#also the fact that there's no radio filters on these leads me to believe that this is something she does when she's with jango in-person | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hanoella · 3 years ago

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A Matter of Time (2/2)

Pairing: Bucky x healer!Reader

Word Count: yikes 7.3k

Warnings: Angst Angst Angst. Mentions of death. Reference to Eternals 👀

A/N: Wow! I'm so happy everyone likes it! I like to get gorgeous with it haha. Hopefully, I'm not overdoing it.

Prompt: Believing they're about to die, Character A confesses their feelings for Character B before they pass out.

Tag list? I guess this is where I would put it? :) - @mischief-siriusly-managed @itsthemaree

@skyewardolicitycloisdelena91

---

You opened your eyes to a black room. No, not a room. There were no walls. You glanced down at your hands. You could still see them, so it wasn’t dark, just… black.

“Well, hello.”

You spun around and saw the source of the voice.

A serene, beautiful woman who had long dark hair and dressed in a green tunic addressed you.

“What has brought you here, young one?”

You took a moment to process your surroundings before you answered.

“I’m not even sure where ‘here’ is. The last I remember is…”

You trailed off, furrowing your brows, and blinking slowly as the memories start to flood back in.

“Ah… Am I dead?”

“Not quite. Though it does look like you are very close.” The woman says, peering to the side.

You followed her gaze and suddenly you were looking upon your own body, wrapped in Bucky’s arms. Startled, you gasp and step back. Looking around, you were back in the mountains by the Quinjet. Nobody seemed to notice you, even though you were right next to… yourself. Bucky was kneeling on the ground, holding your listless body to his chest. You looked away from him to take in your surroundings. Steve was kneeling next to him while the rest of the team was standing. Vision was comforting an anxious Wanda, while Sam and Natasha were getting a stretcher out of the jet. Clint was warming up the engine. Next to him was Tony, who was radioing into the compound’s medical center.

You turned your head back to Steve as he set a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and started speaking.

“Buck. Buck. You have to let her go. We have to get her somewhere where they can help her.”

Bucky only held onto you tighter, tears still dripping onto your face, leaving clear streaks in the blood.

“She’s dead Steve. There’s no pulse. I can’t find a pulse.” His voice hoarse, barely there.

“Friday said there was still brain activity. You know her body’s different, she could still survive. But only if we get her help. Helen’s on her way to meet us at the compound. She’ll be in good hands.” Steve said, gently loosening Bucky’s grip on you. As Nat and Sam came over, he gently lifted you out of Bucky’s arms and set you on the stretcher. They took you back to the jet, Bucky eyes trailing after you, the rest of his body unmoving.

“C’mon Buck. Let’s get going.” Steve said, offering his hand.

Bucky said nothing but accepted his help, hoisting himself up and walking slowly towards the ship with Steve’s arm on his back, guiding his soulless body.

You watched the jet take off before turning back to the woman. She was standing in the same place, watching you curiously.

“What’s happening here?” You asked, shock wearing off and confusion growing ever stronger.

“Well,” She started, clasping her hands together, and pondering the best way to put it.

“I’ve been alive long enough to see many generations of life go by. I have seen the same tragedies, wars, and evils repeat themselves endlessly through history. One thing that never fails to amaze me, though, is the beauty that manages to survive and thrive amongst it.”

Suddenly, you were in a charred landscape. Looking around, you recognized it as one of the first missions you took with Bucky. It was on the coastal countryside of Japan. You were both sent to follow up on a lead for a major weapons dealer. The mission had been simple: find the hideout and report back.

Unfortunately, they must have been tipped off to the fact that you were looking for them and burned their hideout, along with the surrounding plant life. You watched as Bucky and your past-self walked out from behind you. Startled again, you could only watch as the memory played out.

---

“Ah, what a shame. He didn’t have to burn down the trees with him.” You said sorrowfully as you picked up a charred ginkgo branch.

“It looks old. Burned down before we set foot in the country.” Bucky said, assessing the scene.

You stayed silent, putting down the branch and picking up the remnants of a bird’s nest that was underneath. Bucky watched you from several feet back. It took him a while to warm up to people and he had only ever seen you in passing. He knew that your apartment was down the hall from his in the compound but that was it. The only reason you were even on this mission together was that he spoke enough Japanese to get by while you knew the area from visiting previously.

“There’s nothing here. We should go back to the city and check in,” he said, looking around to double check the area before settling his gaze back on you.

You half-heartedly hummed in response, now putting your palm down on the ground. Bucky look at you quizzically as you paused, seemingly focusing on something.

“Some of these tree roots are still alive.” You said, perking up.

You set down the bird’s nest in your other hand before also placing that palm on the ground. Taking a deep breath, you slowly exhaled as a ring of soft light formed around you. You breathed in again, the light becoming brighter. Bucky took a step back and shielded his eyes. You exhaled, sending the ring of white light out from you. It went several meters before dissipating. When Bucky lowered his hand, he saw that several trees that had been scorched were growing back to perfect health. The white bark and bright yellow leaves stood out sharply against the ash and soot. You got up, slightly out of breath, and looked up at the tree in front of you. Slowly, a smile came upon your face. You closed your eyes for moment, taking it in before turning your head towards him.

Just then, the wind picked up and pushed the clouds out from in front of the sun. A ray of light filtered through the trees onto your face and suddenly Bucky was breathless. He watched as your chest rose and fell, the strain outlining your clavicle where a sheen of perspiration had developed. You were still smiling in accomplishment, the irises of your eyes shimmering in the sunlight. Gingko leaves that had been shaken off in the wind floated gently down, some landing on your gleaming hair before sliding off the silky strands.

You watched yourself walk back over to the bird’s nest and bury it in the fresh fallen gingko leaves. After taking a moment to honor the lost life, you stood, brushed the dirt from your knees and continued on. Bucky broke from his trance-like state and cleared his throat before walking in the direction you went in.

---

Seeing something in your peripheral vision, you turned to see the woman crouching to pick up a stray gingko leaf in the ash.

“One thing I’ve noticed amongst the ash,” she said in her light English accent before standing up and twirling the leaf slowly by the stem, “-is you.”

---

Bucky felt as if he was drifting through the actions. The jet was unbearably silent during the never-ending trip back to the compound. At some point Steve had put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder but he didn’t notice until it was gone. Endless possibilities were running through his head and yet he could not focus on a single one. It was agonizing.

When the jet landed, emergency medical staff, as well as Helen, met them on the runway. Helen relayed orders in Korean while her staff whisked her out of Bucky’s sight. He tried to follow after them, but Nat grabbed his arm and slowly shook her head no. When she spoke, her voice sounded more vulnerable than he had expected.

“Let them do their work.”

Bucky swallowed and looked over at Steve. Steve nodded in agreement and Bucky felt his shoulders drop.

“You need some rest, Buck. C’mon.” Steve said, patting him on the back and walking him to his lodging.

When Bucky closed the door behind him, he put his back against it and sank to the floor. He was exhausted. Everything had happened so fast, and he felt it to be overwhelming. He was starting to fixate on the stickiness of the blood and sweat, the exhaustion in his muscles. Taking a deep breath to center himself, he got up and walked to the bathroom, turning on the water to warm it up. He chucked his clothes directly into the washer before stepping under the warm water. He let it wash over him. He closed his eyes and moved so that the stream of water ran over his face.

In the darkness of his own mind, he relived holding you in his arms. Suddenly, the warm water felt like your blood against his skin and he snapped his eyes open, bracing himself with one hand against the wall, the other wiping his face off. He tried to slow down his breathing and counted the breaths, trying not to hyperventilate. Finally, calming down a little, he turned the hot water knob back to its original position, waiting for the water to reach freezing before quickly finishing the shower.

Dressing in a plain tee and sweats, he sat on his bed. No matter how firm the mattress was, he always ended up on the floor. He hadn’t chucked it for two reasons, the first being that he hardly had any possessions. The second reason was that you had come by once with a book you had mentioned.

---

Hearing the soft knock on his door, Bucky was hesitant to answer. The footsteps leading up to the door hadn’t been heavy enough to be Steve. He slowly walked over to the door and cracked the door open. It was you. You met his eyes and then lowered your gaze nervously, adjusting your grip on the book in your hand.

“Bucky? Hey, sorry to drop by unannounced. I just had that second book I was talking about. You finished the first one right?”

“Uh… Yeah I did. Come, on in.” He said, opening the door completely. He palmed through his hair nervously as you walked tentatively in.

“Sorry about the mess.”

“Oh, it’s no problem. Sorry for the intrusion.” You say, glancing around.

Your eyes brushed over the empty apartment. It was furnished with the standard set that it came with. Aside from a set of keys on the counter and a stray plum on the coffee table, there were no signs of life.

“I don’t think you can have a mess if you don’t have stuff to make a mess with.” You said bemused. Behind you Bucky chuckled nervously.

“Haha… Ah. Yeah.”

There was silence before you turned around.

“I’m sorry. This is weird. I should’ve just waited to give you the book at the next mission or something.” You apologized. Yet, you didn’t move.

Bucky backpedaled.

“Oh no, it’s not that. I’m sorry. I just don’t get a lot of… visitors.” He trailed off.

You met his gaze before your lip twitched upwards. A bubble of laughter escaped your mouth before he started chuckling as well. The tension was broken.

“Well, I’ll just leave this here.” You said, starting to leave the book on the coffee table.

“That’s fine. Uh, did you want the first one back?”

“There’s no rush-”

“I don’t mind. It’s just on my shelf.” He pointed down the hall. “I’ll grab it real quick.”

You watched as he walked down the short hall into his room. Still holding the book, you waited a moment before slowly following walking down the hall as well. When you peered into his room, you saw him standing in front of a bookshelf with several rows filled. You took a step inside.

“Ah, so this is where you keep your stuff. You might live here after all.” You joked.

Bucky chuckled as he moved aside to make room next to him for you in front of the shelf. He was still scanning the shelves for your book. You let your gaze drift across the titles, most of which were classics.

“Making up for lost time?” You asked, glancing up at the side of his face.

“Something like that.” He responded, bending down to check a lower shelf before pulling your book off of it.

He handed it to you, and you exchanged it for the new one.

“So,” you said, leaning against the side of his bed, “How did you like it?”

“I liked it.” He responded.

Bucky looked at you and saw your slight head tilt asking for more details. He cleared his throat and thought for a moment.

“Well… There was this one part that reminded me of the time I went with Steve to…” He started, sitting on the bed next to you. You hopped up next to him.

You listened to him as he retold his experience at the world fair. Going back and forth, your conversation flowed smoothly until it had gotten later than either of you had realized. At some point you had convinced him to read the first chapter of the second book.

“No pressure.” You said, flopping back so you were laying down across the bed, holding up your phone to scroll through the news to pass the time.

Bucky started reading the book, overly conscious of the fact that you were waiting on him. When he sent a quick glance your way though, you were nonchalantly scrolling. Eventually, he got absorbed into the chapter. Quite some time passed before he realized he was just reading the rest of the book. When that happened, he looked over at you.

You had dozed off waiting for him. At some point, you had taken your shoes off and grabbed the blanket he used off of the floor where he normally slept. You were curled up on your side, feet tucked away and mouth slightly open. Bucky stared for a few moments before closing the book and looking at his watch.

12:47 AM.

He blinked in surprise. You guys had talked for a while he guessed. Leaning over, he gently nudged you awake.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I got caught up reading. It’s almost 1 AM.”

You hummed groggily in response, rubbing your eye with one hand while pushing yourself up with the other. You squinted at the light of your phone as you checked it.

“It’s totally fine. I’m sorry I fell asleep. I am such a terrible guest.” You chuckled sleepily, standing up from the bed and picking up your shoes.

“Nah, you weren’t so bad.” Bucky joked.

You just smiled at him.

“Well, thanks for having me. I’ll get out of your hair now.” You said, shoes in hand as you walked started walking towards the door to his room.

He got up and followed you to the door. He held it open for you as you stepped out. Turning around you smiled sleepily at him.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” He replied.

He watched as you walked down the hall in your socks. You reached your door and punched in the code to your apartment. Looking down the hall at him, you waved as you opened your door. He waved back and you smiled one more time before you disappeared into your room. Pausing a moment, he looked around to see if anyone saw you leaving his room so late. With nobody around, he was in the clear. He sighed in relief and closed the door, walking back to his room. He noticed the first book that you were supposed to take back sitting on his nightstand. He touched the cover gently, pausing a moment before picking the second book back up, starting right where he left off.

---

Bucky reached over to pull the book you had left off of his shelf. He ran his hands over the indents of the golden lettering in the leather-bound book. Opening it, he looked at the sticky note that you left inside the cover.

Here’s that book I was talking about. First edition. Enjoy! :)

While looking at the crooked smile you had drawn, a knock on his door interrupted his thoughts and he stalled a moment before getting up to answer it. Opening the door, he was met with Steve, freshly showered and holding a bottle of Buck’s favorite whiskey.

“Thought you might want some company.” He said with his classic side grin.

Bucky wordlessly moved from the doorway and let him in. Steve walked past and sat on the couch, setting the whiskey down on the coffee table. Grabbing two glasses from the kitchen, Bucky settled down next to him. Steve poured a healthy portion into one of the glasses, handing one over before sitting back with his own. Swishing the liquid in the glass, Steve breathed in the aroma before sipping on it. Bucky decided on downing the entire drink in one go.

“Woah slow down there, the night is young.” Steve joked.

“C’mon Stevie. You know it doesn’t do a thing.” Bucky said wistfully, examining the empty glass in his hands. “I wish it did.”

Steve scanned his eyes over Bucky’s expression before turning back to his drink. A beat passed as he sipped once more before speaking.

“You care for her.” More of a statement than a question.

Bucky paused before admitting it out loud for the first time.

“… Yeah.”

They sat in silence before Steve sat forward, resting one arm on his knee while using the other to grab the bottle.

“In that case, let’s get you another drink.”

---

The night inched by; The amber liquid slowly drainin from the bottle until the last of it was in their glasses. Wordless, yet comforting. The sky brightened as the first rays of the sun kissed the morning dew, turning the landscape a stunning orange. Steve’s mind wandered as he watched the sky change color. Many a morning, he watched the sun rise on a battlefield as if nothing had disturbed it the day before. It’s what sustained him through sickness, war, and losing Bucky. It sustained him through his sacrifice as he plunged into the sea. It sustained him when he learned that he woke up in a new era, missing his dance with his best girl.

Clearing his throat, he set down his empty glass.

“What’re you going to say when she wakes up?”

“You mean if she wakes up.” Bucky said, his focus still on the drink in his hand.

“You should tell her how you feel. Life is unpredictable, especially in our line of work. I’ve never seen you care so much for anyone, Buck. Not back then, and not since you came back. When she wakes up, and you get this second chance, tell her. She cares about you too. Be with her. Enjoy it. You deserve to be happy.” Steve said, ending his speech quietly as he tried to remember the shade of red Peggy’s lipstick was when he last saw her on that runway.

Bucky glanced at Steve from the side, feeling the regret that had emanated from his voice. He stayed silent a moment longer before nodding his head slightly.

“I will. Thanks Steve.” He replied, laying his hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“Always. ‘Til the end of the line, pal.”

“The end of the line.” Bucky echoed.

Steve’s phone chirped, breaking the solemnity. He reached into his pocket and checked the message on his home screen.

“Helen has an update. C’mon.” Steve said, as he stood up from the couch.

---

“This has been a particularly unique situation.” Helen stated, swiping her tablet screen to look at more information. Bucky and Steve stood in front of her, outside of the room they were keeping you in.

“We ran many tests, including an EEG, which shows massive amounts of brain activity, much more than normal. We also took some blood and saw that the cells are still… alive. We don’t know how since there is no pulse or heartbeat, but they’re still drawing energy from her. I’m not sure how great of an extent the serum has changed her body, but I think there’s still a chance she’ll wake up. Until then, we have her connected to machines that will continue to monitor her brain activity, as well as alert us when there’s a pulse.”

She then opened the room for them to see you. Bucky walked in slowly, taking in the sight of you. You were lying on the bed in a hospital gown. Attached to your head were the wires sensing your brain activity. The monitor above showed one set of waves that were constantly fluctuating. The other set of waves were flat, showing that the wires on your chest were not sensing anything. It was strange how still you were. No tell-tale rise and fall of your chest, no twitching or turning; Completely still. Bucky walked over to the bedside and touched your arm. He was surprised to feel the heat and softness against his fingertips.

“She’s still warm?” He asked without taking his eyes off of you.

“Yes. We can’t explain it.” Helen replied, hugging the clipboard to her chest as she watched him brush a piece of hair tenderly to the side of your face.

Suddenly, the waves on the screen fluctuated, setting off a light dinging. Bucky turned his head quickly to the screen and then back at Helen, alarm etched into his face. Helen walked over to reset the alarm, taking a moment to analyze the situation.

“It seems as if she’s registering your voice, Sergeant Barnes. Perhaps it would be of benefit if you visited and spoke to her often.” She said tactfully while adjusting one more setting on the screen.

Bucky said nothing in return, letting Helen return to the doorway.

“If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.” She said, letting a moment pass before exiting the room.

Steve let a moment pass, watching Bucky as he pulled up a chair next to the bed.

“I’m gonna go grab you something to eat.” Steve said as he walked out of the room, closing the door gently behind him, leaving Bucky alone with you.

He sat in silence for a few moments before gently placing his hand atop yours, willing you to move, even just a centimeter, so he knew you were there.

Your body stayed as it was. Devoid of life.

---

“I don’t understand.” You replied to her, confused.

“It is rare enough to find someone with a pure, good heart. Add to that fact, the power that has been bestowed upon you. You have the capability to change to world. To heal it.” The mysterious woman said.

“There is a group of us, a few with similar attributes. We walk amongst the people, generation after generation. We guide humanity forward while protecting it from disasters greater than you could ever imagine. I believe that you could aid us in that work. I just hadn’t expected for us to meet so soon.”

She walked over to you and handed you the leaf she was holding, now turned to metal. You turned it over in your hand, feeling the energy coming off of it.

“I’m… extremely flattered. But there are plenty of other extremely good-hearted people out there. Steve, for example. Why me?”

“Ah, yes. Your friend Steve.” She said thoughtfully, now walking to the middle of the ashen clearing.

“Steve has a good heart. A very honorable man. But he lacks the discernment and the wisdom necessary to use these powers. He sees the world as black and white, when really things are endlessly grey. He lacks… perspective. To be in this role, you must understand that sometimes, you need to let things happen, even the bad ones, to protect the world at a larger scale. You, however, already have some of the power that comes with this role, and have used it in a worthy manner. I’ve seen some of the choices you’ve had to make. I’ve seen how you handle incredibly difficult decisions. Your mind is quick, your wit impressive, your heart pure. But perhaps most importantly of all, you possess the wisdom to use those attributes to help further humanity.”

“I see… but I don’t have all the powers that you seem to have.” You say hesitantly.

“It does not matter. I can bestow upon you the power, and I can show you how to turn this,” she says, gesturing to the few trees that you had revived.

“-into this.”

She raises her hands slowly, golden sigils forming around her arms. A blast of light and pressure made you step back and shield your eyes. The initial pulse over, you look around as the wind blew in a circle, lifting up the fallen gingko leaves into a storm. All of the charred remains of the land started slowly coming back to life. It grew back lush and healthy, returning the area to its natural glory. She waved her hand, causing a part of the ground next to a large boulder to collapse. She gently placed her hand on the rock, emitting more gold sigils before pulling away. As she moved back, water started flowing from where she had touched the rock, filling the ground, and creating a pond at its base.

You look around with wide eyes as you heard sounds of wildlife filling the area. You heard birds fly overhead as you watched a fawn come out from the bushes to take a drink from the pond. As you walked slowly closer, the woman gently placed her hand on the fawn’s back to keep it from getting spooked. Carefully reaching your hand out in offering, the fawn sniffed your hand before allowing you to softly scratch behind its ears. Looking down at the pond, several brightly colored fish swam amongst the lilies.

“You could help me do this and more.” She said, fondly petting the fawn. With her other hand, she manipulated the wind so that it fashioned your hair into a loose bun. She stepped closer to you, taking the metal leaf from your hand, and securing your hair with it. Slowly, you felt new power travel through your veins. You turned to look at her, slowly clenching your hands. As you opened them, water flowed from your palm, slipping through your fingers before falling onto the newly invigorated earth. A golden sigil was etched into your palm, glowing brightly. As you willed the water to stop, it trickled to a stop as the sigil disappeared. It was breathtaking. Eyes filled with wonderment, you looked up at her and met her eye.

“Teach me.”

The woman grinned before turning and walking away. You were about to start following her when you thought you felt something brush across your cheek. A familiar feeling. A whisper you could barely make out echoed through your head.

… still warm…

“Come.” She called behind her.

You snapped out of your daze and started walking again.

---

It’s been a little over a month since you had passed out in Bucky’s arms. At first, he refused to leave your side, even to sleep. Steve had convinced them to bring a cot into the room so Bucky could stop sleeping slumped over the bed in the chair. But after 2 weeks, Steve insisted that he go back to his room to sleep. Take some time for himself. They would let him know if anything happened.

Since then, Bucky had taken some time to reflect. He didn’t want to accept the worst possible outcome, but it seemed to be the only outcome. After the sun had set on the day that marked a month, he laid on his bed and sobbed, first angrily, then despairingly. You weren’t coming back to him.

The next day, he woke up numb. It ended up being the first day he didn’t visit you.

---

“Wow that’s amazing!” You shouted over the wind. You were currently with the woman atop a mountain. She had redirected an avalanche so that it missed the town at its base, and youhad helped.

She smiled. She had shown you several areas that she had helped before. First was a desert oasis that she kept from disappearing, and after that was a jungle in which you stopped a wildfire from killing off the last of an endangered monkey species. She turned and you followed her gaze. Suddenly, you were back at the pond you had started at.

“That was incredible. Thank you.” You said, breathless.

“I would be honored to help you with this work. How do I wake up and find you?”

“You don’t.” She said, her expression falling a bit.

You waited for her to explain.

“I wanted to show you everything you could accomplish before you made your decision. But unfortunately, to sustain this amount of power, you must take on a new form.”

You tilted your head slowly in confusion before you spoke.

“So, I’d have to leave my body for a new one?” You asked slowly.

“Essentially, yes. You would die, so to speak.” The woman said quietly before turning.

As you turned to follow her, you found yourself staring at your body hooked up to multiple machines. The woman walked around to the other side of the bed your body was on. Looking down affectionately at your sleeping form, she spoke:

“Your brain would stop emitting thought, and this form of yours would grow cold and die. But from it, your new form would be born. Ethereal, perfect, immortal.”

You swallowed thickly as you continued to stare at the monitor showing the last signs of life in your body,

“Okay, but would I be able to come back here in this new form?”

She paused thoughtfully.

“Theoretically, you’d have the capability to. But we could not allow it. To be able to walk amongst mortals in history, you must disappear from it first. When all of the lives you’ve touched have passed on, on then is when you may reappear alongside us. Until that time, you train with us in the shadows.”

“Oh.” You said, feeling impossibly small. “That’s… not unreasonable.”

“I wish not to lie to you. Normally, when we find someone we think worthy of this job, someone we want to walk alongside us in our journey, we meet their soul at death. And technically you have died. But a foreign power still lingers inside you. You may return to your old life if you wish. But the offer only stands once.”

“I see.” You said softly.

“I wish it were easier.” She said comfortingly.

“Me too. There were somethings here that I wanted to see through first.”

She gave you a knowing, sad smile.

“I suppose the biggest trial to gain this power is the sacrifice of leaving what you love behind. Yours is just beyond that door.” She said, nodding towards the door to the room.

“What?”

---

Six weeks since you had been gone. Two since he last saw you.

Not that Bucky was trying to keep track. He sat alone on his couch, staring at a blank tv. Nothing was playing. Not that it mattered. A knock on the door came through.

“Hey, Bucky, it’s me, Sam.” He half shouted through the door.

Bucky ignored him.

“I know you’re in there. You haven’t left.”

He groaned internally before responding to him from the couch.

“Did Steve send you? Go away.”

“I will not go away, now open this door.” Sam responded, jiggling the handle.

“No.” Bucky said, making no attempt to move.

“Fine then. But you made me do this.”

Bucky snapped his head towards the door as he heard Sam punch some numbers into the pin pad. It chirped before unlocking, Sam coming through the door.

“Hey, what’s your problem, man? Bucky said, coming face to face with Sam.

“Wasn’t a hard guess. Old people use the same password for everything. Shouldn’t have made it the same as your name on the Pacman machine leaderboard downstairs. You’ve been bumped down to second place by the way, curtesy of moi.” He said with flourish.

“What do you want, Sam?” Bucky asked annoyedly, sitting back down on the couch.

“You know why I’m here man.” He said, shoving his hands into his pockets before continuing:

“You gotta go see her.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’s not coming back!” Bucky shouted. He started getting up.

“Everyone keeps telling me to go see her, but she’s gone, Sam. Gone. Just ripped from my arms. And she died for me.She wasted her life on me of all things. I’m not gonna go just to stare at her body and replay the worst moments of my life, over and overagain. I can’t do it anymore.”

Bucky blinked and realized there were tears in his eyes. His face was flushed from shouting and his chest was heaving. Sam let a moment pass before he spoke.

“Look, I’m not here to tell you to keep seeing her so that magically she’ll wake up. I’ll level with you, there’s a chance she might not. If you believe she’s not coming back, I’m not judging you on that. I’m here to tell you that if you think that, you need to say goodbye. Get some closure. Scream, cry, whatever. But afterwards, you’ll feel better. I can’t stand watching you suffer like this, man. I’ve seen people at the VA fall apart and stay that way. I just don’t want you to end up like that.”

Bucky stared at him before letting out a noise that got caught in his throat. His legs felt weak, and he found himself sitting on the couch with his face in his hands, crying.

Sam quietly sat next to him and put his arm around him.

“It’s gonna be okay, Buck. It is.”

---

Some time after Sam had left and he had washed his face, Bucky made his way down the hall to your room. It was late and subsequently quiet. Stopping in front of the door to the room your body was lying in, he took a deep breath and opened the door.

---

You blinked as the door opened and Bucky walked through. He looked tired. His eyes were red and puffy: His facial hair was grown out more than normal. He looked… skinnier? Without taking your eyes off of him, you turned to your teacher.

“How long has it been?”

“Time moves much more quickly in the realm we’re in unless you are interacting with the one you came from. It’s been a little over a month in his time.” She answered.

“A month? Really?”

She nodded as you watched Bucky slowly walk over to the chair next to the bed. You sat on the bed with one leg folded under you, the other swinging off the edge of the bed. The woman did the same, though she kept her legs together, putting her hands together in her lap. You watched as Bucky picked up your hand, enclosing it in both of his own as he sat down. He took a deep breath before he spoke.

“You know, people keep telling me to not give up hope. But they don’t realize what it does to me to see you like this.” He started, voice scratchy and soft. It sounded like the whispers you thought you had been hearing around you while traveling with your teacher, only now that you were right by him, you could hear him clearly.

“I come in here, and I talk to you like they tell me to. I read you the books you lent me out loud. I watch the waves on the screen go nuts when I talk, and I feel that your skin is warm when I touch you. But without you replying, without you touching me back, it feels worse than any torture I’ve endured in my life.”

Tears spilled over onto your cheeks as you listened. The ache in your heart growing ever stronger.

“I wish I had gotten a chance to tell you that you made my life worth living. I was just going through the motions. Trying to make amends, trying to make up for everything I’ve done, and maybe then I’d have some peace. But I never expected to be happy. And now you’re gone. And I feel nothing. It’s worse than before I knew what being happy felt like. I’m not ready to go back. I’m not ready to lose you.”

“Please,” he whispered.

“Come back.”

He bowed his head, letting the tears drop onto the floor, clutching your hand so tightly, it surely would’ve hurt if you could feel it.

Tears still streaming, you turned to look at the woman. Time had slowed to a stop, seconds barely going by. She acknowledged you with a slight nod, letting a moment pass before asking:

“Which choice have you made, young one?”

You smiled, wiping the tears from your eyes one side at a time.

“I’m going to make the wrong decision. The selfish decision. I want to stay.” You said, happiness overflowing in your voice as more tears slip down your face.

“There is no wrong decision.” She said, placing your hand on your shoulder. Bowing her head lightly, she looked you in the eyes.

“Are you ready to go back?”

“Yes, thank you, uhm…”

“Sersi,”

“Sersi.” You repeated.

“Thank you for everything. This has been an incredible experience. I’ll remember this for the rest of my life.”

She smiled knowingly.

“When you need me, you’ll know where to find me.” She said, plucking the gingko leave out of your hair. Your hair fell out around your face as a white light grew ever brighter, soon blinding your vision.

---

Bucky raised his head at the sound of a foreign beeping in the room. Locating the source of the sound, he focused in on the red flashing on the screen.

Pulse 72

Pulse 72?

Pulse 72.

Bucky scrambled to press his fingers against your wrist. There it was.

Suddenly, your chest rose. He heard you take in an impossibly deep breath in and back out. He was stunned. While he was staring in disbelief, you turned your head slightly before opening your eyes.

“Bucky?”

He couldn’t do anything but hold you to him.

“Woah there, did you miss me?” You teased.

“Yes. So much.”

You pulled away from him and tilted your head, confused.

“Do I even want to know how long I was out?” You asked, ripping the stickies off of your head.

“Six weeks.”

“Six weeks!?”

“Do you remember anything that happened?” He asked, soaking in your voice.

“The last thing I remember is… the mountains.”

Bucky sat in silence a moment before he grabbed your hand.

“When you were gone, it made my life feel like it was over. I couldn’t stand it. It felt like I had nothing, all over again. You and I have grown really close and I just wanted you to hear all of that now that I have a second chance. I want to be by your side, through thick and thin, if you’ll have me.” He asked, gripping your hand tighter.

You stared into his eyes, the light reflecting the frosty color of his irises brilliantly. You leaned over to kiss him, and he met you halfway. Light and chaste, you pull back and rest your forehead on his.

“Of course I will, Buck. Always.”

---6 Months Later---

You trekked through the tall grass, smelling the coast and nearby sea.

“Just a little farther.” You called back to Bucky.

“I feel like you’ve said that several times now.” He joked, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun and the bite of the wind.

You turned around, stopping in your tracks.

“Haha, very funny. But seriously, I think it’s at top of this cliff,” you said, peering up at the ledge several feet above you.

He caught up to where you were, placing a quick kiss to your nose before bracing his back against the wall and interlocking his hands.

“C’mon, I’ll give you a boost.”

You stepped into his hand and jumped up, using the extra momentum to catch the edge. Pulling yourself up, you turned around, stomach to the ground, extending your hand to him. He grunted as he climbed partway up, grabbing your hand when the soil turned sandy halfway, leaving no holds for him to grab onto.

Pulling him up, you both sit for a moment, catching your breath and taking in the view.

“So,” he started. “Is it anything like you remembered?”

“Yeah. I think. It’s kind of hazy. But I think I dreamed about this place a lot while I was out. I felt like it was an itch that I couldn’t scratch unless I came here to check it out for myself.” You said, resting back onto your hands.

“Well, let’s scratch your itch.”

Bucky got up and dusted his pants off before offering you his hand. You accepted and pulled yourself up, steadying yourself before walking through the trees into the coming clearing.

When you reached it, it felt eerily familiar. The arrangement of the trees, the water running into the pond, even the arrangement of the moss. It was like peering at your dream through a pair of glasses; It was much clearer now.

“Wow. This place has really recovered since the last time we’ve been here,” Bucky said as he watched the gingko leaves fall around him.

You walked over to the pond and crouched, washing the fish swim between the lilies. You had a nagging feeling that something else was missing from the scene. You eyed a glint in the water while responding back to him.

“Yeah, it has. I think this is how it looked in my dream.”

Bucky walked over to you, and you looked up at him lovingly. Standing up, you wrap your arms around his neck.

“I’m sorry I dragged you to the other side of the globe just to come here.”

“Hey hey hey, it’s alright,” he said, putting his hands on your waist. “Who says we won’t be touring other parts of Japan while we’re here? Besides, this is where we had our first mission. It’s like coming back to a first date spot.” He said with a grin.

You couldn’t help but smile.

“I love you.”

He blinked, before smiling wider.

“I love you too.” He replied, wrapping his arms around you to pull you close to him, kissing you deeply.

---

From further up in the air, Sersi watched from the concealed airship, a man walking up to join her at the window.

“Still think she made the right decision?” He said, holding his hands behind his back.

“Come now, Ikaris. If I had had you before this life, would you be happy at the thought of me giving you up?”

“Of course not. But you didn’t have me before, you have me now.”

“Yes, yes.” She said, smiling as she brushed him off.

“Besides,” she continued. “I don’t think I could’ve offered her anything else. Once I saw how she looked at him, I knew it was only a matter of time.”

Smiling wistfully, she flicked her finger, sending a breeze through the landing where you were.

---

The ginkgo leaves fluttered onto your faces, making you both laugh as you separated to brush them off.

“Come on,” you said, grabbing his hand and leading the way. “Let’s go see the coast.”

He smiled, looking at you with adoration, and followed you out from the clearing to wherever you would walk from then on. A ray of light shined through the trees onto the pond, the glint of the golden ginkgo leaf sparkling out from under the rocks at the bottom.

#kas9kwc #Bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes angst #bucky x y/n #bucky imagine

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rafael-silva · 4 years ago

Text

guide me back (I’m lost without your light): a tarlos fic

“All available units respond to a 10-50 at the intersection of Sixth and North Lamar Boulevard. Multiple vehicle pile up.” “Dispatch, this is 363-H-20 responding. ETA three minutes.”

When Carlos and Mitchell respond to the call, the last thing Carlos expects is to find TK in the middle of the wreck. He races against time to keep TK awake and stable until fire and medical arrive, while sending out prayer after prayer that his time with TK hasn’t been cut short. That they haven’t run out of time.

for bad things happen bingo: tarlos + bloodstained clothes

hurt tk strand, worried carlos reyes, established relationship, whump, angst, emotional hurt/comfort, hurt/comfort, kisses, blood, injury description, major character injury, angst with a happy ending

10.1k | on ao3

*****

“All available units respond to a 10-50 at the intersection of Sixth and North Lamar Boulevard. Multiple vehicle pile up.”

“Dispatch, this is 363-H-20 responding. ETA three minutes.”

The sun sits high in the sky as Carlos grips the steering wheel tightly while Mitchell releases her radio and flicks on the light bar and siren, blaring loudly as they head into the heart of downtown Austin.

It sounded serious, if all available units are being dispatched to the scene, meaning fire engines are being dispatched, too. Carlos fleetly wonders if the 126 will be called to the scene, but he knows he won’t be seeing TK since it’s the paramedic’s day off.

It’s difficult when one of them is working and the other is off; at least if they were both working, there are always chances of them meeting on calls, and if they were both off, well, those days were spent in utter happiness together, either spent in or out, it didn’t matter as long as they were spent together. They make it work, however, spending as much time together before one of them goes to work and then at night, cuddling on the couch or in bed, safe in each other’s arms after a long day.

Carlos hopes the accident isn’t as grave as he’s imagining but his gut is telling him otherwise. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he realizes there’s a big possibility he might be late for the home dinner date he and TK had planned. TK had said he had a surprise for Carlos, and was clearly super excited about it. Carlos was looking forward to it and now…

Carlos’s gut is proven right when they round the corner and he catches sight of the crash from a few blocks away. Dread sets in his stomach the closer they get to the scene, other police cruisers pulling up at the same time.

He might need to tell TK that his shift may run long. He holds back at that, though, first wanting to get a full feel of how the rest of his shift will pan out.

Carlos parks and shares a concerned look with his partner before drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. They hop out of the car and Carlos takes a quick survey of their surroundings, noticing that they had arrived at the scene before fire and medical.

Carlos starts moving towards where the accident is the worst, and well, it’s bad. Four cars seem to have harshly rear ended each other, the crushed metal an indication of how sudden and quick it had happened. He can’t really tell one car from the other, all of them mangled together in a way that tells Carlos there are definitely more than a few injuries sustained to the people who were in these cars.

He doesn’t have much time to draw any more conclusions because he’s frantically being flagged down by a man around his own age, who seems unharmed. Bystander, Carlos’s mind supplies.

Carlos jogs over as the man takes a few steps towards him and starts speaking.

“He’s stuck,” the man starts, leading Carlos to one of the cars, or what’s left of one, in the middle of the wreck. “The door on one side popped open from the force of the crash but the guy inside can’t move. And we didn’t want to move him. He’s on the opposite side of the backseat and he’s in rough shape, seems to be going in and out of consciousness.”

Carlos swallows and follows him, whoever this man is, Carlos is going to do everything he can to help him until fire and medical arrive.

“It’s good you didn’t move him, that might have caused more damage,” Carlos tells him, his legs moving quickly.

The closer he gets, the more Carlos is hit with a sense of familiarity towards the injured man. He frowns, his heart starting to race in his chest as he zeroes in on the figure slumped in the backseat.

And that side profile, Carlos can draw it with his eyes closed.

He freezes when the realization dawns on him. His legs stop moving, his feet nailed to the asphalt. It feels like his heart is about to leap out of his chest while his eyes go impossibly wide.

TK.

And no, no, no. It can’t be TK. He was just texting him less than twenty minutes ago. He’s worried his brain is playing a cruel trick on him, conjuring up this nightmare. Carlos shakes his head, earning himself a confused look from the man leading him, who has also stopped moving.

But Carlos doesn’t spare him a glance, his attention solely held by the man in the crushed car. And when said man weakly opens his eyes and they catch some light, Carlos knows beyond a doubt that this nightmare is in fact reality.

Those green eyes, even seeing them from the side and through an awkward angle, can only belong to the love of his life.

“No,” Carlos whispers as his heart plummets into his knees, his body heating up. “No, no,” he repeats and then his feet are finally moving again, and he’s running around another car, his eyes not leaving TK.

He briefly registers the man’s growing confusion but he just rushes past him, no time for explanation, the only thing mattering to him is getting to TK. Saving TK.

He only slows down when he’s right by TK’s side, with only the smashed door separating them. The window is shattered, the ground littered with broken pieces of glass that crunch underneath Carlos’s boots.

TK’s eyes have closed again, but Carlos can see his chest slowly rising and falling with each shallow breath he sucks in.

“TK?” Carlos speaks, the rest of the accident fading away. The movement around is in slow motion, sounds muted, the world narrowing to just him and TK. “TK, can you hear me?”

Carlos can’t even hear his own voice over the blood rushing in his ears, but by the way TK tilts his head an inch towards him, he heard him.

A beat. And then: “‘Los…”

Carlos lets out a breath he wasn’t fully aware he was holding, his shoulders sagging forward a little. “Hey, babe. I’m here, I’m here.”

Carlos runs his eyes over TK, and his heart breaks a little more at the bloody state the paramedic is in.

“I’m stuck,” TK wheezes. “Can’t move.”

“We’ll get you out, just hang on. Help is on the way,” Carlos replies, hoping his voice is steadier than it sounds to his own ears. He then turns his attention to the older man in the front seat. “Sir, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” the man nods. “I’m fine, nothing hurts too bad. The hit was harder from the back.”

Carlos’s fear increases at that piece of information. “You let me know if your pain changes,” he tells him before his attention is back on TK. “TK, can you tell me what hurts?”

“Head, chest…and side,” TK replies through gritted teeth, squeezing his eyes as a wave of pain shocks his nerves, running through his battered body. Everything feels like it’s on fire, every breath he tries to draw in hurts, and he’s tired, he’s so tired.

But he isn’t alone anymore, Carlos is here now. TK is aware that his odds aren’t good, based on his years of work experience, but he finds himself not panicking at that thought as much anymore. Because Carlos is right here. He would even go as far as saying he feels a little calm now, but what he can’t answer is whether that is due to shock or Carlos’s presence. TK decides to believe it’s courtesy of the latter. Because shock would be very bad.

He isn’t aware his eyes have drifted shut until the officer’s voice filters through, telling him to open them and TK manages to peel his eyelids open and faces Carlos’s worried gaze.

“Stay with me,” Carlos pleads, those brown eyes that TK loves so much filled to the brim with terror. “Don’t close your eyes, look at me. Focus on me.”

TK obliges. He loves looking at Carlos, loves running his hands over his face, his cheekbones, feeling Carlos smile against his touch. TK wants to reach out, to smooth out the worry engraved on Carlos’s forehead, in the creases that sit above his eyebrows, but he can’t move a muscle. He wants to reassure Carlos that he’s okay, but not only does he momentarily lose his voice, he also doesn’t know how true his statement would be. Because he’s now suddenly very much aware of the amount of blood running down his side, sticky and hot. The side glued to the crushed door.

He groans, feeling the panic start to rise again. Being stuck was already bad enough, but being stuck while also bleeding is far worse that TK doesn’t even want to think about it.

“Hey, hey,” Carlos’s voice returns. “Focus on me, it’s okay. I know it’s scary, but I’m right here.”

“Carlos,” TK cries out, a tear rolling down his cheek.

Carlos, very carefully, reaches his arm through the busted window, and with just as much caution, cups TK’s face and wipes the stray tear with the pad of his thumb. He’s aware of everything all at once, the way his hand shook as he moved it towards TK, how clammy TK’s skin feels, the beads of sweat rolling down his own neck and back.

“I’m right here.”

TK sniffs and nods as he leans into Carlos’s touch. It’s warm, and TK gravitates towards that warmth. The warmth that has become his home.

Carlos begins cataloging TK’s injuries: a cut near his temple that looks deep enough to need stitches, possible concussion, chest pain can be a result of the seatbelt tightening when the crash happened, but he can’t assess how badly TK’s side is hurt from his current position.

He doesn’t have much time to dwell on that, though, because TK is speaking a few moments later.

“My side…it’s bleeding…” TK murmurs once he’s gathered his voice, his mind suppling that he needs to tell Carlos. “I think it’s bad.”

The small amount of color remaining in Carlos’s face drains at TK’s words, his heart dropping further and it feels like he’s been drenched with a bucket of ice water. His mind freezes for a second before he’s shaking himself out of it. He needs to act, and quick.

“Can you reach it and apply pressure?” Carlos asks. “Easy though, slow movements.”

TK attempts to move his arm towards the injury but quickly grimaces and drops his arm.

“No,” TK’s voice shakes, the slight movement exhausting him further. “Hurts.”

“Shit,” Carlos’s own panic starts taking hold, evident in the way his hands start to shake again. They have to slow the bleeding if TK has any chance of making it out of this nightmare.

Then Carlos remembers that the other door is practically already ripped off the car. Making up his mind, he gives TK’s hand a squeeze and rushes to the other side of the car.

“Hang on, TK, I’m coming,” Carlos says as he quickly assesses the area where the door was once attached to the car.

It looks stable enough and the car isn’t tilted to either side or unbalanced, so Carlos carefully climbs in and pauses to see if his added weight caused any shift. Once there’s no evidence of that, he moves closer to TK, their thighs side by side.

Carlos reaches around TK with his left arm, eyes glued to his middle and surely enough, TK’s t-shirt is stained with blood. The officer has to swallow against his dry throat at the sight, there’s so much blood already and TK is looking paler by the second.

Carlos’s hand finds its target, and his fingers brush against the tip of the metal lodged into TK’s side. He feels sick to his stomach as he begins to apply as much pressure as he could without causing further damage or sinking the metal deeper into TK’s flesh.

TK whines at the pain jolting through his body, waking him up a little as he squeezing his eyes shut, more tears run freely down his face.

“I know, I know,” Carlos speaks, his tone apologetic.

TK’s eyes start to droop, the momentary adrenaline already wearing off and his head falls backwards against the headrest.

“No, no, TK,” Carlos eyes go wide, his voice strained. “Keep your eyes open, stay with me.”

“Carlos…” TK whispers.

“Right beside you, babe. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re his fiancé,” the older man’s voice reaches Carlos’s ears from the front seat.

Carlos turns to face him with a questioning look, his eyes drawing together at the statement.

“He was,” the driver pauses to breathe. “He was talking about you before the crash.”

Carlos sucks in a deep breath through his nose, nodding as his eyes begin to glisten with unshed tears. “Yeah,” he turns back to look at TK. “He’s the love of my life.”

TK is still clinging to consciousness and Carlos receives a small smile from him at his declaration.

“That’s it, baby. Stay with me,” Carlos pleads once more, closing his eyes and gently resting his forehead against TK’s uninjured temple, melting into him.

He keeps a steady hold on TK’s side, and senses TK weakly gravitating towards him even more, Carlos his lifeline. TK uses all his remaining energy to reach out into the small distance and latches his hand onto Carlos’s arm, wrapping his fingers there.

“I got you, Ty, I got you.”

A few moments later, the air around them fills with the roaring of sirens, getting closer and closer.

“Hear that, TK? Help is here,” Carlos says, instilling hope with every word.

He turns his head in the direction of the incoming fire trucks and ambulances, watching as red and blue color everything around. His eyes immediately find the bold 126 painted on the truck that comes to a halt on the edge of the crash site.

“Hey!” Carlos calls out for the young man who lead him here. “Direct them this way!” He nudges his head towards the team who are disembarking from the truck.

The man nods and starts running towards the firefighters.

“Hang on, TK, hang on,” Carlos whispers.

He looks back into the open and relaxes just a fraction when he spots Judd on the man’s heels, jogging towards him.

Carlos can pinpoint the moment Judd realizes who he’s moving towards, the firefighter’s eyebrow raising a little.

“Reyes?” Judd calls out before he’s reached the car.

“Judd, it’s TK,” Carlos wastes no time in responding.

Those three words have Judd’s eyes going wide, his speed picking up and he runs the remaining distance to the car, coming to a stop on the side TK’s jammed.

“He’s stuck and bleeding badly,” Carlos continues, looking past TK and at Judd through the broken window.

“Shit,” Judd mutters and then louder, in the direction of the rig: “Tommy! Nancy!”

Judd’s eyes roam over TK’s ashen face, the younger man’s eyes barely opened.

“Hey, brother,” Judd speaks, his voice carrying its natural strength but also soft and filled with concern. “You’re gonna be alright, just hang on.”

He gets a half-nod from TK in reply.

Tommy and Nancy approach the car, each of them clutching their equipment and medical bags, ready to get to work.

“It’s TK,” Judd tells them when they’re by his side. They both pause midair as they’re lowering the bags, their eyes going equally wide as they process Judd’s words.

Carlos can see the worry flash over their faces and they share a quick look of concern before they both switch back into paramedic mode. He knows what they’re thinking, that they have to be at the top of their game. TK is family, and he can feel their fear and pain, but they need to focus so they can save TK.

They both meet Carlos’s worried eyes before getting to work.

“Hey, TK,” Tommy gets closer to the crushed door, gloves on and clicks her pen light. Her voice is calm and gentle, her motherly tone helps even Carlos relax a little.

“Cap…” TK whispers.

“Follow the light, TK.”

She shines the pen into TK’s glassy eyes, his pupils responding to the light as they should, albeit a little weaker than she’d like.

“Talk to me, Carlos,” Tommy says while her attention is solely focused on TK. “Tell me everything.”

“He said his head, chest and side hurt, his side is bleeding badly. I have pressure on it and I can feel a piece of metal stuck in there,” he swallows, feeling the blood seeping through his fingers. “The bleeding slowed down a little but he’s already lost so much blood.”

Tommy nods, accepting the c-collar from Nancy and carefully placing it around TK’s neck to stabilize him.

Judd looks up when he hears the rest of the crew approaching, and after a brief glance with Carlos, Judd moves in their direction, seeking out Owen.

“Cap,” Judd shields Owen’s view of the wrecked car.

Owen frowns, but immediately sees through Judd’s worried eyes. “What is it?”

Judd takes a deep breath. He has always been a straightforward guy, he won’t start beating around the bush now. “It’s TK, he’s in that car.”

Carlos’s heart breaks even more at the gasp he hears from Owen, followed by rapid footsteps pounding the gravel as the captain rushes over.

He’s at the car from Carlos’s side and looking past his shoulder a few moments later, Owen’s eyes blown wide as they move from his son to his soon to be son-in-law.

“Carlos.”

“His side is bleeding,” Carlos tells Owen, more tears gathering in his eyes. “He couldn’t reach it to apply pressure and I had to do something.”

Owen nods, his eyes going back to TK, who’s barely moving. “It’s gonna be okay, son. You’re gonna be okay. We’re here.”

TK slowly opens his eyes the rest of the way and looks in Owen’s direction through his blurry vision. He tries to send a wordless message to his father and fiancé of I’m okay.

Owen gives him a smile, but it’s shakier than he intended.

“Here,” Tommy’s voice grabs their attention. She hands Carlos a large piece of gauze as Nancy moves to the front to check the driver.

Carlos begins to move, and TK instantly whimpers and tries to keep his already weak hold on the other man.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, TK,” Carlos is quick to reassure him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He maneuvers his free arm to take the piece of cotton and swiftly lifts his bloodied palm to cover TK’s wound with the gauze and returns the pressure there.

The team has gathered what was happening and crowd the car, Carlos is vaguely aware of Judd telling them they’ve got TK and they should go around the rest of the scene to help.

And then Judd is back, evaluating the situation and weighing their options.

“His breathing is getting worse,” Carlos announces with fright as TK’s hold on him starts to falter. “We need to get him out now.”

“The driver is doing okay, Cap,” Nancy chimes in. “Alert and his numbers are holding.”

Tommy nods. “We get TK out first. Carlos, is the metal connected to the door or is it separated?”

Carlos shakes his head. “Separated.”

“That’s good, makes busting the door open easier,” Judd nods.

“Judd, grab the—” Owen begins.

“Jaws, got them,” Judd finishes for Owen before running in the direction of their truck.

He returns less than a minute later, but it feels like forever for Carlos and Owen as they watch TK struggle to hold on.

“Come on, come on,” Owen whispers, his eyes not leaving his son’s battered form as Judd returns, pushes the piece of equipment into the mangled metal and starts to tear it apart.

Tommy and Nancy get the backboard ready in the meantime, ready to move as soon as it’s clear. A lot of movement erupts when the door is finally ripped open. Judd lowers the jaws to the ground, quickly reaching for the cutters he had also retrieved and cuts the seatbelt off TK. It takes Carlos’s brain a second to catch up with all the action and then his eyes land on Owen now standing on the other side behind Judd as both men make room for Tommy and Nancy.

They carefully place the tip of the backboard against the backseat cushion and Nancy and Judd carefully take hold of TK’s shoulders, moving him sideways and then guiding him to lie on the board. Carlos goes with them, the pressure he’s applying constant and he only lets go once he’s certain Nancy’s taking over, her hand firmly covering his.

He pulls back and watches as Judd and Owen carry TK over to the gurney. He wastes no time in getting out of the car himself, darting to TK’s side.

Once TK is out, Judd starts working on extracting the driver.

Tommy and Nancy work in unison, the Paramedic Captain covering TK’s face with an oxygen mask while Nancy inserts an IV in his arm and runs a line. Carlos then notices that Owen is applying pressure to TK’s side with one hand while the other runs through TK’s hair.

Carlos takes TK’s hand, giving it a squeeze.

“Let’s move,” Tommy instructs a moment later.

Nancy takes over holding pressure as they push the gurney towards the ambulance, Carlos and Owen trailing behind.

“Carlos?”

Carlos turns at his partner’s voice, coming from a few feet away.

Mitchell is about to ask where he’s been but her eyes go wide instead when they land on TK lying on the gurney.

“I have to—”

She’s nodding before Carlos finishes his sentence. “Go, I’ll sort it out.”

“Thank you,” Carlos gives her the best grateful smile he could muster before hopping in after TK and Tommy.

“I’ll be right behind you,” Owen says once TK is inside the rig.

Carlos nods, taking a seat on the small bench.

Nancy shuts the doors and races to the driver’s seat, climbing in and the sirens wail as they start to move.

Owen watches the ambulance drive away, the hot pit in his stomach growing with each passing second.

Carlos and Tommy don’t exchange words, each of them focusing on TK. Tommy is monitoring his vitals, giving him fluids and administering a local nerve blocker to help with the pain.

Carlos clutches TK’s free hand with both of his own, closing his eyes and willing his racing heart to slow down a beat. He works on his breathing, steading his rhythm but he can’t help the stray tear that falls when he opens his eyes and looks at TK.

Carlos’s chest is in knots, his heart in pieces, TK is too still, too pale.

It’s almost like TK feels his fiancé’s anguish and pain, and on some level, he does because he’s weakly turning in Carlos’s direction. It’s always been a thing TK and Carlos talk about—the way they sense each other and what the other needs and this moment is yet another one to prove that connection true.

“It’s okay, ‘Los,” TK manages, his voice frail and muffled even more by the oxygen mask.

Carlos sniffs, moving closer to TK so he’s in his line of sight and nods. “Yeah, baby. It’s okay, you’re okay.”

“I love you,” TK whispers.

“I love you too, baby,” Carlos reciprocates. “Hold on.”

TK nods, a promise Carlos clings onto with everything he’s got. And he prays today isn’t the day he loses TK.

They’ve only just begun.

*****

It’s a short but tense ride to the hospital.

Tommy had examined TK’s chest and Carlos’s assumption that it was the seatbelt that hurt him is proven right by the massive red bruise already formed down the paramedic’s torso. Carlos had drawn in a sharp breath at seeing it, heartbroken that TK has been injured to that extent. Tommy had also told Carlos that TK may have also suffered a bruised lung from the force of the seatbelt against his chest.

A team is already awaiting their arrival, tearing the ambulance doors open as soon as it comes to a halt in front of the Emergency Room entrance. Tommy relays all the information as they push TK inside and through the hallways. They reach a point where Tommy, Carlos and Nancy can’t follow and Carlos has to reluctantly let go of his tight hold on TK’s hand.

His heart shatters as he watches the doctors and nurses wheel TK away, feeling like he’s been ripped away from him.

He stands there for what seems like hours, watching the hallway long after TK was pushed into the elevator, Carlos’s eyes fixed on its closed doors. He feels a hand land on his shoulder, and he doesn’t need to turn to know who it is.

“Come on, Carlos,” Tommy’s soft voice reaches him.

Carlos lets her lead him towards the waiting area and he drops into one of the plastic chairs, hating how familiar they have become.

He shakes his head then drops it slightly and only looks up when a few wet wipes are in his line of sight.

He gratefully accepts them but doesn’t move for a few moments after. His gaze is focused on his own hands, his hands that are covered with TK’s blood. And his ring, his ring is coated in crimson, nearly obscuring the silver underneath and it makes his stomach churn in an unnatural way.

Carlos closes his eyes, going back to the day TK had slid this ring onto his finger, to the joy and contentment they had both felt, they way they basked in each other’s love when Carlos had said yes. A tear rolls down the officer’s cheek, one he doesn’t bother wiping away. He sniffs, opening his eyes and begins cleaning his hands.

Once the evidence of TK’s accident and injury is transferred to the wipes, Nancy takes them from Carlos’s hold and throws them away before sitting down, too.

The silence stretches, the feel and sound of the hospital nearly haunting. Owen’s arrival breaks it, Carlos looking up when he hears his name being called from afar.

“Carlos,” Owen’s eyes are wide and movement quick.

“Owen,” Carlos gets to his feet in time for the Captain to throw his arms around him in a hug, which Carlos returns.

Owen gives Carlos a squeeze before pulling back. “Did they say anything?”

Carlos shakes his head. “They took his straight up, didn’t say much of anything.”

Owen nods and sits on the chair next to Carlos’s as he too returns to it.

Tommy and Nancy’s radios spring to life a little bit later, and they reluctantly leave, promising to be back as soon as they can.

Carlos starts rolling his ringer over his finger, a gesture he does when he’s nervous or anxious. TK would always notice, and he’d reach out, taking Carlos’s hand and holds it tightly; a silent promise that he isn’t alone, and that TK’s got him. Carlos would give anything to feel TK’s tender touch.

He notices that his ring is still speckled with blood.

“I’ll be right back,” Carlos says as he rises from his place. “Just going to the bathroom.”

Owen nods. “Take your time.”

Carlos follows the signs to the nearest bathroom and looks at himself in the mirror as he gets closer to the sinks. The bathroom is empty, his boots echoing in the space, his eyes not leaving his exhausted reflection staring back at him. All the color has been drained from his face, his eyes a stark red against his pale skin and his usually neat curls are out of place. His eyes drift lower until they stop at his waist where there’s a large, dark stain. His uniform is stained with TK’s blood.

He swallows as he turns on the faucet and lets the water run down at the coldest temperature before sticking his hands under it and working the remaining traces of blood off his ring. He momentarily relishes the cool sensation against his skin, but he soon breaks watching the pink-tinted water swirl down the drain.

It feels like TK is getting further and further away from him as each second passes by. He feels like he’s losing TK.

Helplessness settles in his bones, barely turning off the water and he grips the marble to support himself as his entire body starts to shake with the force of his oncoming sobs. A cry rips through his throat and he tightens his hold on the marble, afraid that his knees will no longer hold him up and he’ll crumble to the ground if he lets go.

He feels the fear crawling underneath his skin, the terror ringing through his whole being, the longing, the pain…it all washes over him at the same time, and he almost collapses from the weight of it. But he holds on. TK needs him to hold on. So he draws in a deep breath, stands up straight and splashes icy water over his face a few times.

Carlos returns to the waiting area with swollen eyes and Owen runs a hand up and down his back once he’s seated next to him once again, patting his shoulder before pulling back.

“We…we were planning on going over to my parents’ for dinner this weekend,” Carlos’s shaky voice slices through the silence that settles over them. “Our schedules lined up and TK was so excited. He,” he pauses, a small smile forming on his face. “He was saying how we should bake something to take to dinner. Chocolate chip cookies. They’re his go-to when it comes to baking,” he trails off, his hands connecting and he starts nervously fidgeting, rubbing his hands together. “Chocolate chip cookies,” he whispers.

“They were always his favorite kind of cookies when he was a kid,” Owen says.

Carlos turns to look at Owen, his features broken and eyes filled with fragments of loss and aching. “He’s going to be okay, right? He has to be. He…has to be okay.”

“He’s strong, and he’s in the best of hands. He’s going to fight to come back to us, to come back to you, Carlos. The happiest I’ve ever seen my son was when he was with you, even in the beginning, when you were still figuring things out, there was something different about him, I could see it, I could feel it. He seemed lighter, brighter. His eyes lit up. I didn’t want to pry or push to know more, but when I saw you together, I knew. You were the missing piece he needed, you helped make him better, stronger. He’s going to come back to that.”

“It was the same with me. He saved me, in so many ways,” Carlos expresses.

“You saved each other,” Owen replies with a smile, giving Carlos’s knee a squeeze.

Carlos and Owen move to the waiting room on the surgical floor a little while later. Owen sits down on an identical plastic chair while Carlos paces around the room.

He stops when he looks out into the hallway and sees the rest of the team making their way towards them, all wearing the same concerned look on their faces.

“We got here as fast as we could,” Judd says as they step inside.

“Have you heard anything yet?” Marjan asks, her eyebrows drawn together.

Owen shakes his head. “He’s been in surgery for almost two hours.”

“He’s a strong kid, he’ll make it through,” Judd speaks with a steady voice.

“I should go call my mom, let her know what happened,” Carlos starts walking towards the door.

Paul pats Carlos’s shoulder as he passes him, and Carlos responds with an appreciative nod.

Carlos’s short trip to go outside is a haze, moving robotically until he’s stepping into the open air, the sun still high in the sky. It’s hot, Carlos closes his eyes and tilts his head up in the direction of the sun, letting its warmth seep into his skin. He takes a deep breath as he opens his eyes, pulls out his phone and he notices a few texts from Mitchell. He makes a mental note to reply later and moves to the phone icon, touching his mother’s contact from his favorites list.

One ring, two rings, three rings…

“Carlitos!”

“Mami…”

Andrea immediately picks up on his broken tone. “What’s wrong, mijo?”

“It’s…There was an accident…a car pile up downtown and…TK, he…he was in it,” Carlos’s voice cracks.

“Oh, Dios,” Andrea draws in a sharp breath. “How is he?” She asks and Carlos can hear rustling and movement in the background now.

“He…he lost a lot of blood, Ma. He was stuck in the car and his side was hurt…they took him straight to surgery and we haven’t heard anything yet,” Carlos sniffs.

“Where are you? I’m on my way,” Andrea says.

Carlos can hear the emotion in his mother’s voice and he knows she’s trying to keep her worry and fear for TK from breaking through the phone. She’s always been Carlos’s rock, strong and steady, and he can tell by her tone that she’s keeping it together for him. Still, though, he can hear the slight waver in her voice at the knowledge that her soon to be son-in-law is badly injured, currently undergoing surgery.

Since the moment TK was officially introduced to Carlos’s parents, they welcomed him into their family with wide, open arms. They had immediately liked him and adored him, Andrea happily whispering it into Carlos’s ear at the end of that very night. They saw the love between him and their son, and it had uplifted Andrea and Gabriel’s spirits and filled their own hears with so much love and glee.

And when Carlos had called them one night, voice filled with bliss and excitement, telling them that TK had proposed to him, Andrea and Gabriel wept tears of joy.

Knowing how much Andrea loves TK, telling her that he was hurt is one of the hardest things Carlos has ever had to do.

“We’re at West Park Memorial,” Carlos replies.

With a promise from Andrea to be there shortly, they end the call. He returns to the waiting room a few minutes later, everyone’s eyes landing on him. Carlos feels shrunk, his shoulders drawn in, his body feeling so heavy.

“She’s on her way,” he says before turning to stare into the direction of the operating rooms.

“No news yet,” it’s Judd who speaks next, reading Carlos’s mind.

Carlos nods and returns to his seat next to Owen.

Silence falls onto the room, everyone doing little things to keep themselves busy. Mateo praying, Marjan and Paul standing and pacing, Judd grabbing a couch pillow and holding it against his chest, Owen’s head is thrown back against the wall with his eyes closed and Carlos’s leg starts bouncing up and down while he fidgets with his hands. His fingers gravitate towards his ring, the one tangible piece of TK he has with him in this moment. Carlos always gravitates towards TK.

The team eventually get called away to a rescue with their promises too to return as soon as they can.

Carlos’s phone rings and a glance at his screen tells him it’s his mother.

“Ma,” Carlos answers.

“Hi, mijo. I’m walking in now, where are you?”

“We’re in the waiting room on the surgical floor,” Carlos tells her.

“Okay, I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”

Carlos spots Andrea hurrying through the hall, handbag clutched against her side soon after they hang up.

“Carlitos,” Andrea breaths as she steps into the room.

Carlos walks over to her and falls against her as she wraps him in a tight hug.

“It’s okay, mijo. Va a estar bien,” she whispers reassuringly, holding him in a steady grip. It’s going to be okay.

Carlos returns the embrace, burying his face in his mother’s neck, more tears spring to his eyes at being held by his mother and feeling her safety and comfort.

There’s a considerable height difference between Carlos and Andrea, but right now, Carlos may as well be a little boy and she a giant. Her protective hold on him is steady and grounding.

Once they pull back, Andrea cups Carlos’s face and wipes the fallen tears with the pads of her thumbs.

“Any news?”

Carlos shakes his head.

Andrea walks over to Owen, who gets up and they exchange a quick hug.

“He’s going to be fine,” Andrea says as she takes a seat next to her son.

Carlos nods, his eyes drifting back to his ring.

“There was a missing ingredient,” Andrea says after a while.

Carlos frowns as he turns to look at her.

“I was talking to him this morning, I sent him the family recipe for tamales,” she explains. “He wanted to surprise you but there was one missing thing.”

“Our dinner date tonight…that’s why he was out, he was going to the store,” Carlos connects the dots, eyes filling with tears.

Andrea nods.

“That was his surprise,” the realization dawns on Carlos. “He knows tamales are my favorite,” a small smile forms on his face.

Andrea places her palm on the nape of Carlos’s neck and pulls him gently towards her. He goes easily and rests his forehead against her shoulder. She whispers comforting words in Spanish as she runs her fingers over Carlos’s short hair just above his neck. He closes his eyes, evening out his breathing as he soaks up his mother’s comfort.

*****

Carlos is staring into nothingness almost an hour later, his eyes glued to to the hallway but unseeing. His mind on TK, all figures that pass through and walk the hallway blurred. Until one doctor is walking towards the waiting room, his form getting clearer and clearer as Carlos forces his vision to focus on him.

The doctor is visibly tired, his face crunched up, still wearing his surgical cap as he enters the room. Carlos can’t read him, and that worries him even more. He braces himself, swallowing as the doctor starts speaking.

“Family of Tyler Strand?”

“TK,” Owen corrects as he gets to his feet. “How’s my son?”

Carlos and Andrea follow suit, the tension building in the small space.

The doctor nods at Owen. “TK made it through,” he offers them a kind smile.

The collective breath Owen, Carlos and Andrea were holding is released as they breathe out a sigh of relief. Carlos closes his eyes, letting the doctor’s words sink in, sagging forward a little. He feels Andrea’s hand running up and down his back, grounding him and he leans into her warm touch.

“There were some complications, however,” the doctor continues. “We were mostly concerned about the amount of blood he lost, which caused his blood pressure to drop. His numbers were low during the surgery but we were able to keep him stable and with some blood transfusions, his blood pressure began to improve. The metal shard nicked his kidney but it didn’t cause major damage, we were also able to repair the laceration. Brain scans were all normal, indicating no brain injury. His chest is bruised and he has a minor lung contusion from the force of the seatbelt, but that will heal on its own. He’s young and healthy, I expect him to make a full recovery.”

“Can we see him?” Andrea asks, knowing it’s on Carlos’s mind and also knowing Carlos is still processing the doctor’s prognosis.

The doctor nods. “He’s currently in recovery and he can have visitors once he’s settled in a room after some observation. I’ll make sure a nurse comes to inform you when he’s ready.”

“Thank you so much, doctor,” Owen extends his hand.

The doctor nods once more, shaking Owen’s hand. “He’ll be home in no time.”

Carlos is rolling his ring on his finger and nervously bouncing his leg a while later when a young nurse approaches them.

“TK is ready for visitors,” she announces with a smile.

Owen turns to look at Carlos. “Go,” he urges.

“Are you sure?” Carlos asks.

Owen nods. “I’m sure, I’ll stop by to see him in a while.”

Owen pats Carlos’s shoulder as the officer gets to his feet and follows the nurse towards TK’s room.

“I’ll be back in an hour to check on him,” the nurse says as they come to a halt in front of a closed door. “The nurses’ station is down the hall if you need anything, or you can just press the call button near the bed.”

“Thank you,” Carlos says, taking a deep breath and pushing the door open.

He knew what to expect, he knew what his eyes would land on once he stepped into the room but still, seeing TK looking so small and still in the hospital bed shakes Carlos to his core.

An ache bolts up and down his body as he makes his way towards TK, his footsteps echoing off the walls, the only sound aside from the beeping of the heart monitor. He doesn’t take his eyes off his fiancé as he lowers himself on the chair situated next to the bed, watching as the paramedic’s chest rises and falls with each breath he takes.

Carlos is at least glad to see that TK has regained some color but it’s the stillness that also makes the officer uneasy. TK is always active, even when he’s asleep, twisting and turning in bed every now and then. Carlos would say he’s a light sleeper, he loved when TK started spending the night in the early days of their relationship. Though TK’s restlessness would sometimes wake Carlos from his slumber, he’d wrap an arm around TK’s middle and drift off to sleep again only for it to happen again a few hours later. Carlos never minded that, though, he’d be woken up by many things over the years, and being woken up by TK’s movement is by far his favorite.

Eventually, those movements from the younger man through the night had become a source of comfort for Carlos over the months, a reminder that TK is right next to him, in his bed. It grounded Carlos, and a sleepy smile would spread over his face as he gravitates towards those movements, warmth spreading through his body.

But here, right now, Carlos shivers, an icy sensation darting through his nerves. TK’s stillness is wrong, all wrong and so unlike TK is breaks Carlos’s heart all over again.

Carefully, Carlos reaches out, clasping TK’s hand in his own and prays that he can feel the familiar pressure.

“Hi, baby,” Carlos eventually speaks, his voice hoarser than he expected. “I’m here and you’re okay. They took really good care of you and you’ll be back on your feet in no time. I just…I miss you, Ty.”

The only response Carlos gets is the steady beeping of the heart monitor.

He sighs, running his thumb over TK’s knuckles. “I miss your voice, your smile, those beautiful green eyes of yours…your kiss. Come back to me, babe. This is only our beginning, we still have so much to do together. And I’ll be right here, right by your side, always. I’m not going anywhere,” Carlos vows.

Some time later, Carlos is so focused on TK and watching him, he doesn’t hear the knock on the door or it being pushed open until he senses another presence in the room.

He turns to see Owen stepping in, and stops by the foot of the bed.

“He looks better,” the Captain says, his eyes glued to his son.

Carlos nods, and continues running his fingers through TK’s hair.

“Your mom is heading to your place to pack a bag for you and TK,” Owen adds after a few moments. “She said to tell you to call or text her if there’s anything in specific you’d like her to get. And she’s also getting you some food.”

Carlos nods again. “I don’t think I’ll be able to eat, though.”

Owen’s eyes soften. “I know, but you have to keep your strength up. He’s going to need you when he wakes up. You need to take care of yourself so you can take care of him.”

Carlos knows Owen is right, so he doesn’t argue. “Thank you,” he tells Owen.

“Thank you,” Owen reciprocates. “You saved his life.”

“Part of me hopes I could have done more, I felt so helpless just…I wish I could have done more,” Carlos drops his head.

“Hey, Carlos,” Owen walks over so he’s behind the officer. He places a hand on Carlos’s shoulder and gives him a supportive squeeze. “You did everything you could, I know you did. I’ve seen so many accidents to know that in that pile up today, TK’s chances were…” he trails off, shaking his head. “His chances weren’t good. If it wasn’t for you, TK wouldn’t be here right now.”

The mere thought of that brings tears to Carlos’s eyes. “A guy flagged me down and…I followed him and then I realized it was TK and…my whole world stopped.”

Owen nods. “I hate that you had to go through that but…part of me is glad it was you who got to him. Because I know you would have done, and did do, everything you can to keep him alive. You climbed into the wrecked car, and that says everything.”

Carlos moves his hand to cup TK’s face, lightly tracing his cheekbone with the tip of his thumb. “I would do anything to make sure he’s okay.”

A moment of silence washes over them as Owen dips his hand into his pocket and pulls it out, fist closed before opening his palm in front of Carlos.

“Here,” Owen says.

Carlos looks down into Owen’s open hand and a tear rolls down his cheek when he sees TK’s ring there.

“The nurse gave me his stuff after she lead you here. I thought you should hold on to it for him,” Owen explains.

Carlos sniffs, reaches out and takes the ring. He secures it in a fist and brings his hand over his heart, holding it there before leaning forward and brushing a kiss to TK’s temple.

*****

Owen stays until Andrea is knocking on the door, walking into a room carrying a duffel bag and a brown paper bag. The delicious smell immediately hits Carlos and his stomach rumbles. His mother must have heard it because she gives him a knowing smile.

Owen excuses himself a few minutes later, making Carlos promise to call if anything changes. With one final glance at his son, Owen leaves.

Carlos settles on the small table in the corner of the room as he unwraps the food his mom brought him. Andrea stands near the bed and plants a tender kiss to TK’s forehead then sits in the chair previously occupied by Carlos.

Carlos watches the sweet exchange and feels his heart flutter in his chest at the sight. It’s such a simple gesture but it speaks volumes of the way Andrea had come to love TK and happily welcome him into the family. Carlos had witnessed TK and Andrea growing closer and closer over the course of their relationship and it had made him happier than words could express. He’d smile, his heart soaring as he watched them in conversation or watched TK help Andrea in the kitchen, talking about anything and everything, while preparing dinner together at the Reyes ranch.

There’s pain and sadness in his heart at seeing Andrea sit next to TK’s hospital bed. And even more when he hears his mother’s broken whisper of oh, amor, as her eyes roam over TK’s battered face and he can tell she’s imagining the layers of bandages hidden underneath his gown.

Carlos can tell she’s struggling, trying to remain strong for both him and TK. Because not only is Andrea’s Carlos’s rock and support, but she is also TK’s.

“It’s okay, Ma,” Carlos reassures her. There’s so many layers to those three words, and she catches on to each and every one.

She gives him a small, sad smile, her eyes swimming with unshed tears.

“Your dad sends his love, and he said he’ll be by to visit TK soon, once he’s awake and strong,” Andrea says a little while later, after Carlos had finished eating, freshened up, changed into sweats and a hoodie, and returned to TK’s side.

She was about to get up to vacate his seat then, but Carlos shook his head and gestured for her to remain seated there. He dropped into the chair on the other side of the bed, the one Owen had grabbed from near the wall and had been sitting in.

Visiting hours were coming to an end and Andrea was getting ready to leave. With a gentle pat to TK’s cheek, she gets to her feet and clutches her handbag, Carlos following her.

“Carlitos,” she starts but Carlos is quickly shaking his head, knowing what she’s going to say.

“I can’t leave him,” he answers.

Andrea sighs. “It’s going to be busy in here tonight, they’ll be checking on TK every couple of hours and you need to rest, too.”

“I know, but I won’t be able to sleep if I do go home either. I’ll stay wide awake, worrying and wondering and going back home now, going back to our bed, without him or without knowing he’s really okay…I can’t. At least staying, I can grab an hour here and there when they aren’t checking on him.”

Andrea nods after a moment. She knew deep down that Carlos would stay, hence the bag she had packed. She’s cupping Carlos’s face, caressing his cheek before pulling him into a hug.

He goes easily, wrapping his arms around his mother and returning the hug. Her strong hold on him gives him strength himself, almost transferring some of hers to him and he soaks it all up.

“He’s going to be just fine,” Andrea whispers, kissing Carlos’s cheek as they separate.

Carlos nods.

“I love you, mijo,” Andrea expresses. “I love you both.”

“We love you, too, Ma.”

After a similar promise to Andrea like the one made to Owen, she leaves, grabbing the bag sitting next to the door containing Carlos’s bloodstained uniform on her way out.

Carlos returns to his original place next to the bed, his hand going back to TK’s.

“It’s just you and me now, babe.”

*****

It starts with one slow movement. It’s so slow Carlos would have probably missed it if he weren’t watching TK as closely as he is.

The sun has climbed high in the sky, the hours ticked by from the time Carlos had given up on sleep around dawn. It was a night filled with fitful and restless sleep, as he had expected and between the nurse checking on TK and Carlos’s own worry, the officer managed to get three hours of shuteye.

He couldn’t sleep past the moment light cracked through the darkness of the sky above, so he got up, running a hand through his loose curls and stretched his aching muscles. The sun slowly got higher and stronger, painting the sky in streaks of orange, yellow and red, the colors morphing together in a magical way. He watched the process through the thin curtain, getting lost in it for a few moments before directing his attention back to TK.

TK who still hadn’t woken up. Who hasn’t even stirred.

Carlos was awake during the nurse’s more recent visit and she had assured him that it was perfectly normal, that TK’s body still needed some rest and that TK is doing well. He thanked her, giving her a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes followed by a nod when she mentioned there’s a coffee station just down the hall.

He feels TK’s ring sitting in his pocket, and he longs for the moment when he’ll able to slip it back on his finger, where it belongs.

He kept a positive attitude, repeating the nurse’s comforting words in his mind over and over, clinging to them as more minutes passed by with no indication from his fiancé of waking up.

“Come back to me, baby,” Carlos had whispered, giving TK’s hand a light squeeze.

He eventually left the room for a quick trip to the mentioned coffee station, and was back by TK’s side in a matter of minutes.

He kept himself occupied replying to texts he had received—from Mitchell, some of his other colleagues at the precinct, and most recently the 126 group chat, while keeping an eye on TK, as well.

The texts were all replied to and the coffee had long been consumed when the slow movement from the bed catches Carlos’s attention.

A small nudge of TK’s head to side, his eyes still closed. For a second, Carlos thinks his mind is playing a trick on him. But then it happens again, in the other direction and that has Carlos moving forward, heart picking up speed in his chest.

“TK?” Carlos calls. “TK, can you hear me?”

His heart is on its way to sinking from the lack of response from the paramedic, but instead flutters because TK is slowly opening his eyes and finding Carlos through the haze.

Carlos’s face breaks into a smile that does reach his eyes this time, said eyes also filling with tears at the sight of the green irises he has so terribly missed.

“Hi, baby, hi,” Carlos continues, his voice soft.

“‘Los,” TK breaths, his voice scratchy and low but it’s his voice and Carlos can almost weep at his nickname that only TK uses.

“I’m here, I’m here. You’re okay,” Carlos reassures him. “Everything is going to be just fine.”

Carlos’s hand moves to cup TK’s face, caressing his cheek and his heart sings when TK summons all the energy he can and leans into Carlos’s touch.

“Get some more rest, babe, I’m not going anywhere,” Carlos says when he notices TK drifting back to sleep.

Watching TK’s chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm now, TK’s ring in Carlos’s pocket feels lighter.

*****

The sun is getting lower when TK wakes up again. Andrea had passed by and joined Carlos for lunch a couple of hours before, Carlos feeling better and able to eat properly.

He was sitting in his usual spot on the chair next to the bed, mindlessly going through his phone and switching between apps when the same nudge of TK’s head pulls his attention, albeit it’s a little more frantic than the previous ones.

“Hey, hey, baby,” Carlos gets closer to TK, eyes on his face.

TK’s eyes are faster in opening this time, landing on Carlos and then looking around the room.

“Carlos?”

“Right here, I’m right here.”

“What…” TK’s eyebrows draw together, confusion written all over his face.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Carlos takes hold of TK’s hand. “You were in an accident, you were hurt pretty bad but they took care of you and everything’s okay. Do you remember?”

TK nods after a second and swallows against his dry throat.

“Do you want some water?”

TK nods again.

Carlos grabs the plastic cup from the nightstand and guides the straw through TK’s parched lips. “Easy, slow sips.”

“How—how bad is it?” TK asks once he’s done drinking.

Carlos sighs as he returns the cup. “We don’t have to talk about that now.”

“Please…I…I need to know,” TK says with a low tone.

After a moment, Carlos nods. “You were stuck in the backseat, you had some cuts and scraps, a concussion, bruise from the seatbelt and…there was a piece of metal lodged in your side. You lost a lot of blood, and I tried to keep pressure as much as I could but I didn’t want to hurt you more and…” he sucks in a shaky breath.

TK uses his energy to squeeze Carlos’s hand, knowing where the officer’s mind is going, taking him back to the horrific accident scene. TK squeezes Carlos’s hand to ground him and bring him back to the present.

“Never in a million years had I expected to see you in that crash…I was actually thinking the opposite, that I won’t see you because it’s your day off. But then the universe flipped the table on me and there you were…” Carlos trails off and then shakes his head. “I’m sorry, you just woke up, this…this isn’t what you should be hearing.”

It’s TK’s turn to gently shake his head. “Hey, there’s nothing to apologize for. Whatever you need to let out, and everything you’re feeling and thinking…I’m here to listen, no matter what.”

“I don’t want to overwhelm you,” Carlos lowers his gaze.

“Look at me, baby, look at me. You can never overwhelm me…I know how tough this has been, and I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

Carlos tightens his hold on TK’s hand. “I was…so scared. I felt so helpless and it felt like you were being ripped away from me. And for a moment you were, when they wheeled you away and it broke me, in that moment, I shattered,” the tears get heavier in his eyes and with a blink, a tear falls and streaks down his cheek.

TK’s own eyes well up at seeing the pain and heartbreak drawn on Carlos’s face and coating his voice, wanting nothing more than to take it all away.

“I remember coming to after I blacked out from the initial crash and it was…terrifying. My mind hadn’t completely caught up with what happened and once it did, I was really scared,” TK sniffs. “I felt so alone. But you know what? When I saw you, well, at first I thought I was dreaming but then you reached out to me and touched me and it felt real, you felt real and warm and you were right there…I knew in my heart you were there and I wasn’t scared anymore. I didn’t feel alone anymore. I knew you would save me, like you did so many times before.”

More tears roll down Carlos’s cheeks at TK’s words.

“And you did. You saved me, ‘Los.”

Carlos lunges forward, taking TK’s face gently in his hands and plants a kiss on TK’s forehead.

“You saved me just as much,” Carlos whispers, looking into TK’s eyes where brown meets green, and there’s so much said without needing words, so much love communicated and felt. Carlos leans in, first touching their foreheads together and then brushing a tentative kiss to TK’s lips. And Carlos feels whole again.

“Also,” Carlos starts once he pulls back. “We’re definitely making those tamales once we’re back home.”

“You know?”

Carlos nods. “Ma told me. Missing one ingredient.”

“Yeah…I wanted to surprise you. You’ve been working so hard lately and I wanted to do something for you,” TK expresses.

“That means everything, TK. I just hate that you got hurt, I know neither of us could control what happened but still…I hate that it happened.”

TK nods. “But I’m here and I’m okay.”

“You are,” Carlos drops a kiss to TK’s cheek this time. “And one more thing,” he adds, a hand digging into his pocket.

He opens his palm in front of TK to reveal his ring and TK looks up at him, eyes glistening.

“I believe this belongs to you,” Carlos holds out his free hand to TK.

TK carefully lifts his hand and gives it to Carlos.

He watches as Carlos slides the ring on his finger, the familiar weight of it a comfort. He closes his eyes when Carlos brushes a kiss to the ring now sitting where it belongs, relishing in the touch.

“I love you, Ty, now and forever.”

Carlos's eyes are so soft and filled with love and adoration, it makes TK's heart swell with just as much love. He smiles, knowing he's found a home in Carlos. And he knows with his whole being that Carlos has found one in him, too.

“I love you too, ‘Los, always.”

And when TK gives Carlos the smile that’s reserved for only him, Carlos knows in his heart that they’re going to be just fine.

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slytherinbarnes · 4 years ago

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Sub Rosa [50]

v. the tinder box

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: bruising, fighting, violence, explosions/fire, near death.

Summary: tensions with the Ice Nation come to a head as Clarke desperately tries to stop a war.

a/n: HAPPY CHAPTER 50!!!! HALFWAY, WOW!!! to those of you who have been with this series from the beginning, thank you! to those of you who just recently jumped onto this wild ride, thank you! to those of you who may be reading this in the future, thank you! thank you to all of the love, support, comments, messages, and interaction. i love you all so much and I can’t believe we’ve made it this far! the taglist for this series is open! I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!!! also yes I know this is a day late, this post just disappeared in my drafts??? and I wasn’t able to reupload until today. ch 51 will go up on saturday and then we’ll resume regular posting next week!

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

March 19th, 2150; somewhere near Arkadia

You don't know how long you’ve been walking for, but based on the growing pain in your legs and the soreness in your feet, it’s been a long time. You can't see anything through the sack over your face, but you are able to see the light filtering through the spaces in the fabric. Based on the fact that you started marching in early evening the night before and it’s now light outside, you can guess that you’ve put in about 18 straight hours of walking, no stops in between to camp or rest.

You know that Kane and Bellamy are nearby, because you can hear the chains on their hands and wrists jingling as they move. Every few hours one of you tentatively whispers the other two’s names, despite the fact that every time you do, the guards around you smack all of you in punishment. You’re sure that a bruise is steadily growing on your left arm, but the pain is worth it for the reassurance that you’re not alone.

You’re thinking about calling out to the two men again, since it’s your turn in the rotation, when Echo’s voice rings out loud and clear around you. “Hod op!”

Halt! You are pulled to a stop by your guard, and you feel tension run through your body at the thought that this is it, you’ve arrived at Arkadia. But before you can contemplate that any further, a familiar voice yells, “We need to talk.”

You smile underneath your disguise, and breathe out, “Clarke.”

You hear Bellamy mutter, “What? Clarke?”

You’re unable to answer him because you receive a harsh hit to your shoulder, deepening your already bruised arm, but Roan confirms your suspicions when he yells, “Reinja! Lok Wanheda in!”

Archers! Target Wanheda! Your breath stutters in your throat, and you can hear movement all around you as the archers take position, but the sound of death doesn't follow, and no cry of victory over Wanheda is called. You hear movement again, this time accompanied by a murmur of anxiety, and you suspect that Clarke had a trick up her sleeve that the Ice Nation wasn't expecting. Echo is next to announce their play, “Lid honon-de in!

Bring in the prisoners! You are grabbed by your guard and led forward a few steps until you are pushed down to your knees. You hear Bellamy and Kane pushed down beside you. Then the bag is yanked off your head, flooding your vision with bright sunlight. You blink against it, trying to readjust your eyes to the light, the world suddenly coming back into view. As it does, you see that you aren't at Arkadia, not yet anyways. You’re in the stone ravine on the way to camp, about 20 miles out. You feel your guard at your back, sword held out towards you, waiting for the command to rid you of your head. The thought makes you uneasy.

“Your move, Wanheda.” Clarke stands a few hundred feet away, looking at the three of you in shock, and you can see emotion threatening to overtake her. But then she remembers where she’s at and who’s watching, and she composes herself. “Ten minutes, that’s all I ask.”

She turns and walks away without an answer, knowing that the Ice King will follow. And he does, dismounting from his horse with grace, despite Echo’s protests. “Wait, where's she going? What if it's a trap?”

“It is a trap. We're already in it.” When he turns back to answer her, you can see green dots spotted along his chest, signaling the use of rifle scopes on the precipes up above. You smile a little, happy to have the support. He turns and walks away, following Clarke into the woods, and one by one the green dots drop away from him. save for one, which lingers on the King a full minute longer than the others, before it also drops away. As soon as Roan is out of sight, Echo takes up command. “The king is clear. Archers, the first gunshot you hear, loose your arrows. Infantry, on my command, scatter and climb. Kill until there's no one left.”

Beside you, Kane scoffs. “This is insane, they knew you were coming. We have thousands of rounds, you'll be the ones with no one left.”

As soon as Kane mentions Skaikru having the element of surprise, a hopeful look passes over Bellamy’s face. You peer at him, trying to make sense of it, until you remember his words from last night. Octavia will warn them you're coming, you’ll lose. You feel hope rush through you at the thought of your best friend, your second sister, still alive, despite Echo's best efforts. Kane sees the expression on both yours and Bellamy's faces, and he looks between you in confusion. “What?”

“They thought they had the element of surprise, but we did.” Bellamy’s voice is low, but hopeful. “Someone warned them.”

“You think it was Octavia?”

“She's alive.”

A smile passes over Kane’s face at the thought, and for a while, though still captive, the three of you sit in the middle of an Azgeda army, hopeful that maybe all hope isn't lost. Of course, in typical “chaos of the Earth” fashion, it doesn't last long. The guard behind Kane suddenly yells out, “Look out, Skaikru!”

You all look up in alarm as a figure makes its way towards you, hands lifted in surrender, and only when they get closer do you realize that it's Monty. “I’m unarmed. I need to talk to whoever's in charge.”

One of the guards runs over and grabs him, tossing him to the ground near the three of you. As Monty pulls himself up, Bellamy grabs his arm, holding him in place, and whispers, “Is Octavia alive?”

Monty nods, and relief rushes through all of you. A smile breaks free on Bellamy's face, but he quickly hides it when Echo slides off her horse and walks over to your group. “Speak.”

Monty's arms are still lifted in surrender as he watches the spy, “One of our people has moved out of formation. I've reason to believe he's going to the cave to try to kill your king.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

You turn and snap, “Why do you think he's telling you this? He's trying to stop a massacre.”

Kane looks at Monty, his expression serious. “Who is it?”

“Riley.”

You and Bellamy exchange a look, remembering the condition you found Riley and the others in, the captivity and torture they had endured, at the hands of the Ice Nation, no less. Bellamy turns his focus back to Monty. “Riley? He shouldn't even be here.”

“That seems to be the consensus.”

Echo turns and motions to two soldiers nearby, “Yu en yu, ogeda kom ai. Tsa bants.”

You and you, with me. Let’s go. Kane immediately starts to protest, “Wait! If our snipers see archers on the move, they'll open fire.”

“I will not allow my king to be assassinated.”

Bellamy argues, “He doesn't have to be. I know Riley, let me come with you. I can stop him.”

You look towards him in alarm, shaking your head. “Bellamy-”

Echo cuts you off as she stands glaring at your boyfriend, “Do you think me a fool, Bellamy?”

“You'll be a dead fool if you step out of this kill box without me. Use Monty's radio and let Kane tell them we're working together to find Riley, and they'll let us pass.”

She thinks about this for a second before nodding at Monty to pass his radio to Kane. He complies, and Kane immediately switches into Chancellor mode, voice serious. “This is Chancellor Kane.”

On the other end, Miller’s father answers, “Sir, are you all right?”

“Listen to me, Bellamy's working with one of theirs to find Riley. You let them through, understood?”

“Copy that.”

Echo turns to Bellamy's guard. “Take off his chain.”

His guard complies, leaving the reatriants on his wrists, but freeing his legs. And then, she surprises everyone by turning to you. “I want this one too.”

Bellamy and Kane both start to protest. “Echo, that wasn't part of-”

“...really not necessary to-”

But she shuts them both up by lifting her sword to your neck. “Her twin is in the cave with the king, and Bellamy is in love with her. If Riley isn't stopped, she dies first.”

Panic grips your heart as you wonder if it’s even possible to stop Riley in a vendetta for revenge as large as this one. Despite Roan having no involvement in his imprisonment, Riley seems to think the king’s death is the only retribution. It’s hard to stop ideas like that. Just ask Pike. Your guard frees your feet but leaves your hands chained together, same as Bellamy, and Echo motions to Monty. “And put the chain on this one. If I'm not back before the sun goes past the trees, kill the hostages.”

Bellamy holds his bound hands out to Echo, indicating that she should free him completely, but she ignores him and shoves him forward before grabbing you and pushing you behind him. As you follow the path that Roan and Clarke took, Bellamy muses, “So much for building trust.”

He leads your trio through the woods, straight into the setting sun, towards the cave to stop Riley, and all the while, Echo keeps her sword at your back. One wrong move and she's ready to end you, without hesitation. As Bellamy leads you down the path, he motions to a nearby ridge. “That ridge gives the best sight line to the cave, that's where we'll find him.”

“Are you really willing to kill your own man to save my king?”

Bellamy stops in place, and turns to face her, rolling his eyes as he does. “Don't you get sick of it? Sides; my man, your king. Praimfaya doesn't give a damn about what clan you're from.”

Echo ignores the jab, and focuses only on the impending doom of the human race. “I'm glad you'll get a chance to say goodbye to your sister before it comes...unless we all die here today.”

A flash of surprise passes over Bellamy’s face, but you aren't surprised to hear the words from her. Despite all of your disdain for the spy, she’s smart. Smart enough to know that if Skaikru had the advantage, Octavia had to have survived, as impossible as it seems. Bellamy's jaw tightens at the mention of his sister, from her almost killer, and he turns and starts walking again before he quips, “If you had killed her, these chains would be around your neck.”

“It's like Queen Nia used to say: war makes murderers of us all.”

The words leave you and Bellamy in silence, both of you considering the truth to them. Has war made you a murderer? You get a flash of a memory, five notches carved into the handle of your knife, and that’s just from the kills you used the knife with. That doesn't include Atom, any of the people from Mount Weather, or the various Grounders, guards, and people you killed along the way, just to save yourself. It also doesn't include anyone you killed indirectly, a death caused because you had a hand in it in some way, whether you meant to or not. Gina. The Farm Station survivors in Mount Weather. Pike. Monroe. Lincoln. Your father. Stephens. You have the horrifying realization that the idea you've always tried to fight, the thing you never wanted to become, has happened. You’re a killer. A monster in some people’s eyes, maybe a savior in the eyes of others. But the fact still remains that you're a killer. It's not an idea you’ve thought extensively about, because the truth of it makes you sick to your stomach. Never did you ever imagine that the little girl who used to listen to stories about space and constellations, who longed to see the world on the other side of her door, would grow up to become someone who took a life and rarely thought of it again.

Bellamy pulls you out of your thoughts when he turns to look at you and Echo. “We should be close, follow my lead. If he fires that gun, we'll be at war.”

“Whatever you say.”

You spot Riley first, sprawled out on a large boulder up ahead, gun resting in front of him, aimed towards the cave. You point and tell Bellamy, “There!”

Bellamy takes off running towards him, calling his name as he does, before coming to a stop at Riley’s side. “Riley, stop. You don't want to do this.”

“Get out of here, Bellamy.”

As soon as the words leave Riley’s mouth, Echo grabs your arm and pulls you closer to her, lifting your knife to your throat. You make a small sound of surprise, and it’s enough for Bellamy to turn his attention towards you, eyes widening in alarm at you so close to death again. “Echo, Echo, wait. If you kill her, Riley will shoot.”

He turns back to Riley, begging to keep the peace. “Riley, listen to me. Pulling that trigger won't end anything. The three of us will be executed, along with Kane and Monty, and our side will open fire. It'll be a bloodbath.”

Riley makes no move to end his revenge, his finger still resolutely resting on the trigger. “You're a prisoner. You're just saying what they want you to say. I know all about that.”

Echo’s hold on you had started to loosen, but Riley’s continued refusal to stand down pisses her off, and has her tugging you close again. “I’m done with this.”

Your knife bites at the skin of your throat, and dread washes over you. You look towards Bellamy, whose gaze is still on Riley and you whisper, “Bellamy, I love-”

He cuts you off, turning to face you with a teary eyed glare, his voice firm. “No, this is not how this ends.”

Bellamy is in pure distress when he drops to his knees beside Riley, nearly on the verge of tears as he makes one last plea. “Riley, I am begging you. I know how you feel about them, and I know what they did to you, but your life was saved for a reason, and this isn't it. Trust me when I tell you, if this turns into a massacre, it will never get out of your head. War made me a murderer, don't let it happen to you.”

Your heart breaks at the words, and you feel a rush of sadness at the thought that the last words you’ll hear from Bellamy are words of regret for the things that he’s done. Riley shakes with the conflict of his decision, warring between the idea of pulling the trigger or letting it go, and you feel Echo tense behind you. You aren't sure why at first, but as you look around, your eyes land on Clarke and Roan, now exiting the cave. Echo’s hand wraps tighter around the knife, and you have the distinct feeling that this is your end. A tear rolls down your cheek as you look back to Bellamy again, his gaze frantically flitting between you and Riley, before finally, miraculously, Riley drops the weapon with a sob, burying his face in his hands.

Echo drops the knife from your throat, and you scramble away from her, towards Bellamy, hugging him the best you can with the chains around your wrists. Tears of relief fall down your face as you realize that somehow, you escaped death once again. You feel a wash of anxiety when you think that eventually, one day, that won't be the case.

At that moment, Roan and Clarke come around the corner, and as soon as she sees you, she runs towards you in alarm. “La lune, are you okay?”

You turn towards her, hastily wiping away your tears, allowing her to hug you. She pulls away to inspect you, eyes falling to the small cut on your neck from your knife, and her eyes jump back up to you in alarm. Knowing her, she catalogued you the second Roan revealed you as one of the hostages, and she’s smart enough to know this cut is fresh. She whispers, “What did they do? Are you okay?”

You smile at her the best you can, still upset from near death. “I’m fine. We all are, because no one died today.”

Roan eyes your group suspiciously, looking from a sobbing Riley, to your upset form, and then to Echo and Bellamy. “So, what did we miss?”

“Nothing, sire.”

Belamy looks over at Clarke, trying to decipher her body language. “I take it we're not at war?”

“Not today.”

“And the ship?”

Clarke looks at you, then over to Bellamy. “If we can't crack Nightblood, we'll share Arkadia. Find a way for us to survive together.”

Her answer is immediately followed up with a loud explosion. You all exchange looks of alarm before looking for the source, seeing a plume of smoke drifting into the air from somewhere nearby. Clarke’s voice is horrified when she whispers, “It came from Arkadia.”

The words send you all into action, and you take off running back towards the army. As soon as you arrive, Roan is yelling out orders to his people. “Azgeda, hold here. Free the hostages. Echo, you’re with me, we’re following them back.”

“Yes, my king.”

One of the guards quickly loosens your chains, and you shake them off, before Kane runs over to all of you. “What was that? What happened?”

“We don't know.” Clarke grabs her radio. “Arkadia, come in. Arkadia, do you copy? What’s going on there?”

The answer is met with the sound of chaos in the back, screaming and crying echoing all around. “Fire! Alpha Station is on fire!”

Every single one of you exchanges a distressed look, and Clarke switches the radio back to the channel she was using for the guards involved in this mission. “Everyone Back to the rover, now! Arkadia is on fire!”

You turn to her, wheels of your mind already spinning as you contemplate the news. “How far to the rover?”

“Not far, but we only have space for two more. We rode out here almost at full capacity.”

You turn to Kane and Bellamy, “You two shoud go.”

They both start to protest, but you shake your head. “Kane, you're the Chancellor, your people need you. Bellamy, you have to go find Octavia.”

They know they can't argue with your words, and Clarke offers, “I’ll stay behind.”

“No, you're a better doctor than I am. They’ll need you.”

Roan must have caught the tail end of your conversation, because he rides up beside your group on his horse. “She can ride with me.”

You turn to look at him, “Are you sure?”

He holds out his arm, extending it to you so he can help you up, “We’re allies.”

And though you’re still annoyed at his flip flopping attitude, his constantly changing alliances, you know there’s no time to argue. If you want to get back to Arkadia, this is the way to do that. You turn and look at Bellamy, who gives a little shake of his head, but you shrug. You turn back to Roan, and take his outstretched hand, which he uses to swing you up and over onto the back of his horse. Clarke nods at Roan, “We’ll see you there.”

Roan nods once in return before nudging his horse into movement, and you have half a second to wrap your arms around his waist before he urges the horse faster, sending you flying through the woods and the trees. It takes some time to ride back, and at some point the rover catches up with you, though they never overtake you. They stick close, allowing Roan to lead the pack towards Arkadia, and the bright flames that are dancing against the dark sky in the distance.

When you reach Arkadia, Roan pulls his horse to a stop and Clarke stops the rover nearby. Bellamy is out of the vehicle and at your side before you can even dismount, and he helps pull you off the horse before you can even thank Roan. Clarke joins you as all three of you run into the camp, and straight into chaos. All around you people are screaming and crying, looking for loved ones lost during the explosion, searching for someone to administer medical aid. You pause at the entrance, Alpha Station looming in front of you, pieces of it falling down in large flaming chunks.

“I need to find my sister.”

Clarke points towards one of the flame free sides of the ship. “She was in medbay.”

All three of you take off running towards the entrance, searching for any sign of Octavia. Finally, exiting from one of the few safe places left, she is led out of the ship by a man you don't recognize, and Niylah. You point towards them, grabbing Bellamy's arm to get his attention. “There!”

He runs towards her, frantic, yelling, “O! O!”

When he reaches her, he scoops her off her feet and turns and carries her away from the growing flames. Clarke grabs Niylah and leads her away, and you eye the unknown man for a second before turning and following Bellamy to safety. When you reach them, he’s kneeling on the ground, Octavia still in his arms, her arms wrapped around his neck as she cries into his chest. You drop at her side, reaching out for her arm, and she flinches away from you, not realizing that it's you. You move into her line of sight, reaching for her hand. “It’s okay, it’s just me.”

She wraps her hand around yours, connecting you, before rasping out, “It was Ilian. I tried to stop him.”

She turns the best she can to look at the unknown man, Ilian, who is silhouetted against the destruction that he caused. Octavia coughs hard, trying to clear the smoke from her lungs, and you nod at her. “You’re okay now. Don't say anything, just breathe.”

She nods, burrowing closer to Bellamy just as Clarke runs over to you. You turn and tell her, “She’s okay, for now.”

Clarke opens her mouth to say something, but whatever it was dies in her throat, because a series of explosions rings out, sending flaming debris everywhere. The loud blasts staccato the air, and all of you turn your faces away as more debris rains down with each burst. Clarke reaches out for your hand, and you instantly take it, drawing comfort from your twin. You glance at Bellamy, worry etched into his features, and you know that your expression is the same.

Your faces all lift to the burning station as it falls apart around you; Octavia in her brother’s arms, her hand wrapped tightly around yours, you in the middle, grip held tight by your own sibling. All four of you, your family, helpless as you watch the ruin of your home, and the destruction of your safe place from Praimfaya.

next chapter

#the 100 #bellamy blake #bellamy blake x reader #the 100 rewrite #the 100 4x04

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fearsmagazine · 3 years ago

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V/H/S/94 - Review

DISTRIBUTOR: SHUDDER

SYNOPSIS: V/H/S/94 is the fourth installment in the horror found footage anthology with segments from Simon Barrett - THE EMPTY WAKE, Timo Tjahjanto - THE SUBJECT, Jennifer Reeder - HOLY HELL, Ryan Prows - TERROR and Chloe Okuno - STORM DRAIN. In V/H/S/94, after the discovery of a mysterious VHS tape, a brutish police swat team launches a high intensity raid on a remote warehouse, only to discover a sinister cult compound whose collection of pre-recorded material uncovers a nightmarish conspiracy.

REVIEW: There are few outlets for emerging talent in the short film horror genre. Many short films are limited to genre festivals or a few platforms that also offer shorts among the numerous features they program. Even then, they get little to no publicity.

The V/H/S anthology series, which debuted in 2012, has exposed audiences to many talented filmmakers working in the independent short film medium. This fourth installment, V/H/S/94 features four new tales and a wrap-around story from five visionary filmmakers, offering five unique genre tales that cover a variety of themes, styles and scares.

I have many good things to say about the film, but first let me get this off my chest. The VHS filter applied to these films is at times a distraction but also figures into some of the narratives and adds to the edginess to the stories. In the age of 4K, I wonder how these shorts would look, or work, if the effects were not added.

Overall, I enjoyed all the narratives. The warp-around story, HOLY HELL, feels a bit superficial and I felt the resolution was a bit of a cheat and an easy out. Still, it was a decent premise as far as a wrap-around for an anthology film. It was well made, but not the best of the collection.

Timo Tjahjanto’s THE SUBJECT has this feel like the computer game “Doom,” and is as bloody and graphic. I appreciated the theme of the government and religious themes in the tale. There are some excellent special and visual effects, and the film has a lot of atmosphere. It’s gritty, raw, and gory. The actors do an excellent job of selling the story. If you’re a gamer you’ll bot enjoy and be impressed by what Timo achieves in this short

Simon Barrett’s THE EMPTY WAKE has this tone reminiscent of Arch Oboler’s classic radio drama “Lights Out.” It features some excellent special effects that are enhanced by the VHS filter. It’s a simple yet effective tale. The lead actress does an excellent job of drawing the reader in and selling the scares. There is an aspect to it that feels like a “punked” reality show.

I like Chloe Okuno’s take on urban legends in the STORM DRAIN. The story has a nice internal logic that culminates in a special effect climax reminiscent of “The Howling,” and in fact the entire short has that feel. The film also touches on some timely issues such as homeless and women in the media. The lead actress is a natural as the news reporter covering local stories. The short features some interesting creature designs and locations.

Ryan Prows’s THE TERROR is an interesting thought piece. This militia has figured out how to weaponize the weakness of a supernatural entity and they plan to use it to conduct an attack on a government facility. While the story is set in the 90’s it clearly shadows events that have recently taken place. The story brings in many themes that ultimately, along with their hubris, lead to their plans going awry. The production values are solid and the cast is extremely believable. There are some scary moments that have nothing to do with the supernatural elements that make this a unique and memorable piece.

There are numerous aspects to V/H/S/94 that make this an impressive anthology collection. For me, what stands out the most is that the four central tales are solid stories that don't overtly try to be a homage to a classic genre film or filmmaker. There is a fresh quality to these films that make it well worth the view. There is the goofy commercial segment that feels a bit out of sync with the rest of the films and the wraparound segment could have been a bit better, but none of that should deter you from viewing this fourth installment. Also, I wish the credits in the film and in the press notes could have been a bit more complete as I would have liked to have shared that with you. V/H/S/94 delivers all the glorious horror and gore a die-hard horror fan could want. Absolutely a good reason to subscribe to SHUDDER this month. I’m eager to see what comes next from all of these filmmakers.

CAST: Anna Hopkins, Steven McCarthy, Dru Viergever, Tim Campbell, Kimmy Choi, Thiago Dos Santos and Kevin P. Gabel CREW: HOLY HELL – Director/Screenplay, Jennifer Reeder; / TERROR - Director/Screenplay, Ryan Prows; Cinematographer - Benjamin Kitchens Editor - Brett W. Bachman / STORM DRAIN - Director, Chloe Okuno; / THE EMPTY WAKE - Director/Screenplay, Simon Barrett; Screenplay - David Bruckner / THE SUBJECT - Director/Screenplay, Timo Tjahjanto; / Producers - Brad Miska, Josh Goldbloom & Kurt Harder; Cinematographers - Andrew Appelle, Jared Raab & Benjamin Kitchens; Visual Effects - Justin Martinez; Special Effects - Patrick Magee & Chris Bridges; Score - Greg Anderson. OFFICIAL: N.A. FACEBOOK: www.facebook.com/VHSfilm TWITTER: N.A. TRAILER: https://youtu.be/9kPArD6r-qM RELEASE DATE: Exclusively On SHUDDER On October 6th, 2021

**Until we can all head back into the theaters our “COVID Reel Value” will be similar to how you rate a film on digital platforms - 👍 (Like), 👌 (It’s just okay), or 👎 (Dislike)

Reviewed by Joseph B Mauceri

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angrylizardjacket · 5 years ago

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’cos i don’t believe in ghosts {Joe Mazzello}

1. Salem

Chapter Summary: SUPERNATURAL CREATURES AU; In which Joe (a demon) agrees to go on a ghost hunt with you (an oblivious human) in Salem because it seems like a good idea, and Lucy (a witch) also comes along because it actually seems like a terrible idea, and knows Joe’s nature far to well to leave him with you unsupervised in this sort of situation.

A/N: Concepts at play; Lucy is a witch and works with sigils and can set up telepathic links between herself and others. Joe is a demon. Gwil, Rami, and Ben, are all also supernatural creatures, but we’ll find out more about them later. Possible Lucy/Reader as well in some chapters maybe. feedback would be appreciated!!

“Text presented like this is a telepathic conversation.”

After a long day of sight seeing and interviews, all you wanted to do was flop onto your nice, comfortable hotel bed and watch tacky ghost-hunting shows. Socks and shoes off, snuggled under the covers with a waterbottle on your bedside table and the overhead lights off, you plugged in your laptop and opened up Netflix, scrolling through your recommendations. There was a surprising wealth of conspiracy theory documentaries, ghost-hunting shows, and sensationalised pieces on proof of supernatural creatures all over the world. You, of course, held your own beliefs about this sort of thing, but even though you were travelling all over America for work, and had ample days off to explore the sights that so intrigued you, you knew you were too nervous to go on your own.

Except that Salem was only half an hour away from your next tour stop, and you had a full day free while there, and yes the witch trials were awful, but part of you feels like it’s the perfect ‘first haunting’ location to visit.

“What are you watching?” On a break between interviews, it’s Joe who spots you staring at your phone, completely invested in whatever’s going on on-screen, one headphone in.

“Oh, I-” quickly, you remove the headphone, a little flustered at being caught, “it’s just Buzzfeed thing I sometimes watch.” You’d been mentally preparing yourself for going to the Witch House the following day, and had tried to go the lighthearted route of video research; somehow the duo who ran Buzzfeed Unsolved: Supernatural managed to ease your nerves more than any straight-laced documentary would ever manage.

Joe smiles a little at that, at your sudden fluster, and he raises his eyebrows at you, moving to your other side to pick from the plate of sandwiches that had been provided for them.

“Anything interesting?” He asks, his voice surprisingly casual, and you hum for a moment, deliberating on whether or not to tell him what exactly you were watching.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like him, quite the opposite in fact, as assistant to the PR Manager you’d managed to form quite a solid friendship with the cast on this leg of the Press Tour for Bohemian Rhapsody.

“Depends on what you find interesting,” you give a small smile back, and Joe raises his eyebrows, perhaps in challenge, perhaps in amusement, but you conceded after only a few moments, tilting your phone to show him where the two hosts of the show were trooping towards the Witch House. “They’re, like, semi-professional paranormal investigators.” Is how you chose to describe it. Joe couldn’t hear the audio, since it was still feeding through your earphones, but his lips quirked in a grin. After a moment, the video has a close up of the taller of the two hosts, Shane, and Joe makes an indecipherable noise in the back of his throat that edges on amused.

“Salem?” He asks finally, and looks up from the phone to meet your gaze, “spooky.” He’s holding back a laugh, you just know it, and you rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, well, it’s nearby, I thought I might check it out tomorrow.”

“Extra spooky, a little solo field trip?” He’s grinning like he’s genuinely intrigued, like he’s invested in the idea of your ghost hunt. You tip your head from side to side, deliberating for a moment, before nodding.

“I mean, you’re always welcome to tag along,” you find yourself offering, and Joe’s eyebrows rise in both surprise and amusement, “I just never pictured it as your scene.”

“If you’re offering, I’d rather come along than have you possibly get haunted on your own.”

“You’ll protect me from the ghosts?” You half smirked, and Joe snickered.

“And anything else that might be lurking in the shadows,” it sounds like a joke, and you laugh it off easily, a little bit flustered that he’d agreed to come along so easily.

By the time the cast had reset for the next interview, you were back by the PR Manager’s side, and Joe was sitting on the edge of a sofa, though his expression had gone strange, his smile a little tight.

Unbeknownst to you, there was a voice that was not his own filtering through in his mind.

"You shouldn’t play with her like that.”

“And you should know better than to be in my mind like this right before an interview.”

“What? Are you begging to be caught?”

“Are you? At least look at the camera. Anyways, she’s a fan of the supernatural.”

“She’s a fan of ghosts. You’re not a ghost, Joe, incase you forgot.”

“Yeah, I’m painfully aware of being corporeal- I’m hungry.”

“Focus. You can’t go ghost hunting with her, it’s a recipe for disaster.”

“I thought Rami would be much more likely to lecture me.”

“Rami’s not telepathic.”

“Fair point. Listen, if you’re so worried, you can come along too. It’ll be a fun little field trip, team bonding!”

Joe looks over to Lucy, whose eyes have glazed over. She’s got her hands clasped in her lap, but he can see the subtle way her index finger was tracing patterns in the air repeatedly. Though the minute he catches sight of her, Lucy’s attention snaps to Joe, and she gives an eye roll.

“Ghost hunting and team bonding don’t exactly go hand in hand, but fine.”

Joe could almost hear her sigh, despite the smile she wore, and after a beat, she chimed in again.

“You know I hate Salem.”

You’d take any opportunity to hang out with the cast, you adored them all individually, so when Lucy made mention that she’d heard you and Joe were going to Salem to do some ghost hunting, you were eager to invite her along. In fact, you’re fully intending to extend the offer to the rest of the cast, but without prompting, Lucy makes mention that the others probably wouldn’t be into it.

“Ben’s afraid of ghosts,” Joe adds, slotting himself into the conversation, and the idea alone of Ben’s weakness being the concept of ghosts is funny enough that you don’t care if it’s real or not.

But then it’s settled; you, Joe, and Lucy were going to head to Salem the following evening. You didn’t really have anything planned, you were just going to bring your camera and just go exploring, not really expecting to find anything. You’re also not quite sure if either of the cast members are going to show up, but you’d cleared the excursion with your boss, and now it was edging on twilight and you were sitting in the lobby of the hotel you were all staying at, nervously jangling the keys of one of the rental cars the studio had outfitted you all with.

But, just as the sun was sinking below the horizon, both Joe and Lucy step out from the elevator, quietly arguing with each other, though that quickly comes to an end once they spot you. Both of them smile, and you feel the relief course through you, and you lead the way to the parking garage.

“You expecting to find anything?” Joe asks during the drive, leaning forward from the back middle seat where he’d been annexed at Lucy’s insistence, while she took the front passenger seat.

“Not sure,” you replied honestly, “I don’t think I’ll catch anything on film, but I’m hoping something spooky might happen.” Laughing a little, you keep your eyes on the road, though you hear Joe snort. “What about you guys? You fans of this supernatural sort of stuff, or just along for a joy ride and to make sure I don’t get mugged while on my lonesome?”

“Honestly, can’t say I’m not a fan of a bit of supernatural shenanigans, but I’ve never held much stock in ghosts,” Joe’s voice has a surprising air of authority on the subject, and Lucy actually has to hide her laughter behind her hand.

“Just because you’ve never seen a ghost,” she snips back at him, and Joe shakes his head.

“If ghosts were real I definitely would have seen one,” he says, voice lofty, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Well maybe they just run whenever they see your face,” Lucy teases, and reaches back to pinch Joe’s cheek. You’re still laughing, but Joe’s gone quiet, contemplative. “Cheer up,” Lucy adds, “maybe tonight’s your night.” But there’s a strange quality to her voice that you can’t quite identify, and before you can even try, she reaches over to turn on the radio.

Salem is quiet as a grave. Bring the car to a stop a few blocks away from The Witch House, and it finally hits you where you are, and how strangely dark it’s already managed to get. Your grip is white knuckled on the steering wheel, and it’s all you can do to sit in silence for almost three full minutes.

“If you’re not up for this, we can go back,” Lucy’s voice is gentle, but Joe’s already unbuckling and practically pitching himself from the car.

“This place has such a weird energy, you know?” He announces, hands on his hips, looking down at the street towards the House itself.

“Are you- are you for real? Or are you taking the piss?” You call out the door that he’s left open, and he spins, grinning.

“No, I’m like, being for-real. You know in like, ah, fuck I can’t remember which movie it is, but like, the guy leans down and he touches the dirt,” Joe bends at the knee, kneeling on the soil, his fingertips brushing the ground, “and he’s like, ‘something terrible happened here’,” he grins, looking far chipper than he had any right to, given the circumstance, “you know, it’s like that.”

“Maybe we should go home,” your brow creases in concern, and you shift your grip on the steering wheel nervously. Lucy rests a hand on your shoulder, and you can feel her thumb gently brushing against your jacket, though it goes a considerable ways to calming you down.

“You’ll be fine,” Joe calls back, and his smile is bright and yet reassuring, “I was kidding; I told you ghosts aren’t real.” He hums as you unbuckle your seatbelt, “and what are they gonna do anyways? Be mostly see-through and wiggle at us? Tell us to get out? Joke’s on them, I have selective hearing and I can’t hear ghosts.”

The two of them walk either side of you, Joe with his hands in his pockets as he observes the scenery with a smile, and Lucy with her arm tucked into yours, absentmindedly tracing patterns on the palm of your hand as the two of you chatted. Neither of them really looked at you, though you were feeling relatively calm and secure. The surprise comes when you finally realise how tense and on edge Lucy was. When you ask, she gives a tight smile, and says something about how she can’t stop thinking about the atrocities committed here.

“Fair.” You agree, but try not to think about it.

“You see anything?”

“You mean anything extra spooky? No; I told you, ghosts aren’t real.”

“Joe, I know they are; I genuinely think you scare them off. Witch-spirits especially are very aware of vibes-”

“Are you saying I have bad vibes?”

“I’m saying a demon like yourself isn’t one to be messed with, and everything less than corporeal sped off the minute we arrived.”

“Was that a compliment I heard?”

“It was just a statement.”

“You think I’m spooky.”

“I think you’re going a good ways to scaring off Y/N.”

“She’s fine, she’s a champ, and it’s not like she has anything to worry about with us around, even if there was something that wasn’t scared off by my ‘bad vibes’ or whatever you called it, we could take them.”

“I still hate this place.”

“You see any old friends floating around?”

“Shut up. No.”

The tense set of Lucy’s shoulders doesn’t get better, in fact, she glances over at Joe after the two of them had been quite for a very long time, and her jaw clenches. Her grip on you gets just a little bit tighter.

“Anyone specific we’re looking for?” Joe asks out loud, as if it’s a normal conversation to have, while the three of you stood at the gate of The Witch House.

“Tituba,” Lucy answers automatically, much to your surprise, and you extract yourself from her grip gently, stepping down the stairs and into the trench where the house once was.

“You’ve done your research,” you say, a little preoccupied as you move through the space, phone camera held out in front of you.

“What about Hecuba?” Joe asks, sitting himself by the edge of the fence, while Lucy perched herself on the railing itself, the two of them sitting sentinel, like guard dogs against anything that might try it’s luck against your sweet, human soul.

“Hecuba was just a person, I think you’re thinking of Hecate;” Lucy corrects, and Joe nods, thoughtful. However, a moment passes where Lucy turns as white as a sheet, not that anyone else notices, at the idea of Hecate herself appearing in this glorified grave yard. But then again, the Goddess of Witchcraft did both adore and abhor this little town, she had no time for tourists, this Lucy knew. Even tourists with a spicy companion such as a demon.

For a few moments, they just watch you, sitting as still as possible to not interfere with your work, watching how fascinated you get with each little sound and movement. There’s nothing there, not really, but your nervous faith is so enthralling.

“You see anything?” Joe calls, and you tell him you haven’t. He repeats the question to Lucy and is met with a hum of hesitation; when he looks at her with his true sight, he sees her tracing sigils into the air, quiet, disciplined movements. To the natural eye, the sigils are invisible, but when he looks at her like this, he can see them glowing bright in precise shapes and symbols, beautiful in their own way. She’s watching you intently, and when Joe follows her gaze, he sees a translucent dome glowing around you, somehow managing to radiate ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibes. Even Joe feels his skin itch just being in close proximity to it.

“No.” Lucy answers, though her hesitation had given you cause for concern, she’s quick to cover, “but it’s pitch black out here, I can’t exactly see anything.” And you have to agree.

It’s been, well, interesting to say the least. You drive back, and thank god Lucy seems to get more relaxed with each mile that you put between yourselves and that town.

“Do you plan on doing this sort of thing again?” Lucy asks as the three of you ride the elevator from the parking garage to the lobby. You hesitate for a moment.

“I mean, yeah, if I get the opportunity,” you say, a little tentatively, “you guys don’t have to come along, I can-”

“Nah, this was fun,” Joe grins, cutting you off before you can finish your sentence, your attempt to unburden them of your presence, your little side project, “now I wanna see a ghost by the time the tour’s up.”

Lucy raises her eyebrows at him. Joe shrugs helplessly, still smiling.

And you, you sweet, oblivious human, don’t know why but you feel safer knowing they’re coming along with you on your supernatural side quest.

#joe mazzello #joe mazzello x reader #joe mazzello imagine #Lucy Boynton #lucy boyton x reader #lucy boynton x reader #lucy boynton imagine #queen #bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rhapsody imagine #BoRhap #BoRhap cast #borhap cast imagine #the angry lizard writes

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knuffled · 5 years ago

Text

Just Practice - Chapter 3

it’s here! sorry it took so long - i have an explanation sort at the notes at the end on ao3. reblog if you enjoyed the chapter - it really encourages me! comments/asks are especially welcome!

here’s the ao3 link

The sunlight filtered through the fluttering curtains in Annabeth’s bedroom, warming the side of her face and waking her. She sat up in her office chair with a yawn and stretched before rubbing the grime out of her eyes. When she looked down, she noted with some disgust the small puddle of drool on her SAT prep book. It was hard to say how long she’d been asleep, but it looked like it was late in the afternoon. She fumbled for her phone, which was on top of her bedside table, to check the time just as Percy called.

“Hello?” she said.

“Hey, I’m on my way to pick you up right now, so I wanted to give you a heads up,” Percy said.

With unadulterated horror, Annabeth pulled her phone away to look at the time. It was nearly five. Jesus, that meant she’d been asleep for nearly three hours.

“Shit,” she muttered.

“Uh, oh,” Percy said. “That doesn’t sound good. What’s going on?”

Annabeth wedged the phone between her shoulder and her ear and frantically rummaged in her closet for something clean to wear.

“Um, nothing. Nothing! How far out did you say you were again?” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

“Uh, I’m at the traffic light by the Sonic,” he said. “You sure you’re okay?”

That gave her about ten minutes to shower and get ready — it would be rough but doable. She settled for the first t-shirt her grasping hands could find and an old pair of jeans tucked in the back of the closet.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Everything’s fine. I’ll see you in a bit,” she said quickly.

Percy began to say something, but she hung up before he had the chance and ran to the bathroom, which was thankfully unoccupied. Annabeth rushed through her shower and decided she didn’t have enough time to do anything fancy with her hair, so she settled for leaving her hair down. After grabbing her phone, she took the stairs down three at time and almost bowled into her step-mother, Helen.

“Oh!” she gasped.

Annabeth swerved around her, avoiding eye contact, and muttered, “Sorry.”

“Where are you going in such a rush?” Helen asked.

“I’m hanging out with Percy,” Annabeth said, slipping on her shoes.

“Does that mean you won’t be home for dinner?” Helen asked.

Annabeth shrugged and said, “Probably not.”

Helen sighed and said, “Well, it’s not like you normally eat with this family anyways.”

Annabeth froze, mid-way through tying her shoes, and felt her jaw tighten. For a few seconds, she wrestled with the temptation to say something snarky in response, but she forced herself to take a deep breath and ignore it. Getting into arguments with her step-mom only ever pissed her off.

“Dad, I’m hanging out with Percy!” Annabeth yelled over her shoulder.

She could see the back of his head in the living room, reading a newspaper. He made some distracted noise of acknowledgement but didn’t otherwise turn from his paper. Annabeth swallowed hard and forced open the front door before she ran down the steps leading to her front door and slipped into the passenger’s side seat of Percy’s car.

“Hey,” Percy said.

“Hey,” Annabeth muttered, reaching for her seatbelt.

Annabeth knew that if Percy saw her face, he would immediately begin worrying, so she turned away from him and pressed her forehead against the cold window. Still, she could hear the concern in his voice when he said, “Ready to go?”

All Annabeth could do was nod, prompting Percy to start the engine and pull out of her driveway. She screwed her eyes shut and took another deep, shuddering breath, wrapping her arms around body and curling in the seat towards the window. There was a song she didn’t recognize playing feebly through the car radio, but it was so quiet that the sound of wheels on the road drowned it out. There was something peaceful about the noise in conjunction with the feeling of the cold glass against her forehead, and by the time they pulled onto the highway, Annabeth felt a little less on edge.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Percy asked quietly.

Annabeth moved her head from the window and said, “No, not really.”

Percy gave her a quick glance before looking back at the road and said, “Well, if you want to, I’m here to listen.”

“I know,” Annabeth said, mustering a smile. “Thanks.”

She turned towards the window again and stared outside. Percy’s hand quietly found hers and gave it a gentle squeeze before letting it go, and Annabeth felt a surge of gratitude and affection for him rush through her. It was the little things like that that made Annabeth love him so much. He somehow always knew how to make her feel better. A Taylor Swift song began playing on the radio, which made her groan out of habit, derailing her train of thought.

“Ever the T-Swift hater,” Percy said, sighing melodramatically.

Annabeth sat up straight and scoffed. “I don’t hate her,” she said.

“That was utterly convincing,” Percy said.

“It’s just I don’t like that—”

“That they play her songs non-stop because it gets on your nerves, I know,” Percy said smugly.

Annabeth turned to glower at him but froze at the sight of him instead. It was the first time that day that she had gotten a proper look at Percy, and she found herself trying not to gape at him.

Percy noticed her staring and rubbed his cheek, frowning. “What? Do I have something on my face?” he asked.

She had not been expecting him to dress up. Maybe it was a bit egregious to say he was dressed up — he was only wearing a button down shirt and a pair of black skinny jeans — but the outfit looked oddly professional on him. Annabeth knew from prior experience that Percy hated wearing button down shirts, even though she’d always said he looked really good in them, and this black and white checkered number he was wearing was no exception. Christ, he’d even rolled up the sleeves, exposing his forearms.

“You’re dressed up!” she said incredulously.

“Gee, thanks for noticing,” Percy said, rolling his eyes, but there was no venom in his voice. “It only took you, what, like fifteen minutes?”

“But you hate button downs,” Annabeth said.

“Well, yeah, usually—”

“Nobody told me we were dressing up,” Annabeth interrupted, feeling her heart sinking.

“We’re going on a date, Annabeth. A date. You’re kind of supposed to dress up for them, you know?” Percy said, laughing.

Annabeth suddenly felt horribly aware of how she was wearing a ratty old t-shirt from middle school and how it had a small hole near her right shoulder. Her jeans weren’t much better — on top of being probably the worst pair she owned, they had also been thrown in the wash so many times they had turned into denim soup.

There was a fond resignation in Percy’s voice when he said, “I had a feeling this sort of thing might happen. If anything, it’s my fault for not letting you know beforehand. Don’t worry though, we’re not going anywhere fancy.”

Annabeth still mumbled an apology and shrank back in her car seat. She wished the ground would swallow her whole. This whole practice dating thing had been her idea, and she was the one fucking everything up. It was honestly unbelievable how she managed to forget such a major thing on her first date. It was made all the worse by the fact that Percy was taking this seriously. Of course, she was glad that he was, but it only served to highlight her own ineptitude.

As if he could read her mind, Percy turned to her and said, “Annabeth, don’t worry about it. Seriously. I just want you to have a good time tonight. That’s all that matters to me, okay?”

“Okay,” Annabeth said quietly. “Now where are we going?”

A small smile crossed Percy’s face. “You’ll see. We’re almost there.”

It took another ten minutes before Percy pulled into a parking lot in front of a large building. When Annabeth stepped outside, she could hear the ocean not far in the distance and the cawing of seagulls over head. The sky was turning dark and gray, and she could see the beginnings of a storm forming on the horizon, out at sea.

Standing in front of the building, Percy opened his arms like a showman and said, “Ta-da, it’s the aquarium!”

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of that,” Annabeth said, smiling.

“C’mon, let’s head inside and get tickets,” Percy said. “Maybe they’ll give me a discount.”

“Oh, yeah, you used to work here right?” Annabeth said, walking alongside Percy.

“Yeah, I volunteered here the summer before junior year. You know, the one you spent at your cousin’s place in Virginia?��

“Man, that summer was so boring,” Annabeth groaned. “At least we weren’t staying with my step-mom’s side of the family.”

Percy winced and said, “That would’ve been bad.”

“It would’ve been fucking train wreck, is what it would’ve been,” Annabeth snorted. “I’d honestly rather get lobotomized than go through that.”

When Percy laughed, Annabeth felt her spirits raise somewhat. They got in line to get their tickets, and Percy even managed to sweet-talk the middle aged lady at the ticket counter, who remembered him, into giving them both a discount. As she applied the discount, Percy turned around and flashed Annabeth a bright, disbelieving grin, and Annabeth couldn’t smiling back. She was distracted by it long enough for Percy to pay for both their tickets before she could complain.

He handed her a ticket as they walked towards the entrance of the museum and laughed giddily. “I can’t believe that worked. Thank god it was Janice at the register today and not Karen. She would have probably charged us double.”

“You didn’t need to pay for my ticket,” Annabeth huffed.

“My mom didn’t raise a son who wouldn’t pay on a first date. Sorry not sorry,” Percy said, shrugging.

Annabeth couldn’t argue with that logic. “Well, I’m buying dinner. No arguing.”

“I suppose I’ll let you have that one,” Percy said, laughing. “Now, what do you want to go see first?”

“Uh, I don’t know,” Annabeth said. “The penguins, I guess?”

“Good choice! Penguins it is!” Percy beamed.

The aquarium was crowded, which made sense given that it was Saturday and that the aquarium was pretty popular. Even though Annabeth had lived in Westwood her entire life, she had never actually been here, much to Percy’s chagrin. He’d always promised to take her, but it had never panned out for whatever reason. It was kind of fitting that they were here for their first date. The thought brought a small smile to her face.

“Okay, here we are,” Percy said, coming to a stop. There were about four penguins waddling around in their enclosure and two more swimming in the water.

Percy pointed one of them out and said, “That’s Benny. He’s the youngest penguin we have here. Oh and that’s Lyla. The one swimming there is Gertrude. Then there’s Nina, Oswald, and I think that’s Coco hiding behind the rocks. The really big one is Horace. Horace is kind of a dick. He always tried to steal from the other penguins during feeding time.”

“How can you tell which one is which?” Annabeth asked, still trying to digest the sudden deluge of information coming her way.

“Well, Benny is the smallest, and Horace is the biggest, so there’s two right there. Nina and Coco always stick near each other, but Nina has a white patch on the nape of her neck. Gertrude loves to swim, Lyla hoards pebbles, and Oswald has a cut on one of his flippers from getting into a fight with Horace,” Percy explained.

“How do you remember all of that?” Annabeth asked.

An easy smile crossed Percy’s lips as he shrugged. “I don’t know. I just kinda do? Maybe because I worked with them a lot. Which way do you want to go next?”

“Uh, left?” Annabeth said.

Percy brightened impossibly further and said, “Ooh, that’s where the sea horses are!”

She couldn’t help smiling at his excitement and followed him as they walked to the next exhibit. Percy pointed out all the animals he’d worked with and shared stories about the particularly memorable ones. He could also spout off a bunch of facts about any of the animals, and the more he talked, the more animated he got. At some point, he started steering Annabeth to the exhibits, his hand on the small of her back, too caught up in what he was saying to notice.

Annabeth lost track of what he was saying about a fourth of the way through the aquarium. It occurred to her that this is what he must have felt like when she went off on rants about architecture. This time, Percy was the one going a hundred miles an hour while she did her best to keep up. It was strange having their roles reversed, but the more animated he got, the more he seemed to glow, so it was kind of worth it.

Eventually, they made their way to a gigantic tank at the heart of the aquarium, which was filled with the most diverse amount of fish Annabeth had seen all day. The tank was so big it was impossible to get a full view through only one window. The windows were supported at the base by concrete that sloped up from the ground to hold the glass in place. Percy laid down on one such slope and Annabeth laid down beside him when he wordlessly patted the spot next to him.

From their new vantage point, they were looking at the tank upside down. Annabeth could only stare as groups of colorful fish swam past, occasionally dispersing when an eel or larger fish showed up. With the windows hanging over their heads, the fish were so close that it almost felt like she was in the tank herself.

She didn’t know how long they laid there, silently staring up at the animals swimming, but eventually she turned to Percy and whispered, “This is so cool. I had no idea you knew so much about all this.”

When he shrugged nonchalantly, Annabeth said, “No, don’t try and play it off. It’s amazing. You could honestly give Wikipedia a run for its money.”

Percy shook with suppressed laughter, but Annabeth nudged him with her elbow until he met her eyes. “Seriously. You’re amazing,” she said, trying her best to make him understand.

“Thanks,” he whispered.

“I mean I’ve always known you’ve loved the ocean and stuff, but I never realize that you knew this much.”

Percy offered her a small smile and something alien gleamed in his eyes. “There’s lots of things that you don’t know about me.”

The subtext in his words was plain to hear, even if Annabeth couldn’t understand what he was implying. She tried looking into his eyes for clues, but she only saw an invisible challenge in them. Before she could ask him what he meant by that, Percy stood up and the moment was gone.

“We should get going,” he said. “I’m getting hungry.”

“Yeah,” Annabeth said, frowning. “Me too.”

Outside, it was beginning to get dark. The storm had moved significantly closer and now loomed overhead. They found a small diner and ordered cheeseburgers and milkshakes to eat as they walked along the beach. They sort of talked about everything and nothing while they walked and ate. Eventually they made their way to the beach, but it was getting too dark to go in the water, so they settled for sitting on the sand, which had already begun losing warmth now that dusk had arrived.

When Annabeth stole yet another sip from his milkshake, Percy shoved her. “I swear to god, you’ve stolen more than half of my milkshake, you asshole. More than half!” he fumed, but it was undercut by the fact that he was trying hard not to laugh.

“I drink your milkshake! I drink it all up!” Annabeth said, cackling.

Percy groaned and said, “Isn’t that from that one movie we had to watch in history class? Blood something or other?”

“There Will Be Blood,” Annabeth corrected.

“It was a such fucking awful movie,” Percy said. “I almost wanted to call in sick when we were watching it.”

“I don’t know, the part where he went nuts and chased Paul Dano in his bowling alley was pretty entertaining,” Annabeth said.

There was a pause before Percy said, “Okay, agreed, but that doesn’t make up for the other hour and a half of that movie.”

Annabeth hummed in agreement, watching with avid interest as Percy finished what little remained of his milkshake. He made a show of slurping as obnoxiously as he could, so Annabeth pushed him, even though it was making her laugh. Percy made a noise of disapproval and glowered at her as he put aside the empty cup.

“You’re honestly so mean to me, Annabeth Chase,” he said, shaking his head. “Why do I put up with you?”

“Because you love me,” Annabeth teased.

There was a moment where she thought Percy stiffened beside her, but when she looked over at him, he was only rolling his eyes. It happened so quickly that she almost missed it.

Percy quickly cleared his throat and said, “Mom wanted me to tell you she said hi, by the way. And that you should come over sometime because she misses you. Same with Estelle.”

“I’ve been meaning to,” Annabeth said. “It’s just been busy. Between school and college apps and testing and cross country, I barely have time to breathe. Like this morning, for example, I spent like four hours studying for the SAT.”

“That sounds like a lovely way to spent a Saturday morning. Why oh why would you complain?” Percy said, smiling.

“Yeah, okay, Mr. Swimming Scholarship.”

“Nothing’s set in stone yet,” Percy said warily.

Annabeth shrugged and leaned back, resting on her elbows. “It’s only a matter of time. The scouts will be raving about you — if they aren’t already that is. You deserve it though. I know how hard you’ve worked these last few years,” she said.

“Thanks,” Percy said softly. “And you’ll crush the SAT. I know you will.”

“I hope so,” Annabeth said, sighing. “Weird how we are finally seniors now, right? One last year and then it’s off to college.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Percy muttered, hugging his knees to his chest. “High school is hard enough as it is. I don’t even wanna imagine how bad college is going to be.”

“Same,” Annabeth said. “We’ll survive somehow. We always do.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Percy sighed.

“On a more serious note, have you considered working your way up at the aquarium or something? Like in the off chance that the college stuff doesn’t pan out, I mean. You looked really passionate back there,” she said.

Percy started drawing shapes in the sand as his face turned red. “I talked at you literally non-stop. I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Annabeth said. “It was really cool seeing a side of you I’ve never seen before. And I learned a lot.”

“Well, I’m glad you did, but I still felt like one of those guys that just doesn’t shut up on a first date. Felt like I was mansplaining or something,” he said.

“Don’t be silly. I had a lot of fun. I was definitely wowed,” Annabeth said, smiling.

Percy looked up at her shyly. “Really?” he said.

“Really, really,” Annabeth promised. “But next time, I’ll be the one showing you around, Seaweed Brain, so look forward to it.”

An enormous grin slid across Percy’s face, and he seemed to glow even brighter than he had in the aquarium, if such a thing was even possible. A little laugh escaped him before he could help it.

“What’s so funny?” Annabeth asked, frowning.

He shook his head, still laughing a little, and said, “Nothing.”

“That was real convincing.”

“Well, it’s just that I’m told I set the bar pretty high when it comes to dates, you know? You sure you can top that, Chase?” he asked, grinning.

Annabeth breathed a laugh and shoved him. “Don’t get so cocky, Seaweed Brain. This is what I get for paying you a genuine compliment, huh?” she said.

Before Percy could respond, the clouds overhead boomed and suddenly it began to rain. They both stood up and ran back to Percy’s car, just in time to avoid the torrential downpour that followed.

“There’s a towel in the back seat if you need it,” Percy said as he started the car. “I used it for swim team practice on Friday though, so fair warning.”

“I’m okay. I didn’t get too wet,” Annabeth said.

The rest of the car ride was relatively quiet apart from the sound of rain and thunder, but Annabeth’s mood began to drop the closer they drew to home. She stared at the shifting landscape outside the window, trying not to feel like all the magic of the date had been suddenly undercut. It was still raining heavily when they stopped in front of Annabeth’s house, even though the drive had taken over a half hour.

“I really don’t want to go back inside,” she muttered.

“Did something happen?” Percy asked.

Annabeth pressed her head into her car seat headrest and screwed her eyes shut. “Yeah, but I don’t want to get into it right now,” she said.

There was a pause before Percy said, “You can sleep over at my place tonight, if you want. My mom would be totally fine with it.”

“Thanks, but I kind of have to go home tonight, or it’ll just get worse,” Annabeth said. “Thanks though. Not just for that, but for the date and everything. I had a great time.”

“Good, I’m glad,” Percy said, smiling softly.

“I’ll see at you school on Monday then, I guess,” Annabeth said, sighing as she stepped out of the car.

“See you then,” Percy said, nodding.

“Later,” Annabeth said.

She gave Percy one final wave once she reached the front door, and once he pulled out of her driveway, she stepped inside. The sound of the television coming from the master bedroom made her breathe a sigh of relief. She slipped off her shoes and made her way to her room, locking the door behind her once she was inside.

She checked her phone and saw that it was almost midnight. Once she changed into her pajamas and shut the open window, Annabeth slipped into bed and stared at the ceiling. There was a weary fear that she would spend the rest of the night overthinking about the day’s events, unable to sleep, but she fell asleep almost immediately after closing her eyes, grateful for some rest.

#percabeth fic #percabeth #pjo fanfic #percy jackson #annabeth chase #percy/annabeth

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the-nerktwins · 6 years ago

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There’s more to “Another Day” than meets the eye…or, ear…

Sometimes the most interesting thoughts are captured during discussions. I recently began a thread in a Beatles forum I’m a member of, about Paul’s song “Another Day” and the deeper meaning I personally found within it. The conversation veered into two different directions. One was the concept of the lyrical content being overlooked for a few possible reasons, not the least of them being that the protagonist was a woman. The other branch of this conversation veered towards was the musical anatomy of the song and how it serves to add texture to the story the lyrics are telling.

It’s with regret that I report that some participants completely overlooked the musical complexity of this track. To illustrate, here are a couple of key quotes from respondents in the thread I started:

“In contrast to 'Eleanor Rigby, 'Another Day' is cute and perfect instead of full of contrast and dynamics. The cozy comfort of the music itself reflects the bland predictability of the protagonists' life, as depicted in the song. I'm just not sure that's the best approach to take. I think John and George's (Martin) influence would have added some dimension.”

“Yes it's typical of McCartney to wrap a dark story in a cute song. He likes to hide things (even from himself).”

I was left wondering if me and these posters were even listening to the same song! I was also reminded of how ready people are to default to and parrot the (false and grossly oversimplified) talking points that the fandom has been spoon-fed about Paul’s songcraft since the 1970’s. Paul is hardly ever regarded as a valid artist in his own right outside of the Beatles collective, that is terribly, truly wrongheaded in every imaginable way.

I find it galling that many fans still want to hear his early, solo work with a “Lennon filter” applied to it. I’ve seen people saying things like, “This song is good, but if he’d done it with John it would’ve been GREAT!” I completely disagree. McCartney’s compositional abilities by 1967 had evolved to the point where he could “hear” in his head almost exactly what he wanted his final product to sound like. He was adept at articulating his vision to producers, engineers, and bandmates rather early on.

It also hasn’t escaped my notice that certain fans resent his abilities within the confines of the Beatles’ collective since it did contribute to some friction within the band during their late period, and then they turn around and completely ignore his competency when it comes to his solo work (and lament that he couldn’t collaborate with Lennon or George Martin on particular solo songs). It’s a paradoxical mentality and I’m not shy about denouncing it. It gives me whiplash, if I’m quite honest about it!

Since I don’t know (and didn’t ask) the participants about whether they’ve had any experience as musicians, I can make some allowance for the fact that people who’ve played music can hear things in a piece that non-musicians may not pick up on. The thing is, there exist a fair number of sources which could at least illustrate what’s going on musically in “Another Day.”

As for me, since I have a musical background, and I can HEAR what’s going on. To me there are “contrast and dynamics.” The song builds, crescendos, and comes back down again. There's a lot going on in terms of time signature changes, and decorative elements which add texture to the story being told. It’s brilliant! I realize that someone who has little to no musical experience could miss it. There are musically-inclined people out there who can explain it, however, and I went looking online for just that. I conducted two simple Google searches: “Paul McCartney Another Day Musical Analysis,” and “Paul McCartney Another Day Sheet Music.”

With the second search, I found a website which allows the user to play a midi file of the song (with the lead vocals, backing vocals, and every instrument) while the user is taken through the sheet music. The parts being played highlight what’s going on in the song as it’s playing. If someone is inexperienced as a musician, it can serve as a nice, visual aid to see just how complex a composition is, and how much is going on within it. Here’s a screenshot of the site, and a link to “Another Day” for illustrative purposes.

"Another Day" by Paul and Linda McCartney on MuseScore.com

To me this is proof-positive that "Another Day" isn't just a cutesy, fluffy song.

For some further argument in the favor of the musical merits of this song, I stumbled upon comments from fans in the Steve Hoffman music forums, in a thread called "Paul McCartney 'Another Day' Appreciation Thread"

After the bit ".... leaves the next daaaaayyyy..." there's this descending run on the guitar that is perfectly placed, but very difficult indeed to play. – Edgard Varese

yeah, another day is an absolutely killer track. to me its really the perfect song: catchy as hell, yet imaginative and really far more complex than a casual listener would ever realize. i also agree with the thoughts on the rythym guitar. great song to learn for any guitar player, not just for the rythm, but for the chords also. i believe it starts with a g to a b7 with an f# bass and really you've got me hooked from there – andyw676

Listen to the bassline...amazing. – Stateless

I've always loved this song, everything about it really. The undertone of Rigby-esque sadness was obvious to me from the get-go, and the yearning in the "sometimes she feels so sad" bit as the music shifts up and down chromatically always put a lump in my throat. Paul's very good at getting some of the more delicate emotional shadings in his songs. Great song. Thanks for the thread! -- Gardo

That song has some crazy chord changes, and lots of em. Makes it special. – Dave D

To diverge just a little bit into lyrical territory, there were some nuggets of push-back within this Steve Hoffman thread against the typical appraisal of this song, namely it being labeled as “lightweight” or “trite” by certain critics or fans.

Similarly, on "Another Day" if you read the lyrics carefully you may come away feeling not uplifted by a catchy little ditty but a mite saddened by the sometimes crushing loneliness of the modern grind. Personally I love the "At the office where the papers grow..." and "Alone in her apartment she'd dwell..." parts, some of Paul's best lyrics. Remarkable concision. – Dr J

I don't consider it quite as light as I did. It's almost a social commentary on the way women's lives were in the 70s, although not a knock at anyone specific. I admit I'm stealing a little of my wife's analysis. – kevinsinnott

I find it interesting to note that the second poster needed some assistance from a woman regarding his appraisal of the lyrical content. It’s another reminder of the depressing reality that this song is likely written off as superficial and lightweight, and not much analysis applied to it, but because the protagonist is a woman. Just as a lot of our struggles as women are ignored or ridiculed, a song written by a male who sympathizes with our plight is written off as “silly” and “fluffy” by male fans, even if the lyrics have a dark subtext.

To me, the song speaks of something dark and existential going on within the protagonist's psyche, and Paul himself is simply a narrator, imploring the audience to empathize with her as much as he does. And by empathizing with the plight of a woman, Paul unfortunately gets labeled a superficial square who creates “Muzak” and isn’t “Rock N’ Roll” enough. And that’s not right any way you slice it. Even more ironic is that not long after "Another Day," Lennon at the behest of his wife would be singing and talking about Women's struggles for equal rights and the injustice of it all. He glibly missed his former songwriting partner's intent in this song. That's not unlike John at all, however, and that's certainly not the point of this essay. It's just an observation I found interesting.

"Another Day" also speaks to me as an acknowledgement that people who are highly functional can and do suffer depression; people are coached to wear a mask of being “OK” because it’s not socially acceptable to admit you are not OK. Just keep your head down, go to work, do what you’re supposed to do, get on with it, and don’t tell anyone about your problems…

“As she posts another letter to the sound of five People gather 'round her and she finds it hard to stay alive.”

To go back to the song being marginalized as a little bit of radio-friendly, pop fluff, when to me it clearly is NOT for a moment, I want to acknowledge something. Fans were less able to access opposing literature and materials in the early 1970’s, and McCartney himself wasn’t talking much to the press (and unless you’re a brand-new fan, you know why), so I can see why people sort of accepted this viewpoint at the time.

As Erin Torkelson-Weber has pointed out in interviews and on her blog, “The Historian and the Beatles,” Paul’s relative lack of response to the talking points being pushed by John and Yoko within their post-breakup PR campaign, as well as Paul choosing not to give too much weight to the unfair critical appraisal of his work that was tainted by rock music “journalists” essentially siding with John and Yoko, really created a vacuum, allowing for the fandom’s appraisal of Paul’s work to be dominated by this narrative. Therefore, it’s natural that many, if not most fans in 1971 would buy into these sentiments.

What I find annoying is that this tendency continues to persist within the fandom, even among younger fans! This is despite having a considerable amount of evidence available at our fingertips that can serve to point out how very wrong this narrative truly is, up to and including the damn sheet music!

With the ability we now possess to access contemporaneous source material and examine all of it objectively, and the ability to listen to virtually all of his music for free via the major, online streaming services, it demonstrates laziness when people within the fandom choose not to think for themselves regarding McCartney’s genius and artistic merit separate from the other Beatles (namely Lennon).

“Another Day” isn’t the only McCartney work I’ve seen suffer under-appreciation by fans, but it’s an excellent example to illustrate my point, since it was specifically singled out by Lennon and early 70’s rock critics and used as a device by Lennon and the prominent rock critics of the day to publicly mock McCartney and call his integrity as an artist into question.

A lot of McCartney’s solo work is written off in a similar fashion, and what a terrible shame that is. Quite frankly, I think people are depriving themselves of a lot of pleasure by simply dismissing McCartney and avoiding his music (or sticking to his “greatest hits” without delving into his catalog and giving everything a thorough listen), based on these antiquated appraisals of his work.

In conclusion, I hope this essay didn’t come across too harshly. I just hope it may inspire people to listen more carefully to Paul McCartney’s solo work and give him the credit as an artist that he duly deserves.

#another day #musical analysis #my posts #paul mccartney #solo #songs

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andavs · 6 years ago

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I wish you would write a fic where Derek is turning 40, and it's not like he really cares, but come on, someone from the pack would remember and send a text at least right? And maybe someone is planning a little something?

Sidenote: I played this song on repeat while writing this. Also that little sigh on “I can hardly catch my breath” does things to me. Just get past the corny “drip drops” at the beginning, and enjoy.

It was an unseasonably warm winter, so instead of festive and cozy Christmas snow flurries, it’d just been grey and drizzling all day. It matched Derek’s mood perfectly.

Stiles would mock him mercilessly if he could see him, puttering around town alone in his Camaro, glaring out at the Christmas decorations. It was sad, he could admit that to himself, but he’d already spent too much time moping alone in the house so he went outside for a bit. He’d thought that maybe walking through town and seeing the decorations would help lift his spirits. He and Stiles had done that before, it was worth a shot.

Nope. Doing things alone that he enjoyed with Stiles just made him more miserable.

The pack’s Christmas celebration had been the night before, as it was every year. That way they could celebrate together and with their individual families, which was perfect, because December 25th was Derek’s birthday. Christmas Eve was for the holiday, but once the clock struck midnight, carols stopped, gingerbread cookies got shoved in a cupboard, and the birthday party hats came out.

Stiles was adamant about having no overlap between the two whatsoever—militant, even. Kira wore reindeer antlers past the midnight alarm one year a decade ago, and she was almost banished from the house. No one had made that mistake again.

Derek always insisted it wasn’t necessary, told him to chill out, that he was overreacting, but he really did appreciate it. Growing up, he’d always hated getting the joint “for birthday and Christmas” presents while his siblings got two distinct gifts, and even as he got older, he couldn’t fully shake the annoyance that Christmas stole his thunder.

So normally it was a full day with Stiles giving him plenty of attention and cake and gifts, and making sure the flurry of the holiday didn’t penetrate their little bubble, but this year Stiles was gone. He was off on another continent spending the day with people Derek only knew through stories, and Derek was alone. Letting Christmas carols play on the radio as he drove through town with the windshield wipers going to keep the rain at bay.

He’d only lasted maybe half an hour before giving up and turning back towards their empty home to mope through an angsty book and go to bed early.

The rain had only picked up as he turned onto their winding driveway, and even the front porch winking through the trees was dulled through the weather.

The Jeep was the only car parked in front of the garage, exactly where Stiles left it a month before, but when Derek go out of the Camaro, he could smell that the rest of the pack had been there recently. There were tire tracks in the gravel, Lydia’s perfume in the cold, wet air. They were trying to be subtle and surprise him, but they weren’t doing a very good job. The wards hid the heartbeats inside from being heard, but everything else was broadcast loud and clear.

Derek rolled his eyes and headed towards the front door. Even after all these years, almost twenty, they were still about as subtle as…well, as they’d ever been. It wasn’t exactly a surprise when it came out that most of Beacon Hills more or less knew that the supernatural existed, to put it kindly. Redheaded banshees screaming into the night and teenage werewolves with rage issues streaking down main street didn’t go as unnoticed as the pack liked to believe.

The curtain on the front window rustled as Derek passed, a light turned off somewhere deeper in the house—but he stopped short when he noticed the sparkles on the front steps.

It was sparkly metallic confetti, glinting in the glow from the porch light. Leading towards their door.

It wasn’t a distinct trail, nothing intentional, but definitely a path of confetti, like a bag from a party store had been leaking. A few were shaped like 40th and were pink and gold, so it clearly wasn’t for Christmas.

He couldn’t be too annoyed. They’d clearly gone all out this year for forty, probably trying to compensate for the fact that Stiles was stuck in Warsaw on an assignment. The pool of FBI agents with extensive knowledge of the supernatural who also spoke Polish was pretty small, it turned out, and a spouse’s birthday wasn’t actually a good excuse to leave.

Derek wasn’t really bitter; it was impressive that at thirty-four, Stiles had become so indispensable to the FBI and was doing so well, but he was just…bummed. They’d planned to be together this year, Stiles had insisted that he’d be able to make it back in time, but then a vampire got a complex, and then there were six more vampires, and things escalated, and the ABW needed a few extra hands…

It was an honor that they’d asked Stiles to stay, but still. Derek was bummed, and as nice as the intentions were behind it, confetti wasn’t going to cut it. Right at that moment, all he could think of was the little 40th’s getting caught in the vacuum with all the wolf fur and blocking things.

A curtain moved again as he climbed the steps, and Derek briefly considered turning right back around and driving away again. He couldn’t deal with a birthday party, with people, not after the miserable, lonely day he’d had. He just wanted to have a quiet night and go to bed early. He did, actually, turn around for a couple steps before he realized he was being ridiculous.

It was his house, it was his pack, he could do this for a few minutes before asking for some privacy. They knew him, they wouldn’t be offended. They’d understand.

He braced himself, took a solid minute to put the key in the lock, but he finally convinced himself to enter his own home, to find…Stiles. Standing alone in the empty foyer, surrounded by more confetti and holding a pączek with a candle stabbed into the top. There were no other heartbeats in the house, no pack members hidden behind corners waiting for a cue to jump out…

It was just them.

Stiles smiled quietly, tiredly. “Surprise,” he shrugged, and lit the single candle on the pączek with a shitty, pink Bic lighter that took a few flicks to light.

Derek fought back a grin for a second, then let it come out in full, and Stiles’ smile widened to mirror it.

“You’re a dick,” Derek stated, pulling off his damp jacket and letting it drop to the floor. Stiles has done the confetti and curtain rustling on purpose.

“Yeah, well you’re the guy who almost ran from his own fake birthday party, so guess we’re meant to be after all.” He held out the dessert. “Make a wish, asshole.”

Derek stepped forward and blew out the candle immediately. Stiles frowned.

“That wasn’t a wish.”

“I don’t need a wish,” Derek countered, pulling him in by his hips. “You’re home.”

Stiles smiled again, and leaned in for the offered kiss. “You’re the corniest motherfucker on the planet, you know that?”

“You’re the one who brought me a pączek from Poland.” It was adorable, and thoughtful, and it smelled a little stale, but he was so happy to see his stupid husband, and relieved they didn’t have any guests…

“I got it at the airport, actually,” Stiles started to ramble, “because I didn’t know I was going to make it back until I got through security—oh, also if you were expecting birthday sex, we’ll have to delay it for a while, because it’s like five in the morning for me and I think I’m seeing two of you right now.”

“You can make it up to me in the morning,” Derek murmured, wrapping his arms around Stiles and holding him, breathing him in, filtering out the smells of airport and strangers and travel.

“Ehhh,” Stiles squeezed him back tightly, leaning on him heavily like standing took too much energy. “I’m not twenty anymore, we’ll see how it’s going around noon or so.”

#sterek #ficlet #christmas baby derek #SO CORNY #also ignore the weird album art if you listen the song #it's the only copy of my favorite version i could find on youtube #i mean the way she says 'i can hardly catch my breath' on that little sigh?#i die every time #Anonymous #prompts #didn't turn out exaaaactly the same as the prompt #but we'll just blame irma?

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hub-pub-bub · 6 years ago

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The European Union’s copyright directive finally passed last week, with 56% of the European Parliament vote, after several rounds of significant changes to the text. On its way to final passage, the controversial Article 13 — now Article 17 — went through yet another round of changes that are worth discussing here. Two issues in particular stand out: how the law will affect startups and niche-market content services, and the nature of copyright filtering requirements.

The first issue is about how this law will affect startups and online communities that serve niche audiences by imposing legal risks and costs of licenses or filtering technology. The final text attempts to be more specific about the types of online services that are exempt from Article 17. But it ends up both ambiguous and needlessly burdensome on startups.

On the one hand, the text now includes elaborate definitions of online services to which the law is supposed to apply that are intended to protect small and niche-market services by writing them out of the law. But on the other hand, that same elaborateness invites years and years of disputes over interpretation that will only be accessible to organizations that can afford lawyers to argue them.

The latest definition of “online content-sharing service provider” that is supposed to either take licenses to copyrighted works or take steps to keep them off their networks is this mouthful:

“… online services that play an important role on the online content market by competing with other online content services, such as online audio and video streaming services, for the same audiences … the main or one of the main purposes of which is to store and enable users to upload and share a large amount of copyright-protected content with the purpose of obtaining profit therefrom, either directly or indirectly, by organising it and promoting it in order to attract a larger audience, including by categorising it and using targeted promotion within it.”

In other words, the law is — presumably — targeted only to major content-sharing services (YouTube) that compete with media companies’ owned or licensed services that don’t accept user-uploaded content (Netflix, Spotify). The list of types of services that are exempt from the law has changed a bit from the previous version of the bill: business-to-business cloud services (DropBox) are now exempt but “service providers the main purpose of which is to engage in or to facilitate copyright piracy” (Sci-Hub) are not. The enacted legislation maintains exemptions from previous drafts for the likes of Wikipedia, GitHub, iCloud, Google Drive, and non-profit scientific and educational content repositories.

At the same time, paragraph 4 of Article 17 — which contains the meat of the license, takedown, and filter provisions — contains language that will be worrying to startups and their potential investors. Despite the fact that other parts of Article 17 attempt to exempt small and niche-market services in general, Paragraph 6 calls for three tiers of responsibilities that depend on the age and size of the online service:

Services that are less than three years old and have annual revenues under €10 million (US $11.2 million) must make “best efforts” to take licenses to content or, if no license is available, respond to takedown notices.

Of those services, those with more than 5 million average monthly users must also “ma[k]e best efforts to prevent [] future uploads” of works that have been taken down pursuant to takedown notices — i.e., to implement what has been called “takedown and staydown.”

Services that are more than three years old or make more than €10 million also have to make “best efforts to ensure the unavailability of specific works and other subject matter for which the rightholders have provided the service providers with the relevant and necessary information[,]” i.e., to filter content proactively instead of just reactively after takedowns.

In other words, new and small services — as a practical matter, and provided that someone decides they meet the criteria for “online content-sharing service provider” shown above — will need to implement a notice-and-takedown regime similar to the U.S. DMCA — but also possibly be liable for not making “best efforts” to obtain licenses.

The lighter requirements are not difficult to administer, assuming that “best efforts” to obtain licenses is understood to mean working with the usual collecting societies and not tracking down arbitrary copyright owners for every piece of content uploaded. The problem is that the requirements expire in three years. In other words, when an entrepreneur or investor embarks on a new venture, the clock starts ticking until legal risks and expenses increase … maybe, depending on those definitions of applicable services above.

At least for the foreseeable future, this scheme will cast a pall not only over entrepreneurship but also over online services that serve niche communities. It also gives large copyright owners — and, indirectly, large service providers — perpetual leverage over the little guys, which is not good for competition. Contrast this with U.S. regulations for Internet radio (webcasting): while big commercial webcasters have to record stream data and pay royalties on a per-stream basis, small ones (as defined by revenue and/or non-profit status) can get away with simply paying nominal annual fees. (Advantages for small commercial webcasters have been whittled away over the years but they remain for the smallest educational non-profits.)

The second issue is the law’s requirements for copyright filtering. Under the new law, larger and older content services that choose not to take licenses to content will need to implement “takedown and staydown” (No. 2 on the list above) and then ultimately “ensure unavailability of works for which rightholders have provided information” (No. 3). In fact the final version of the legislation is more forthright about the filtering requirement than the previous version, despite its protestation (required under European law) that “[t]he application of [] Article [17] shall not lead to any general monitoring obligation.”

The difference between No. 2 and No. 3 is meaningful but not huge as a practical matter. The former requires service providers to keep lists of identifying information about content that has been the subject of takedown notices, while the latter requires them to use lists of identifying information about all content that rights holders don’t want uploaded in the first place. The latter implies the type of content recognition scheme that’s most widely used nowadays — such as Google’s Content ID or Audible Magic. A technology like those could be used for “takedown and staydown” by simply applying it only to items of content that someone has tried to upload instead of applying it to every item that rights holders submit to the vendor.

In other words, the now-official version of this bill lends credence to MEP Julia Reda’s statements that certain types of content-sharing services will have no choice but to implement filters — though the way I’d prefer to say it is that many of them will want to choose the filtering option as the less legally risky option. At the same time, there’s been a lot of talk about how expensive and elaborate filtering schemes will need to be in order to satisfy both rights holders and content service providers under this law; I never believed these doomsday predictions, and I still don’t.

My previous views, before the final round of text changes, were that it would take many years of high-powered lobbying and litigation to figure out what the filtering requirements actually are (given how vaguely they are worded), and that content services will shy away from overfiltering (false positives of content identification) because it will cost them audiences compared to competitors that don’t overfilter. While I still believe the latter, the latest changes to the law lead me to a different view on the former point.

There are two reasons why I suspect that content services will manage to avoid taking on expensive R&D-level projects that push the envelope of content recognition technology. First, paragraph 5 of Article 17 calls for the principle of “proportionality” — a fundamental concept in French law — to take into account the availability, cost, and complexity of technical measures as well as the online service’s type of content and audience. In the case of content identification technologies, it’s generally understood that advances in technology lead to diminishing returns in improved accuracy and effectiveness — particularly with regard to the fair use-like cases enumerated in paragraph 7 of Article 17, which are basically impossible to automate in filtering systems. In other words, fancy R&D initiatives to improve filtering are easily shown not to be “proportional.”

The second reason has to do with a little-noticed yet important new provision in the legislation that passed last week. Historically, deliberations between copyright owners and service providers about filtering technologies have have taken place in the dark, mostly hidden under private nondisclosure agreements or courts’ protective orders in lawsuits. U.S. courts have offered limited guidance through a few decisions about the adequacy of these technologies (or lack thereof), in cases such as Arista v. LimeWire, Universal Music Group v. Veoh, and Universal Music Group v. Escape Media (Grooveshark). The world at large knows little about how, and how well, these technologies work.

That secrecy and reticence could come to an end in Europe. Paragraph 10 of Article 17 sets up mandatory “stakeholder dialogues to discuss best practices for cooperation between online content-sharing service providers and rightholders … regarding the cooperation referred to in paragraph 4.” There are two important new wrinkles to this provision in the final version of the text. One is: “For the purpose of the stakeholder dialogues, users’ organisations shall have access to adequate information from online content-sharing service providers on the functioning of their practices with regard to paragraph 4.” The other is: “The [European] Commission shall, … taking into account the results of the stakeholder dialogues, issue guidance … regarding the cooperation referred to in paragraph 4.”

This means that online services that choose to filter rather than license will need to disclose what filtering schemes they are using. Service providers may try to use ambiguous and opaque language to meet this vaguely worded requirement in hopes that no one sues them. But everyone would be much better off in the long run if the European Commission could define standards for this information (akin to labeling standards that have been suggested in the U.S. for DRM) so that everyone understands who is using which technologies. When the European Commission issues its “guidance,” which presumably will be precedential on service providers, everyone will be better informed.

If this happens, the dialogues and guidance will not necessarily lead to more stringent filtering schemes — in fact, I’d say probably not. First, they could give users information to help them choose services with the most reasonable filtering schemes, which in turn will encourage more reasonable filtering, since the services with stricter or coarser filtering schemes will die off.

In addition, it’s important to remember that regulations or government-issued “guidance” never establish lower bounds that stakeholders are motivated to exceed; on the contrary, they establish basic standards that stakeholders have to barely meet. It’s safe to assume that the tech industry will argue vehemently in stakeholder dialogues against filtering requirements that cost them lots of money. Therefore if any innovation comes out of the process, it’s more likely to be in the form of more cost-efficient ways of doing the bare minimum.

It’s possible that these forces will balance each other out and minimize the burden on service providers that this law imposes while maximizing services’ utility for users. There’s no doubt that this law will burden online services and users alike; but at least as far as the stakeholder dialogues are concerned, it’s possible that balance and (yes) proportionality could prevail. And let’s not forget that it could also actually achieve its core objective and put more money in creators’ pockets.

Of course, all this depends on a process of clarifying the highly complex and vague language in the Directive and implementing it in the laws of all EU Member States. This process will take many years — at which time it remains to be seen if it’s even relevant anymore.

#copyright #article 13 #drm #censorship

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redefinethegrind · 6 years ago

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On Consciousness

I am finding this life to be less convincing. Inconsistencies in the matrix-esc life grid in which I am living daily have again reared their heads as I have taken the time to care for myself physically and mentally. The more care I give to myself, the more glaring these inconsistencies become. Time is jerky, so to speak. Space is not as consistent as it used to be. Beings are duplicated. I’m sure beings are always duplicated, however when I am in my usual state of unawareness I simply do not notice. It is like the background of a cartoon during a driving scene. It may repeat, but it doesn’t change the plot so even if one notices one does not point it out.

Faces are appearing more peculiar each day. The human figure remains the same, though I do feel that the organs have been somewhat shifted about as compared to what I remember in my youth. I have noticed more exaggerated faces on the common-folk, living caricatures in live action. They always seem to make eye contact with me, even if some only for a moment. It’s like they know that I know. I watch them filing in and out of aisles at convenience stores. They are piloting motor vehicles about the city streets. Are they programmed automations or are these sentient beings as well?

It is becoming more difficult to discern as I age. I am left feeling empty after even the most engaging of conversations with these people. I suppose we can call them people. They are certainly fitting all of the diagnostic criteria from my standpoint, yet, something is off. This city feels different to me than it did last year. Literally one year ago things started changing. I started noticing little inconsistencies. People called them Mandela effects on youtube. This was, of course, named after the late Nelson Mandela. There is apparently a large group of people who distinctly remember Mandela dying in prison in the 90s, although current history does not support that claim. People swear they remember the news casts and even the footage of a funeral.

How could such a mass group of people have mis-rememberings which are identical? I suppose that question crossed my mind and re-enforced the feelings I was having with my own environment. I had always felt a little different than everyone else. Of course, I think we all do. We are all egocentric. We are the center of our own universe. We see life through our own filter. But for me, it feels deeper than that. It is almost as if this reality is designed specifically for me and my life’s experience. Every nuance. Every intricate detail here only for me to experience. But again, I must wonder, are the other seemingly sentient beings in my environment sentient? If not, if they are simply artificial intelligence in my environment for my own life experience then how can I take them seriously.

The Buddhist philosophy seems to feel that all conscious life is indeed sentient and therefore is experiencing the same reality as all of the other life. Also, it is believed that not only are these conscious beings experiencing life, but the fact that they are conscious is creating the existence which they experience. This seems to be supported by recent and not-so recent findings in the field of quantum mechanics. If that is the case, that conscious beings both create and experience their own reality, then the hive-mind that is the collective consciousness is all that we really are. If that is the case then, as I believe I have once read, if everyone were to start believing something completely different, reality would change. This could account for some of these previously mentioned Mandela effects.

It would take but a simple majority vote so to speak. That would alter the entire face of reality. Though physics does point to this being are reality, why are people so apprehensive to believe it? Why are they so quick to dismiss this most amazing quality of our universe? We certainly accept the laws of Isaac Newton because they are practical, though they have been shown to be rudimentary and antiquated in the later work of relativity and quantum mechanics. We are creatures who are bamboozled by our senses. We are victims of our own filter. We believe reality is a certain way because that is the way we perceive it on the surface.

Now, back to my personal reality, I am for sure seeing glaring inconsistencies in my day to day perception. When I am adamant and aware of my surroundings it is much more obvious. It is further enhanced by physical activity, healthy diet, abstaining from alcohol and processed foods, and meditation. There are the blank stares and slacked jaws. The zombie masses surround me in public. Seemingly going about their day-to-day routines. Do they even have a clue or are they just executing programmed commands?

I am also led to question even those closest to me. I hear their conversations but am not sure what to make of it. They appear to have insight into this world and even into my own life. I can’t help but wonder if they are simply programmed to give me subtle hints as to what to expect from my environment. They may simple be at my disposal to learn and draw information from. Even if they do have free will, they are leading their own self-serving lives and that makes truly understanding them a bit of a challenge. They may be immersed in a totally individual reality from a sense of their own perception which would render my reality meaningless to them. Programmed or not, I see no true way to connect with these foreign objects dressed up like friends and family.

I have often exchanged salutations in passing and felt the cold empty stare of artificial intelligence, however I fully acknowledge that this could be my biased perception. The dead handshake of a stranger could simply be an unawake passerby on his own personal conquest. “Good morning,” could have exited his vocal cords in my reality when he actually spoke “I’m disgusted” in his experience. I will never have a way to know. It is not measurable or observable. I can never put on the senses of another human being and submerge myself into his world.

All of these thoughts aside, let us pretend that things are strictly as they seem. That our internal world is just the processing of biochemistry and electrical impulses. That our internal world is meaningless and invalid. That the only true reality is extrinsic to the human brain and that our brain simply gives us the senses to experience the true reality. In this thought experiment we have a universe in front of us, unchanging whether or not we are in it. That is the classical understanding of life. We are simply fish in a bowl. If we remove the fish, the bowl and other contents continue to exist.

The problem with measuring such a thing is that in order to measure it one must be present. In being present one is unable to remove himself in order to measure the consequences of him being gone. The only true way to remove oneself is death, but in death one is unable to perform the experiment. It is futile to even consider.

I have heard others make the argument that surely the universe exists dependent of consciousness because people die all of the time. That is a completely invalid argument because as mentioned above, the other people in one’s individual reality need not be sentient at all. They could be elaborately conceived artificial intelligence. That is to say that the other participants only exist for the use of the observer. The observer being self.

If the universe does not exist independent of self and is solely a construct of the mind, the implications could be damning to all other belief systems. If we are creating our own reality, either alone, or in conjunction with other sentient beings, then we have created everything including religion and morality. How can anything be valid if it can change based on the minds creation? Change must, in this reality, be the only constant. There is but one law and that is the law of consciousness creates reality. Because we are perceiving reality through this very same consciousness, we would understand history to be unchanged even as we are re-writing it. We could be re-writing our own memories simultaneously.

The likelihood appears to be that we are a consequence of our collective consequence. Many have long called this field or plane of energy Akashia. This Akashic field is theorized to be vibrating energy from which our reality manifests. The theory may be taken further as some believe that consciousness is a result of our brain tuning to perceive this Akashic field like a radio receiver receives electromagnetic energy. Our brains can then transcribe and translate this energy into sensation. This is currently not measurable, and I am not aware of an experiment being proposed to measure it at this time. The thought, however, is fascinating.

If we are indeed connected deeply at the level of consciousness as sentient beings, then we certainly have much more in common than we have been conditioned to believe. Extra sensory perception, dreams, thoughts, and every other facet of the conscious and unconscious mind becomes a little more intriguing as we could already be sharing with one another and using our collective consciousness to shape this reality without even being aware.

This also brings into question the consciousness of other species. If other species are sentient, it would point to the fact that human beings are not exclusive in this collective consciousness effort. We would have the same influence as our feline and canine brethren for instance. I have often questioned the validity of the religious belief that ‘animals’ are on this planet as a God given resource for man. It seems far more likely that we are all simply in the same boat and deserve equal respect.

From our best approximation man has climbed the evolutionary ladder and is now in a role of apex predator on Earth. This is according to Darwin’s theory, which is by the way, one of the most consistent scientific theories we have developed to date. In this role man has learned to modify and dominate his environment. This has, of course, led to a lack of balance in the ecosystem. One could argue that this is natural evolution. What is unnatural after all? In this scenario man has naturally evolved his insight and the use of tools in order to change his environment. Thus, changing the environment then evolving to it with time and continuing the cycle is all natural.

As we continue to change and adapt to the environment that we change physically and with our consciousness, I question our fate as a species. Is it all in my head? Is it all in your head? I have no answers at this time, only questions. Is the species even real? Who knows. It doesn’t even matter to me. My experience as a human being has been a mixed one. I have run the gamut of emotions this month alone. I have been proud. I have been ashamed. I have failed. I have succeeded. I continue to exist, and I don’t know why. I haven’t a single answer this time. I continue to open my eyes in the morning after a night filled with dreams. The dreams feel just as valid as my reality only a little sweeter. Am I wrong for longing to stay in the dream world? Is my inner-self truly less valid than this extrinsic reality you are all caught up in?

It would seem that the answers all lie within. There is nothing more to add to myself and nothing to take away. I am simply to discover what is already there. I must overturn a rock in my minds empty creek bed to find what I didn’t know I was seeking all along. I must turn to the inside via meditation, prayer, and sleep. I know to an outsider it appears as though I am doing nothing. I appear stagnant and lifeless. I can assure you friends, I am in deep thought. I am digging. I am searching. I am forever longing for something. I know it is a lonely path, but I am prepared to take the journey.

#dreams #concious #consciously #sleep #reality #matrix #conciousness #simulation

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chiseler · 4 years ago

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Aliens Are Invading Ecuador!

Leonardo Paéz

It’s fair to say that if you had listened attentively to Orson Welles’ radio broadcast of War of the Worlds from beginning to end on the night of October 30th, 1938, there is very little chance you would have been fooled into believing a Martian invasion was underway. As it did every week, the broadcast opened with the usual Mercury Theater on the Air theme music and a clear announcement that week’s show would be an adaptation of H.G. Wells’ novel War of the Worlds. This was followed by Orson Welles’ introduction (also standard), setting the tone for that evening’s entertainment. Once the show got underway, Welles himself quite unmistakably played several characters in the drama. There was a commercial break in the middle with more announcements reassuring listeners that went they were hearing was a dramatization of the classic science fiction story. And the second half of the show was of a completely different nature than the first (though the ending is undeniably creepy).

Most listeners, however, did not listen attentively from beginning to end. Welles’ genius in designing the show the way he did was his deep understanding not only of human psychology (he was tapping into the anxieties haunting a population preoccupied with the inevitability of the coming war), but his understanding of listener behavior as well. In most households the radio was on in the background as listeners talked to one another, washed the dinner dishes, took care of the kids and generally went about their business, listening with half an ear at best. Moreover, a lot of people tended to spin through the dial during commercial breaks, just to see what else was on. Most important of all from Welles’ vantage point, in that more innocent time people believed what radio newscasters told them, because they’d never been given reason to doubt it.

At the time, the Edgar Bergen/Charlie McCarthy show was the most popular program on the air, drawing a much larger audience share than Mercury Theater. Welles knew exactly what time the Bergen show took its first commercial break every week, so chose that precise moment for the Martians to land in Grover’s Mill, New Jersey. All those Charlie McCarthy fans missed all that introductory clarification, and while spinning the dial were dropped right into the middle of a tense news bulletin about an alien invasion. Then all hell broke loose.

Or something approximating “hell,” anyway. To be honest, the nationwide panic that’s become the stuff of legend wasn’t nearly so widespread and wild-eyed as we’ve been led to believe. Yes, an alcoholic in New York was poised to kill himself and his family before the cops assured him it was just a silly show, an already unbalanced woman in Indiana was prevented from swallowing poison rather than die in a cloud of poison Martian gas, a farmer in Jersey shot up a neighbor’s water tower after mistaking it for a Martian machine, and tens of thousands of people across the country called their local radio affiliates and police precincts to find out just what the hell was going on, but that was about it, really.

True to form, the extent of the panic would be exaggerated by not only the media, but Welles himself in the days and years to come.

It was a different story eleven years later when another radio adaptation of Wells novel, following the Mercury Theater model, was broadcast in Ecuador on February 12th, 1949,.

Let me back up for just a moment. In 1944, William Steele, one of the principal writers on the popular radio series The Shadow (also starring Welles), translated the Mercury Theater War of the Worlds script into Spanish and sold it to a Chilean radio station. When the show was broadcast later that year it had much the same effect on listeners as the original, even being blamed for the death of an electrician, who reportedly died of a fear-induced heart attack.

Four years later in late 1948, Eduardo Alcaraz, the dramatic director at Radio Quito, one of the largest radio stations in Ecuador’s capital city, took the Chilean script and adapted it further, changing names and locales to make them more Ecuador-Specific. He then bounced it off the station’s art director Leonardo Paéz.

Now, Paéz, in his early thirties at the time, was already a national celebrity. Along with being a radio producer, reporter, actor and general on-air personality, he was also a noted poet, playwright, novelist and singer/songwriter. He was well familiar with the effect the broadcast had in the US and Chile, and took it as clear evidence of the power the medium held over people. It was their primary information source, and so they believed what they heard. It seemed fertile ground for a harmless little prank. Yes, he was definitely on board for this, and thought they could even top what Welles had done. The pair then set about scheming to scare the pants off the people of Ecuador, all in good fun.

Later, Alcaraz would insist he begged Paéz to follow the lead of both the American and Chilean broadcasts by clearly announcing beforehand the show was merely a dramatization of a classic story,. Paéz, he said, was having none of it, arguing the inclusion of disclaimers would ruin the prank. In fact Paéz took it one step further. The previous summer, a pilot named Kenneth Arnold spotted a group of UFOs near Mt. Ranier, spawning a flying saucer craze that swept the US before quickly spreading worldwide. The radio station was housed in the same building as El Comercio, a daily newspaper, and in the weeks before the planned broadcast Paéz began priming the pump by planting fake news stories about local flying saucer sightings in the pages of the paper.

At nine p.m. on the night of Saturday, February 12th, 1949, a regularly-scheduled live music program was interrupted without warning by a special news bulletin announcing an alien spaceship had landed in Cotocollao, a small town about eighty miles to the north of Quito. With no disclaimers to assure them, and already a little jittery from all those recent UFO sightings in the news, people fled into the streets in a blind panic.

On the show, Paéz, playing himself, sped to Cotocollao to offer an on-the-spot report. Shortly after he arrived, he announced a long, green arm had emerged from the ship. A moment later one of Ecuador’s most popular celebrities was vaporized by an alien death ray live on the air. This didn’t help matters, as thousands of people tried to make desperate arrangements to escape the city. The streets became jammed with cars and hysterical, screaming people.

Meanwhile, the president of Ecuador was out of town at the time, so some unidentified government official ordered the police, the Red Cross, and fire brigades to converge on the town of Cotocollao to offer what help they could to those survivors of the alien attack.

As the show rolled on, actors playing real public officials (including the Archbishop of Ecuador!) offered terrified statements of moral support and announced still other alien ships had landed elsewhere in the country.

(As a quick sidenote, in 1938, a Mercury Theater actor who did a dead-on FDR impression was supposed to make an “official presidential statement” concerning the national emergency as part of the broadcast, but in reviewing the script beforehand, station management nixed the idea, saying there was no legal way you could get away with claiming the actor really was FDR. Obviously no such rules were in place in Ecuador.)

Back on the broadcast, the military, it was said, had engaged the alien invaders in Latacunga, some twenty miles to the south of the capital, but had been decimated when the aliens unleashed a deadly cloud of poison gas.

As the panic in the streets grew more violent, word of what was happening outside eventually filtered back to the radio station. The station managers, recognizing they were in trouble, cut the show short, going on the air to announce the whole thing had been a hoax.

Well, this didn’t help matters. Now instead of being terrified of invading aliens with death rays and poison gas, people were fucking pissed at having been played for suckers by a dumb radio show, and reacted in the natural human way.

Forming themselves into the traditional angry mob, they stormed to the El Comercio building and, after a bit of screaming and rock throwing, set the building ablaze with over a hundred people still inside. A handful, including Paéz, were able to sneak out the back door, but many were trapped on the top floors, a few leaping out windows to escape. Fire trucks arrived, but the growing mob wouldn’t allow them to get close enough to the building to douse the flames. At last the military was ordered in, using tear gas to disperse the angry mob so the firemen could get to work.

(There are also unsubstantiated claims the police were nowhere to be found either because they were just as pissed as everyone else and didn’t give a good goddamn what happened to those lying assholes at the radio station, or they were still up there in Cotocollao looking for aliens.)

Even now accounts differ. Some say six were killed, others ten, still others fifteen, with scores of others injured in the carnage. Whatever the specific number, several people were killed in the fire, including Paéz’ nephew and girlfriend.

Ten radio station employees were arrested that night, with a handful of others rounded up in the days that followed, charged with inciting a public panic. An official investigation was launched, and immediately the finger pointing began. The station managers insisted they had been kept in the dark about the whole thing. The involved actors insisted they were simply reading the scripts they’d been handed. Alcaraz insisted it was all Paéz’ doing. Sure, Alcaraz may have written the script, but if they’d done it the way he wanted with clear disclaimers, none of this ugliness would have transpired. And Paéz was nowhere to be found. Eventually all the charges were dropped.

Legend has it that Paéz himself, hiding in the back of a truck, escaped to Argentina that fateful night. He supposedly remained in hiding there for the next six years until he learned he’d been cleared, and he never again returned to Ecuador.

In a 2017 interview with journalist Jim Wyss, however, Paéz’s daughter Ximena says that’s not exactly true. She said Paéz went into hiding, yes, but never left Ecuador. He was exonerated in three months, not six years, and continued to work in Ecuador afterward, winning a number of theatrical awards. He did eventually move to Argentina in 1955, but then only because he wanted to send his kids to better schools. He died in 1991 at age eighty, and according to his daughter, to the very end he was mighty proud of the work he’d done on War of the Worlds.

by Jim Knipfel

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xseedgames · 7 years ago

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Zwei: The Ilvard Insurrection - Localization Blog #4

Can you hear it? A voice, booming and boisterous, blowing in upon the cool winds of autumn. A voice that beckons you to come sit a spell and play a good ol’ videogame. “They don’t make ‘em like this no more,” it says. “Well...most don’t. That’s why we need to sell a bunch’a copies, so they’ll get right to making Zwei 3! Yes siree, with Falcom’s storied lineage of action RPGs, it’d be a slam dunk! Ghahahaha!” That voice...is my voice, broad as the sea and hearty as a meal that consists solely of potatoes and slabs of meat.

That’s right, true believers, it’s Nick, here once again to share with you the myriad fascinations of working in videogame localization. If you’ve been keeping up, this is the fourth blog I’ve written about the upcoming release of Zwei: The Ilvard Insurrection. The first entry gave a basic rundown of what the game is like and what you can expect from it, while the second entry went into more depth about the localization work and the nuances of character writing. The third entry was a progress report, detailing where we were in the QA cycle and why we’d be missing our summer release date.

Today, I’d like to tell you a story: the tale of how Zwei: II ended up with the expanded English voice acting it now boasts. Although this news has been known ever since we officially announced the game, I haven’t seen much discussion surrounding it, but the process of how “let’s add voice acting” went from pie-in-the-sky thought to reality is one I think you’ll find fascinating.

See, the interesting thing isn’t that we added English dubbing to Zwei: II. We weren’t able to secure the rights for the original Japanese voices, so it was pretty much a given we were going to do a dub. No, the most interesting part is that the dub adds a LOT more voicework than was present in the original. Why did we do that? How did we decide what to dub? And how much more is there, exactly? This and more I shall unfold for you, dear reader!

Zwei: II was designed without voice acting in its story scenes, and it holds up perfectly well that way, as classic RPGs do. But, that said, Zwei’s story is very driven by its outsized personalities. The characters really sell the scenes, and while I wrote for each of the characters in such a way as to accomplish that without the need for voice acting, their sometimes-cartoonish gusto and theatricality seemed like they’d be even more colorful when brought to life by VAs. I talked with the big boss, Ken, about the prospect, and he told me to put together a script so we could have the studio price out how much it would cost us.

To be honest, I’m still kind of surprised Ken was open to it. After all, Zwei: II isn’t a console release of a modern title – it’s a PC release of an older title. Maybe that goes to show how well-received Japanese games have been on PC in the last several years. Personally, I think a well-received game like Cold Steel leading the charge as far as “adding additional voice acting to a PC port” did a lot to open the door for a more modest title like Zwei to get a significant bump in voice acting. But success here provided my first challenge: putting together a script.

Now that adding more voice acting was on the table, the question then became, “Okay, so what do we actually voice?” All the battle stuff was covered at a bare minimum due to the fact that it was in the Japanese voice script, so the natural answer was, “Let’s just voice all the main story.” That’s a reasonable target, and not exceedingly difficult to pull from the full game script, since many of the main story scenes are positioned just before and after the game’s major boss battles. I began to assemble a “story scenes” voice script with all the scenes I thought most essential to conveying the game’s narrative, breaking it down scene by scene. After handing off a first draft to the studio and getting their estimate, I was given the green light, since it had apparently come in under what we were expecting.

But of course, ever being one to press my luck, I said, “Wellllll...actually there are a couple more scenes I COULD include!” And with a resigned sigh from Ken, I went back in and added a few scenes I had opted to leave on the cutting room floor during my first draft. As things stand, the new voice script’s coverage of story events isn’t perfect – there’s still one boss battle that has its before/after scenes unvoiced (I chose that one to drop because I felt that what was expressed there is also expressed in other voiced scenes well enough), but such are the choices one has to make at the crossroads of idealism and budgetary limitations.

The whole “voicing scenes before and after boss battles” approach worked well because it set up a good amount of consistency as to when players could expect to hear something voiced. It also, by the very nature of the scenes chosen, is really good at building the personalities of the game’s antagonists – which is helpful since they do a lot to spur Ragna and Alwen’s growth.

The unfortunate downside to my scene-selecting methodology is that I didn’t get to include many scenes outside of those. There are only two voiced scenes that aren’t tied to before/after boss encounters – one in which Ragna talks about his past (which I thought gave good insight into his character), and a key one at the very start of the game in which Ragna discovers that Alwen is, in fact, a vampire, and they have their first long discussion about their blood contract and how Ragna wants to be equal partners. That’s such a defining scene that sets up both protagonists perfectly for everything that is to come that there was never any doubt in my mind that I wanted that one voiced.

At this point, let’s stop for a moment and examine the script. The original Japanese script was 808 lines. The number of lines in the new voice script, however, clocked in at 2807. That’s basically 2000 newly voiced lines, all story. And while it may not seem gigantic in light of a game like Trails of Cold Steel, you’ll certainly be able to feel the presence of the voice acting as you play through the game. Ragna and Alwen in particular saw massive increases: from 88 and 89 to 724 and 548, respectively. We even picked up an entirely new character who had no lines in the original Japanese voice script but did factor into several of the story scenes I had selected!

When casting, I conferred with both Tom and Kris to get their general impressions, and to solicit suggestions in cases where I didn’t have any particular VA in mind. Zwei: II is a game that wears its heart on its sleeve, so I was casting with an ear toward a “Saturday Morning Cartoon” feel – expressive voices that have a touch of exaggeration in them. It was a different feel than we’d chased when casting for Trails of Cold Steel, but it got us the sound we were looking for.

Recording took six days, with a stream of VAs coming in to lend us their talent. John accompanied me for the first couple days, while Tom helped in the latter half, both lending some much-welcomed aid by helping me keep track of any changes we made to lines during recording while I was focusing on the line deliveries. To level with you a bit here, I’ve never been the most organized person, so the voice recording process, with its focus on having everything triple-checked and accounted for, has always felt pretty daunting to me. After all, there’s always that cold dread that you’ll have an actor in the booth and suddenly, some problem with the script files will pop up, costing you precious time when every minute has value. Thankfully, there were no complications with Zwei’s recording – it was actually a pretty smooth, pleasant time (though very busy). Some of our VAs I had worked with before, so seeing them again and trying them in different-sounding roles was fun. Other VAs I was meeting for the first time, and I enjoyed getting to see them at work, as well as seeing what kind of vocal ranges they could pull off (always helpful when we’re brainstorming voice casts for future projects).

Our voice director was someone I’d met before, and in fact someone I requested by name after discerning how deep his knowledge ran concerning things of the nerdy persuasion. For Zwei, I didn’t want to take a chance on a director that only had a surface-level understanding of anime – I wanted to be able to throw out oddly specific requests like “Play it more like X from the series Y!” and have them understand the voicing intent behind that and translate it into instructions the VAs could make sense of.

Talking with him over the course of the project was a mile-a-minute ride, but among all the really nerdy stuff we talked about, one common thread that really stuck with me is his identification of Zwei as a “pulp story.” Before then, I’d approached Zwei in my mind from that anime-centric perspective it so clearly embodies, but our conversations got me wondering how, as a fan of pulp-style stuff, I’d never consciously made that connection before. In another universe where Zwei wasn’t a Japanese videogame, it feels like it’d be a natural fit as a weekly radio serial. The character influences I mentioned in my second blog post all led to “pulp” too, when I followed the strings back.

Back at work, I reviewed all the voice files and marked the ones that needed filters applied, as you do when, for instance, someone is talking to a character telepathically or is possessed by a demon (y’know, your general RPG happenings), and we got them into the game. There’s something of a sense of trepidation that comes when you finally drop all those voices into the game proper. You hold your breath, thinking, “That was so much work... I reeeeeeally hope this sounds good!” Fortunately, our VAs didn’t disappoint, and hearing some of my favorite scenes brought to life through performance really helped sell the emotion of the scenes, just as I’d hoped at the outset.

Now, maybe you’re not fond of dubs. Or maybe you’re a purist, wanting to experience the game without the addition of a bunch of voice acting that wasn’t in the original. Believe me, I totally understand you. Thankfully, the voice volume is on a separate slider, so you can crank it down and read through at your own pace, with the voices you imagine the characters to have. That kind of experience is fun too, I think, and I’m interested in what those of you who play it both ways think about the ways in which the dub shapes how one perceives the story and characters.

Of course, for you fans of RPG dubs, I’m also interested to discover which characters will become fan-favorites and which lines will be the most entertaining and memorable. Our programmer, Sara, has even gone above and beyond with filled-out lip flap for the dubbed scenes! In the original game, there’s a brief lip-flap that’s tied to the scroll-out speed of text in a character’s text box. What that means in practice is that their mouths move for about a second while the text is displaying, then once it’s all there on screen, their mouth doesn’t move anymore. It’s a perfectly sensible setup for a game without voiced story lines, but in the cases where lines were voiced, I wanted the lip flap to continue as long as the voiced line was still playing. From the sound of it, it took some real doing, but the lip flap does indeed now track to the length of the voice clip in cases where story lines are voiced. It might seem to be a minor detail, but I think it’s details like this that help make the experience feel well integrated and authentic.

In any case, you won’t have to wonder too much longer what the game sounds like, because it’s finally out in less than a week, with a Trueblood vampire-approved release date of October 31st. I hope you’ll enjoy playing it as much as I enjoyed working on it. After all...everyone could use a little more PASSION in their souls!

#xseed #xseed games #xseed blog #Zwei: The Ilvard Insurrection #long post #post: nick

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bethestaryouareradio · 4 years ago

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Be a Super Hero! Wear aMask!

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BE a SUPER HERO! WEAR A MASK!

MIRACLE MOMENT®

“You are braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.” Christopher Robin

MESSAGE FROM CYNTHIA BRIAN, Founder/Executive Director

How are you doing in our 8th month of this horrid pandemic? Are you wearing a mask, social distancing, avoiding crowds, washing your hands, and being responsible?

If not, please heed this message because Covid-19 is a devastating disease that will negatively affect you and those you love.

As of August 11, global Covid-19 cases have doubled from 10 million to 20,395,035 million, and those are only the cases that are reported. It is estimated that the numbers are at least 10 times those that are reported. The death toll is 741,807. It took 6 months for cases to reach 10 million and only 6 weeks to reach 20 million. Half of those cases are in just 3 countries-the United States, India, and Brazil. California, Texas, Florida, and New York lead the pack with confirmed cases over 500,000 and thousands of deaths.

If you read this newsletter, my blogs, or listen to our radio shows, you know that since March 11, my office has been closed and I have been sheltering-in-place with only occasional quick visits to the post office while wearing a mask, gloves, glasses, and a hat. My husband’s office was also closed and only reopened the end of June after he purchased all the pandemic protection equipment including masks, shields, gloves, gowns, goggles, security dividers, thermometers, sanitizers, specialized air filters, mouth rinses. He and his staff follow a very strict protocol for working with patients as do medical professionals everywhere.

We have all experienced our favorite salon, restaurant, pub, gym, bank, or store reopening only to be shuttered because an employee gets sick with Covid-19. It’s heartbreaking for the patrons and financially disastrous for the owners and employees.

I witnessed this recently when a close friend’s company was impacted.

Two weeks ago, an employee fell ill. Seven days later the office was informed that this employee tested positive for Covid-19. The business had to immediately close, all staff and their families had to be tested, all clients informed, and contact tracing begun. Because of a back-log at the labs, results from tests can take anywhere from 4-14 days. In this case, seven days elapsed. Everyone was instructed to stay home until a negative result was determined. Fortunately for my friend, his staff, and all their contacts, the test results were negative so work could be resumed within 12 days. But that was 12 days without income or services.

This is occurring everywhere around the country as businesses attempt to re-open. However, when even one person tests positive with Covid-19 in the workplace, the business must close. No one can go to work. The one positive infection exponentially affects hundreds, perhaps thousands of individuals and businesses. Many people live with several generations and everyone has to be tested and traced. Family members and friends become angry about the possibility of exposure, especially when many are being so careful. Everyone is losing out on earning a living. Many people live pay check to pay check and missing work for a week or more could mean ruin.

Even though every protocol is adhered to in a workplace, an employer can’t dictate what an employee does on her/his private hours. But there is one thing that everyone can easily do to curb the spread and that is to wear a mask when in public.

The power and potency of wearing a mask and social distancing can not be over emphasized. Wearing a mask is NOT a political gesture, it is the responsible action. Covid-19 strikes everyone and anyone. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) reported that if everyone wore a mask throughout the United States for the next few months, over 40,000 lives could be saved.

The volatile political landscape is fraught with misinformation. Contrary to what some politicians have claimed, Covid-19 is not going away, in fact, it is ramping up. The disease knows no boundaries. It doesn’t care what political party you belong to, what religion you practice, or where you live. It is an equal opportunity infector with people of color and lower-income households heavily hit. If you are gathering with groups and not wearing protective gear, you are risking your health and maybe your life as well the lives of those you love. Pay attention to evidence based health experts and scientists. Get your information from the CDC, not from social media or the campaign trail.

As coronavirus surges, labs are struggling to keep up with testing. Having to wait for a week to 14 days for results renders a test useless to prevent transmission. The CDC states that currently we are identifying only 1 in 10 cases because we are testing so few people. Currently no vaccine is available to prevent coronavirus Covid-19. To bring the pandemic under control we need rapid testing. We need to be able to test daily or weekly without cost and receive results within an hour or at most, 24 hours. Only then can we safely send our children to school and reopen our economy. The federal government must step up its leadership to safely ensure that we can go to work and gather. For now, the best way to prevent illness is to avoid being exposed.

Are you old enough to remember cars without seatbelts? I am. Our family of seven would pile into a truck or a station wagon and there wasn’t a seat belt in sight. At first when seat belts were introduced, a public outcry occurred. But today, I wouldn’t dare get into any vehicle without first buckling up.

Closer to home, you’ve probably engaged in a Zoom or SKYPE call for personal or business reasons. You could easily wear a lovely shirt or blouse on the top part of your body while your bottom is wearing underwear. But if you need to go to the market, I bet you add a pair of pants or a skirt! Right?

This autumn, major designers are adding masks to their haute couture lines. Whether or not there will be runway shows, you will be seeing coordinating outfits with a mask to match. Masks are going to be the next hot trend for looking hip, cool, and well-dressed.

Covid-19 is a non-partisan pandemic and it is at our doorstep. For accurate information visit https://www.cdc.gov.

Put a smile on your face and start viewing masks as a beautiful, life-saving accessory.

Remember, super heroes wear masks.

You, too, can be a superhero. Cape not necessary!

Be brave, be smart, be strong. Do your part. WEAR A MASK!

Living with gratitude and wearing a mask,

Cynthia Brian

Founder/Executive Director

Be the Star You Are!®

PO Box 376

Moraga, California 94556

[email protected]

https://www.BetheStarYouAre.org

http://www.BTSYA.org

DONATE: https://www.paypal.com/fundraiser/charity/1504

Our newest and youngest reporter on Express Yourself! is 13 year old Jonathan Jackson who will be showcasing a segment called Jay’s Sports World beginning on September 13th. Be on the lookout for this new talent.

Hello, My name is Jonathan Jackson. I am 13 years old and from California. I enjoy playing sports and spending quality time with my friends and family. Basketball has always had a special place in my life. It is not only recreational for myself but it's also mental and emotional . I like to compete and I love to show my passion for both the game and its history. I have always had a natural curiosity towards all sports. This has created a desire to become a future sports journalist . I am a student athlete that is trying to maintain a 4.0 GPA. This will help to achieve my dream of going to UCLA and joining their journalism program. I love to talk, and I guarantee you will love my show! https://www.voiceamerica.com/show/2014/express-yourself

TOGETHER IN UNITY AGAINST THE CORONAVIRUS CALAMITY

by Siri Phaneendra

Eradicating the coronavirus involves a team effort and the cooperation of everyone. It is imperative for us to come together in unity against calamity.

As Greek philosopher Aristotle emphasized, ‘Society is something that precedes the individual.’ It is not about you and me — it is about humanity. Even if one life can be saved, isn’t it our moral obligation to wear a mask? The efficacy of wearing a mask can only be enhanced when every individual in the vicinity makes a conscious effort to do so.

The asymptotic nature of the virus causes it to exponentially spread like a forest fire. Let’s not add fuel to the fire by protecting ourselves and others. Spread love, not the virus.”

Siri Phaneendra studies Computer Science at UC Berkeley and is a recipient of the Cal Alumni Association Leadership Award. She is the founder of drawmylove.com, a company that provides people a platform to express their love by creating physical books with customizable characters. Siri is a host on Express Yourself!™ Teen Radio on the Voice America Network.

BE UPLIFTED WITH BE THE STAR YOU ARE!® RADIO BROADCASTS

As part of our Be the Star You Are! Disaster Relief Outreach program (https://www.bethestaryouare.org/copy-of-operation-hurricane-disaste), StarStyle® Productions, LLC and Be the Star You Are!® are showcasing authors, artists, actors, poets, musicians, and many others, all of whom had had their gigs canceled and are out of work.

We believe in supporting creativity that provides escape and joy, especially during tough times.

Tune in to StarStyle®-Be the Star You Are!® on Wednesdays at 4pm PT for “Wednesdays with Writers and Performers” LIVE http://www.voiceamerica.com/show/2206/be-the-star-you-are as well as our teen program, Express Yourself!™ airing on Sundays at 3pm PT for “Super Smart Sundays” https://www.voiceamerica.com/show/2014/express-yourself

Both programs broadcast on the Voice America Network, Empowerment Channel and will be archived on that site.

SURVIVING THE UNKNOWN

by Angelica Paramoshin

I remember the days of March that were so heavily flooded with normality. Crowds of individuals flocked towards train stations like classes of fish swimming through reefs. In the present day, we all crave that forgotten feeling of normality. We miss the days when we were able to peacefully stroll through the streets watching all forms of life flourish around us. Now that we are all stuck within the barriers of our homes, we cannot fathom what is to come.

Numerous individuals have struggled to assimilate into this newfound lockdown in quarantine and ultimately, have sunk into a never-ending whirlpool of emotional turmoil. As someone who is currently writing this from the confines of her room, I understand how mentally exhausting it can be having minimal social interaction with the people you were once inseparable from. People have forgotten to take care of their emotional well-being because their feelings of anxiety and fear of the unknown leave little space for glimmers of positivity and improvement.

Although we are living amongst the presence of a pandemic, we must continue to live for ourselves and not simply for the need to survive. Everyone deserves a day dedicated to themselves. Even reading a few pages of a novel you’ve been wanting to read, allows your mind and soul to flow through a river of serenity and peace. It is okay to take a step back and breathe. We are all on this mystical planet together and we will survive together.

Angelica Paramoshin currently is a rising senior in high school devoting her time during this pandemic to volunteering with Be the Star You Are!®.

SUMMER SURVIVAL READING

Our Star Teen Book Review Team is busy reading and writing reviews for you to enjoy this summer. Reviews are honest and the personal experience of each writer. Check them out at our website, http://www.btsya.com/book_reviews.html, and at our partner, The Reading Tub, https://thereadingtub.org/books/be-the-star-you-are/.

Many thanks to our Book Review Coordinator, Stephanie Cogeos, for keeping us on track. If you are interested in joining our team and you are genuinely interested in being of service to others, you can find the info at http://www.btsya.com/book_reviews.html

SHOP ONLINE WITHOUT A MASK!

Since we need to stay at home and only go out when absolutely necessary, these are on-line shopping portals that will sell you what you need, offer discounts, and assist our mission as a nonprofit. Please use these web sites for all of your shopping essentials,

1. AmazonSmile donates .5% of purchases https://smile.amazon.com/ch/94-3333882

2. Discounted books at Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/shops/be_the_star_you_are_charity

3. Giving Assistant: Shop. Earn. Give! Use Giving Assistant to earn cash at 3500+ popular online stores, then donate a percentage to BTSYA:https://givingassistant.org/np#be-the-star-you-are-inc

& buy from your favorite stores.

4. Search and GoodShop: Choose Be the Star You Are as your charity to support. You can log in with Facebook, too! https://www.goodshop.com/nonprofit/be-the-star-you-are

5. Shop at over 1300 stores on IGIVE: http://www.iGive.com/BTSYA

6. Buy “Read, Lead, Succeed” black tanks $19.99 and books at StarStyle® Store: http://www.starstylestore.net/

7. Are you a gamer, lover of new software, or other digital content? Buy all of your favorites at Humble Bundle. http://ow.ly/cYs130iN6n4

DIRECT LINKS you can use for Be the Star You Are!®

Positive Results: https://www.bethestaryouare.org/positive-results

About Us: https://www.bethestaryouare.org/about_us

Programs: https://www.bethestaryouare.org/programs

How to Help: https://www.bethestaryouare.org/how-to-help

Blog: https://www.bethestaryouare.org/blog-1

Events: https://www.bethestaryouare.org/events

GREAT NON PROFITS REVIEWS: https://greatnonprofits.org/org/be-the-star-you-are-inc

GUIDESTAR/CANDID: https://www.guidestar.org/profile/94-3333882

We invite you to volunteer, get involved, or make a donation. Make a DONATION through PAYPAL GIVING FUND and PAYPAL with 100% going to BTSYA with NO FEES: https://www.paypal.com/fundraiser/charity/1504

PLEASE DONATE

BTSYA receives no government or corporate support. We count on YOU to help us help others. During this pandemic, all of our fundraising events have been canceled, yet we continue to support those in need. We appreciate a direct donation most of all via PAYPAL GIVING FUND at https://www.paypal.com/fundraiser/charity/1504

Checks can be sent to PO Box 376, Moraga, California 94556

http://www.btsya.org

GET SOCIAL

FACEBOOK

https://www.facebook.com/BTSYAcharity/

TWITTER

https://twitter.com/BetheStarYouAre

TUMBLR

https://bethestaryouareradio.tumblr.com

BTSYA BLOG

https://www.bethestaryouare.org/blog-

MASK UP!

DONATE NOW!

Be the Star You Are!® 501 c3 charity

PO Box 376

Moraga, California 94556

www.BetheStarYouAre.org

www.BTSYA.org

Read more: http://hosted.verticalresponse.com/672296/ca35fa6abb/288055965/bbd34d3431/

#tags: masks pandemic covid19cdcsuperherowearamask bethestaryouarecynthiabrianstarstyleradioshowsdonatevolunteers

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goddessgardener · 4 years ago

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Be a Super Hero! Wear aMask!

Click to view this email in a browser

BE a SUPER HERO! WEAR A MASK!

MIRACLE MOMENT®

“You are braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.” Christopher Robin

MESSAGE FROM CYNTHIA BRIAN, Founder/Executive Director

How are you doing in our 8th month of this horrid pandemic? Are you wearing a mask, social distancing, avoiding crowds, washing your hands, and being responsible?

If not, please heed this message because Covid-19 is a devastating disease that will negatively affect you and those you love.

I witnessed this recently when a close friend’s company was impacted.

Covid-19 is a non-partisan pandemic and it is at our doorstep. For accurate information visit https://www.cdc.gov.

Put a smile on your face and start viewing masks as a beautiful, life-saving accessory.

Remember, super heroes wear masks.

You, too, can be a superhero. Cape not necessary!

Be brave, be smart, be strong. Do your part. WEAR A MASK!

Living with gratitude and wearing a mask,

Cynthia Brian

Founder/Executive Director

Be the Star You Are!®

PO Box 376

Moraga, California 94556

[email protected]

https://www.BetheStarYouAre.org

http://www.BTSYA.org

DONATE: https://www.paypal.com/fundraiser/charity/1504

TOGETHER IN UNITY AGAINST THE CORONAVIRUS CALAMITY

by Siri Phaneendra

Eradicating the coronavirus involves a team effort and the cooperation of everyone. It is imperative for us to come together in unity against calamity.

The asymptotic nature of the virus causes it to exponentially spread like a forest fire. Let’s not add fuel to the fire by protecting ourselves and others. Spread love, not the virus.”

BE UPLIFTED WITH BE THE STAR YOU ARE!® RADIO BROADCASTS

We believe in supporting creativity that provides escape and joy, especially during tough times.

Both programs broadcast on the Voice America Network, Empowerment Channel and will be archived on that site.

SURVIVING THE UNKNOWN

by Angelica Paramoshin

Angelica Paramoshin currently is a rising senior in high school devoting her time during this pandemic to volunteering with Be the Star You Are!®.

SUMMER SURVIVAL READING

SHOP ONLINE WITHOUT A MASK!

1. AmazonSmile donates .5% of purchases https://smile.amazon.com/ch/94-3333882

2. Discounted books at Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/shops/be_the_star_you_are_charity

3. Giving Assistant: Shop. Earn. Give! Use Giving Assistant to earn cash at 3500+ popular online stores, then donate a percentage to BTSYA:https://givingassistant.org/np#be-the-star-you-are-inc

& buy from your favorite stores.

4. Search and GoodShop: Choose Be the Star You Are as your charity to support. You can log in with Facebook, too! https://www.goodshop.com/nonprofit/be-the-star-you-are

5. Shop at over 1300 stores on IGIVE: http://www.iGive.com/BTSYA