#Ice Storm Arc

[chicgeekgirl89]

My Pain Fits in the Palm of Your Freezing Hand

Fandom: 911 Lone Star

Characters: Carlos Reyes, T.K. Strand, Nancy Gillian, Tommy Vega, Marjan Marwani, Paul Strickland, Andrea Reyes

Summary: Everything about his and T.K.’s relationship has been vivid technicolor, but he knows that no matter how hard he tries, T.K.’s life won’t be the only thing taken from him if he dies, his memories will be too. He wonders what he’ll forget first. The sound of T.K.’s laugh? The way his fingers felt when they curled around his own? The exact color of his eyes? Which memories will fade, slowly at first, greying around the edges and then disintegrating into nothing, until he’s left only with hazy images, unsure if they’re real or he just imagined them?

A/N: For the @badthingshappenbingo​ prompt “Falling Through the Ice.”

Read on AO3

What is he doing? What is he doing?

Carlos pinches the bridge of his nose with one hand, the other firmly on the steering wheel as he carefully navigates the slick, frozen streets of Austin.

He’d left the church when another call came in, heading off to help a mom and her kids who were stuck in a ditch. It had killed him to leave before they found Lindsey, but other people needed his help and there was nothing more he could do for her.

He’d just been climbing back into the cruiser, the family he’d helped safely on their way, when Nancy radioed. And look at him. Such a freaking sucker, he’d told her he would come and immediately turned in the direction of the hospital. Because of course. Of course he had.

He and T.K. have been broken up for months. With basically no contact. His heart is so far beyond repairable it might as well be condemned by the city. So why, why, did he tell Nancy he would swing by and see his injured ex? 

Because he’s an idiot, and a fool, and a sap, and a thousand other things, all of which he calls himself on the drive to the hospital. He’s still internally berating himself as he parks and walks inside, feeling equal parts like he wants to run through the doors toward the man who still has a vise grip on his heart, and turn around and run, well, not home—home doesn’t seem to be a thing he can find anymore—but back to the loft he currently sleeps in.

His sour attitude and dour thoughts are probably why he doesn’t notice at first that Nancy is coming apart at the seams, barely holding on. And then, as realization dawns, as Tommy walks into the hallway, as T.K.’s pale, ghostly face is revealed, suddenly, he feels like he might come apart at the seams too. 

“We need to get in touch with Owen,” Tommy says quietly.

“His mom should know too,” Nancy says. She looks haunted and fragile, and it scares Carlos even more. “She’ll want to come right? She needs to know.”

“I have her number,” Carlos says, clearing his throat when his voice breaks. “I can uh, I can give her a call.”

God he doesn’t want to. Doesn’t want this to be happening. Doesn’t want to feel the crushing weight that has started at his shoulders and is slowly pulling him downward, urging him to curl up in a ball on the floor and sob. 

“Why don’t I do it?” Tommy offers, all compassion even though being in the hospital has to be bringing up some stuff for her. “I spoke with the doctors, I can give Gwyn all the information. I’m sure the nurses will let me use a landline if the cell service is still out.”

He’s a coward, an absolute coward because he wordlessly opens his phone, cues up Gwyn’s number, and hands it to her. She nods at him. “Hang tight. I’ll be right back.”

“What uh, what happened?” Carlos asks, his eyes glued to T.K.’s motionless form. 

“The kid was trapped, nobody else was coming and we couldn’t wait, so we used bed sheets and a laryngoscope,” Nancy says, her voice shaking. “The ice cracked and T.K. uh, he went into the water. It was only for like a minute, but the ambo had slid down an embankment and we were working so hard on the kid…” She gasps, her voice breaking. “Oh god.”

She turns away and Carlos follows her in alarm. “Nance? Hey!”

She’s clutching at her uniform jacket, ripping it open, her breathing fast and harsh. “Nancy talk to me,” Carlos says, putting a hand on her arm.

“W-we didn’t check him out,” she gasps, tears clinging to her eyelashes. “We were focused on the kid and T.K. s-seemed fine. He was cold, but h-he was helping. And then we turned around he was g-gone and we—we know the signs of hypothermia, we should have ch-checked him over, but we di-didn’t, and now he’s dying in there and it’s—we didn’t—“

“Okay, hey, you need to sit down all right?” He guides her over to a chair where she collapses heavily as if her knees have given out. 

“H-he was fine. H-he w-was talking a-and w-working.” She’s half speaking, half sobbing, and she’s definitely not getting enough air.

“Nancy, look at me,” Carlos commands, crouching in front of her, one hand on her shoulder, the other on her knee. “Breathe. Breathe.”

Her eyes meet his, tears streaming down her face. “We did this. We lost him. We-we let him walk away in a b-blizzard. Who l-lets someone walk away in a god damn blizzard? It’s our fault. And if he—I can’t lose—“

“I wasn’t there,” Carlos says, his throat tight. “But I know that this is not your fault. You were doing your job. You saved that kid’s life and T.K.—“ he swallows, “that’s what T.K. would want. More than anything. To save that kid. So whatever happened because of that, it just happened. It’s a shitty day. And shitty stuff is going on. But it’s not on you and it’s not on Tommy, okay?”

She nods, wiping at her eyes, but doesn’t seem convinced. “Thank you for coming,” she says with a sniff. “I’m sorry I lied I just—I thought you needed to find out in person. And I think—I think T.K. would want you here.”

Carlos isn’t sure that’s true. But she doesn’t need to hear that right now. “It’s okay,” he says, sitting in the chair next to her. “I’m glad you called.”

She leans over and he pulls her into a hug, swallowing hard, attempting to force the whirlwind of his own emotions away. What are you supposed to feel when the man who you’d thought was your forever walks away and then falls through an icy pond and into another coma?

Nancy fills in the rest of the story over the next few minutes, describing the ice rescue in explicit detail; the way T.K. had looked when they’d found him in the final stages of hypothermia, speaking in Hebrew. How they’d spent so long trying to get him breathing again. How his heart had stopped and Nancy had performed CPR until help arrived. 

With every word she speaks Carlos finds himself feeling more and more lost. What is he supposed to feel? How is he supposed to react? What is he supposed to say?

Over the last few months he’s mentally planned for so many scenarios while lying awake in bed every night. What he’ll do if he runs into T.K. at the grocery store. What he’ll say if they have to work together on a call. He’s even imagined spotting T.K. out with someone else. But he’s never thought about what to do in this situation. Something like this…this is so horribly inconceivable it’s never even crossed his mind. 

Tommy returns, her face somber. “I managed to get through on the hospital landline. Gwyn is trying to get a flight out,” she says as she hands Carlos back his phone. “Everything is cancelled because of the weather, it might take her a few days.”

“Which T.K. might not have,” Nancy says worriedly.

Tommy shakes her head. “We can’t think like that. We have to stay positive.” 

Positivity doesn’t seem to have a place to land inside of Carlos. It flutters around briefly and then leaves as swiftly as it came, chased away by fear and anger and confusion. “We should go home, get a fresh change of clothes,” Tommy says. “This is…this is going to be a long haul.”

“Cap we can’t leave him here alone,” Nancy argues.

“I’ll stay,” Carlos says immediately. Despite his inner turmoil, this decision isn’t a surprise. Of course he’s going to stay. That’s what he does. He goes where he’s needed. And while he’s not sure T.K. wants him here, Tommy and Nancy do. He’ll stay until one of them can come back and sit with T.K. And then…he’s not sure after that. 

“Aren’t you on shift?” Nancy asks.

“I’m almost off,” Carlos says.

Tommy eyes him worriedly, probably trying to judge his mental. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Carlos says. “Yeah, I’ll stay.”

“We’ll be quick,” Nancy promises. “Then you can go home and freshen up too.”

Carlos nods. It sounds reasonable enough.

But as it turns out, Carlos doesn’t go home. He doesn’t even go back to the station. He calls his captain and explains the situation. Then he calls Mitchell who brings his bag from his locker and a rookie cop to drive the squad back. He’s beyond grateful to her as he shoves his arms into a more comfortable shirt in the cramped hospital bathroom stall.

He takes a moment to look at himself in the mirror, splashing some water on his face. He’s pale, wide eyed; he looks like every other fearful relative sitting vigil at their family member’s bedside. 

Except T.K. has no family here. He’s only got Carlos. Carlos, who hasn’t spoken more than ten words to him in months. Carlos, who he doesn’t want to see or hear from. Carlos, who pushed him too hard and set off the explosion that burned their future to the ground.

Carlos is what he’s got. He’ll have to be enough. 

God, he hopes this time he’ll be enough.

When he gets back to the room there’s a nurse inside, adjusting IV’s and checking the monitors. Carlos hovers uncertainly in the doorway. He shouldn’t be here, but he is and he doesn’t know what’s appropriate. Should he stay in the hallway? Sit at T.K.’s bedside? Run away and never come back? 

“You can come in,” she says, when she sees him. “Are you a friend?”

He takes a few steps forward, haltingly. “I—“

He has no answer. He’s less than a friend. He’s no one. To the love of his life, he’s no one.

The nurse gives him a sympathetic smile. She must be used to awkward people. “Is he—“ Carlos clears his throat. “How’s he doing?”

“I’m sorry, no change,” she tells him. “Why don’t you sit? Can I get you anything? A coffee? Tea?”

His stomach rolls at the thought and he shakes his head. She nods. “All right. I’ll be around the corner if you need anything okay? You can press the call button.”

“Thank you,” Carlos says, eyes glued to T.K.’s face. 

He’s spent months not knowing who he is anymore. He doesn’t know how not to be “T.K. Strand’s boyfriend.” But sitting here, watching machines breathe for T.K., this is something he knows. It’s a familiar place and it welcomes him back with an insidious, terrible embrace. Here he is a desperate man, trapped in the vast nothingness that lives between life and death. 

XXX

He’s dying, he’s dying, he’s dying. The words echo through Carlos’ mind, a chant, a mantra, a certainty at this point. 

Nancy and Tommy must have returned while he sat by T.K.’s bedside, he finds them in the hallway when he stumbles blindly from T.K.’s room, watching in horror as the hospital staff bring in more machines, more medicine, all of them fighting not to let T.K. tumble over the edge into the beyond.

It’s over an hour before the doctor comes out and the look on her face makes Carlos’ heart plummet into his shoes so fast he feels dizzy. Her words are not encouraging and Carlos feels the last shreds of hope he was valiantly clinging to dissolve, disappearing like snowflakes in the sunshine. 

He hears Tommy’s words of reassurance, but one look at her face tells him she doesn’t believe them any more than he does. The reality is, sometimes people die. And there’s nothing you can do about it. Not even if you love them.

Tommy and Nancy’s hands find his, an anchor point. But he doesn’t want to be anchored. He anchored his heart and soul to T.K. and it has done nothing but drag him under and try o drown him. He doesn’t want to be held or touched or comforted, he wants to be let go.

He brushes them off and tells them he wants to be alone for a minute, practically running away and stumbling out into the chilly, frigid air of the outdoors, gulping it down so fast that it burns in his lungs, the tears he’s been holding back starting to fall and freezing on his cheeks.

The exterior brick of the hospital is rough against his back, and he clenches his fists at his sides as he draws in ragged breaths, forcing the tears to stop, because he doesn’t want to fall apart. Falling apart doesn’t fix anything, it doesn’t make him and T.K. less broken up, doesn’t make T.K. less close to death, doesn’t erase the weeks of pain and loneliness and betrayal.

But despite his resolve not to break, the thoughts that have been assailing him ever since he walked through the hospital doors a few hours ago refuse to stop. Is this his fault? Did he cause this? He knows T.K. seeks out the reckless when he’s feeling stressed; has their break-up somehow made this happen? Because if so…he will never forgive himself. 

There’s a roaring in his ears as memories flash through his mind like the rapidly changing channels of a television; the first night at the honkey tonk, the two of them lying on the car under the northern lights, T.K.’s laugh, their hands locked together, a walk through the park, kissing in the car, their bodies tangled in the bedsheets, the last time they’d held each other before…

Everything about his and T.K.’s relationship has been vivid technicolor, but he knows that no matter how hard he tries, T.K.’s life won’t be the only thing taken from him if he dies, his memories will be too. He wonders what he’ll forget first. The sound of T.K.’s laugh? The way his fingers felt when they curled around his own? The exact color of his eyes? Which memories will fade, slowly at first, greying around the edges and then disintegrating into nothing, until he’s left only with hazy images, unsure if they’re real or he just imagined them?

A siren screaming by finally snaps him out of his spiraling thoughts and he pulls out his phone. He’s out here, he might as well make use of the time. 

He hasn’t told his parents yet, because what is he supposed to say? The only boyfriend he’s ever brought home, the man he thought he would give them grandchildren with, is dying in the hospital? Again? And that he feels like he’s dying along with him? That they’ve broken up and he shouldn’t even be here but he can’t leave because his heart and soul are tethered to a hospital bed?

The phones are still iffy, but miraculously he manages to get through to his mother and somehow manages to fill her in without completely falling apart on the sidewalk. It takes a lot of effort to convince her not to get in her car and drive to the hospital immediately. He doesn’t need to be worried about someone else he loves getting into an accident or freezing to death on the road; he’s got enough on his plate.

He’s shivering by the time he’s done, his jacket not doing much to keep out the chill, and he reluctantly heads back indoors to resume his vigil. 

XXX

There are monitors wailing and staff running in, T.K.’s arms are flailing as Carlos watches in horror. This is it. The heart he thought had died during their breakup has burst back to life and it feels like it’s being ripped from his chest. He’s grateful his mother is here because his knees are going to give out any second, this can’t be the end, he’s not ready, he’s not ready, they cannot end like this, please God don’t let it end like this.

Then the doctor is beckoning him back inside the room, smiling, encouraging him toward the bed, and T.K. is breathing, he’s breathing and that god-awful ventilator is gone and Carlos feels frozen in fear, in hope, in doubt, in disbelief. 

And then those words. Those beautiful words in that voice he loves so much. “Hey baby.”

It must be a dream, it has to be, this can’t be real, everyone has told him that T.K. is dying, that there’s no hope, and surely this has to be some figment of his imagination.

“Breathe,” T.K. tells him, almost laughing, as if it’s some kind of cosmic joke that he hasn’t been breathing for eighteen hours and now Carlos is the one who has stopped. “Breathe, breathe.”

Carlos breathes. For the first time in months he breathes. His entire body is shaking, everything in his mind is a question, but he’s breathing and T.K. is breathing and…

T.K. reaches for him. T.K. reaches for him. He hesitates terrified of what it means, terrified that if he takes it that it won’t be enough. But he loves him, he loves him so much and he’s been waiting for that hand for so long, so he reaches out and he grabs hold.

“Love…you…”

They’re not even words really, just a breathy exhale, but he hears them as if T.K. shouted them at the top of his lungs.

It feels like an invitation, so he tentatively leans in, still not sure this is really happening, still not quite believing that his presence is fully wanted. Slowly he curls his fingers into T.K.’s hair and gently, reverently kisses his cheek.

He was right to be terrified because these featherlight touches are not enough, not nearly enough, they’re a drop of water after months in the desert, he needs more, he needs all of it.

And then T.K. pulls him in and the weight of the the universe crashes through Carlos as he collapses onto the bed and finally breaks apart in the arms wrapping T.K.’s fragile body in his arms as tightly as he dares, not sure he’ll ever be able to let go again.

“T.K., oh god T.K.—.” The words rip from him on sobs, painful, guttural. He’s relieved and angry and scared and hurt and full of disbelief all at once and it’s far too much to handle.

“I’m sorry,” T.K. whispers, his voice barely audible. “I’m so sorry.”

Carlos isn’t sure what he’s apologizing for; nearly dying again, the months of estranged silence, or Buttercup eating a pair of Carlos’ sneakers last June, but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t care. There will be time for apologies later. He pushes too hard, T.K. runs, they both know these are their flaws and they lost control of them this time. But never again, Carlos promises himself as he buries his face in his boyfriend’s neck. They won’t let it happen again.

“I love you,” Carlos says. “I love you so much. Please come home.”

“Okay,” T.K. says, a weak hand clutching the back of Carlos’ shirt. “Okay.”

He wants to stay in this embrace forever, but he knows their time has to be almost up. The doctors will want to examine T.K., run tests, check his neuro function. He’s not sure where he finds the strength to lift himself off the bed, but he somehow manages to extricate himself from his boyfriend’s arms and move to a chair beside the bed, though he continues to hold onto T.K.’s hand, uncertain if he’ll ever be able to let go of him again.

T.K. turns his head to the side to look at him, clearly too tired for anything else, and Carlos looks back, his thumb running back and forth over T.K.’s knuckles. His eyes drift closed and Carlos feels a spike of panic, turning quickly toward the nurse who’s just come in. “It’s okay,” she assures him with a smile. “He’s just asleep. His body has been through a lot of trauma. It’s going to take a while for him to regain his strength. We’re going to run some tests if you want to step out for a few minutes.”

His legs are like jelly but he manages to rise and exit the room. His mom is waiting for him and she immediately pulls him into a hug. “I told you mijo,” she says in his ear. “He’s strong. And so are you.”

She steps back. “I’m going to go call your father. He’s off shift any minute and if he comes home to find me gone he’ll be worried sick.”

“Be careful outside,” Carlos says.

She touches his cheek again and then heads down the hall.

Carlos makes his way to the waiting room where Nancy, Marjan, and Paul all immediately get to their feet. Their faces probably mirror his own: exhausted, hopeful, and he hardly knows what to say. “He’s uh, he’s awake,” he finally gets out. “He’s talking.”

Marjan claps a hand over her heart, Paul shakes his head, and Nancy looks up to the ceiling like she’s holding back tears. “I can’t believe—he’s—“ And now Carlos’ knees finally do give out, the world spinning dizzily around him as someone pulls him toward a chair and gently pushes his head between his knees.

He takes several, long, breaths, completely overwhelmed by everything, the rollercoaster of the last eighteen hours finally really getting to him. It’s several long minutes before he feels more stable and he looks up to find it was Nancy who jumped into action and saved him from falling to the floor. “You okay?” she asks.

He nods. 

“Good, because if one more person we know ends up in here, I think they’re going to start charging us rent.” She cracks a smile and he lets himself give her an exhausted, watery one in return. 

XXX

It’s been a full day since T.K. woke up. Tests have been run, examinations completed, and Carlos hasn’t left T.K.’s side. Owen has come and gone again. He’s thrilled about T.K.’s recovery, but there are things at home that need to be tended to after his extended time away. Carlos has learned after so many incidents that this is somewhat of the norm for the Strand men, and it doesn’t seem to bother T.K. so Carlos tries not to let it bother him either.

Instead he contents himself with watching T.K. sleep. Which is most of the time. He’s always lucid when he wakes up now and has been able to stay awake for increasingly longer periods, which is reassuring, but his body has been through a hell of a struggle and Carlos knows it will be a while before things are back to normal.

“You look terrible.”

Carlos looks up to find T.K. awake again and studying him. “I look better than you do. At least I’m not a popsicle,” he says, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward so he can tuck T.K.’s hand into his again. They still feel cold and Carlos has made it his personal mission to warm them up again.

T.K. doesn’t let it go. “When’s the last time you slept?”

“T.K., I’m fine. You don’t need to play paramedic right now.”

“You don’t look fine. Have you been eating?”

Even just barely less than dead T.K. can’t help himself. “It really is not a surprise how well you and my mother get along,” Carlos says with a chuckle. “I promise, I’m okay. I’m…so much more than okay.”

“I think you should go home,” T.K. says. “Take a shower. Get some fresh clothes.”

“Are you busting my balls about my odor right now?” Carlos teases. “Because this is the stench of someone who sat vigil at your deathbed. That’s love you’re smelling.”

“This isn’t about your hygiene,” T.K. says, forehead wrinkled in concern. “You look like you’re ready to fall over.”

“I can sleep in this chair.” Carlos scrunches his too-large frame further into the hard, unyielding hospital chair. “See? Very comfortable.”

“You need to go home,” T.K. says firmly. “You need a break. I’m all right, nothing is going to happen while you’re gone.”

Carlos feels his throat tighten. “It’s okay,” he says, forcing a smile. 

He doesn’t want to leave. He doesn’t want to let T.K. out of his sight. Because he can’t shake the feeling that if he leaves everything might disappear. That he’ll come back to find T.K. still in a coma or…

Tears rise to the surface and god, Carlos is so tired of crying. His eyes feel like sandpaper, burning and raw, and there is a permanent headache that has taken up residence in his forehead. But it’s fine, he can ignore it all because all that matters is that T.K. is alive and they’re okay.

Carlos is relieved when T.K. drifts off again before they can finish the conversation. He’ll have to go home eventually, T.K.’s going to be here for at least another week, possibly longer. But not yet. He can’t go yet. 

XXX

He wakes up disoriented and confused, something cold and hard under his cheek, left elbow smarting, hands touching his body, lots of agitated voices around him. 

The hands lift him upright and he struggles to focus. “What happened?” Carlos asks groggily.

“Dude you fell asleep like, mid-sentence,” Nancy says, one hand still on his shoulder to keep him upright. “And then you fell out of your chair.”

“How long have you been awake?” Marjan asks.

He doesn’t really know, but he feels lightheaded and sluggish so probably too long. It’s day four of the hospital and Nancy and Marjan returned this morning with decent coffee and snacks, then set up shop in T.K.’s room, ignoring the glares from the nurses and the not-so-subtle reminders that there are only supposed to be two visitors in the room at a time. 

“Babe, you need to go home,” T.K. says from the bed, eyes full of worry as he strains to see what’s going on.

“I’ll drive you,” Nancy says.

“And I’ll stay with Frosty the Snowman. Won’t let him out of my sight,” Marjan promises.

Carlos is beaten and he knows it. He nods and gets to his feet, very aware of the vise-like grip Nancy has on his arm. “I’m okay,” he says after a moment and she lets him go so he can lean forward and press a kiss to T.K.’s forehead. 

“I’ll be back soon,” he says.

“Get some rest,” T.K. tells him in return. “I love you.”

Carlos wants to melt hearing those words. He’ll never take them for granted again. “I love you too.”

Nancy carefully navigates the roads back to the loft. Carlos is grateful for her silence. She seems to sense that he’s not up for small talk or deep soul searching or any kind of conversation really. His mind is fuzzy, full of white noise and his body feels heavy. 

She looks at him when she parks in front of his building. “Do you need me to walk you up?”

“No, I’m good. Thanks.”

“You’re not going to like, turn around, get in your car, and drive back to the hospital or anything stupid like that, are you?” she asks, narrowing her eyes at him.

He wants nothing more than to do just that, but with the roads still a little questionable and his focus completely missing he’ll likely end up being a casualty of the weather and have to live through the embarrassment of being rescued by his own people. “No,” he says honestly. “I’m going to sleep for a couple hours, shower, and then go back.”

“A couple? Dude you need like eight solid hours,” Nancy tells him with a disapproving frown.

“It’ll have to be three and a lot of coffee,” he says, giving her a smile. “Thanks for the ride. Thanks for…everything. I couldn’t have made it through this without you.”

He feels tears clogging his throat yet again. “Dude, no stop that,” she says quickly, swiping at her own eyes. “No more crying, it’s going to ruin our youthful complexions.”

He gives a wet, exhausted chuckle. “I think it’s probably too late to worry about that. T.K. is going to give me grey hair long before my time.”

“Me too, but only you and my stylist will ever know,” she tells him, before reaching over and squeezing his arm. “Now get out of here before you fall asleep in my car.”

He wants to sleep, he can practically hear his bed calling to him, but now that he’s left the walls of the hospital all he can smell on his skin is sweat and antiseptic and recycled air and he can’t stand the thought of getting into his clean sheets without a shower. 

The power is back on and the pipes finally seem to have thawed, and he turns the water on as hot as it will go, the spray like little pinpricks of fire against his skin. He doesn’t know how long he stands there, water pouring over him, struggling not to nod off. He finally manages to shake himself awake, reaching for the soap and scrubbing awkwardly with fingers clumsy from lack of sleep, trying to rid himself of the lingering nerves and anxiety still adrift in his body.

By the time he drags himself out of the shower and dries off he can barely keep his eyes open. He forces himself to pull on a pair of boxers and sweatpants along with a t-shirt to ward off the lingering chill in the apartment. 

And then he finally crawls into his bed, the cool sheets making him shiver, but warming quickly as he settles into place. He turns onto his side, eyes locking on the empty pillow next to him. A pillow he’d thought might be empty forever. A pillow that soon, very soon, will once again hold the man he loves. 

What he’d thought was going to be their end is actually their new beginning. 

[groundrunner100]

With the answer limit now 12, the competition is more interesting.

Anyways, go at it, & don’t hold back in the reblogs!

[tkslittlesway]

So excited to be at the Ice Storm arc, and season 3 in general, in the 911 Lone Star Rewatch! Season 3 was so good! I really wish I've been able to participate more, but I am so looking forward to seeing everyones posts, reblogs, art, etc from this arc and season!

[shilo-sumac]

//Gliscord Leak Detected

View?

[tw for gore, and tysm to @/psyonicscream's mod for helping me with the plot~)

Part One!

[between-two-fandoms]

Evan Buckley 🤝 TK Strand: having weird comatose dreams after they almost die from natural disasters.

[unpleazant-stormz]

bruv. where did u even come from LMAO

"Wisconsin"

[fromtheseventhhell]

since you finished asos, did you noticed a difference on Arya’s character? as in how george wrote her in this book. I feel like after rereading these books i noticed more and more and to me arya just was such a cliche-tomboy girl in this one,you know that type that antis love to say about arya? I felt that in this book which I didn’t in the previous ones. I don’t know but especially in the second book arya was so much more complex and deep and went through so much, and in asos for me it seemed like that went out of the window in a way, and just was portrayed in such a cliche way, without that emotional side and maturity that she achieved in acok. she is so young obviously but the internal thoughts and how she carried herself was a little more complex then in asos. don’t know if it makes sense.

So, I have to say I really disagree with this. Arya has never been written as a stereotypical tomboy and I think it really simplifies/reduces her character to say that she is. She certainly hasn't ever been written in the way antis, or the majority of fandom, claim she has. I'm not sure what measure you're using to judge but let's assume that it's the opposite of her being traditionally feminine. The real question is, where exactly does Arya have room to be more feminine? Her story in ASOS starts with her on the run and escaping Harrenhal, she subsequently gets captured by the BWB, and then by Sandor. The entire time she is traveling through war-torn land and in constant danger. Her behavior isn't her consciously deciding not to be "feminine" it's her adapting to her surroundings. TBH she has a lot more "feminine" moments than seems logical considering. She wears multiple dresses, bonds with Lady Smallwood and thinks about her throughout the book, she has romantic coded moments with Gendry, there's a romance song specifically related to her, and she even thinks of running away with Gendry like in the songs. This isn't specifically towards you but I would love it if people would stop labeling this little 9-11-year-old girl masculine. It's weird to try and judge her by such restrictive measures.

I also don't think she's any less complex, it's actually the opposite. I think this book does a lot more to show her state of mind and how things are affecting her. Arya is a character that George has always written beyond her years so I can see why some of her thoughts could be viewed as "childish" in comparison. Like you said though, she is very young. We really feel the weight of what she's been through and her desperation to simply make it back to her family. She is a very traumatized young girl and she's written as such. We still get to see her intelligence, her maturity, AND her emotional side. All of these things exist as part of her character but it doesn't make her any less complex. And how exactly does she go through less in ASOS? Was running for her life, being kidnapped, and witnessing the red wedding not enough trauma for her?

Hoping none of this came off as rude but because you didn't supply anything specific as to why you felt that way, I had to answer kind've generically. It just feels like Arya is held to a higher standard than other characters and criticized more harshly. Aside from Dany, I really never see characters being reduced and fit into restrictive boxes like she is. It's like people judge her based only on specific moments and don't look at the entirety of her character and development.

[strandnreyes]

whether weather be the frost // or the violence of the dog days is such a good lyric like the pen game in evermore is unreal. it’s almost her time of the year to shine

[idk-i-just-really-like-tsc]

the more i think abt it the more mad i am about that season premiere for lone star

like the season 3 one was surprising but at least it was GOOD and made LOGICAL SENSE

like yes no one will ever be the arson episodes my favs but oh my god that was like BAD

I really don’t want to be a hater but there are so many plot holes now like it just does not make sense if this is Carlos’ “best friend” why isn’t he more concerned about her disappearance. ridiculous

[tailoredshirt]

I remember those two weeks between 3x03 and 3x04 airing. Torture. The absolute cruelest thing they could’ve done.

The time between 4x03 and 4x04 is gonna be stressful, but maybe the premiere date getting moved up was a blessing. We only have to be stressed for one week, not two!

[lonestardust]

I also wouldn't be surprised if we find out that Carlos told TK he would handle it so that TK did actually misstep-pure intentionedly.

I wanna see their conversation before carlos leaves the loft so bad!!!!!! how everything is gonna go down while him and TK have an unresolved argument on top!!

[sixersigned]

His Muse had always been so thoughtful, waiting on his every word—there to offer comfort and advice when he needed it the most, even when he didn't deserve it. Stanford is truly blessed to know him, fortunate he's there when his entire world crumbles ( LITTLE DOES HE KNOW, CIPHER IS ROOT OF IT ALL ). The silence is tense between them, and he wonders what the other will say. Is his apology enough? Is he enough? Or is this fret for nothing? He'd give anything to stop thinking about this, but it plagues him, and he'll fear sleep for months.

Maybe he should, the author contemplates, eyes wearily wandering to the the array of bottles across the shelves. He often tried not to drink his troubles away. After all, he's a man of science; doesn't he deal with grief logically? But that's the thing, there is not a single logical thing about this. What logic is there to weave around eliminating memories? How do you recuperate from that? His gaze moves slowly back to his partner, watching as he idly traces the cup. Stanford is that tired, he can't lend even a look of shock at the image, though eyes are a touch wider as it refills.

“ ...yeah, maybe not today, “ he mumbles quietly in agreement, a glance trailing back to his own glass tentatively. It's a morbid, curious thought—but absolutely one he knows would make him more miserable than he is if he found out about it. He hopes that Ford lives a better life... not that he's ungrateful; there are so many bumps in this lifetime that they're beginning to erode his journey. At least Bill is here through it all... he won't leave him. His fingers cautiously wrap around the glass, staring at it for a firm few seconds. “ Does it help? “

It's a question he speaks without really thinking, long since getting the impression this is how his Muse deals with such issues. He wonders of the trials and tribulations he must deal with on the daily... far bigger than anything else Stanford could be anxious over. Quickly turning silent, he lifts in the glass in the air, idling swirling it for a moment.

He glances back to his friend, holds that stare for a moment, then sighs quietly as he raises the glass to his lips.

Maybe he'll be lucky enough it numbs all the pain.

It's not unlike his host to have such negative thoughts, but before this incident at least there was a spark of determination to push through, a feverish desire to become worthwhile through all the loathing talk. For a period of time there was a wave of confidence and validation sprung on by Bill, too. Yet it seems like the progress is lost, the despair so great, that even his muse is put off by it. It's not like he doesn't have the charisma and knowledge of just what to do and say that always makes his host feel better, it's that he can't understand why Stanford is still upset. Had it just happened? Sure, but he's been lending a helping hand! The only one that actually matters, and now the only person who'd ever stayed! So why is he having such a hard time moving on? Bill slowly blinks at the string of thought barraging him and wonders how long this new arc is going to be- he also has half a mind to cut right through to the fun part, but he prefers not to mess with memories unless something grows dire. After all, he's made the mistake of thinking something so useless wouldn't affect his portals before, and then the test run had triggered all kinds of chaos he was fine with but that the shaman didn't seem so amused by. Loser! Oh well, he won't make the same mistakes here. How long do these things drag out for, anyway? Ten more minutes?

"YOU SHOULD TRY IT SOMETIME, FORDSY." Even if the self hatred was easier to manipulate, the wave of it in his head isn't as amusing anymore. The hillbilly is still all over his mind and he'd been about to betray him! Stanford could use some good old fashioned self love right now to ease away those thoughts.

What better way than with his offer? The bartending Bill looks at him with an expression of 'this is a lot', and he returns it with a 'don't I know it' before snapping his fingers and bringing two glasses to each of them. Behind the counter, one of the bottles is taken from the highest shelf and poured into each. "IF YOU WANTED TO SEE IT." The triangle begins, finger tracing the lip of the cup before he takes the entire thing and dumps it into his eye. A tongue traces across it after a moment to catch any remaining drops. The glass is refilled in an instant.

"BUT YOU'VE SEEN ENOUGH HEARTBREAK TODAY, HUH? ENOUGH FOR A LIFETIME, ACTUALLY. YOU'RE ALLOWED TO DROWN IT ALL AWAY, TO GIVE YOURSELF A MUCH NEEDED BREAK. I CAN'T STAND SEEING MY HOST LIKE THIS! COME ON, PAL, WHEN HAVE I EVER STEERED YOU WRONG?"

[unexceptional]

. "DON'T YOU DO that," she growled, knowing exactly what her brother was up to. This was what he DID: he'd sit down whenever he had something bad to say, or wanted to fight, or... any of the big reasons, really. Other times, he'd lean on her ( practically knocking her over ) or even lay his head on her knees while she was trying to sew up his shirt, looking up at her like he hadn't taken every bit of their family's height and kept it all to himself.

This time, she knew it was because there was bad news, and she wasn't going to allow him to tell her what she already knew.

. "Stand back up unless you've got good news to share."

. ( @wnterslder ) « sits down in front of her so they can see eye-to-eye

[pikanari]

Tag Dump 2 -- RP Things

.

[unpleazant-stormz]

your cool

*Storm is doing this rn*

[prying-pandora666]

“Zuko Never Wanted To Kill Anyone”

Zuko tried to kill Suki. He fired a shot that would’ve fried her to a crisp when she was down on the ground. The only reason she lived was because Sokka deflected it.

Zuko drove his ship into the ice in the SWT, nearly running over several children. One child almost fell between the cracked ice and had to be rescued. That would’ve been a death sentence. Zuko didn’t care.

Zuko repeatedly burns down or causes serious damage to villages with people living inside them. Including children.

He tells his own crew members that their lives done matter, only his goals, and forces them to steer into a dangerous storm that could’ve gotten them all killed.

He violently robs civilians when he is on the streets. And not only out of desperation, but also for luxury items he feels entitled to.

Even as a small child, he laughed at his uncle’s joke about burning the largest civilian city in the world to the ground. While he’s actively seizing it and no one can get out.

Zuko betrays his own uncle to his nation, knowing he has been branded a traitor and may well be executed if not imprisoned for life in horrible conditions that will surely lead to premature death. In one of the comics Zuko is told that Iroh may not even survive the trip home. He still goes through with it.

He hired an assassin, behind everyone’s backs so it wasn’t even being done in service as a soldier for his nation, to murder Aang just to protect his own social status and his father’s approval.

He goaded Aang on to kill his father and mocked Aang for wanting a non-homicidal solution.

He crashed his sister’s coronation—not aware that she has banished everyone, mind you, so he could be walking into a highly protected fortress and potentially have to kill his way through soldiers and servants—and challenges his sister to an honor duel. He does this precisely because he recognizes she is mentally unwell and that he can exploit this.

He goaded his sister into shooting lightning at him. Lightning which is lethal. While she’s comet boosted. Just so he can risk his life because a small mistake could fry his heart. So he can redirect it… nowhere? Potentially multiple times as she can possibly chain lightning while comet boosted. Why? What possible reason could he have to put himself in such a dangerous and fruitless scenario?

He was trying to kill her. Zuko has never been against killing.

He just changed sides.

And before you say “but he redeemed! He changed!” Yes.

I do know he changed. It’s what makes his arc so powerful. The fact that he was so willing to kill and invested in the war.

But he is still learning and he clearly didn’t realize that trying to kill his sister was wrong until she was chained up and sobbing. Only then did he finally see through Ozai’s manipulation pitting them against each other. She was never a monster. She wasn’t just the embodiment of everything he had failed to do, not just a living obstacle to overcome. She was also dad’s victim.

And in doing so, Zuko finally breaks the cycle of “brother killing brother” in their family that Iroh warned about.

It’s an incredible redemption story.

It only works if we admit Zuko was once a villain who did bad things and had selfish and sometimes cruel intent.