle’s been calling more. With the pandemic and her new vocation keeping her busy, Michelle hasn’t had a lot of time to talk to Carlos, but she’s been calling him every other day now, which for Michelle, is unheard of. It’s nice to hear her voice, but there’s so much distance between them. The more time they spend apart, the harder it is to talk like they used to. Carlos can’t help but think that once the grief has worn off that Michelle will go back to being spacey. He’s always known that she needed her space, but he still misses her. She’s still around, but it’s not the same. Still, he’ll hold onto the friendship as much as it can, and maybe with a little luck, it will survive the changes that threaten to tear them apart. Changes just might bring them together, though, if they’re lucky.

There’s one person that Carlos worries about the most. T.K.’s been on edge. He hasn’t been pushing Carlos away in the same way that he used to, but the lightheartedness he’s gained during his time in Austin has started to backtrack. T.K. barely talks about how he’s feeling. He tries to put on a brave face. He says that work has been keeping his mind off things, but Carlos knows better. He knows that T.K. is not as okay as he says he is. He’s not on the ledge, but he could get there if he keeps pushing himself without confiding any of his feelings. The tension in T.K.’s shoulders is deeper, and Carlos knows that there’s not much he can do other than being there, and he will be there. He’ll wait for T.K. to come home as many late nights as he needs to. If Carlos is being honest with himself, he’s not okay either. He needs to hold T.K. just as much as T.K. needs to hold him. They’ve been through so much already, and Carlos desperately wants life to be easy if only for a little while.

With all that has happened, Carlos feels more anxious. He was just starting to get over the fear he had after T.K. had been shot, but now all the worries that he had worked through are peeping out at him again. What happened to Tim could have happened to any member of the 126. There was no rhyme or reason to it; at the end of the day, it was a bad situation that got worse. It was the apathetic hand of nature throwing a wrench in their plans. That was scary to think about because it just shows that no matter how safe someone tries to stay, sometimes, there’s nothing you can do. No one could have anticipated that T.K. was going to shot or that there would be volcanic activity in Austin. Any day, something bad could happen to one of them. Carlos could lose someone important to him before they got to build their relationship in all the ways that Carlos would like to build it. He’s already started to imagine a future with T.K., and while their relationship is still new, something feels so right, and he can’t stand never getting the chance to know what might become of them, not as individuals but as a team.

He knows that his job is dangerous too, but he isn’t concerned about himself. It’s not that he has a disregard for his life, but his own fate isn’t something he wants to try to control. It’s harder to know that you have no power over what happens to the people you love because they’re the ones that Carlos wants to protect the most, but he’s learned on the job that you don’t get to choose who makes it through a hard situation. All you can do is do what you think is best in a given scenario and hope that it turns out as well as it possibly can. Tim’s death reminds Carlos just how fragile life is. In an instant, it can be ripped from a person before they can tighten their hold on it.

Tim had so much more life to live. That’s what everyone who didn’t really know him says as a consolation, but it’s such a generic comment that fails to captivate all the things that made Tim a real human and not a facsimile of one. They know that he was young and healthy. They don’t know enough to specify more than that, but if they knew Tim, they’d know that he had so much planned for the future. He had people to reconnect with, and he had a cat to take care of. He had friends and he had a whole big family. He wanted to continue to help people.

Dusk

The loss of Tim has eaten at Tommy. Her family has been supportive. The girls had made her sympathy cards and Charles had made her their favorite meal with remnants from their freezer, but as understanding as her family was, there was still an unease that she couldn’t communicate with them. It was a feeling that you could only truly know if you had been there that day.

She hasn’t been sleeping well, and she figures that’s probably the same boat the 126 is in. She’s at home, but she’s getting done some work that she has yet to address— application files. She hasn’t been able to open the materials. She knows that there’s a lot of good people in the folder, but it’s still too soon. Hiring a new team member doesn’t feel right. Still, it’s something Tommy needs to bite the bullet and do, not just because it’s required but because delaying the inevitable doesn’t help anyone, but she doesn’t want it to seem like she’s moving on too fast, which is why she’s starting her hunt for a new paramedic in the safety of her own home so that no one catches sight of her moving things along when the wound is still fairly fresh. Buster is curled up beside her as Charles gets the twins ready for bed. It’s been hard to relinquish that duty, but she’s promised to read them an extra story before they sleep.

Tim Rosewater isn’t replaceable, but they need someone to stand where he stood. The empty space that he should be taking up is a cutting reminder of their grief, and while Tommy doesn’t want to rush their grief, she knows that they can’t move on until they have a permanent replacement for Tim and they can start to rebuild their team dynamics. No one will ever be like Tim Rosewater, so she needs to find someone who is distinct but still just as highly qualified as Tim was. It’s not an easy spot to fill, but given that the 126 is the most luxurious fire station in Austin, Tommy gets to pick from the best, all who want to be part of her team. She doesn’t deserve all this prestige!

With work being busy and family life being busier, Tommy hasn’t had a whole lot of time to herself to process what has happened to Tim. She didn’t think she needed the time because she didn’t even know him that well, but as she sits with the closed folder, she feels her shoulders tense with the weight of the decision. She’s not normally one to have a hard time making decisions. Even when the restaurant had gone out of business and Tommy had decided to go back to work, she had not labored over the decision much. She didn’t like the idea, and she struggled with not being home to look after her kids, but at the same time, she had never doubted that going back was what she needed to do. Her family needed her to work, and even if she didn’t like it, she was going to step up for them.

When she got to the job, she felt out of her element. She’d doubted then, but deep down she always knew that she had wound up exactly where she needed to be. She didn’t have a choice, but it still made her nervous to go back after all those years. She was a leader, and she felt pressure to do everything perfectly. In the process, she sometimes had to upset people. She had to be firm, but she was doing it so her paramedics could function properly. Then, Tim had died, and she started to wondered yet again if she made a mistake. Grief had shaken in her confidence when it was already dwindling.

Maybe Tommy didn’t know Tim well, but she wanted to. She didn’t just want to be the tough boss. She wanted to know what he was like as a person, and she wanted him to like her and not just respect her. She’d seen glimpses of him. She knew he had a sense of humor, and she’d witnessed him treating patients with a gentle hand. When she was picking up Buster, she’d also seen how many toys that Tim had given his cat. He didn’t seem to have many people close by, so he had doted on his cat, and the thought tugged on Tommy’s heart.

Tommy opens the folder, she looks it over once, but as she hears little pitter-patters of feet in the hall, she closes it again. She cannot make decisions tonight, no matter how much she knows she needs to. Her girls giggle as they enter the room, and they bounce to their mother, surrounding her on the couch. The new hire can wait a day. She puts the folder back on the coffee table, and Tommy focuses on her family. They decide to watch a movie, and Tommy makes herself comfortable on her couch. Buster curls up next to her. He’s become the girls’ new little friend, and even though Tommy never really got to talk to Tim as more than a boss, Buster makes her feel a little closer to the man she wishes she got to know.

She looks at her family and then at Buster. She can’t help but smile at the thought that they have grown. It may take her a while to get used to the idea, but the 126 is so much more than coworkers. They are a family, and she is part of that family. It never hurts to have more family, Tommy thinks. She knows that her daughters will grow up with even more love, and isn’t that what any parent wants for their kids?

Freckles of Light

It’s been over a month since Tim has died, and Nancy is mostly okay. That’s what she tells anyone who asks, anyway, and it’s mostly right. She can do all the things that being a normal human requires. She can get out of bed without wanting to sob. She can make herself a meal and have an appetite to eat it. She doesn’t feel like curling up and blocking out the whole world just to get some escape from the emptiness that loss has left in her core. So, yeah, she’s doing okay. She’s surviving and with a little more time, the wound will heal, only leaving a scar. She knows these things take time, but she’s sick of the part of herself that still isn’t fully okay. She worries that she’ll never be fully okay. It scares her that missing Tim might be her new normal, and how does someone move on if they can never make peace with a loss?

She’s learned to go to work without feeling dread. It was hard at first to show up. The first shift she took after Tim died made her want to go back home and ignore the world forever. It had felt like everyone was watching her and asking her how she was. She didn’t know how she was. She was still working through all the feelings that were still so raw. She didn’t want to lie to them, but she also didn’t want them to think that she was too messed up to work. Maybe she couldn’t have saved Tim, but there were still plenty of people out there who needed her help, and she wasn’t going to give up on them. The reasons she had become a paramedic hadn’t changed. She still wanted to help people, and the calling even more urgent to her. Maybe being a paramedic had just been Michelle’s occupation, but it is Nancy’s vocation, and she refuses to give it up. So, she’s taught herself to shut down her feelings enough to get through the day while allowing enough to remain so that she can be compassionate.

For a while, she felt broken. She’d felt like she’d fallen from a skyscraper into a volcanic pit— a pile of shattered, melty parts. She had wondered if anyone could back from that. Was there any fixing the way she felt? It felt like a part of her had died with Tim, and as much as she wanted to fill the void, she knew that there was no way to replace the spot that Tim had left in her life. That hole smarted and itched, and there was no way to alleviate that feeling other than trying to wait it out.

She feels protective of Tim’s memory. He wasn’t close to his family, and he didn’t have anyone to go home to other than his cat. She hoped that he hadn’t died feeling lonely. She wished she knew if she had been enough for him. Had she supported him enough? Had their friendship eased any of the loneliness he might have felt? Had she been enough of a family? She couldn’t be sure, but she wanted to believe that he hadn’t secretly lived a miserable life because no one deserves to die feeling miserable. It was probably just her fears deepening their roots. She was projecting her own loneliness, maybe. But she hated the potential that what she feels in the absence of Tim was what he felt all the time.

Tim had been such a good guy, not perfect by any means, but he’d been brave and funny. There had always been a brightness in his eyes, even when his face sagged with fatigue. He’d always been ready for a joke and wanted to make the world a better place. Maybe he’d been a little whiny and Nancy knows she’s made so many jokes at his expense, but they’d all been tender-hearted. It was just how they showed affection, and they’d been like brother and sister in that way. They fought sometimes, but they were each other’s family. It would be so much easier if they were just coworkers, but when you work as closely as they did, there’s no such thing as just coworkers. You talk to them, you eat with them, you keep each other safe, and it sometimes feels like you’re the only people in the world who understand the rigors of the job. They’d shared a little bubble of knowing how the other one felt, and now, that bubble has popped, and Nancy didn’t know what to do.

There’s a part of Nancy that wants to hold onto the grief. She wants to mope in her upset and keep it burning her insides. The self-destructive nature of trying to tame her grief has allure. It’s addictive, and the more she lets it rage, the farther she is pulled from herself. She feels it melting her insides, and she thinks that maybe that feeling is retribution for all the mistakes she’s made, but no amount of penance makes her feel better. She can punish herself all she wants, but self-flagellation only drives her away from Tim’s memory. It puts her into a dark cave, alone and cold despite the fire in her core. She can’t engage. She can’t function. All she can do is feel bad about what her life has become. So, she’s learning that she can’t hold grief because it’s not something she’s got any power over. It’s time to let it go to be whatever it will be.

Nancy still takes each day one at a time. She’s tried to get back to normal the fast way before, and she’s found that by the end of the day, it only makes her feel worse, so she’s got to take it as slow as she needs. She’s got to be okay with taking one step forward and then two steps back. Progress is slow, but she still makes it, even with the setbacks and the bad days. The more time that passes, the fewer bad days she has. She can’t let herself get discouraged on those bad days. She has to remember that bad days don’t last forever just as that deep feeling of yearning to see Tim won’t last forever. She will smile again. She reminds herself how many smiles she has left to smile— so many if all goes well. The past is haunted, the future is haunting, but the present is a chance. She can make the most of the moment, or she can lose herself in it.

Nancy has started to appreciate the people in her life more. She longs to hear their voice, even when it’s just been a day or two since she has spoken to them. She’s constantly worrying that the conversations she has will be the last. She calls her parents more, her brother too, and they are concerned when she does, but they talk to her in cheery voices, trying to balance out the sadness they know she feels. She appreciates their efforts, but she’s not sure they help. It’s still comforting to hear the voices of the people who have been there through it all.

When she’s at work, she feels out of synch. She’s gotten used to having Tim there at every turn. The whole rhythm of the team has been thrown off, and the routines they’ve created to make their jobs easier have a missing link. She can’t remember a time when she felt so off-kilter. It’s like she’s got a hundred-pound weight on one half of her body. It’s hard to stay on her feet, but she learns how to center the weight so she’s not falling over all the time.

Each life she saves is still a reminder of the one she failed to save. There’s a loop of self-doubt that repeats in her head. It tells her that she will never be a good enough paramedic. It convinces her that it is her fault that Tim is dead. Sometimes, it tells her that she should have been the one to die instead. None of these thoughts are logical are consistent, but they are there, making her worry that there’s something deeply wrong with her.

It feels scary for things to go back to normal. It feels too much like they’re forgetting Tim. They’ve put a picture of him on the wall, but that’s just a two-dimensional token of him. It can’t possibly capture all that Tim was, and Nancy is afraid that moving on means letting Tim become nothing more than an old picture as the sheen of the frame starts to wear down and the shiny new firehouse grows old. Moving on feels traitorous, even though Nancy knows that it is what Tim would have wanted. She’s always hated when people say that, “It’s what Tim would have wanted,” because maybe it’s true, but it feels wrong to speak for someone who can never speak back.

She’s pieced herself back together, but no matter how much she pushes forward, Nancy still struggles. Because grief isn’t neat. It doesn’t stack up like the carefully cut layers of a five-tiered cake. It isn’t linear either. You may be angry one moment, depressed the next, and back to be angry by the time the next day rolls around. The five stages of grief are not stages at all because you don’t advance to one when you have completed the last. The stages of grief are like playing roulette. You tumble around, and it’s up to chance where you will land.

She wakes up feeling something new all the time, and she hasn’t yet landed on acceptance, not really. She knows logically what has happened. She’s not denying that he’s gone, not as she had when it had first happened, but her brain still hasn’t caught up with the reality yet. There’s still a part of her that thinks he’s there. She feels him like a phantom limb. At times, she feels him so strongly that the word dead feels far too strong. It’s hard to believe that something so tragic has happened to someone so close to her. She’s gotten used to witnesses other people’s tragedies, but that hasn’t prepared her to accept her own.

The grief comes back without warning. Even a month later, she thinks about all the things she’d like to tell Tim, forgetting for a while that she won’t be able to tell him them when she goes to work. Sometimes, it’s a light tickle while other times it’s like a hammer in her skull. One day, she had seen a stray cat crawling into the plant she had on her porch, and she’d snapped a picture, automatically thinking about how cute Tim would find it, and as the cat scurried away, the realization that Tim wouldn’t be there to see it during their next shift, hammered her, sending the air out of lungs. She still expected him to be there, and the fact that he isn’t doesn’t change her automatic thoughts of him. She’s gotten into the habit of knowing he’ll be there, and it takes time to get out of habits. She’s read that it takes twenty-one days to break a habit, but she’s starting to realize that it can take much longer.

Grief hides in the corners. Nancy sees Tim in places she never expected to see him— old movies, the smiles of strangers joking on the street, chocolate truffles that Tim loved to inhale. She still has his number in her phone. She’s kept the last thread they had. She looks at it periodically, and some days, it makes her cry. Other days, it makes her laugh. Some days, she can’t tell if she’s laughing or crying.

Nancy knows that she will always miss Tim. His mark in her life isn’t going to go away, and she wouldn’t change how he’s transformed her life. She wouldn’t take back any of the time spent with him, and for the most part, she doesn’t have regrets. She’s stopped agonizing over what she could have done better because those kinds of thoughts aren’t going to help anyone. They certainly aren’t going to bring Tim back. The most they can give her is an insight into how to do better in the future. She’s mostly learned that the best medicine for her grief is to be more compassionate and to put the love and brightness that Tim gave her back into the world because there’s something so healing about finding little ways to share someone who is physically gone.

No matter how old she gets, she’ll keep the memory of him bright in her heart. She’ll talk to her kids about him, and she won’t forget the role that he had in her life and the role he will continue to have. She might not think about him every day. There might be a time when his memory waxes and wanes in her consciousness, but he’ll always be there on some level. When she’s on a call, tending to a moron, she’ll think of him. When she cracks a joke like the ones he used to tell, she’ll think of him. She won’t censor his memory. She’ll remember the way he got frustrated with change and the times they disagreed about how to proceed. Nancy will take the time to preserve as much of him as possible in her mind.

The grief will linger, but she’ll learn to live with it, as every other person must do when they lose someone who meant something to them. She’s already started to learn. She knows how to keep afloat, even as the negative feelings pull her down. Nancy knows that she’s a work in progress. The hurt is still so sharp sometimes. She gets frustrated and tells herself just to get over it, but she’s trying to be more merciful with herself. She’s always been a forgiving person. Her compassion allows her to accept apologies and understand why other people hurt her, but that compassion hasn’t been something that she’s applied to herself lately. For a while, she didn’t think she deserved it, but now, she’s committed to bringing the spark back into her life. She’s been hiding from the light far too long.

Grief is the deepest yearning, a pit of desire deep in your soul. It is wanting what has been taken, and it looking for a way forward when the world has become dim, so grief is not the night; it is the stars. It is the light you carry that was given to you by the people who have most touched your soul. Grief hurts, but it is not the darkness. It is a lantern that reminds you of the brightness you saw in the eyes of another person. It is the luster of memory and joy. It is the sun shining like an alarm in the morning when you have gotten too little sleep, a starling chance at a new day. The grief stings your eyes, but you adjust to it. You learn to see in new ways. Grief is letting yourself remember all the times that another person has pulled you from the darkness. It is the glow of the past pointing you to the future because grief isn’t a trap. It is a beacon when the trauma urges you to remain in the dark.

As you heal, the piercing pain of the light starts to fade, drowned out with light pollution. The streetlamps are so bright that you cannot see the stars of the people who were once so close but are now so far away. The light, the great lantern of grief, never vanishes. When it’s run its initial course, grief doesn’t just pack up and leave. It continues to burn. The light is hot inside of you, but you learn to temper it. Some nights, it still shines so brightly that your eyes burn and tear, but the light does not defeat you, and you cannot defeat it without defeating yourself, so you must learn to balance the light. You must point it in the right direction, and you must allow it to be part of yourself.

It’s late. The night is firmly upon Austin, but the stars freckle the sky, and they make Nancy feel less alone. Her heart feels less cold as she reconnects with the brightness of the world. She likes to think that Tim is out there somewhere. She’s not religious, but she likes to believe there’s something bigger out there— bigger than her, bigger than her grief, bigger than the grief of the whole world. They don’t seem it, but the stars are brighter than a flashlight, a lamp, or even a giant spotlight. They’re far away, but that doesn’t take away their brightness. Even as your memory changes and you grow old and forget, all the lanterns of grief are still part of you, your emotional DNA, that make you who you are, even if you cannot consciously access those parts of yourself. The pinpricks of light in the sky remind Nancy that grieving means looking at the light. It is learning how to hold something you cannot touch. It is a reminder that you can only lose what you expected from the future, but you cannot lose the past and all that past meant to you.

#text #911 lone star #fics #911 lone star fics #my writing #my works #my fics #elise writes #long reads #15000 words

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padfootagain · 4 years

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The Jedi And The Pilot (II)

Part 2 : A New Deal

Here comes part 2 for this series I haven't updated in a while, sorry about that…

No warnings apply here! I just hope you'll like it!

Word Count: 4332

"Oh, maker…"

Obi-Wan was holding on the controls before him with so much strength his knuckles had turned as white as snow. His back pressed against his seat, he couldn’t believe he had stumbled onto a pilot even more reckless than Anakin.

"What now? You don’t like flying?" you teased, earning a glare from the Jedi by your side.

"I don’t mind flying, but this is not flying. This is… oh no…"

He pinched his lips as you rolled the ship several times, avoiding the shots of light aimed at you.

"If you throw up, I’ll take an extra fee. And I won’t clean it up for you," you warned the Jedi, who merely gave you an offended side-glance.

"I will not throw up. I wish you would be more careful though."

"More careful? We’re being shot at! And it’s your fault, Jedi!"

You had just left the atmosphere. Before you lied the countless stars, shining glimmers upon a velvety void. As far as the eyes could see, there was but darkness and dots of light. It was your favourite sight in the whole galaxy… just… the infinite possibilities of space. All these shining stars holding secrets of their own, as if they waited for you to discover them all.

But for now, you couldn’t settle on the beauty before you. Instead, you were focusing on avoiding the blasts that were shot behind you.

You entered the coordinates with one hand while your droid, an old R1 unit that you had painted in red a long time ago and answered only to the name Rupture - for a reason even unknown to you, but you and accepted the nickname - was preparing the jump to hyperspace.

You turned the ship to the right and left and rolled over several times, still avoiding the bolts of red light fired your way.

Obi-Wan was suddenly quiet. He seemed focused beside you. You chose to ignore him, for now.

"Rup, buddy, I’ll need a bit more power on the thrusters, please."

The droid beeped after only a few more seconds to signal you the extra power now available for your acrobatics, and you hurried to use it to turn the ship around in a quick movement, passing through the 4 ships. And as expected, two of them shot each other.

Only two left.

You pointed the ship towards space once more. By your side, Obi-Wan was strangely calm.

"You’re okay over there, Jedi?"

"I can feel something… someone…"

"Bad?"

Obi-Wan slowly nodded.

"I can’t figure out who it is. But I certainly have a bad feeling about this."

"We don’t need more trouble than we already have."

"We must make the jump."

"Yes. I am aware of that," you replied in a dry tone.

Another roll, and your droid finally beeped to signal you that the ship was ready to go to hyper-space.

"Alright, hang on, Jedi! One last acrobatics and we're in the clear."

"Do you really have to…"

Before he could finish his protest, you were turning your ship up, until you traced a circle around the enemies' ships, that were too slow to react. The time they needed to make the manoeuvre was more than enough for you to make the jump. You were soon pushed against your seat, the thrilling sensation of lightspeed making tickles run in your belly, as stars before you were distorted in blurred, stretched white lights.

By your side, Obi-Wan heaved a relieved sigh.

You were finally safe.

"You are impressively dangerous," he said with a touch of humour to colour his voice.

"Well, thank you," you answered with an amused smile. "I'm very proud of you for not throwing up."

"I am a good pilot, believe it or not."

"I would not dare to doubt the abilities of Jedi in any area," you answered mockingly, which made him chuckle.

"I'm afraid we've missed our introduction back there. What's your name?"

"Y/N."

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Y/N."

"I wish I could say the same, but you're more trouble than you're worth for now, Jedi."

"I reckon that you were quite skilled in escaping from all this trouble, pilot," he teased, a humorous smile badly hidden on his features, and you struggled yourself to hide how much you wanted to laugh.

Rupture signalled you that all was fine, and he went to keep an eye – or well, a sensor, you guessed – at the hyperdrive, which had over-heated a couple of times before.

"How did you find an R1 unit anyway?" Obi-Wan asked. "I thought they had stopped the production years ago."

"Rup and I have been friends for years. Found him in a dump on Corellia. He saved my life, and I saved his in exchange. We've been a team ever since."

"He saved your life?"

"Ha… I don't think I should tell you the story, it might not have been extremely legal, the things I was doing."

"I see. You're a pirate."

"A pirate?!" you exclaimed, properly outraged and vexed. "Certainly not! How dare you?!"

"Well, you said you were earning your life in an illegal way…"

"I smuggled goods through Corellia. That's not exactly the same thing."

"You're a smuggler, then?"

"I'm a pilot. I'm a pilot, that's what I am."

"Who… smuggles goods through Corellia. Were you smuggling tonight?"

"I reckon that I smuggled your arse off this planet, indeed," you replied with a sour smile.

He opened his mouth to fire back, but had to yield.

"Well, I can't argue with that one."

"I don't particularly enjoy smuggling," you went on in a softer tone. "But I don't exactly have a choice, these days. This war is making my business very complicated."

Obi-Wan slowly nodded.

"I see."

"I'm not against you, relax. I mean… I don't put the blame on the Jedi, like some do. And I reckon that having to smuggle to get enough credits to go through the month is a lesser evil, considering what some have to go through."

"I'm still sorry that you have to go to such extremes to live," Obi-Wan said with compassion.

"I'll be fine."

"I guess you could get more money from this trip if you chose to hand me to the Separatists… they would pay a handsome fee for my head, I'm sure."

He was only half-joking, but you laughed hard at him.

"I'm a smuggler by default. But believe it or not, I do have a conscience."

He smiled.

"I believe you do indeed."

There was a silence in the cockpit, disturbed only by the rhythmic humming of the engines. All around the cockpit, the stars still traced lines of light against the darkness of space as you travelled too fast for them. The warm light in your ship gave the metal on the control a yellowish glow.

You struggled to refrain a mischievous smile.

"How much is it that I'd get if I handed you to the Separatists again?"

His laughter was as bright as the stars around.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Coruscant was but a glistening sea of impossibly high buildings. You hated the place. You hated the busy traffic and all these people in their freighters who couldn't even fly and yet played the pilots. You hated the sight of all this metal, there to pack up as many people on this tiny planet as possible. You preferred forests and oceans and mountains to this.

While you silently complained about the scenery, and tried to not get involved in a crash with one of those flying idiots around you, Obi-Wan had settled your arrival at the Jedi Temple.

"Your money is waiting for you," he told you as he turned off his com-link.

"Great! Perfect!" you smiled.

"The Order could use a pilot of your talent though," Obi-Wan slowly added, glancing over at you. "If you want to make some more money, we could pay you well to work for us."

You laughed.

"No, no, no, no," you shook your head. "You stumbled onto my ship, and I had the courtesy to not let you be killed. That's about how far my relationship with you all Jedi is going to go. Too much trouble."

"More than breaking the law to earn a decent living?"

"When did I say that I could reach a decent living?" you gloomily replied.

"Well, one more reason to work for us."

"I will not fly into war zones. I will not do that. And I can't work for the Order, I don't take sides in this war."

"I see."

"No. No, you don't see. I don't have the luxury to take a side. All I can do is try to not get the wrong people angry so that I can live a little bit longer. And flying a Jedi back to Coruscant is already going to get me in a lot of trouble with these wrong people I've been trying to avoid for so long. So, I'm dropping you off at your lovely temple, I'm getting my money, and that's it. Then it's farewell."

Obi-Wan remained silent, merely nodding. Deep in thought, he stroked his beard, his eyes lost on the horizon but he couldn't see any of the buildings you flew by.

The Jedi temple stood proud and tall in the city, the architecture so recognizable. You had never been in this part of the planet, never dared to even think you would ever go there. You were more used to the neighbourhoods where you had to walk with a blaster apparent at your belt if you wanted to go home in one piece.

Indeed, Obi-Wan had not lied. A padawan was waiting for the two of you on the landing platform with all the credits you had asked for. Three times what you thought you would get out of today.

"Thank you again, Y/N," Obi-Wan gave you a kind smile. "I hope we meet again. And if you change your mind about working for us, just come here, and ask for me."

"I will not change my mind. But thank you for the offer anyway. Try not to get yourself into too much trouble, Jedi."

"I'll do my best, pilot."

You exchanged a smile and shook hands. Just as you walked back into your ship, Anakin and Ahsoka were arriving to greet Obi-Wan.

"We heard you ran into more trouble than what was expected," Anakin smiled to his friend.

"Indeed," Obi-Wan nodded. "But I also received some unexpected help from a talented pilot."

"The woman who just left?" asked Ahsoka.

"I kind of forced my troubles upon her, she took me back here, and lost the ones who were after us."

"I'm sure you loved it," Anakin joked mockingly, causing Obi-Wan to roll his eyes.

"I thought she could work for us, but she turned down the offer."

"Maybe she has a better job already," Ahsoka replied, but Obi-Wan shook his head, and a frown of worry formed on his brow.

"No, I don't think so. I think she might be in trouble herself."

"She's a Separatist?"

"No. No, I don't believe that, she said she didn't want to take sides in the war."

"Why not?"

"Earning a living in these times can be difficult, and some sometimes have to make trades with people… who are not exactly respectable."

"You're worried about her," Anakin spoke slowly, in a cautious voice.

"I'm worried I might have gotten her into more trouble than I thought I would."

"If she turned down your offer, there is nothing you can do now."

"She said she sometimes had to smuggle goods to make a living, these people can be dangerous."

"I'm sure she can handle herself, you said yourself that she was talented," Ahsoka tried to reassure Obi-Wan, but it failed.

He fell silent, knowing the conversation would not ease his mind. He would meditate on the matter, but a voice in the depth of his head told him that your paths would cross again. He merely hoped it wouldn't be to find out that you were dead.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Despite how much you hated Coruscant, you had your flat there. Most of the passengers who hired you wanted to be transported from here, or at least, made their deals from here. You had no choice but to live where there was work, and so you did.

It was a tiny flat in a poor neighbourhood. But it had a bed, and a kitchen, and a decent bathroom, a table, a few chairs, and you could hardly ask for more. A large sign on the other side of the street, signalling a bar, painted your whole flat in pink. You locked the four locks on your door, and went to hide your money in the hole in the wall behind your bed. You didn't remember a time when you had so much money in your possession. It was far from enough to get off this planet though.

Soon though. One day…

You had barely lied down on your bed when someone knocked on your door. Loud, strong banging that made you jump. You took your blaster out of your bedside table, while the banging started again.

Well, they were fast, you couldn't hold that against them…

"Y/N! It's Barty! Open up! The Boss wants to see you. Come on, open the door. I saw you coming in!"

"He's not my boss," you corrected the Twi'lek.

"He still wants to see you."

"So he can kill me or beat me up half-to-death? I don't think so."

"Look, there's been a misunderstanding. We heard that you picked up a Jedi. Obviously, you would never do something like that. So, the boss is going to listen to your version, try to figure out the truth behind it."

You bit your tongue. You knew helping a Jedi would get you into trouble, however, you hadn't figured out that it would mean this much trouble.

"What if I did?" you asked.

There was a short silence, before Barty would heave a deep sigh.

"Y/N… not you…"

"Look, he forced me to do it," you lied… or well, half-lied. Obi-Wan had not exactly given you a choice, you doubted that he would have hurt you if you had refused though. "What was I supposed to do? Fight a Jedi? They have lightsabers, you know?"

"You should have brought him to us, or to the Separatists."

"I thought we didn't take sides," you answered, slowly opening your window, trying to make as little noise as you could.

"We don't. We go with the money."

You winced at his answer, disgusted. That's not why you weren't taking sides. You simply didn't want to get shot at, but the money was not the issue. How many jobs had you turned down to keep your neutrality? You had lost count a thousand times over. This time though, it seemed impossible.

And if you had to pick up a side, then your choice was already made.

"Look," you tried to reason with the Twi'lek one last time. "I didn't have a choice. I didn't want to take him, but it was quite literally a matter of life and death. What was I supposed to do?"

"We both know it's not that easy."

"It should be! I didn't have a choice!"

"Maybe the boss will listen to you. No matter what he does, you have to come now and see him. Explain this face to face with him. And then, maybe he'll be good enough with you and forget it all happened. You don't have a choice. They're sending me now, but you know they won't be so kind next time if you don't come. So just… come with me."

You thought about the money you had just hidden, but moving your bed again would make too much noise. You heaved a silent sigh, and merely grabbed your bag again. You took one last look at your flat, but knew you wouldn't be coming back. It didn't matter. Everything you needed, everything you cared about was in this bag you held against you now.

"I understand," you lied, climbing onto your bed to get a better access to the window. "Just give me a second, I'll give the boss the money, that might help."

"It sure will! But open the door for me, would you?"

But you were already stepping onto the bannister. Your ship should have been on your rooftop but you weren't dumb enough to leave it there. After all, you knew the Boss. Or well, you had never met him, and had no intention to do that, but he did have the reputation to kill whoever he was tired of, which had led you to take a few precautions. Including hiding your ship on the other side of the street, in a little alley behind the bar.

You climbed down the ladder on the side of your building and hurried to the gateway that connected your side of the street to the other. You heard some loud bangs behind you and guessed that Barty was trying to break into your flat. Good. It would slow him down.

It was night, and if the stars shone above you, you couldn't see any trace of them. The fumes coming out of the heating systems of the old buildings covered the sky too much to allow even the moon to shine through. The lights were those of the street, yellow and too close to your taste, showing your shape too much as you ran in the alley. And of course, the large sign above the bar shed its pink hues all over the place.

The Stammer was a weird place where only people with the lowest level of conscience thrived. You had never liked the place, but it didn't matter that you liked it or not. All that mattered was to cross the damn bar and get to your ship safe and sound.

It smelled of smoke and drugs and liquor and a good dose of sweat too, the smell of a place where you didn't want to linger. The low light, drenched in a pinkish colour – that matched the sign outside – made the shape of the customers a little blurred. A man near the door was selling death-sticks, some were playing Sabacc and most of the rest were drunk. You crossed the room as fast as you could without drawing too much attention to you.

You were closing the backdoor behind you when you heard some kind of commotion going on on the gateway. It probably had something to do with Barty. You hurried on.

It was a little hard to breathe, and not just because you were tired and had been running. You struggled to keep a clear mind despite your fear, forcing your breathing to get a little more even to calm yourself down.

If you were caught and taken to that criminal, you would probably never see tomorrow's dawn.

You pushed the thought away as you ran to your freighter. It was right there, on the other side of the landing platform.

"Y/N!"

You were almost there when Barty's shout reached your ears, making your heart trip in your chest and your legs run even faster.

You were locked inside the cockpit way before the Twi'lek had crossed the distance. Rupture gave you a questioning beep.

"Okay, to make it simple…" you answered, out of breath, starting the engine as quickly as you could. "I'm in deep shit, and if we don't get out of here now, we're both gonna die. So, Rup, please, hurry up…"

A loud banging noise against the door of the ship signalled you that Barty was trying to get in. Then the high-pitched sound of a blaster...

"Rup…"

The droid complained a little about you getting him into trouble, but the engines were soon roaring through the night, covering the sound of the blaster shots. And in a matter of seconds, you were flying above the city.

It didn't seem that you were followed, but then you used all the tricks you knew to lose anyone who would want to go after you through the traffic of the busy town.

Besides, you didn't know much about what the Boss was up to, and you didn't want to get involved. You weren't a security risk or anything, you guessed that if he wanted to go after you, it was more a question of principle than anything else, maybe to set up an example too. You hoped he wouldn't put you on his priority list.

In the gigantic city of Coruscant, there was only one place you knew that the Boss could not reach. Even he, with all his spies everywhere, could not set up a murder in the Jedi Temple. And luckily for you, you had a way in.

You didn't like any of this at all, but you reckoned that you didn't have a choice. It was that or being killed now…

You landed on the same platform where you had left Obi-Wan earlier that day, and were met by a guard as soon as you set foot out of your ship. Despite the helmet, you could hear the trooper's frown in his voice.

"What is your business here?" he asked in a cold voice.

"I'm here to see Obi-Wan Kenobi," you said, crossing your fingers behind your back as you hoped that you remembered the name of the Jedi right.

"What for? Who are you?"

"I'm Y/N Y/L/N. I brought him here earlier today, I'm a pilot. He offered me a job, and told me to come back when I would have… thought about it, let's say. So, here I am."

The clone spoke through his comlink, and you didn't fail to notice how he held his weapon at the ready. Where you really that scary? Did you look like such a threat?

"Wait here until Master Kenobi arrives," the clone ordered as he turned his full attention back to you.

"Okay… great. Thanks!"

Five minutes passed, and then ten, and finally fifteen minutes ticked by, and you thought he would not come. You thought you would be thrown out of the Temple and left to survive on your own. You had refused the job, after all…

What would you do then? Leave the planet and lay low for a little while seemed like the best option. But where would you head to? The Boss had agents everywhere…

Luckily, it didn't have to go to such extremes, as you recognized Obi-Wan silhouette walking towards you in a fast pace, a shadow against the lights of the Temple behind him and the stars above.

"Y/N?" he greeted you with a worried frown. "Is everything alright?"

"Oh, yes! Yes, it's alright!" you lied with a grin. "I just… I've reconsidered your offer, and I might be interested."

He raised a surprised eyebrow.

"Really? And it couldn't wait till tomorrow morning? It is very late, you know?"

"Well, I didn't want the offer to expire before I could talk to you. And I am interested, indeed. I mean, it would be a regular job, right?"

"We could pay you for each mission if you'd prefer, but I reckon the usual way if you choose to regularly work for us would be to pay you every month."

"That would be great! You see, regular incomes would be a nice change."

"I see," he nodded, although you could read in his eyes that he knew there was something else.

You offered him your open hand.

"You've got a deal, Jedi," you gave him a smile, but he didn't take your hand just yet.

"Is it really the only reason why you've changed your mind?"

You took a second to choose the way to answer, but you clenched your jaw and decided it wasn't his business.

You had not come here to get a Jedi to protect you and save you from a brute. You didn't need rescuing. You needed a safe place to stay. You didn't need Obi-Wan Kenobi, you needed the Jedi Temple.

"It's the only reason you need to know about," you answered.

For a moment, Obi-Wan hesitated. You had admitted that you knew some… unrespectable individuals. Had you been sent as a spy?

Something in your glance told him it wasn't so. What was it exactly, he didn't know. But he wanted to trust you. He did trust you, somehow, for a reason he couldn't pinpoint and yet was strong enough to make him shake hands with you. There was something warm and radiant in the Force around you. There couldn't be such thing around an evil person, and who was he to not listen to the Force.

Maybe your paths had crossed for a reason. He was eager to find out why.

You were smiling a genuine smile at him when a speeder flew above you, loud and quite low. It was easy to recognize Barty's shape sitting in the driver's seat. And Obi-Wan didn't miss how your jaw clenched once more as you recognized the Twi'lek.

Something in his heart told him that his fears had become true, indeed.

"Do you have a safe place to stay for tonight?" he asked with a soft, reassuring voice.

You hesitated, but took a deep breath to relax a little anyway. You weren't here asking for charity. You had never done so in your life, you would not start today. It had been you against the world for so long, and you had always managed on your own. You would manage, one more time.

"Is there a hangar where I could put my ship?"

Obi-Wan nodded, respecting that you had dodged his question for now.

"I'll show you."

As you climbed back into your ship with Obi-Wan on your heels, you realized what you had done.

You were working for the Jedi Order.

Oh, in what kind of troubles had you put yourself into now…

*************************************

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