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venerawrites · 5 months ago

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Vi reuniting with her significant-other after prison? The reader could be a mercenary, or a firelight, a baker, an artist(music and paint) just to name a few occupations they could have. I am not used to requesting, so please forgive me.

author's note: I think this request is so cute, I really loved doing it! I tis a bit angsty in the beginning, but it is fluffy at the end! <3 Thank you so much for requesting and I hope you enjoy! x

Nature always finds a way.

Even when surrounded by nothing but a cold, grey concrete, it managed to give birth to life.

Hope.

As she leaned against the wall, Vi gazed upon the big tree in front of her, focusing her attention on the gentle dance of the green leaves. Of course, she has seen trees before, in Piltover and on photographs, but never in Zaun.

In a way, she was both surprised and impressed with Ekko finding this place. She always thought she knew the city like the back of her hand, yet she had never stumbled over here. How many places were like that in the Undercity? How many places remained hidden, waiting to become a symbol of a new beginning?

"Your mind seems far away", a voice sounded next to her and Vi turned to her right, only to find Caitlyn's smiling face. Despite her gentle expression, there was a spark of worry in her eyes.

Interesting girl was she. One who has grown up in a closed bubble, protected by her family's money and influence, yet there was a fire inside of her, that made her different from the stereotypical Piltover person. She had a deep sense of justice and despite seeing the worst of Zaun, instead of turning her head to the side, she wanted to dig deeper and to know more.

Vi would lie if she said she did not judge her in the beginning. She was sure Caitlyn would not survive more than an hour down here. However, the girl kept making her raise her brows in surprise, completely changing her views about the people in the Topside.

"It is", the pink-haired girl finally answered, letting out a soft sigh in the process, "Somewhere far. Somewhere better."

And with someone else.

Biting her lip, she turned her attention to the few streaks of grass poking near her feet. She grasped one, pulling it out and bringing it in front of her eyes. Twirling it a few times, she carefully examined it, noting how the end was starting to turn yellow.

There was minute during which each of the women seemed to be lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Caitlyn laid her palm on Vi's back, rubbing small circles on top of the clothed skin. She remained silent, but her gesture managed to ease the tension in the other female's muscles.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Vi shook her head, his eyes still focused on the little piece of grass in her fingers.

God, she wanted to talk. She needed to talk. But what was weighing on her mind, was something she couldn't share with anyone. Especially Caitlyn.

"No, I will be fin-"

"YOU LYING SNAKE!"

Before Vi could realise what was happening, she found herself on the floor pinned by your trembling body. The eyes, once so full of gentle love, which haunted her dreams almost every night, were now staring down at her full of rage. As your name rolled off her tongue, another set of hands got involved by grabbing you by the shoulders.

"Hey! Get off her!"

Whipping your head back, your eyes narrowed to slits once you saw the blue-haired enforcer. Your nose involuntarily scrunched, a clear sign you were far from happy of what, or more specifically who, was before you.

Ekko has already warned you Vi was back in the city and that she was accompanied by an enforcer, but you did not expect... well, her. In your mind, you had built the picture of an old, grumpy prison officer, not a young and pretty woman. Perhaps, you did not want to believe YOUR girlfriend would be giving someone like her a tour around Zaun, while completely forgetting your existence.

Your name was called again and you looked down, your expression softening once your eyes met those of Vi. Many emotions were swimming inside of them - happiness, guilt, pain, relief - all of which were making you wish for nothing more than to press her against your chest and hold her for hours. Your fingers twitched, but instead of embracing her, you landed a few harsh slaps against her shoulders.

"Stop!", Caitlyn shouted once more, grabbing your vest from the back. Instead of calming you down, however, this enraged you even more and you turned around, slapping her hands away.

The enforcer was not a woman who gave up easily, however.

"I demand you to stop!", your body froze as the command left her lips. You stayed still for a few seconds, during which only your heavy panting and the distant shouts of the children around the base could be heard.

"You demand me?", the words came out as a loud scoff and you lifted yourself from Vi, while eyeing the other girl with a mix of irritation and disbelief. With one long stride, you closed the distance between you and gabbed the front of her jacket.

"I demand you to shut your mouth and get your little ass out of here before I kick it so hard, you'll regret ever coming to the Undercity!"

Before things could escalate, you were pulled away by Vi, who held her arms tight around you, while nodding her head toward Caitlyn.

"Cait, give us-Stop it, damn it!", she groaned, tightening her hold, "Cait give us a few minutes!"

The blue-eyed enforcer stood frozen in her place, her worried gaze shifting from her friend to you and then back. You still fought back against Vi's grip, ignoring the feelings of warmth and nostalgia that you felt by being so close to her.

"Please?", the pink-haired woman said again and reluctantly, Caitlyn started walking slowly backward. Once she was far from earshot, Vi released her grip on you and took a step back, giving you some space. She opened her mouth to speak, but you were faster.

Without a word, you turned around and smacked your palm against her cheek. Her head whipped to the side and for a moment, it remained there, frozen. The usually pale skin flushed a deep red where your hand had made contact and your hand trembled, before hiding inside the warm comfort of your pants' pocket.

"I probably deserve that...", Vi mumbled, moving her jaw left and right while she rubbed the sore spot on her face. She took a shaky breath, regaining her composure, before lifting her face. With the corner of her eyes, she could see Caitlyn eyeing both of you with worry and she lifted her hand toward her, a gesture to show her she did not need to intervene. Yet.

The subtle communication did not stay hidden from you and let out an angry huff, before shaking your head. Rarely have you felt such intense emotions, especially since that night when... No. You couldn't go back down this memory lane. Not again.

"Oh, you deserve way more than that!", your tongue pushed against your cheek, biting back all of the colourful insults that were resting on the tip of it. The memories of all those lonely nights you spent crying, mourning, and wondering what happened to her, now hung between you like a dark cloud. No matter how much you have prepared to face her once again, all self-control and reason left your mind as soon as you laid your eyes on her.

"I know you're hurt, but please give me a chance to explain!", her voice was low and soft, an unusual sound for Vi, "Please, I-"

"What is there to explain? You left! You left me! You left Powder! You left Ekko...", with each name, the pain in your chest felt stronger. You closed your mouth, pressing your lips into a thin line before your gaze involuntarily moved to your right, where in the distance the enforcer was nervously chewing her thumb while keeping her attention glued to both of you.

Narrowing your eyes, you grabbed Vi's hand before starting to drag her toward the nearby wood shack. In the beginning, when you joined the Firelights it was used as a storage for hoverboards, but as the members of your group grew, it was soon abandoned and left to collect dust. It was secluded and most importantly away from prying eyes and ears.

The pink-haired girl followed without resistance, giving a last reassuring nod to the Piltover girl, who was now being led away by another Firelight. From all of the scenarios she imagined through the years about your reunion, you pouncing on her was definitely not on the list. A hug, a kiss, maybe even a chance for her to finally show you how much she actually loved you - those were the fantasies that kept swirling around her head all morning when she thought of how should she handle your first meeting after so many years.

Hearing that you were now part of the Firelights was not a surprise. Just like her, you liked to resolve your problems with your fists, rather than talk, and like many young people part of the group, there was nothing that you wished for more than free Zaun. You were stubborn, hot-headed, and reckless, and gave Vi a headache more than once in the past.

Would she have it any other way, however? Absolutely not!

Despite your tough and fiery nature, you also possessed a surprising softness and gentleness, reserved for those closest to you. She often considered herself lucky by being able to see you like this - open and vulnerable, a harsh contrast with your usual combative demeanour. The memories of your many nights spent together, sharing warm cuddles and soft kisses, while your head rested on her shoulder as you talked about your future dreams, often resurfaced in Vi's mind, reminding her how effortlessly it was for you to make her fall in love with you.

Deep inside she foolishly believed that if she ever got the chance to be released from prison, everything would be the same. Powder would still be her little sister, seeking her approval; Ekko would be their smart-ass best friend, who spent too much time tinkering with random gadgets; and you, her first love and girlfriend, would patiently wait for her arrival, ready to promise her the future which you always dreamt about when you were little.

Now, as she stood in front of your furious figure, she felt almost foolish for having such expectations. Of course you would change, you were forced to, just like everyone else in Zaun. The hardships you had to face at such a young age shaped you into someone colder and more guarded.

"I am sorry."

The words fell quietly from Vi's mouth, as she watched your face, trying to find even a glimpse of the love you once carried for her. All that stared back, however, was fury and disgust.

"You are sorry? That's all you've got to say?", you let out a dry chuckle, your voice ringing with mockery. Crossing your arms in front of your chest, you eyed her up and down, finally having the chance to properly observe her appearance.

Vi has always been a beautiful woman, even if she never seemed to care much about her looks. She never bothered with fancy hairstyles or clothes, preferring practicality and comfort over style. Yet, she possessed a natural attractiveness, one that made you turn your head the first time you saw her.

Your eyes focused on her buzzcut, before sliding down her face and noting the numerous new piercings and a tattoo, that were now covering it. Her eyes, still as piercing as you remembered them, held the same fiery spark as before, despite being clouded by guilt. She was also taller and more muscular, now towering almost a full head above you.

"I didn't leave!", she finally said, her expression hardening, "That night..."

The words got stuck in her throat, as she let out an angry sigh and rubbed her calloused hands on her face. Her body slumped against the wooden wall behind her, the loud thud making you wince.

"That night I was taken against my will", she continued, her voice trembling, "By the Enforcers. I... After seeing the remains of the explosion and Powder, I just needed a minute. Some time to breathe, to realise what had happened..."

The rage that bubbled inside your chest just a minute ago slowly started to evaporate, replaced by a mix of caution and confusion. You never wanted to believe that she abandoned you - for years, you pushed this thought aside, not able to accept the idea that Vi is capable of doing something like this. Not to you or Powder.

But as the time passed, the hope you held that she was just hiding somewhere started to transform into suspicion. Seeing Powder becoming Jinx right in front of your eyes, claiming that her sister deserted her, also did not help ease your mind and soon you started to accept this version of the events more and more.

She left you. Alone.

As she continued speaking, telling you how she was thrown in Stillwater Hold, never prosecuted or charged, and beaten and tortured, your whole body tensed. Her words painted a picture of chaos and pain, something completely different from what you had imagined for her. You always thought that she was living her best life, somewhere far away from Zaun.

"Do you know how many times I thought of giving up? Of just accepting that this was the end?", her eyes lifted toward your face, the raw feelings behind them making your breath catch in your throat, "But then I thought of you. Of Powder. And I knew I had to find a way back to you."

Her words hung in the air, and there was a minute of silence, during which you assimilated what she had said. A part of you wished for your initial belief to be true - you spend such a long time resenting her for abandoning you, and to a certain extent you even made your peace with it. But now, as she spoke her truth, you were left both confused and heartbroken.

How could you deal with that?

"I thought I would never see you again", you finally said, your voice sounding way softer and gentler than it was before, "That you are living your life somewhere else... with someone else."

Vi's brows furrowed at your admission and she pushed herself away from the wall, before taking a few steps toward you.

"Did you really believe I would do that?", her accusation made you shrink in your place, "That I would just leave you and Powder by yourself? That I don't care?"

The mention of her sister sent a pang of sorrow through your heart. Everyone knew how hard it was for you to witness her transformation, especially since you fought for years to save her from Silco's influence and twisted games. It took a long time for you to accept the painful truth that she was beyond saving.

"Have you seen Powder?", you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, "Do you know what she has become?"

Her gaze fell down at her feet and she weakly moved her head up and down. Despite seeing it with her own eyes, it all still felt unreal. If she controlled her anger that night, if she never screamed at her sibling, if she didn't step back from her... Maybe everything would've been different.

"I tried, Vi", you shook your head, unable to even look at her eyes, "I tried so hard, but Silco had his claws in her mind, filling it with lies. I couldn't... I couldn't save her. I don't know if anyone can. Even you..."

The woman's face fell - this was the second time she was told there was no hope for her sister anymore. She wanted to argue, to tell you that she could reach her, save her, but deep down she knew what your response was going to be. You were always honest to a fault, wearing your heart on your sleeve, and while Vi always loved that about you, she was not ready to hear the truth. Even if she already knew it.

Closing the gap between you, she cupped your cheek, gently running her thumb across the skin. You instinctively leaned toward it, seeking the feeling of warmth and comfort that you have been missing for so many years.

"I know", she said, still caressing your face, "It's not your fault. You did everything you could."

Her words were meant to comfort, but all they did was add the final drop to the already overflowing pool of emotions bubbling inside your chest. You leaped forward, circling your arms around her taller frame and burying your face in her chest. Hot tears were now flowing from your eyes, a result of years of silent suffering. Loud sobs escaped your lips, and you felt her strong arms wrapping around you, pulling you closer in a protective embrace.

"I missed you!", your words were muffled by your face being pressed against her shirt, "I missed you so much, Vi! I.. I thought I would never see you again!"

Her grip tightened and she buried her nose in your hair, inhaling deeply. The sweet scent of strawberry and cream filled her senses and she smiled, finding comfort in the fact that even years later, you still used the same shampoo. After being hit with the harsh reality of what Zaun has become, she welcomed this familiarity, even if it was a small one.

"I missed you too!", she murmured in your hair, before pressing a tender kiss on top of your head, "It's all going to be alright. I promise! I am here now."

You knew you shouldn't hope - after all, in the past it brought you only hurt and despair. But as she continued whispering sweet promises next to your ear, you couldn't help but cling to them, allowing yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there is a chance for you both.

"I would never leave you again!", her voice became harsher, filled with determination, "Whatever happens, I will always be by your side!"

Closing your eyes, you nodded your head, pressing your face even further into her chest. Your breathing was now calmer and the tears had dried on your cheeks, leaving salty trails behind them. If only you could freeze time and stay in this moment forever...

Suddenly your body tensed and you pulled yourself harshly from her embrace, leaving Vi shocked and surprised by the sudden movement.

"What about the enforcer girl?", your face scrunched in disgust as the words fell out of your lips, "Who is she... to you?"

The young woman blinked a few times, taken aback by your bluntness and the sudden coldness in your voice.

"Caitlyn?", the sound of her name made you roll your eyes, "She is... a friend. She helped me get out of Stillwater."

Your brow quirked and your arms crossed in front of your chest, as if protecting you from the idea that there may be something more between them. Ekko has briefly told you what he knew about her and how she seemed to be different from the other enforcers, but even he still had certain reservations when it came to her real intentions and her relationship to Vi.

"Just a friend? Is that all she is to you?"

The pink-haired woman stared long and hard at your face, somewhat amused by your questioning. She bit her lip, trying to suppress her smirk, but she couldn't control the way the corners of her lips twitched upwards.

"Violet!", the sound of you using her full name pulled her attention to your face and she reached out to you again, resting her hands on your waist, "Violet, I am being serious!"

She took a deep breath, fighting the urge to just pull you closer and shut your mouth, stopping you from asking such silly things. Her gaze bored into yours and her fingers squeezed the soft flesh under them.

"Caitlyn has been a great friend and a partner in crime...", she explained, pulling you closer to her, "But she is not you! I am not interested in her in that way."

With narrowed eyes, you studied her face for any signs of her lying, before reluctantly nodding your head. Slowly you lifted your arms, before wrapping them around her neck and immediately starting to play with the ends of her short locks.

"C'mon, I have a girlfriend, who do you think I am?", Vi finally let out a soft laugh, leaning her face toward yours and nudging your nose with hers. A light blush covered your cheeks and the tip of your ears at the sound of the word "girlfriend". After so many years apart, you were not even sure if she still considered you as such.

"A girlfriend, huh? She must be lucky!"

She grinned, moving one of her hands behind your neck, while the other one remained gripping your waist.

"I think I am the lucky one."

She closed the distance between you, pressing her chapped lips against yours and pouring all of the pent up frustration and love she held for you. Closing your eyes, you melted in her embrace, completely intoxicated by the familiar taste of her. The hand behind your neck pushed you even closer to her, resulting in a harsh battle of teeth and tongues, during which she easily dominated you.

When you finally pulled back, both of you rested your foreheads against each other, while trying to catch your breaths. You opened your eyes, immediately meeting those of Vi. Dragging your hand from behind her neck to her cheek, you rubbed it affectionately, smiling once she nudged it with her head.

"If you disappear again, I will hunt you down", you say half-seriously, half-jokingly, "And I will kick your ass!"

A wide grin formed on her face.

"I wouldn't even dream of it."

cc artwork: Shuo Shi

#vi arcane #vi x reader #vi x y/n #arcane imagine #vi arcane x reader #arcane fanfic #arcane request

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avoxrising · 1 year ago

Text

The Feral One • Chapter 4

Finnick x Reader

Series Masterlist Link

I’m on a roll with my writing! Was able to grind out another chapter today. Lmk what you guys think of the story so far :)

Content warnings - descriptions of death and lots of angst

My love, you have my heart for all of eternity. And if I die in that arena, my last thought will be of your lips.

You and Finnick had never been anything more than friends, although friends feels like an understatement to describe what you are to each other. After your games, you lived in Victors Village with your family, doing your best to heal.

When your family was killed after your victory tour, the victors deemed that you weren’t stable enough to live alone. You were only 17 and had nobody left to take care of you.

Finnick had volunteered to move in temporarily until you were better, but better never happened. He felt guilty about how he mentored you. He had told you that what you did in the arena didn’t matter. It didn’t matter how many you killed, or how you killed, it was a game and to play it you had to be entertaining and win sponsors.

So, you entertained. You joined the career pack, hoping they would take out most of the other tributes for you so there would be fewer for you to worry about. That only worked for a week.

One week in, your district partner was killed and you were on the outs. The alliance would turn on you at any moment, so you had to strike first.

You lay awake in the arena, nearly two weeks into the games, as the pair from one were on watch. They thought you were asleep, just as you had hoped they would.

“Let’s kill her now,” Gimena stated.

“How?” Aries replied.

“I’ll wake her up and ask her to go pee with me. You’ll follow and provide back up if the fight drags on longer than necessary,” she told him.

“I doubt you’ll need me but go ahead,” Aries chuckled. “She’s all yours.”

You can still feel Gimena’s hand on your arm, shaking you awake.

“Hey,” she whispered. “I need to go pee. You’re coming with me as guard.”

You nod and follow her into the trees, preparing to use the knife hidden in your sleeve. She makes you walk in front of her, plotting how to attack you. She wasn’t fast enough.

You quickly whip around and fling your knife into her throat, killing her immediately. Because there was no scream, Aries thought the cannon was yours, so he didn’t panic.

If you were going to kill the careers, it had to be now. You removed your only knife from Gimena’s body and climbed into one of the trees. Hopefully only Aries would come looking. It’s hard to kill three people with one knife.

Aries came crashing through the forest a few minutes later, calling out for Gimena. You waited until he stumbled upon her body before flinging your knife into it the side of his head, directly below his ear. The canon wasn’t immediate, but it was quick.

You hopped down from the tree to retrieve your knife, only to be tackled to the ground by Floyd, the boy from 2.

“What the hell did you do four?” he shouted, pushing his spear down onto your throat to choke you. What worried you wasn’t the spear, but the fact that you couldn’t spot Hals, his partner.

You wiggled your fingers in an attempt to reach the knife but it was too far. Oxygen was leaving your body and you needed to think fast.

Your sudden growl caught him off guard, causing him to momentarily lose focus. The pressure on your throat let up just enough for you to turn your head to the side and spot Aries’ sword stuck under his body, barely within reach.

Hals arrived on the scene just in time to watch Floyd’s head roll away from his body. She let out a yell before charging at you, machete in hand. She managed to slice up your cheek, but found herself dead moments later. You had jumped on her and beaten her to a pulp, not caring that the machete was digging into your face.

Those four weren’t your first kills in the arena, nor were they your last. Nobody else in the cage with you stood a chance.

“Hey,” Finnick sighs as he enters your room. He’s still in his outfit from the interview. “Can we talk?”

You nod and he comes to sit on the edge of the bed.

“I need to ask something very important of you in the arena,” he starts and you already feel yourself getting nauseous with anxiety. “I need you to help me keep Katniss and Peeta alive.”

This request shocks you. Finnick had told you about potentially allying with 3, 7 and 12 but asking you to control yourself around a firey person like Katniss was like asking a baby not to cry near loud noises.

You shake your head at him, hoping he understands how you can’t promise him anything of that sort. In reality, you can’t even promise him that you’ll be in control of yourself enough to not hurt him.

“Y/N,” Finnick sighs. “There’s a plan to break some of us out of the arena and take us far away from the capital where we can help change Panem. But, we need Katniss and Peeta alive in order for it to work.”

“Just kill me now,” you whisper. “I can’t do any of this.”

“Yes you can!” Finnick states in frustration. “I know it’s hard but I’ll be with you the whole time. We will get through this together.”

You give him a meek “ok” to quell his nerves, but deep down you know that this wouldn’t work. You know what you have to do.

“Can you stay tonight?” you ask. This takes him off guard as you’ve never let him stay in the same room as you at night, worried you might hurt him.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” he asks, knowing his nightmares might set you off.

“No,” you sigh. “Sorry. Forget I ever asked. Goodnight Finnick”

“Goodnight”

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#hunger games #finnick odair #hunger games fic #the hunger games #finnick odair x reader #finnick imagine #finnick x reader #finnick odair angst #finnick x you #finnick #hunger games x reader #hunger games angst #the feral one

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rebelliousstories · 7 months ago

Text

That’s My Wife

Relationship: Luke Alvez x Reader

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Request: No

Warnings: Angst, Descriptions of Violence, Fluff

Word Count: 3,662

Main Masterlist: Here

Criminal Minds Masterlist: Here

Part Two: Coming Home

Summary: When the team gets called in on a case, an interesting revelation comes out about the newbie.

Khalil Gibran once said, “If you reveal your secrets to the wind, you should not blame the wind for revealing them to the trees.”

“What do we know?” Emily was in a mood today, and it was not one to mess with. Having just got off the phone with the director of the FBI, she was frantic in finding out what was going on.

“Earlier today, as in two hours ago, there were reports of a bank robbery in progress. But the M.O. is what caught our attention.” Garcia responded, clicking the remote to activate the tv in the round table room. As the other agents filed in, they were met with a horrifying sight.

Animal masked robbers were parading around the lobby. A lion, a tiger, a wolf, and a shark were present. They waved guns around without a care in the world, and kept their finger on the trigger. Shark took off and began to stuff money into his bags, while the other three kept their eyes on the groups of people they were holding hostage. Everyone was analyzing and scrutinizing every frame of the video feed.

“What bank?” Luke asked, keeping his eyes on the feed.

“Three Ring bank in downtown D.C.” Penelope responded, looking around in confusion.

Without a warning, the agent took off to the bullpen silently. He pulled out his phone and was shocked to see a voicemail in his inbox waiting for him. Luke answered the call and just listened.

“Hey baby. I know you’re probably at work, but I am finally home from tour. I was gonna keep it a secret and surprise you tonight, but I just couldn’t wait. Go catch those bad guys, baby. I’m goin’ to the bank and then goin’ to see our baby at home. I love you, sugar. Go be a superhero.”

His fist clenched as he lowered the phone from his ear. Luke turned and was surprised by Emily standing directly behind him.

“Is everything alright?” She asked, despite knowing the answer to her question. The agent took a moment before he responded.

“Our bank is Three Ring. Specifically, we go to Three Ring in downtown.” Luke whispered, rubbing his hands over his face. Emily held an understanding look on her face as she processed the information.

“Is there anything I can do?” Getting her phone out, she listened and read her text at the same time.

“Just don’t take me off of this case. I need to find her.” Prentiss nodded her head and set a hand on his shoulder.

“Go find a quiet, empty room. Clear your head and get all of your frustrations out. Then I want you back in the round table room and getting to work.” Turning on her heel, she left Luke and trusted he would do what she instructed.

“What have you got, Garcia?” Emily marched in to her lair with determined voice and step.

“Um, so I was looking in to who I could identify on the video feed. Now these guys have been staring at a woman, just one in particular. So I did my usual sleuthing into this mystery woman that seems to have their attention and-”

“Get on with it, Pen.”

“Of course,” she readjusted her glasses, and started again. “This woman is the girl behind the concert we went to last month, Amour Yen. And doing some additional digging I found out her name, address, phone you name it. Maybe we can use it?” The colorful analyst rambled.

“Bring up her driver’s license photo again, and shoot it over to my phone, please.” Emily left shortly afterwards. Everyone was tense and on edge as they tried to find out who the men in masks were, but the unit chief only had one job she needed to do. The ping came through, and she searched the sixth floor empty rooms until she found Alvez sitting in a chair, with his head in his hands. Prentiss closed the door which made the agent look up.

“This is her?” Her tone was soft, as she showed him the DMV photo on her phone. Luke nodded without a word, and bowed his head once more.

“We will get her out safely, Luke. But you need to tell them. We think she’s being targeted.” The agent lifted his head abruptly, and made his way to the round table room. Emily followed close behind, and signaled for everyone else to join them. She shot off a text to Garcia, and was met with the whole team upon entering the room. Shutting the door, Emily addressed everyone first.

“Before we continue our investigation, and get our feet on the ground at the bank, there is something that needs to be revealed as Garcia has pointed out that a specific woman seems to be targeted.” She gave way for Luke to pick up.

“I’ve kept something from the team and I can’t do it anymore. The woman in the video is my wife.” There was a pause as the secret was finally out.

“Is that why her last name is Alvez on her license?” Penelope asked, breathless from the information and fear of her team’s family being targeted. Luke nodded before he continued.

“We keep it a secret and keep it on a need to know basis because of my job. The only person who knew before this was Emily, but that was because I had to list her as my emergency contact. Even when I was in the Fugitive Task Force, we kept it close so that no one could use us against each other. If she is being targeted, it’s because of me.”

“We’ll start by digging into Luke’s background with the FTF, then with the BAU. Garcia, I need everything you can find everything you can about his wife. We need to figure out what we’re up against. Rossi, I want you, Reid, and Simmons with the mobile command center in downtown. Let’s get to it everyone.” As the team dispersed, Luke tried to follow the team going downtown only to be stopped by Emily.

“Please, I need to go make sure she’s okay, Prentiss.” Luke pleaded, watching helplessly as the three men left for the SUVs.

“I said I wouldn’t take you off of the case, even though it is protocol. But I will not have you in the field. You’re going to be more useful to us, and to her, here. Now help us figure out who these people are.” She redirected him to go back to the round table room, and begin sifting through his career.

“Keep your heads down!” Lion shouted, waving his pistol around as people whimpered. Huddled with another woman, determined eyes were assessing the whole situation. She twisted her wedding ring around on its chain around her neck while trying to remember what her husband taught her. There were only four men that she counted, and one entrance and exit. Sirens were already outside, which coupled with the entry and exit point predicament, it meant one thing; everyone in this building were trapped together.

Keeping her breathing in check, her hand reached into her pocket, and tried to type discreetly.

Sierra. Oscar. Sierra. Alpha - Delta.

“What the hell are you doing?” A voice startled the phone back in her pocket, and she looked up. Tiger was pointing a gun to her.

“What’s in your pocket?” Reaching her hand back in, she wrapped it around the object and pulled it out to show him.

“Candy? Really?” He asked, not convinced.

“I have blood sugar issues. I keep snacks on me to help regulate it.” She replied, holding the hard candy out for him to take. Tiger snatched it from her hand and slipped his mask up just enough to plop the candy in his mouth. What he did not see, was that she was staring intently at his face at an identifying mark. A long scar on his cheek. Tiger turned around and she hurriedly ducked her head to send another text.

Scar. Tiger.

“What are you doing?” A woman next to her asked. Mrs. Alvez saw the wedding ring on her finger.

“My husband is FBI.” She whispered. “What’s your husband’s name?”

“Frank.” They kept their voices down as they spoke.

“Mine’s is Luke. We’re going to go back to them, okay? They haven’t removed their masks which is a good sign.” A buzz rattled her hand causing her to look down.

Roger. Head down. Romeo, Romeo, Sierra responding. At King Arthur.

The wave of relief at knowing that Luke’s teammates were coming to help her made her relax just a bit. All she could hope for now was that they would get in before the team of robbers dropped their masks and started shooting.

“Just got a text from my wife. She says that the one in the tiger mask has a scar.” Luke walked over to where Garcia was remotely set up at the round table. “Can you search the feed for anywhere that man might have a scar?”

“Of course. Yes. I can do that.” As Garcia worked, Luke watched her efforts on the big tv screen behind them. The tape was rewinding, and rewinding before he intervened.

“Wait, wait, wait. There. Stop.” Penelope followed the order. “There. Do you see it?”

“Yeah. He takes something from her hand and slips it in his mouth.” The tech analyst was confused as she tried to think of reasons, but Luke breathed out a sigh of relief.

“She keeps candy in her pocket for her blood sugar. But I taught her, in a situation like this, she needs to try and find identifying marks on unsubs. Look for men who were put away for armed robbery with a pronounced scar on their faces. Look in neighboring states as well.” Luke turned back to the files as the woman worked beside him.

A big black SUV rolled up on the scene, and out popped three agents already dawning their FBI issued Kevlar vests. Rossi walked forward and went to the command center lead, while the other two trailed behind him.

“You must be captain Romanov. SSA’s Rossi, Reid and Simmons with the BAU. Have there been any demands?” He shook hands with the police captain.

“Not yet. Your guys just finished setting everything up, and helping my guys secure the area. We have access to the security cameras inside, but there has been no contact.” She explained, showing them around. Rossi assumed his position next to the phone box and casted his eyes towards the bank.

“Well, let’s see what we can make happen. Is this tapped in?” With a conformation, he pressed dial.

A shrill ring sounded through the bank. Everyone looked around for the source of the noise, but no one could see it clearly. That was, until, Lion stalked over to a phone that was behind the tellers booth. He yanked the phone off of its resting place, and held it against his ear.

“Hello? Who is this?”

“This is SSA David Rossi. Who am I speaking to?” the man on the other end chuckled as he looked out to the room.

“You can call me Leon.” He answered.

“Okay Leon. What do you say to letting the hostages go? You don’t have to go through with this.” David tried to reason with him.

“No. I don’t think so. There’s some pretty special ones in here that we need.” Leon looked over to the rest of the people around him. His eyes stopped briefly on a woman that his brother stopped by earlier. Shark was trying to find an alternative way out, while Wolf and Tiger were managing the people.

“Is there anything that you want? Something that I can get you?” Rossi asked, looking towards his two other agents.

“We want a way out of here. Call off the cops, call off the feds, and let us go free.” Leon was starting to get agitated the longer he was on the phone.

“I will see about what I can do, but you know that won’t be easy.” The agent was being real, and really hoped that the man with the gun would not use it.

“Tell you what, you call your buddies off, and I don’t kill everyone in here. Deal?” A dull tone rang through as the phone was hung up on Leon’s side. Rossi looked around to his teammates and suddenly had an idea.

“This doesn’t sound like he’s going to follow through. Murder is not in the M.O. but someone inside might. Matt, you and Reid try and find groups of four that commit armed bank robberies. This isn’t their first rodeo.”

Luke marched into Emily’s office with a file and determination. Tara was in there with the unit chief helping her sift through his career.

“Found the man in the tiger mask.” The file plopped down onto the woman’s desk.

“Theodore Jameson. Served five years for a job he did with his twin brother back in 2010. Got a nasty cut from the botched job. The clerk of the store they were trying to rob got him with some broken glass from a window. It healed over into that jagged scar that we saw on the tape. I was the one that put them away. One of the men has to be his brother, Leonard.” Luke explained, feeling accomplished.

“Good work. But who are the other two? And which one is which?” Tara complimented.

“Tiger is Theodore so Leonard has got to be the Lion. Now we need Wolf and Shark. Have Garcia see if there are any connections in or out of prison.” Emily commented, handing the file back to Luke who took off to do the work.

“Come on man. We need a way out of here.” Leonard commented, badgering Shark.

“I’m trying man. Give me a minute.” He replied, disappearing again. Wolf sat at a table and kept quiet as he observed the place. This entire operation had gone to hell.

“Where is the woman? Where is she?” Leonard barked looking around, scrutinizing everyone from behind his mask.

“I’m looking for a woman with the last name Alvez. Where are you?” He yelled. From his right, a woman stood up, however this was not the one he was looking for.

“I’m Sofia Alvez.” She whimpered, standing on shaking legs. But Leonard just scoffed and waved her over with the hand with the gun. Sofia walked over and was practically shaking in fear. He brought his hand up and pistol whipped the woman. It did not kill her, but rather knocked her out cold. Shaking his head, he looked around to see who else was here.

“I’m bored, Leon.” Theodore commented as he waved his gun around. Without a warning or word, the man grabbed a random man and shoved him towards the glass doors. The entire police and FBI forces were on edge as they watched what was unfurling. A bullet planted itself in between the man’s eyes and he slumped forward. Screams erupted throughout as everyone was startled by the display. Theodore laughed as he stalked around. His mask muffled some of his words but everyone he got close to understood what he was saying.

“Eeny meeny, miny moe.”

Garcia shuffled her way into the round table room with an excited air about her. The remaining BAU members gathered around, and patched in the three that were at the bank.

“Okay, so you asked for any connections that would be relevant and I found it.” Pulling two additional pictures up on the big screen, the colorful analyst began.

“So when the Jameson twins were serving their five in the Virginia corrections facility, they were block mates with another set of twins. This time they were serving ten for pleading guilty to involuntary manslaughter after their last job ending in the store clerk being dead. I now present to you Wulfric and Samson Mitchell.” They were drawn to the tv once more.

“Yeah, I remember that case,” came Luke’s voice. “They claimed they were doing the robbing out of necessity and claimed that because they came from a trailer park that the judicial system was prejudiced.”

“So we know who they are. What’s our plan Rossi?” Emily called over the phone.

“They’ve already killed one person. Unsure about anyone else. But we’re trying to establish more contact.” He explained, keeping his eyes aware all around.

“Do we know who was killed?” Luke pleaded urgently.

“It’s not her, Luke.” Garcia confirmed, looking through her screen at the camera. He peered over her shoulder and let out a sigh of relief to see she was telling the truth.

“Rossi, get him on the phone and see if we can break them up. Penelope, give us a full blue print of the bank. I want to know every square inch of the place.” Prentiss ended the call, and delegated the rest of the team to finding out everything they could about the two sets of twins.

“Where are you? I know you’re in here.” Tiger sing-songed as he walked through the lobby waving his gun. When his eyes landed on her, he smiled behind his mask. Stalking forward, he grabbed Mrs. Alvez by her shirt and hauled her to her feet.

“Oh, hello pretty lady. I knew you would be here today.” The man got right in her face, and brought her over to a chair where he dropped her down without grace. “Stay.”

Watching him walk away, she realized that she was in view right in front of the window. She turned and tried to see if she could flag down the uniforms outside.

“Leo! Look at who we have here!” He called out, grabbing his brother’s attention. Leonard came around and laid his eyes on the woman in the chair.

“I think it is high time we have us a little reunion.” Leonard sneered as he neared the woman. Her nerves were going haywire as she realized that they were closing in on her.

Piling in to the SUVs, Luke was furious. These criminals had laid their hands on his wife, and they were going to pay for it. His vest was strapped on tightly, and his firearm was ready.

“How would they know that she was your wife if even the team didn’t know?” Tara pointed out as they drove on.

“She’s a public figure. They could’ve stalked her, or me. Or any variation of the two. Let me get Garcia on the phone.” They turned the corner and parked right as Penelope answered the call.

“Oracle is ready and willing. Whatcha need?” She answered somewhat chipper, but people could tell that it was a flimsy cover.

“Garcia, I need you to track her social media, phone calls, emails, anything. Looking for repeat offenders, text that were deleted or weird phone calls. Anything.” He stated, waiting impatiently with the rest of his team.

“Okay. Don’t know exactly what I’m looking for but…”

“But what Penelope?” Luke was getting fed up with this whole day.

“There’s an account called ‘tigerted’ and it has visited her social medias everyday for the past six months which just so happens to be the same amount of time that all four of the men inside of that bank have been released.” She whimpered.

“Garcia, look into any robberies in the last six months in surrounding states. What’s their endgame?” Matt asked, hands on his hips while they waited.

“I’m not sure,” she started, “they’ve never been around long enough to be caught. They’ve always been in and out with insanely good precision.”

“That’s not going to work, Penelope. Give us something to work with.” Luke growled, pacing back and forth with his phone in his hand.

“I’m trying to help but I have nothing in their previous jobs.” Tears of frustration were starting to build up and push over.

Before anyone else could respond, the phone rang from inside. Rossi held up a finger, and got the phone answered.

“Hello?”

“Agent Rossi, my partner has already killed one person. Who else are you going to let die before you let us go, huh?” The voice of Leon answered.

“Leon, who killed the victim? Was it Wulfric? Samson? Theodore?” There was silence over the other end of the phone.

“Leonard, you can end all of this right now if you let the hostages go, and you put down the weapons.” Rossi reasoned, but the sinking feeling in his gut was not helping.

“You know who we are?” Leonard asked, sounding out of breath.

“We know that you and your brother were put away by one of our teammates, and that you met Wulfric and Samson in prison. This is the first time you have ever been caught and cornered and you need to ask why. Somebody betrayed you, Leonard. It’s time to give it up.” There was more silence. It took a minute before someone finally spoke, after some commotion on the other end of the line.

“There’s no giving it up.” Dial tone greeted the BAU as they watched each other for a minute.

Theodore hung up the phone and pranced around the lobby. He removed his mask, which prompted Leonard to do the same.

“They know who we are. Including how we work. They know who we all are.” Leonard spoke, sounding like he was in disbelief.

“So what? No more hiding now bro. Now, we get to have some fun with her.” Theodore waved his gun to where the woman was sitting. She was still watching everyone with skeptical eyes as they moved about. Wulfric, who was sitting partially on a desk, removed his mask when the other two did, yet remained silent.

“You are just gorgeous. Don’t know how that man ever landed you.” As he grew closer, Theodore raised his gun with his finger on the trigger, and fired.

Bang

#rebelliousstories #writing #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds #luke alvez x you #luke alvez x reader #luke alvez imagine #luke alvez #emily prentiss #spencer reid #david rossi #matt simmons #penelope garcia #tara lewis #jennifer jereau

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weirdmarioenemies · 6 days ago

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Name: Rocky Wrench

Debut: Super Mario Bros. 3

Get a load of this guy! A recurring enemy, debuting in one of the most beloved games, and major enough to even get a LEGO version... and he's over here as if he's Weird. Well he is! Weird is relative! You might think a goat is a normal animal, but if you do, you have clearly forgotten that they effortlessly climb trees and steep slopes, with hooves. Weird is all around us, and if you find yourself growing jaded to it, remember a Fun Fact to mentally slap some sense back into yourself.

Rocky Wrench is not rocky, and he is not a wrench, either! He is manholey and throws wrenches. On first glance, he looks like a turtley mole, but we are commonly assured that he is ACTUALLY a moley turtle. Strange! This is not a mere mole with a shell, this is a turtle with a cartilaginous nose and teeth and presumably fur. Even if he is truly a turtle, the design is pleasantly mole-like, with the claws, snout, and teeth! This is a guy who would love to bite an earthworm, and who would be very good at it. He would NOT eat a vegetable.

Huhwhuh! What's going on! They turned Rocky Wrench into a guy who would eat a vegetable, and relish every nibble! One of the most egregious parts of New Super Mario Bros. Wii's new standardized art direction is that Rocky Wrench's original design was just entirely lost. This is, obviously, just Monty Mole wearing goggles! And I like Monty Mole, but when I am in the mood for Monty Mole, I can look at Monty Mole. This is not even a turtle by ANY measure now. It's almost a cruel joke now, having a rodent enemy with "mole" in its name, and redesigning the actually mole-looking enemy to be an identical rodent. Gophers and moles can coexist! We all dig for our own reasons. Isn't that something to celebrate? We would, at least, get a true talpid later in Captain Toad: Treasure Tracker.

But some never gave up hope. Remember this? Have you seen this? It's good. It's Super Mario Odyssey concept art for the Broodals, if they were to use existing enemy species for the characters! Even in the middle of the Rocky Rodent Era, there were people at Nintendo who thought, "let's use the old Rocky Wrench design again". Here, Rango would have been a tall Rench (Rocky + Wrench. I know it doesn't really work. Sorry) wearing a spiky squash for a hat! Not very fashionable, but bold. And certainly easier to wear than a whole manhole cover! Rocky Wrench would continue to be portrayed as a rodent for years, including in Mario Kart Tour, where he even got a Mii costume! Was this all a ploy to become marketable?

But then, something happened.

Last year, we received the trailer for the final wave of the The Mario Kart 8 Deluxe Game For Nintendo Switch Systems' Booster Course Pass DLC Content. And we all noticed something strange. Something different.

Holy moley! The guy in that hole looks moley! Suddenly, to the surprise of everyone, Rocky Wrench was re-redesigned, now resembling the one that I assume people in 1988 fell in love with. I don't know. I wasn't there. But wow! We don't know why they decided to do this, but we're all happy they did! More visual variety in enemies is always better than less! It's especially weird considering the very same track in Tour had the Monty-like design, but I'm not complaining, I'm celebrating!

Looking at Super Mario Party Jamboree, it's clear that, at least for now, Mole-Like Rocky Wrench is here to stay. And hooray for that. Cheers, even. He completely changed his presentation for mass appeal, and now he's going back to being himself, unashamed! Be like Rocky Wrench! Express yourself while simultaneously hiding in a hole.

#rocky wrench #super mario bros 3 #mario #mario enemies #mod chikako

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dreamwatch · 5 months ago

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There Goes My Hero

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest

This was the very first thing I wrote for CCFest back in April!

****

Matt’s not a fighter. He’s not brave.

He spent years skulking around the halls of Hawkins High, desperately trying to make himself smaller, to make himself invisible. Until Eddie came along and told them it was all bullshit anyway. Until Eddie came along, bigger and bolder than everyone else, a huge willow tree for them all to take shelter under.

Fighting to him, to all of them he thinks, is learning to take a slap and then walking it off. Saying ��it’s fine, it doesn’t even hurt’ as you wipe the blood from under your nose. Not biting back when they call you a fat fuck.

Fighting to him is just taking it.

And that’s mortifying, honestly, fucking pathetic, but he just wanted to keep his head down, play his music and DnD, and be left alone.

So he doesn’t know where it came from, so suddenly, although maybe that’s a lie. Like saying it doesn’t hurt when your face stings, and you’re standing in the hallway, humiliated. If he digs deep, really thinks hard about it, then it’s probably years of pent-up anger. Of having his shit stolen from his locker, of seeing his friends getting picked on and not having the guts to do a fucking thing about it other than watch and hope you’re not next. So yeah, blind, impotent rage, right? The kind that makes good people go off in the world and do bad things.

This was his bad thing.

He hopes the other guy is okay, mostly because he doesn’t want to go to jail. He hasn’t seen Eddie since they got brought in to the ER, and he really hopes he’s okay. His face looked a mess.

This was the eighth show on their little midwestern tour. They put it together themselves, all piled into the van, and Jeff’s station wagon (they’d laughed when he bought it, but it was a genius idea in retrospect), and just took off for a few shows over the summer. Nothing big. No real agenda other than to play and get the fuck out of Hawkins.

It would be understating it to say that Hawkins had done a number on Eddie. They still have no idea what happened. Eddie told them he got bit by dogs which just made them angry, honestly, because the stench coming off that bullshit was stifling. What they do know for sure is that he nearly died. That whatever happened left him hollowed out, physically and mentally. That it broke something in their friend, which broke something in them.

Watching Eddie recover was hard. They were all sure the band was over but in some fucked up, twisted, alternate-dimension weirdness, Steve Harrington got Eddie to play again.

Steve.

Harrington.

What the fuck?

And fuck knows what he did, or said, or bribed Eddie with, but it worked. He picked up the guitar again, trading lead for rhythm with Jeff while he built up his strength and coordination, but for all that he was frustrated the light came back on. Eddie was back.

Matt wasn’t letting anyone take him away again.

It only took one show at The Hideout to know they were never going to play there again. Eddie was a curiosity now, something to be gawped at. Someone thought it would be hilarious to throw a cheerleader’s pom pom onto the stage, and it sent Eddie into a spiral. He holed up in the bathroom and wouldn’t let anyone in until Steve showed up and alikazam! the door opens. They were in there for an hour. Eddie was red-eyed and a little dazed afterwards and that was the last night they ever played in Hawkins.

They’re in Des Moines when it happens. The show was great, objectively fucking awesome. There must have been a couple of hundred people in there, and the manager wanted them back, people asked for tapes. It couldn’t have gone any better.

So of course it went to shit.

They’d barely opened the back of the van to load up before some six-foot giant grabbed Eddie by the collar and punched him so hard in the face that blood sprayed from his nose, landing on Gareth beside him. There was a moment of complete silence, where it felt like the world just stopped or his vision had just whited out. And then—

He’s never punched anyone before, is the thing. He didn’t know there were ways you’re supposed to hold your hand, your thumb, and even if he did he’s not sure he would have done it anyway. What he does know, now at least, is that he has a mean fucking right hook. Jeff was trying to push the giant off Eddie, and Gareth was standing there with Eddie’s blood on the side of his face, shocked to shit to be fair to him, so the asshole didn’t get a second to register Matt approaching, hitting him square in the jaw and onto his ass.

And he doesn’t know what happened after that really, just that he was kicking him, boot slamming into the soft side of the man on the floor, over and over until it was Eddie, face like an abattoir floor, that pulled him off.

He mulls it over while he waits for an X-Ray. There’s definitely something broken, he can feel the grinding when he moves his hand and it hurts like a motherfucker. They still had a few shows to go. He ruined the tour with one punch.

Jeff opens the curtain and sits next to him on the bed.

“How’s the hand?”

“Fucked. How’s Eddie’s nose?”

“Fucked.”

They sit in silence, shoulder-to-shoulder, self-declared best friends forever.

“I can’t believe someone recognised him out here,” Jeff mutters, maybe to himself, Matt can’t be sure.

They don’t say it, but they’re both thinking it; Hawkins is going to follow Eddie everwhere. Follow them everywhere. And they can’t keep fighting their way out of things every time it catches up with them.

#corrodedcoffinfest #corroded coffin #corroded coffin fanfiction #eddie munson #Matt (unnamed freak stranger things)#jeff stranger things #steddie #pre steddie #cw violence #cw injury #cw blood #cw fat shaming #cw bullying

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writersblockiskillingme · 11 months ago

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Blood Rain | Katniss Everdeen

Pairing: Katniss Everdeen x fem!reader (District4!reader)

Summary: Your mission in the games was to get the victors who the love of your life wanted to be allies with. You did it, but it is never easy.

Warning/s: angst and fluff, this is really just a little blurb, blood, blood rain, death, madness, weapons, possible grammar and spelling mistakes

Author's note: Send requests for Katniss, Johanna and Cressida, I BEG YOU ALLL!!!

Where the hell is Finnick?!

Your angry thoughts continued to swarm you as you forced your legs to move along towards the beach. The beach. Water. You would quite literally kill for a few drops. All of you would.

Your feet were sticking to the leaves on the ground of the giant jungle due to the blood that covered you completely head to toe. The knifes pressed onto your suit were slightly digging into the skin of your legs as you took bigger steps, trying to get to the water at the Cornucopia as fast as you possibly could.

The biggest mistake you could have ever made was separating at the beginning of the games and now you had to suffer the consequences. Not that you had any choice, really.

When your platform raised up, putting you in the place from your nightmares you were standing quite far away from Finnick. The flash of the bright rays of sunshine were blinding you for a while and before you knew it you had to jump off of the pedastil. However you faced a major problem once you got in the middle of the water. You were rounding up Beetee, Wiress, Blight and Johanna who weren't able to swim. But once you did round them up you were attacked by Enobaria and Brutus. You couldn't fight them on your own as you tried to help your allies. You had no choice, you had to leave the idea of joining Katniss, Peeta and Finnick like you planned to. You had to run for the shore and loose yourselves in the vines and thick threes.

And that's how you ended up alone with Wiress, Beetee, Blight and Jo for a few days. You were severely dehydrated already so you were very happy once you heard something light hitting the leaves of the trees all around you. Only one thing could make those sounds. Raindrops. Now you could only imagine the shock planted onto your face once you realized that the things that were coming down onto you and your allies was not rain. Well, not rain made out of water. It was blood. It was burning you and was covering you too quickly.

This torture lasted for what felt like ages, but once it finally came to the stop you still didn't get out of the forest immediately.

As you ran ahead of the rest of the group, trying to escape the nightmares held within the forest, the living nightmares that tried to get you, the only thing on your mind was the safety of your lover. Katniss. God, you hoped that she was alive.

You didn't see her since the night before the games. You were lying with her in her bed, bringing her comport after yet another life inducing nightmare with which you were a little too familiar with. You met during your Victor's Tour the year that you won, but you became inseparable the moment she volunteered for the games to save poor Prim.

She was your everything. If you lost her you were sure that you wouldn't be able to pull through. So the moment Finnick and you heard about the rebellion you didn't waste a second, you joined immediately. You immediately accepted to join the plan of keeping the mockingjay safe. To get her out.

The moment you stepped out of the forest, yelling for your allies you heard the voice that belonged to an angel shout your name. It was the voice of your angel.

You tuned around as Katniss practically jumped on you, hugging you so tightly that you felt like you couldn't breathe. But it didn't bother you at all. The thought of her was one of the only thing that kept you going for a very long time now. You wrapped your arms around her quickly, afraid that she would disappear.

"What happened, Y/N?" Finnick's concerned voice brought you to reality, you had to separate from Katniss so you moved yourself away so you could look at Finnick but you never moved your hand that felt right into Katniss' away.

"It was horrible," You admitted, sighing a bit. "Jo, Blight, Beetee, Wiress and I rounded up at the beginning, but then Enobaria attacked us by the Cornucopia."

The rest of your allies that came from the forest weren't far away from you. Johanna was right on the other side of you, sticking her axe into the sand on the beach as she desperately tried to catch her breath. Beetee was leaned over, still in pain from the knife that he received in the back. Wiress was walking in the circle around you constantly repeating "Tick-Tock" over and over again. All of them were covered in blood just like you were.

The sight alone brought an uneasy feeling in Katniss. She looked at you once again, clear signs of dehydration were there along with the heavy breathing as you still tried to get the air into your lungs and the fact that you looked like you bathed in blood was enough for her to gripp your hand tighter in hers.

"We had no choice but to run for the forest," You continued your story, Finnick's pair of sea green eyes mirroring your own, a reminder of where you come from, watched you intensely as you spoke. "We stayed there up until now."

"What then?"

"Tick-Tock."

"We heard the rain coming down, but it wasn't rain." You ran your free hand through your hair as you let out a sigh.

"It turned out it was blood. So much blood. It was falling on us, choking us. We were stumbling around trying to get here gagging on it blind. But then Blight hit the force field..." You looked down, grief swallowing you at the reminder of Johanna's face at that moment. "And now he's gone..."

"Tick-Tock."

"What's going on with her?" Peeta asked, looking at Wiress.

"She's in shock," Beetee said as he removed his glasses, wiping his face while he tried to get rid of the blood that covered him. "The dehydration isn't helping. Do you have fresh water?"

"We can get some." Katniss' soft voice next to you spoke and you turned to her again, your eyes full of love.

"How about you go wash up?" Finnick smirked at you, obviously catching the look that you send Katniss. You just glared at your district partner, but you listened and started to walk towards the water, pulling Katniss along with you.

You're not letting her out of your sight again.

As you washed the blood off of yourself, your hair, suit, knives and everything you talked to Katniss. You felt like you could listen to her forever. And at the moment when you dove into the water completely to get the rest of the blood to go away Katniss followed the suit. You never took your eyes off of her as you watched her place her hands on your face, giving you warm smile, the smile that was only reserved for the ones she loved the most, before she pulled you in, locking your lips with hers. Away from the cameras for a few short moments.

From that moment on you swore to yourself that you would follow her anywhere.

TAGLIST:

@caroline-books @thecrowdedstreetin1944

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moronkombat · 1 year ago

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Hello uhm PLEAAAAAASE ANY HEADCANONS FOR KENSHI?? Like okay how about reader is part of Liu Kangs recruits and they fall for each other or sum😭 Can you make reader a lil shy and blushy around him as well🫣 I'M GONNA KISS YOU IF YOU DO IT...

Liu Kang had already brought you to Wu Shi by the time he brings Kenshi there

You meet him out in the training yards. You notice his unfamiliar face rather quickly and not only is his face unknown to you but it is also fetching

You don't catch yourself staring but Kenshi does and he approaches you first

It's embarrassing to be caught especially when he points it out by saying "Couldn't help but notice you staring in my direction. Thought I might come introduce myself"

You're at a loss for words and the heat in your cheeks rises faster than you can stop it. You squeak out some small introduction and through all your mutters, Kenshi is patient

He smiles to you then and ask for you to give him tour around. You can only accept through a shy nod

During the tour, Kenshi is the more talkative of you too. You're often stealing glances and he always catches you making your already flushed cheeks scalding

He doesn't seem to mind though, in fact, he finds it rather endearing.

When he plucks a simple flower from a tree and places it right behind your ear, you shy within yourself and try to stammer out a thank you but you don't need to. Kenshi says "You're welcome" and that he "hopes to go on a walk like this again"

You're left blushing and blinking but smiling

There are many more outings like it and when it's finally time to leave for Outworld, Kenshi is at your side

He takes your hand, sensing your nerves, and gives it a light squeeze. "You'll do fine." Is all he has to say before you find yourself blushing yet again. But don't worry though, Kenshi likes this. He likes how it's him you blush and shy away for

The others are not blind to the little dance you and Kenshi have going on and both of you are teased for it. Kenshi is teased the worst though. By who? Of course Johnny

Kung Lao is more likely to tease you subtly. Nudging you when Kenshi is going by or urging you to go sit by him when there's an empty chair. It makes you incredibly flustered and, often times, Kenshi comes to get you away from Kung Lao's teasing

Johnny teases Kenshi much more overtly asking him "Why don't you just ask her out already, man? She clearly digs you."

Kenshi rebuffs him and yet he knows Johnny is right but never seems like the right time and besides after this is all said and done, won't you return to your life and he to his?

The feelings between you too go unspoken for awhile and you two are separated when Kenshi joins the others to track down Shang Tsung. You want to come along but Kenshi convinces you to stay.

You aren't there went Kenshi's eyes are pierced by blades and Kenshi is thankful for that. He doesn't want you to see him like this and when he thinks he is about to die, this thoughts are of you and how he never told you how much he admires you

When you see him for the first time after he lost his sight, you cry. You're nearly inconsolable and Kenshi can only watch. He doesn't have the option to cry and he doesn't know what to say so instead he just holds you while you hold him

After some time and silence that's when he tells you how he feels. You don't need to tell him, though, he knows how you feel and has for awhile. This embarrasses you but you aren't surprised

Once all feelings are laid out, you never leave his side and he doesn't mind this.

If you thought your shy demeanor and blushing cheeks would dissipate, think again. Kenshi is always good at bringing those moments out of you. You're beginning to think he likes when you get so flustered. He does but he denies it teasingly.

Neither of you can focus on the future right now but you are both certain that whatever future is out there, you will tackle it together.

thankies for asking about Kenshi!!

#mk1 2023 #mortal kombat #mk1 #mortal kombat fanworks #mortal kombat headcanons #mortal kombat x reader #kenshi takahashi #kenshi x reader

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spiritsafaris · 2 years ago

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Cameron Corner Country Innamincka Dig Tree Coongie Lakes 4WD Tour

Cameron Corner Country Innamincka Dig Tree Coongie Lakes 4WD Tour – NSW / QLD / SA Corner – 5 Day Corner Country from Broken Hill return to Broken Hill via Tibooburra, Milparinka, Moomba, Innaminka, Coongie Lakes Dig Tree, Cameron Corner – Explore in the footsteps of Burke & Wills (visit the Dig Tree) this remote and fascinating area around the junction of the NSW, QLD & SA borders. 5 days from…

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#lovensw #outbackNSW #cameron corner country #Cameron Corner Country Innamincka Dig Tree Coongie Lakes 4WD Tour #coongie lakes tour #dig tree tour #innamincka

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joelswritingmistress · 11 months ago

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You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 13

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible.

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader

I was exhausted and exhilarated and it wasn’t even noon. A part of me was still wondering if I would wake up and this would all be a dream.

“I know you probably did your own exploring while I was gone,” he said with playful accusation, raising his eyebrows with a smirk once we were back to the main level and fully clothed. “But if you’d like a tour, I can show you around.”

My stomach sank just a bit. I shook my head. “I wasn’t snooping.”

“It’s okay,” Dr. Miller chuckled lightly, “I told you to make yourself at home.” He looked me directly in my eyes, “How far did you get?”

“Oh, uh..” There was no way I was about to lie to him. He would have known. I could tell he was in that human lie detector mode again, feeling me out, seeing if he could actually trust me. “I saw the pool table from the kitchen so I went in there and I couldn’t help but check out your library. I actually picked up a book and I hope I placed it back in the right spot.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He cleared his throat and led me by the hand again. “There’s another pool out back.” Dr. Miller walked us toward a set of French doors that opened up from the kitchen out back, where a light snow had begun to fall, covering a dark green pool cover.

I glanced around the area, eying what appeared to be an outdoor kitchen and bar and a little pool house to the right and left, respectfully. A black fence surrounded the area and beyond a grassy backyard behind the pool area were a collection of bare trees. In the distance I could tell there was a drop off, lined with oversized boulders and rocks.

We crossed into another living room space that appeared more casual than the one where I had made out with Dr. Miller on the couch the night before. This room had an oversized sectional couch that oozed with comfort. In the center was a giant, square coffee table with a rustic, wooden top and above it hung what appeared to be a chandelier made from deer antlers. The peaked ceiling was a pale wood, giving it a cabinesque feel with dark, wooden beams that crossed from wall to wall beneath. On either side of the triangular peak were two rectangle sky lights giving view to the overcast, snowy morning. A third, stone fireplace sat at the far end with what appeared to be a buffalo’s head mounted on the wall.

Dr. Miller placed his hands on my shoulders from behind and I swallowed hard. We both stared out a pair of windows to the left and right of the fireplace that gave a view of the snowfall. I shuddered when I felt his fingers dig into the muscles of my neck and he began to massage the area.

“This is beautiful,” I spoke, taking in the brightly lit surroundings that were offset by the first snow fall of the winter.

Dr. Miller’s phone made a subtle beeping noise, three consecutive beeps to be exact, and he suddenly froze and reached into the pocket of his pants.

I could tell from the look on his face that something was up. His fingers danced along the screen for a few seconds and then he looked back up to me.

“What’s wrong?” I could see that his expression had changed.

He reached for the remote that sat on an end table beside the short end of the sectional. “Get comfortable.” Dr. Miller reached for a cozy, plaid blanket on the back of the couch and walked me around to sit down.

I raised my eyebrows , “Okay. Are you going somewhere?” I sensed that would be his next revelation and already felt disappointed. I didn’t want to be away from him. I knew that was selfish, childish even; but I didn’t care. My face might as well have gone into a full pout.

“Just for a few minutes,” Dr. Miller explained.

“Okay.” I cleared my throat and couldn’t help but pry. “What was the notification? A text?”

He shook his head. “No.”

There wasn’t another woman, right? I immediately felt jealous and it was as if he could read my mind.

“It wasn't a message from anyone,” Dr. Miller explained. He sighed and squatted before me where I sat on the couch, placing a hand on my ankle. “I have to go take care of something.”

His phone jingled again and he kept it planted face down against his thigh. My curiosity piqued even more. I felt like word vomit was about to come out of my mouth and it would leave all of my inner insecurities completely transparent.

“Does it have to do with another.. umm.. someone else? Another woman?” I stuttered the words out but I had to know. I hated myself for asking.

Dr. Miller smiled and then walked his hands up the couch cushions and planted a steamy kiss on my lips. He then pecked them chastely and remained close as he spoke.

“There are no other women.”

I swallowed hard and let out a sigh against his lips.

“And I'm going to have to demand there are no other men in your life as long as you're with me.”

My eyes snapped open and I stared back at him. He held a little smirk but his voice hardened just a bite as he spoke the words. I smiled back.

“There are no other men.”

“Good,” Dr. Miller spoke against my lips now. “As of right now, you're all mine until further notice.”

I smiled again and closed my eyes as he kissed me again, resting a hand on his bearded cheek.

“But I do have to go take care of something. It won't take long.”

“Okay,” I said. I still wanted to dig deeper into whatever business he had to tend to but I didn't. For now, I could live with whatever was going on as long as it didn't involve someone else.

Dr. Miller pushed the power button on the remote and handed it to me. “Don't go anywhere.” He winked and wandered away, making me grin.

I listened for a moment as I heard the jingle of keys and then the opening and closing of the front door. A second later I heard a robotic voice sound off stating: House alarm on.

Being alone in the oversized living room felt odd because of the unfamiliarity of it all, but I couldn't deny that I was perfectly content beneath the warm blanket as I sunk into the cushions a little deeper, laying my head back.

I can get used to this, I thought.

I began to scroll through the stations, landing on the local news and weather to get in touch with how much snow was to be expected. I knew I should have been more in tune with that sort of thing.

The five day forecast was plastered across the screen as a voice narrated from behind the camera.

“We're anticipating two to three inches of snowfall, though by rush hour the precipitation is expected to stop. If you don't have to be on the roads before five o'clock, stay home. If you are out and about, drive slow.”

I glanced out the window at the big, chunky flakes that left the ground almost completely covered. I didn't know where Dr. Miller was off to but I hoped he wasn't going far.

“And onto our next story, two local women have been found dead on the campus of Woodbridge University. One of them was a student there, and no suspects are currently in police custody. Police are urging residents to travel in groups whenever possible, and while no town-wide curfew has been set, it is crucial for students on campus to abide by the curfew set by the Woodbridge University Police.” A woman spoke directly into the camera with one of the main stone buildings on campus in the background.

“It's really scary,” a young woman spoke into a microphone. She sported a winter hat with a blue W in the center. “You just can't be too careful. We have to look out for each other.”

“I can't believe this is happening here,” another student commented.

I shook my head and shuddered, suddenly worried for Tori. It had only been one night but she was at the house alone and the news triggered a reason to reach out to her.

My eyes searched the immediate area but I quickly realized my phone was still on a charger in the bedroom. For the first time in my adult life, I hadn't even thought about my phone for hours on end.

I tossed the blanket to the side and crossed back through the house and up the windy staircase. I had the urge to open the two closed doors as I passed by but I didn't dare.

The phone sat where I had left it on the nightstand, plugged in and fully charged. I began thumbing the screen, finding our last messages from earlier in the morning.

Hey, I wrote, Just checking in because of everything that's happening with the girls in town. Please be safe! I won't be home for a few days.

I slipped the phone into the pocket of my lounge pants and smiled to myself as I glanced upon the tossed about sheets on the oversized bed. I still hadn't had time to process everything.

With a sigh I left the room and peaked in through the open office door. I could picture Dr. Miller sitting there with his glasses and a stack of papers, licking his fingers as he flipped from paper to paper.

In the back corner of the room there were a collection of small screens, each with a black and white image.

Cameras. I knew it.

I looked over my shoulder before wandering across the carpeted floor. All of the images were broadcasting the exterior of the home from every angle possible. The two interior cameras gave a few of the collection of cars inside the garage.

At least they aren't inside. Still, I didn't rule out that he might have one or two hiding out somewhere.

The view of the main gates showed what appeared to be an idling black SUV. I couldn't tell if it was him at first but Dr. Miller stood beside it, speaking with whoever was in the driver’s seat.

Who could that be? I wondered. An arm extended out the window and extended a white package of some sort to Dr. Miller, who accepted it and tucked it into the back of his pants.

An envelope. That's what it was.

I shuddered and hurried back downstairs, not at all knowing what to make of the exchange.

Secrets. I knew Dr. Miller had secrets but what were his? Fear definitely made its way into the depths of my heart and soul, but all of my other emotions teamed up and continued to push the fear down so deep that I barely felt it.

I was captivated. Enthralled. Infatuated. I was oversexed with desire and blinded by all of my feelings for him. Fear, currently, didn't hold any weight. Recognizing that in itself was scary - but I wasn't in the mood for logic, not when this amazing dark fairytale was explicitly in my lap.

With my adrenaline spiked and my longing for Dr. Miller’s return in full effect, I tiptoed my way back downstairs, tucked myself neatly beneath the blanket and waited for him patiently. Like a good girl would do.

CLICK HERE FOR NEXT CHAPTER

@untamedheart81 @suttonspuds@cesspitoflove @michilandcof @grogusmum @morallyinept @akah565 @brittmb115 @magpiepills @poodlebae @gobaaby-blog-blog @mermaidgirl30 @mandijo17

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annesthaeticc · 10 months ago

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lovers rock | sherlock x fem!reader

| Sherlock Holmes x Fem!Reader

| one shot , song fic

| 961 words

| 'because love can burn like a cigarette, and leave you alone with nothing...' What Sherlock and Y/N had was beautiful, but it crashed and burned.

A/N okay bear with me it's short, but hey it's something, right? testing the waters asi hopefully hopefully come back into writing. let me know what you think!

————————————————————————————————

“Such a small world,” you quietly said and watched as the air escaped your lungs, echoing your words. The party inside was loud, but not loud enough for the silence outside was piercing yet calming. And so, he heard you. Slowly, he turned to see who spoke and found your silhouette, your shape outlined amongst the trees and the pillars.

Slowly, he walked towards you. Yet another mistake he was about to make. For all the choices he made that involved you, it led to one.

One. Big. Mistake.

Sherlock heard his heart thudding. Crashing and breaking in every step he made towards you. You sat there frozen, your eyes unblinking, or at least trying not to blink for you feared that if you do so, he might disappear.

Just like he did back then.

Sherlock sometimes wished he never pursued you, but here he was, about to do the very same thing. He never learned.

“Indeed it is.” he replied, his very perfect presence now crowding over you. His shadow embraced you and your eyes finally blinked only to find he was still there, standing in front of you.

He was taller. His face is more defined. His curls, curled to perfection. His perfume was the same, or is it? His lips fuller, more inviting than ever.

Sherlock noticed this, and cannot help himself but do the very same. You were perfect in every shape and form, as the day he met you. He committed crimes before, but his favorite might be the one he is about to make; to kiss you.

Silence passed by the small distance between you and him and it was almost deafening. You were waiting for him to say something. Something along the lines of “I’m sorry I left you…” And he was doing just the same, waiting for the words like “I’m sorry I couldn't wait for you…”

“Best man leaving early?” you finally said, shyly asking. He nodded and looked away.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, cutting you off before you could even say anything.

“I was invited, well not just me really, Ian and I were…” your voice trailed off as your husband's name left your lips. Again, he nodded.

Ah yes, Ian. Sherlock knew more than you. He is decent enough, this Sherlock could guarantee. But not decent enough to leave you on your own for days, even weeks or months on end while he was traveling the world on some sort of opera tour. Sherlock didn't care enough to dig for more details.

All he knew was deep seated anger and sadness.

And this resonated through the walls of the second floor of 221B Baker Street for months. Your wedding invitation sent for him lay hopeless on his desk, waiting to be written on to confirm his invitation. He was about to decline after finally making a decision that went on for weeks, only to find out it was pointless to respond because your wedding was already done.

And so, he threw the invitation in the fire. He watched as the intricate paper got swallowed by the flames, melting into ashes, into nothing. He was mesmerized by it. How something could be nothing because of the burning flames.

He was shaken from his thoughts when he saw your hand, holding a packet of cigarettes. You were offering him one and Sherlock accepted. You sat down again on the bench and he followed, allowing a few inches between you.

Quietly, the two of you smoked. Avoiding glancing or talking. You were caught up in a trance and were shaken out of it when you felt movement. Sherlock stood up and stepped on the cigarette. His shoe dug into the grass as the last of the embers glowed.

“Going somewhere?” you asked.

“Home.” he replied, his voice deep.

“I could drive you.” you offered.

“No thank you. I’ll catch a cab.” he replied, slowly walking away.

“Sherlock, wait, please—” you caught up with him and offered to drive him once more. He declined and you almost gave up.

His figure faded into the darkness when you cried out, “Sherlock, I'm sorry.”

Tears flooded your eyes and you couldn't help. It fell from your eyes, flowing down your face. Everything was blurry and you felt your hands shaking from the nicotine and from the adrenaline of your apology.

“It's been 12 years, Y/N,” he replied. “Why are you saying sorry now?”

“Because…”

“You will not tempt me to play one of your games, Y/N. Not this time. Not ever again.”

“Sherlock, please,”

“I'm sorry? Is that all you could think? You left me, Y/N,” he cried. And now you see his face. Anger, despair, and longing painted his face,

“You left me first!” you accused him. He really did.

“And yet you couldn't wait for me, couldn't you? All the promises I made—”

“Were gone as soon as you disappeared, Sherlock.”

“Oh ye of little faith!” he said, his voice booming.

“Sherlock,” you breathlessly begged. “I'm sorry.”

Sherlock heard you, and saw your eyes. He hated you for marrying someone else, but what he hated most is seeing you cry. He pulled out his handkerchief from his jacket pocket and dabbed your face, wiping away the tears. He pulled you into his embrace, just like he did back then. When your cries died down, he pulled away then planted a kiss on your temple.

“We would never work out. You're happier with him.” Sherlock said.

“I realized that what he had, was all that it was. Nothing more, nothing less. We burned too fast until we became nothing, Y/N.” he continued.

“I loved you,” you whispered.

“And I did too. So much.” he said, his voice breaking.

————— • ————— • ————— • ————— • ————— • ——

TAGLIST:

@migurin @damiensoda @inas-thing @peachywoong @ruevz @sammiisnthere @srapalestina @winchestersgirl222 @taramaria @alexag-barnes @sleutherclaw @will0wfairy @vexedvalerie @lovecleastrange @evelynrosestuff @azu21 @getlostsquidward @bubu890 @strangefilms @ice-ksk @my-beel @doctorswitch @tuitiononlivings @windchaser1990 @swds @andrewgarfieldsloml @spencerreidslittleslut @sherlockstrangewolf @littlebadariell @whosgwyneth @cumberbitch @lostfleurs @strangeobsessed @slvtforstr4nge @jyessaminereads @dancerpanda04 @stephenstrangeaddictions @starryeddie @cemak @valoa3s @paola-carter @runningnannie @siredlust @stupidthoughtsinwriting

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roosterbruiser · 1 year ago

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𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 — 𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎

—𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐇-𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐍-𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍. —𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 𝟏𝟑.𝟗𝐊 —𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 —𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄, 𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐓. 𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄'𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐋 𝟏𝟓𝐓𝐇, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟖

The gurney breaches doorways, breaks crowds of baby blue scrubs. The wheels scream, unoiled and abused. Everyone is talking--terms you usually can synthesize but cannot now. You stare at the ceiling tiles, desperately trying to keep your heavy lids open.

You’re not in immeasurable pain now, but you would be without the needle in your spine. Maybe you’re going to be on the table and the monster you’ve been incubating is going to break through your skin and then a fire is going to eat the both of you--unless, of course, you bleed out first.

Maybe this is the end. Maybe this is what your summer has been coming to all along.

This is it. What a silly thought that is. What gives?

With the world flying by you from up above in shades of white and crisp blue, you wonder what this was all for. All this pain, all this torture, all this fever. What good did it do anybody?

Flames over flesh.

It’s the last thing you think before your eyes close and you sink into a meperidine haze.

♀

The sun is warm on your cheeks and shoulders as you step out of the passenger side of Maverick’s Jeep, the worn straps of your duffle digging into the bare skin of your shoulder. Your flimsy sandals--you should’ve known better than to wear sandals--sink into the gravel and gray dust kicks up your shins.

Inhaling deeply, you’re almost startled at how clean the air smells. Nothing like the choking scent of leather and gasoline in Maverick’s Jeep--it was making your eyes damn near water on the ride up. But here it is fresh and purified by pine and oak and crabgrass.

“Got anything in the back?” Maverick asks you, already headed towards the trunk with his shades intact and his jet-black hair wind-kissed from your ride with the top down. You shake your head. “Just the duffel then, huh? Light packer! I like that in a woman! Would you so mind helping me grab some of the supplies from the back?”

“Sure thing,” you tell him, setting your bag on the gravel and following him to the back of the Jeep.

He’s grinning as the two of you begin unloading.

“I love it here,” he tells you with a content sigh. He glances around the property, notes where a screen needs to be repaired and a hinge reattached and paint touched up, and glances at you. You’re diligently unloading jugs of water and big boxes of raisins with your brow knit. There’s a faint smile tugging on your lips, a heat about your face and chest that gives you a sheen of excitement. “You’re going to love it here, you know. What do you think so far, nurse?”

Face warm from his nickname for you, which feels like a pretty high compliment for a prospective nursing student, you smile very politely.

“Well, it's sure…picturesque. If that isn’t too corny,” you tell him, quickly glancing at the trees scraping the endless blue sky. “Quiet, too.”

“Just wait until the rugrats get here. You won’t even remember what the word quiet means. It’s completely fantastic,” Maverick tells you, wiping his hands on his khaki-colored shorts. He slams the trunk of the Jeep shut. “I’ll give you the walking-talking tour if you carry that jug aaand those boxes for me.”

Trailing behind him, arms full of water and pantry goods, you’re only half-listening to him. Your heart is beating steadily in your throat, arms already aching.

“--officially opened the doors with Pen about two or three years ago--oh, that’s my wife, by the way. Penny, Pen, P. You’ll probably meet her sometime this summer, I’d guess! Anyway, it was the year our daughter, Mel, started school. Didn’t have anything to do, so we thought--why not?” Maverick says. He stops suddenly and props a heavy wooden box on his thigh so he can wipe the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. He glances at you and notes you taking it all in still. He smiles. “Pen used to go here as a little girl. Some of her favorite memories of her childhood are--well, right here. She’s always passing the camp folklore down to the masses. Don’t believe a word Jake says, alright? He’s gullible and he embellishes.”

You imagine writing it down on a sticky note and plastering it to the inside of your skull: don’t trust Jake--he’s a storyteller.

“Has it always been open to the public? Camp, I mean.” You ask. “Heck, I’d never heard of it until this summer.”

Maverick shakes his head.

“So much for advertising, right? Guess word-of-mouth isn’t the best way to spread the good news about camp,” he laughs. “It’s got kind of a funky history. Opened first in 1945 after the war and stayed open until--huh, I think about…’57 or ‘59? And then it was closed until Penny and I opened it up again in ‘80.”

“Wow,” you say softly. “Was it in rough shape?”

“Everything but the camp sign,” Maverick says, nodding towards the large arched sign at the mouth of camp. It is a heavy and thick thing made of wood--hand painted in clear, concise letters. “That's why we kept the name.”

“Camp Arcadia,” you say aloud. “It’s got a nice little ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“It definitely could’ve been worse,” Maverick agrees, laughing. “Like Camp Crystal Lake.”

“Don’t remind me,” you say, laughing softly. “I’m trying to forget about that film’s existence.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Maverick says. “Do you know what Arcadia means?”

“Uh,” you say, thinking. Heat has sprouted in your chest from the exertion of carrying such heavy items. “I don’t think I do.”

“Get this,” Maverick starts, grinning. “A place of simple pleasure and quiet.”

“Well, then. It sure lives up to its name!”

“That’s what Penny says,” Maverick sighs. “But she usually stays away during the talent show.”

“There’s a talent show?” You ask, grinning. Maverick nods. “How sweet. Must get all the kiddos excited.”

“Oh, boy--does it ever.” Maverick glances at you, but then stops again. You’re both panting when you dig your heels into the gravel and halt. He nods to your strained arms. “That too heavy? You alright?”

Really, you’re struggling to carry all the items in your arms. But dammit if you’ll so much as let your bottom lip quiver.

“Nah, I’m good!” You say, panting. “I’m great, actually.”

Maverick has already decided he likes you. But he especially likes you when you’re lying to save face. It reminds him of himself.

“From your lips to God’s ear,” he says with a wink.

Maverick takes you through the courtyard and into the mess hall, where he tells you to just throw the items anywhere. And you quite literally hardly make it through the door before your knees are buckling and you’re setting everything down with complete haste.

“That’s quite a hike,” you pant to Maverick, slightly embarrassed as you fan yourself. “You didn’t give me a fair warning.”

“Would you have come?” He asks, all charm and charisma as he wipes his balmy hands on the thighs of his jeans.

“Touché,” you breathe.

“Thanks a million, by the way,” Maverick tells you, plucking his sunglasses off and hooking them to his linen button-down before he grins at you again. “How you feeling? Nervous? Scared? Excited?”

Maverick moves about a million miles a minute--he’s a fast talker and an even faster driver. As you catch your breath and chew on your answer, you begin to feel like you have a crick in your neck and a Hell of a summer ahead of you.

But you just smile at him.

“I’m feelin’ dandy,” you answer him. You glance around the cavernous mess hall, which has been freshly mopped--diluted bleach stings your nostrils, coats the roof of your mouth. “Where is everyone?”

He points at you, eyebrows coming together.

“Good question,” he sighs. “Let’s go find ‘em, huh?”

You don’t have to go far to find everyone. Just as soon as the two of you are out the door and in the heat again, you hear splashing and hollering. Turning your face towards the water--a beautiful, blue lake that stretches from one side of the tree-lined horizon to the other--you see them all.

“There they are,” Maverick grins, hands on his hips. “Guess they needed to cool off.”

“What were they doing before?” You ask, brow furrowed. You wring your hands together as you scan the water--a handful of men, all brawny and tan and long hair and sex, and one petite brunette--swallowing hard. “Like, you know. What got them so hot?”

“Orgies tend to get a tad steamy,” a voice says from behind you, a teasing lilt sinking into the notes. “But so does repainting the latrine.”

“Ah,” Maverick says, grinning at the man that has suddenly materialized behind you. Maverick throws an arm over his shoulders and doesn’t seem to mind how much he is dwarfed by this man. He slaps the man’s bare chest a few friendly times. “My favorite nephew.”

“Don’t worry,” the man says, eyes wide. He holds his hands up to you like you’re an upset animal he’s cornered and he’s trying to get back on your good side. “Not related biologically.”

“Why would she worry about that?” Maverick asks him, already fighting an eye roll.

“‘Cause I don’t want her thinking my genes are tainted or anything,” the man answers with a boyish grin. “In fact, I don’t want anyone thinking that!”

“Tainted? You mean blessed,” Maverick says, letting his eyes finally roll. He glances at you, still smiling. “Nurse--this is Rooster. Rooster, this is nurse.”

Rooster’s sopping wet, only wearing a small pair of swim trunks, and his curls are dripping lakewater down his back. His hair is dark gold, curly, and long enough to sit just below his shoulders. And his chest glistens in the sun, wide and hard from manual labor.

And you--you look way too young to be the new nurse here. The last nurse was closing in on her seventies and always had a butterscotch candy tucked inside her cheek. You aren’t in uniform--camp or otherwise--and he wonders if you’re the new counselor he heard about last week. A last-minute hire, someone Maverick was going to bring in personally.

“You’re the new camp nurse?” He asks, brows furrowed. He looks you up and down, sizes you up. He’s wondering how old you are to already be a nurse--you can practically see the question on his tongue.

You hold your hip with one hand and shade your eyes from the sun with the other.

“You’re named after a farm animal and you’re worried about him tainting your genes?”

Maverick laughs--a deep and proud belly laugh--before clapping Rooster on the shoulder.

“Ouch,” Rooster says, mocking offense. He can’t wipe the grin off his lips. “That cut deep, little mama.”

“Great. A regular Elvis Presley,” you say. “Just what I needed.”

“Hey, I take offense to that,” Rooster says as lake water rolls off his tanned shoulders and down his arms. You’re trying not to stare, nose twitching with concentration. “I’m much more of a Jerry Lee Lewis type! It’s undeniable!”

“Cry about it,” you say.

Smiling yourself, you bring your index finger to your eye and drag it down your face--mocking the rolling of a tear.

Rooster laughs--a laugh that you can feel in the soles of your feet like it’s coming from deep inside of the earth, like it was born there just to die in the foundation of your body.

“Only if you’re there to make it all better,” Rooster says.

It feels like a challenge.

You’re just about to lip something back when Maverick glances at his watch and cringes. Amelia has a ballet recital later and he doesn’t even want to think about what Penny will say if he’s more than five minutes late.

He claps to draw both of your gazes to him.

“Here’s an idea. Why don’t you two get acquainted while I get some work done, huh? I’m in a crunch here. Give her a tour, Rooster! Introduce her to the flock! Finish that latrine!” Maverick lists as he starts for the Jeep again. He stops and turns quickly, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. You wonder, momentarily, if he’s made of plastic. “And play nice, kids!”

You and Rooster look at each other for a long moment, each of you biting smiles, taking each other in as Maverick jogs back towards the Jeep with all the haste and grace of a prancing deer.

“Who’re they?” You ask, nodding towards the water.

He crosses his arms, stepping closer to you.

“The others,” he says.

“The others?” You mock. “Ominous.”

“Coyote, Hangman, Fanboy, Payback, and Phoenix,” he answers.

“Which one’s the girl?” You inquire, brows pinched.

He grins at you. His lips are pink with enjoyment.

“Guess,” he simply says.

“I’ll go out on a limb here and say it isn’t Fanboy or Hangman,” you answer. He nods, amused. “Payback?” You ask.

“Other P,” he says, impressed and delighted.

“Damn,” you answer, tutting. “Phoenix, then.”

“Bingo,” he tells you.

“Nurse is a nickname,” you say finally, pressing your toe into the gravel.

“So is Rooster,” he says, nodding. “Thank God.”

His Adam’s apple bobs. Something between your leg twitches--you want to know what that bobbing would feel like below your open mouth.

Swallowing hard, you nod.

“I know,” you say. “I was only kidding before.”

“Yeah, me too,” Rooster says. “‘Cause no way you’re old enough to be a nurse.”

“I’m not,” you say, crossing your arms. “But I’m old enough to be a counselor.”

“Righteous,” Rooster says. He thinks for a moment and then slowly says your name, unraveling it from his memory like a fragile thread. “Right? Did I say it right?”

“Yeah,” you answer. Your name coming off his tongue sounds ultra-casual and cool, like it’s just been said on the radio or over the loudspeaker on a beach. “But I’m gonna go out on a limb here and deduce that everyone here gets a nickname.”

“Are you studious or just one of those people?” He asks, pushing his wet hair back.

You grin at him and warmth blossoms in his chest. You’ve got a pretty smile--especially this one that eats your whole face and scrunches your eyes. This one, the one he’s staring at, is harder to earn than the docile smile you wore on your way in.

“Just one of those people?” You ask, eyebrow cocked. “Do tell me what kind of people you’re talking about.”

“Well,” he says, stretching. “The kind of people that know everything.”

“Ah,” you say, nodding. “A know-it-all, in other words.”

“Hey, I never said that,” Rooster says, laughing. “You’re already putting words in my mouth!”

Shrugging, you sigh.

“Yeah, well--I already knew what you meant! Apparently.”

He licks his lips.

“So, you are one of those people then, huh?” He asks, his brow cocked identically. You blink at him, opening your mouth, when he suddenly stops you. “Wait a minute--don’t tell me. I wanna figure it out myself.”

You nod, pretending to zip your lips.

“Game on,” you tell him. “You’ll report your findings by Labor Day, right?”

“Right-o, captain!” He grins, saluting.

Cringing, you sigh through your clenched jaw.

“I’m hoping that one doesn’t stick,” you tell him.

You imagine everyone having to call you--the newest counselor--Captain. Yuck and a half.

Rooster imagines it, too, and laughs again. Hangman would get a real kick out of that.

“Consider it forgotten. Here, lemme get changed and I can finish the tour.”

He starts for his cabin, nodding for you to follow, and you do. You don’t even know that you’re doing it--your feet are just picking themselves up and dropping themselves down on the gravel a few inches further from where they started.

“Where’re you from?” You ask him, just to fill all the air around the two of you.

He grins down at you.

“Everywhere,” he says.

Smiling, warm from the sun, you nod.

“Military brat or on the lamb?” You ask. “Wait--don’t tell me. I wanna figure it out for myself!”

He’s laughing again--that booming laugh that is like your own private earthquake.

“The former,” Rooster says, laughing. “How about you?”

“Here,” you answer, pointing to the ground.

“Weird,” Rooster teases. “I’d think I’d have seen you before now since you’re local.”

He opens the door to his cabin--cool air rushes out, kisses your cheeks. The air smells thicker in there--like mint and pine and vetiver. It’s an undeniable boyish smell, one that you can’t seem to get yourself to mind inhaling.

Stepping over the threshold, you find yourself inside of his cabin for the first time. Everything is happening so fast--first you’re being whipped through the thick wilderness in a speedy Jeep, then you’re unloading non-perishable items with Maverick, and now you’re in Rooster’s cabin with him and he’s shirtless and flirting with you mercilessly.

“I’m from just outside of Portland,” you answer distantly, glancing around at the bottles of half-empty colognes and random nail clippers and bandanas strewn about. “So, pretty much here.”

“Ah,” Rooster answers. “A Maine native. What are y’all called again?”

“Mainers,” you answer. “You might be onto something with Maitive, though.”

He grabs a towel that’s been drying on the back of a chair and begins to pat himself dry of the fat water droplets. He’s watching you look around the cabin, all your features seeped in delicate curiosity and a quiet sort of pleasure. He’s suddenly hyper aware of his unmade bed and mustache trimmings and unpacked duffel bag and the scraps of posters he was cutting earlier to hang on the wall above his bed.

“So, you share with the kiddos?” You ask, nodding to the empty bunks. You know which bed is his--it’s the one in the corner that’s unmade, the one that is so heavy with his scent that you can practically see it wafting upwards in waves of amber and white. “What if they aren’t Deadheads?”

He looks at you and you’re looking at The Grateful Dead poster he puts up every summer, the one that is faded from the sun and water damaged and older than most of the kids at camp. His old man had it hung in the hanger way back when--when he was still alive and young and flying with Mav.

Rooster lets the towel drop to the ground as he holds his hips, shrugging.

“Then they’ve got a whole summer to become one,” he tells you. He looks you up and down again. “You a Deadhead?”

“Please,” you say, nose wrinkling. “You ask every lady that?”

“Just the ones trying to get in my bed,” he says. He glances at you and you’re indeed touching his sheets, freezing when you feel his gaze. “Go on--sit. Where are my hosting skills? Would you like anything? A water? Glass of wine?”

You sink into his bed and the mattress squeaks with your weight--Rooster tries hard not to look at the plush skin of your thighs expanding on his sheets.

“Got any Blue Nun?” You tease.

“It’s chilling,” he says. “Would a lukewarm water bottle do in the meantime?”

You nod.

He grabs one out from under the bed and presents it to you like a fine wine.

“It’s vintage,” he tells you.

“What year?”

“April of this one,” he says with a wink.

You twist the cap off and he grabs a t-shirt from his duffel and slips it on.

“Is it a bummer sharing with the kids?” You ask. You graze his pillow and then glance back up at the Polaroids on his walls. You can tell, even from where you’re sitting, that a few of them have been taken here. “You know, without privacy and everything.”

“What would I need privacy for?” He asks, slipping into a pair of denim shorts. He is watching you as you scan the room, your hair a touch messier than it was before. “Usually can’t get any of the outside folk to trek through the wilderness for a slumber party.”

“Outside folk?” You ask, brow perched. “You mean girls, right?”

“Do you want me to mean girls?” He asks.

Your face is hot.

“You have a radio,” you say when you suddenly spot it perched on the windowsill. “Can I turn it on?”

“Be my guest,” Rooster says, shrugging the towel around his shoulders.

While your back is turned, he takes a few seconds to sweep away his mustache hairs from the dresser and tucks his duffel beneath one of the other bunks.

You tune for a little while, listening with half a heart as you look out at the courtyard.

“It’s really beautiful here,” you tell Rooster. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get over it.”

“Trust me--you will,” Rooster sighs good-naturedly, leaning against the bunk opposite his bed. “Especially when you’re wrangling a bunch of ankle-biters.”

You hum, shaking your head.

“So, is it hard work?” You ask him, still tuning. “I mean, I’ve babysat and all that. But never anything like this.”

He drinks you in--the sun is shining on you through the window, grainy from the film of dust on the glass. You’re smiling, peachy and warm, as you try and find a song to punctuate this moment the two of you are sharing.

“Yeah, I mean--there are moments. You know?” Rooster asks. You nod, not looking at him. “For the most part, it’s chill. Super chill.”

“Good,” you say. “I’m trying to save up, so it’s good to know I won’t wanna quit by July.”

Rooster smiles.

“What’re you saving up for?” He asks. “A radio of one’s own?”

You grin.

“Nursing school,” you say. “Made the mistake of telling Maverick that already.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Rooster laughs.

You pause suddenly when Sugar Mountain by Neil Young begins.

Pleased with your choice, you turn back to Rooster and find him biting a grin.

“What?” You ask.

“You’re making fun of me for being a Deadhead and you’re a Rusty?”

Warm all over, you nod.

“Loud and proud,” you say.

“Bold,” he tells you. “Super bold.”

“Well, that’s me,” you tell him. “Bold.”

It's so noisy at the fair But all your friends are there And the candy floss you had And your mother and your dad

“I think you’re gonna fit in alright,” Rooster says decidedly.

You turn your head to the side, swallowing a face-eating grin.

“Oh, you do, do you?” You ask. He nods, eyebrows raised. “Hallelujah, the chicken thinks I’ll fit right in!”

He sits down beside you on the bed and you’re suddenly more aware than you’ve been since stepping into this cabin how beautiful he is. Curls still dripping onto his red t-shirt and tan skin smooth as it coats rippling muscles, you almost can’t breathe with him this close to you.

“You’re really saving our asses this summer,” Rooster says, leaning back on his palms. You try not to look at his hands--his fingers spread out and gripping the sheets that his skin touches every night. “We desperately need another lady.”

You can't be twenty on Sugar Mountain Though you're thinking that you're leaving there too soon You're leaving there too soon

“It shows,” you tease. “How has Phoenix survived all this time? It’s a real…testosterone-ified place.”

“She’s survived by the skin of her teeth,” he tells you, smiling. “And by batting for the other team, if you’re picking up what I’m laying down.”

Oh. You nod. Okay. Cool.

He looks to the radio and at the sheets--you’ve touched both these things now. Later, when he’s sharing you with everyone and you’re in your own cabin and everyone is excited, he’ll have this private part of you. Pieces of you, particles, that will stay his.

You move to say something when you suddenly feel a sharp and distinct pain. Immediately, you draw your hand up from the bed, gasping. Your finger is bleeding--just a little bit, just a few drops.

“Shit,” Rooster tuts, grabbing the scissors off the bed. His ears are bright red. “I’m so sorry--I totally forgot to throw these back on the dresser earlier.”

“It’s alright,” you tell him hurriedly, cupping your hand. “Don’t let me bleed on your sheets!”

He chucks the scissors and the land somewhere opposite of the bunks. Then he turns towards you, puts his hand out.

“Let me see,” he insists.

You do--immediately.

He inspects the wound carefully. Just a little slice, a parting off your delicate skin and a few droplets of red coating it. He nods like he’s seen this all before.

“It’s not deep,” he says.

“I know,” you say with a soft smile.

“I probably won’t get away with just spitting on it, though,” Rooster sighs, brows raised.

Too flustered to say anything, you just shake your head. But you know, deep in your gut, he could get away with just about anything. Especially spitting on it.

Rooster takes your water bottle and opens it with one hand, keeping your injured hand in his own. You watch him with half-lidded eyes, your pulse racing in your throat and beneath your tongue.

There's a girl just down the aisle Oh to turn and see her smile

“This won’t hurt,” he says, brows raised. He has the cadence of someone who’s used to bandaging up tikes--his concerned voice not without a fun lilt. “Squeeze me if it does, huh?”

“I’m really getting the full treatment,” you say, tickled. “You must’ve run the other nurse outta town.”

He pours some water over your cut and it drips into your own lap like pink nectar.

“Tape,” he says. He looks up at you. “Stat!”

“Watch it,” you warn, still smiling. You hand him the pale masking tape. “Not too tight.”

“This ain’t my first rodeo, birdie,” he says.

It’s natural--the name that falls from his lips. Like this isn’t his first time saying it. Like he’s uttered it to you over many summers, here and there, back then and in days to come. The feeling sits warmly on your tongue, peculiar and comforting.

He wraps your finger and you watch with your heart in your throat.

“Good as new,” you say, inspecting the tape job. “Didn’t hurt a lick!”

“Good,” Rooster says. “You know, not to be a pig or anything, but I’m pretty good at this.”

“Taping girls?” You ask, tilting your head and biting your lip.

Rooster nearly chokes as he swallows, smiling and face freckled from the sunshine and so very warm. He brings his brows together dubiously, shrugging.

“Do you want me to be good at that?” He asks.

Now you’re the one narrowing your eyes and chewing your bottom lip as you stare at him, wondering already how you’re going to survive this summer when he looks at you like that.

“You’re pretty easy to like,” you tell him decidedly.

“You aren’t too bad yourself,” he quips instantly.

“Really?” You ask, slightly surprised. You’ve been accused, mostly from the peers in your clinicals, of being cold. Callous. But, really, you’re just focused. In the zone. Careful. Precise. You think that will count one day, will make you a good nurse. Rooster nods immediately, smiling with his brows knit. “Well. Thanks a million, then.”

“What? People call you frigid?” Rooster asks, teasing. But then you nod and he leans back, surprised. “No way. Get outta town! You’re bluffing.”

Silky laughter falls from your lips--easy. It’s so easy to laugh around him. Despite the humor in all of this, you’re still warm. But it’s a warmth you welcome, like lying back on hot concrete after a long swim. Looking at him, laughing with him, it makes your stagnant limbs feel sore like you’ve been cutting water for hours. You can finally sit still, though.

“They really do,” you say, only a little bit embarrassed. It feels a bit pathetic to argue this with him, like he knows you better than you know yourself. “What, like you even know me.”

Rooster stiffens, a smile still tugging on his lips, as he crosses his arms defiantly.

“Yeah, well, maybe I do know you,” he challenges. You’re wrestling a grin. “Try that on for size, Miss Know-It-All!”

“A-ha! Guess you do have me figured out,” you say with a shrug. “Didn’t even take half the summer!”

The two of you look at each other for a moment. And when the sun kisses his face, golden and warm, you get the overwhelming feeling that this is not your first time meeting him. No, it can’t be. You know those eyes and those flecks of gold that surround his pupils. You know the feeling of his hand on yours. You don’t know how you know these things, or why they’re tinged with pain like the delicate edges of antique paper rolling in on itself, but you just do. And you don’t even consider yourself a know-it-all.

Rooster holds onto your thighs, his thumbs pressing into your skin.

“Oh. You’re here,” Rooster says in realization, chills running up his legs and halting in the pit of his knee. “I was--well, shit, I was--I was…waiting for you. Hi, birdie.”

He doesn’t look away from you, gauging your reaction. You’re blinking back at him slowly, brows coming together in an innocent confusion. But he can see in your eyes that you know him. He can see in your eyes that you’re here with him now the way he’s always here.

“Hi,” you whisper. You glance around and everything is fuzzy and warm and pink. The radio is still playing in the corner. This is a memory, you realize. Memories are always tinted pink, which just happens with the passage of time. Like skin cells regenerating. Like cuts scabbing. “Are we…where are--?”

“Camp Arcadia,” Rooster answers. “Your memory of it, at least.”

“My very first memory of it,” you whisper to him, glancing around the cabin. And, yes, everything is exactly as you remembered. Even the discarded scissors in the corner. Even the tape around your finger and the heartbeat in your neck. “And my first memory of you.”

Cupping his cheek, you thumb at the damp stubble on his cheeks.

“I never dream about you,” you whisper to him, holding his cheeks in your hands.

“You dream about me all the time,” he tells you carefully. “You just don’t remember.”

It must be true if he’s telling it to you. You know this. Maybe the nightmares have been drowning out all the goodness that happens behind your eyelids.

“What makes this time different?” You whisper.

“Usually you aren’t sleeping under anesthesia,” he whispers back. “What’d you call it? The meperidine haze? That’s a good one, baby. Very psychedelic.”

Yes, he’s right. The meperidine haze. You’re not really here, at camp, baking in the sun and inhaling vetiver and mint and pine. No, you’re laid out on top of an operating table and the stranger is breaching and you’re artificially asleep. Really, you couldn’t be further from this moment you’re living right now. Why this faux one feels so much more grounded than reality stupifies you.

Looking down at your hand and they’re the hands of a twenty-year-old girl halfway through her bachelor’s degree. The rubber ring you will lose on your twenty-first birthday is sitting snug on your pinkie, safe for now. Your knuckles are free from scars and cracks acquired at the hospital. There are so few indentations on your hands, lines pressed there by age and work and life.

You suddenly feel so much older than you were in that moment--older than you really are. You quietly begin to cry.

Rooster leans into your touch, smiling fondly at you. He’s missed these palms, these fingers. He doesn’t mind looking at you, meeting you, teasing you over and over again. Sometimes you remember him and other times you don’t. Most of the time, you don’t. He doesn’t mind--he always plays along, never misses a line. Anything to just be near you again--to be held by you. Even if he knows he isn’t real, even if he knows he’s just a figment of your imagination.

“I don’t understand,” you tell him.

He knows he can’t say anything to make you understand something he only distantly understands himself. So, he just kisses your fingers.

You can't be twenty on Sugar Mountain Though you're thinking that you're leaving there too soon You're leaving there too soon

“Is this where you are?” You ask him. “Here? Forever?”

“It’s where you want me to be,” he answers you. “But only on this day. The first day.”

“Rooster, I--!”

A sob rips from your throat. He holds tight to your legs, still smiling sadly up at you.

He knows that he is dead. He knows that you are dreaming. He knows what’s happening on the outside and the inside. He isn’t real. He knows that. But it all feels very real in this moment--he has the sudden and overwhelming urge to hold onto you tight, even if he knows it won’t stop you from going. He wants to dig his nails into your body until he meets bone. He wants to keep you here with him in this obscurity, when you’re both young and untouched by horror.

You don’t belong here, though. This--this he knows in the depths of his body, in the arches of his feet. You belong on the outside, in the real world, where your skin gets bruised and scarred and your chest rises and falls.

“Don’t spoil it,” he tells you, thumbing some tears from your cheeks. He swallows all the metal in his mouth and smiles at you sadly. “Just be here with me.”

Another sob wriggles out from your lips, but you nod. You’ll do whatever he wants.

“You’re so young,” you marvel, stroking his face. “I can’t believe it. Really, I--I hardly remember you looking so…boyish.”

“You’re pretty young yourself,” he whispers with a smile. “In the springtime of your life. Or whatever the poet’s say.”

If this was the springtime of your life, you wonder what season you’re in now. Surely winter hasn’t come so quickly, even if it feels that way. You’re not in the summer or the autumn, though.

You’re in-between.

A blizzard in April.

Another beat passes and you still drink him in, unable to tear your eyes away from his dripping curls or his sweet gaze. It has been a long, long time since you’ve thought about this day. It has been a long, long time since you’ve thought about this first meeting with Bradley. You cannot afford to linger in hurtful memories such as this one--not after everything.

“I miss you,” you whisper. Another sob sits pert in your throat. “I miss you more than…more than anything in the world. I miss you all the time. I have so much I wanna talk about.”

Bradley’s chest tightens. If he was being completely honest right now, he’d tell you the same. But he can see how hard you’re trying to stop crying, can see the tears beginning to breach your waterline.

“I’m always around,” he says and you know that he means here, as a figment of your imagination, in your dreams. “Just close your eyes and poof! There I am.”

“I think about you,” you tell him, nodding and sniffling and trying not to cry again. “When I can afford it. When I can stand it.”

He nods solemnly, chewing on his bottom lip.

“Oh, yeah? Like when?” He asks. He tries to sound not-so-severe, tries to sound teasing and sweet. But his voice is flat and his tone is serious.

Choking back another sob, one that makes your nose ache, you hold onto him tighter.

“Every time I hear The Police,” you say and a dry laugh crumbles from your lips and into your lap like peeling drywall. “Which is, like, all the time now.”

He laughs--his eyes are wet.

“Yeah, I bet,” he says.

“And whenever…whenever I feel them move,” you tell him and you mean the baby and he knows that. Cautiously, you move to hold your belly. And, yes, it’s empty--just like it really actually was when you were twenty. Rooster watches the movements, chews on his bottom lip. “Whenever they kick or-or elbow or…”

He can fill in the blanks. Whenever they roll, whenever they hiccup, whenever they flex, whenever they stretch, whenever they twitch. What you mean is that every time you feel the physical evidence of the life inside of you, you think of the man who put it there.

He nods, jaw clenched. He can’t say anything for a moment. He’s certain the dam will break. He’s certain he will hold onto your legs and never release you.

So, then it’s quiet for a moment. Neil Young is still crying quietly on the windowsill.

“I love this song. I forgot it was playing,” you whisper to him. The two of you look at the radio together. “Was it really playing?”

You’re wondering if Dr. Titus is playing the radio during your operation. Yes, operation. You’re being operated on. Right now, you’re not really sitting on Bradley’s bed at Camp Arcadia. You aren’t really breathing in clean, clean air. You’re breathing in oxygen from a mask and antiseptics.

“Yeah, it was,” Rooster answers. “And you really made fun of me for being a Deadhead.”

“Warranted,” you whisper, a few tears streaming down your face. “You kinda ruined me, though.”

“In what way?” Rooster asks, hoping the answer isn’t the obvious one.

“I remember that after this--after this moment, this conversation--I stopped changing the station when they came on the radio,” you say and it’s the honest truth. You’ve never told anyone this. “Ripple isn’t half bad, you know.”

That’s when a few tears slip down Bradley’s face. He’s still smiling--just barely--and he nods a few times.

“Will you show them?” He whispers.

You know what he means--will you show your child the music he so loved?

“Of course,” you tell him, sniffling. “But no promises they’ll be a Deadhead.”

“Their dad sure was,” he whispers. A few more tears slip down as his bottom lip quivers. “Just like my dad was.”

“Runs in the family,” you say quietly.

So does having your old man croak, I guess, Bradley thinks. Must be fate.

You hold his cheeks, thumb his tears away. You wonder, marvel almost, at how real this all feels. This is what his face felt like that day all those years ago, freshly-shaven and smooth and boyish. Untainted by time and its pinkness.

The feeling comes on suddenly--starting in your toes and shooting up your shins, your knees, your thighs.

“I’m cold,” you whisper to Bradley.

Rooster nods, flat palms grazing your goosed skin. He wipes a few of his tears away.

“It’s just a side effect,” he tells you. You nod. You know that shivering--that your temperature falling--is a commonplace issue during deep sedation and general anesthesia. “It’s almost over, you know.”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Emergency cesareans are usually pretty speedy.”

He imagines what you really look like right now--laid out on the table, cut open, bleeding. It seems so utterly against your grain to take something so heinous lying on your back. He feels like you could be the first person to ever elect to be awake during a major surgery, blinking up at the ceiling and gritting your teeth and meditating through the pain.

“You’re having a baby right now,” he says and incredibility drips from his tone like honey. “Our baby. How trippy is that?”

Belly turning, fingers quivering, you nod.

Yes, you’re not really here. You’re not really here.

“I’m scared,” you admit quietly. It’s the first time you’ve said it out loud in almost ten months. Rooster looks up at you, listening and watching and waiting. “I’m so scared.”

He doesn’t ask why. He doesn’t need to. Maybe it’s because he understands--or maybe it’s because he’s you and you’re him.

“I wish I was there with you. I wish I…I wish I could’ve stayed. For you. For the baby,” he tells you. “I wish I could hold them,” he admits.

It’s silly. You’ve wanted nothing more than to not hold them, than for them to be removed from your body. You’ve held them for nine months. You’re tired--anyone would be. But Rooster--Rooster will never get to hold his child. Not even in your dreams.

“I wish you could, too,” you whisper.

There is so much more he could say. He could say that he considers himself the luckiest man in his recent knowledge for having you as fleetingly as he did. He could say that his version of Hell is watching from far away, where he is now, and not being able to touch you. He could say that he hopes the baby looks a lot like you and a little like him so they don’t break your heart. He could say that he’s always thought of the name Ruth fondly and he’s never like the whole Junior thing for boys. He could tell you how much you meant to him, that he’s never felt alone, that he never did feel alone. He could tell you how sorry he is for dying, for leaving you behind pregnant with his child. He could tell you how much it hurts that his child will grow up without him.

He won’t break your heart today--the day your child is born. So, he just kisses your hands and feels the bones delicately pressing against your skin. He holds you tight.

“Do you think I can, like…do you think I have what it takes?” You whisper.

Rooster doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t tease. He just nods very solemnly.

“Of course I do,” he answers. “I don’t really have a doubt.”

“Not a single one?” You whisper.

Now he solemnly shakes his head.

“Afraid not,” he whispers back.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do more,” you utter to him. The seams on his wrists are pressed against the back of your eyelids for eternity--the jagged, loose slices that didn’t hold for more than a few minutes. “I wish I could--I would do it differently if I could do it again.”

“I wouldn’t,” he whispers. He shakes his head. “I couldn’t have…”

Lived with himself. You both know it.

You kiss his fingers, try and remember the way they smell right now. Like lakewater and skin and wood.

“We would’ve been good together, huh?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Yeah. Maybe we would’ve.”

The song is almost over.

Now you say you're leaving' home 'Cause you want to be alone Ain't it funny how you feel When you're findin' out it's real?

“Is he good to you?” Rooster whispers.

He’s talking about Jake.

“The best,” you whisper back, nodding. “I love him. But not like I loved you.”

There is no way to measure these things--more or less, bigger or smaller, wilder or calmer. There is just love and different love. That’s all.

Rooster is choked up.

“Birdie?” He whispers.

“Yeah?” You whisper.

“Can I hold you?”

Without another moment of hesitation, you fall into his arms. You slip off the bed and into his lap and he wraps his arm around you and you wrap your arms around him. You’re overwhelmed by his heat, by his scent, by his breathing. There is salt and there is cloth as the two of you mold against each other.

Really, in these younger bodies, you didn’t hold each other like this. The first summer was chalk-full of merciless flirting and stolen glances and chaste touches. You never fell into his arms like this, a desperate heap, and cried into the red t-shirt that was still wrinkled from his duffel.

It is not in your nature to beg. It never has been. There are very few times in your life where you’ve resorted to it and Bradley was there for most of them, a figure looming or a warm body near you. The urge to beg right now--for him to hold you so tight that you can’t breathe, for him to keep you here with him forever, to stay--sits like a lump in your throat.

“I miss you,” you say instead of please, please, please. Your teeth chatter and you hold him tighter. “I miss you so much.”

“I know,” he whispers, voice strained. “I know.”

You look at him--really look at him. It feels like it is the last time you will ever see him. It feels like you’re on your knees in the mess hall and you’re about to pull a sheet over his face, like Joni Mitchell is dying on your tongue again. It feels like you’re standing in a morgue and you’re worried about him growing lonesome and cold. You’re crying too hard to memorize his nose or his sun kissed cheeks or the stubble on his chin. You just look at him and let your vision grow blurry with tears.

“Bird,” he whispers, brows drawn together in a happy sort of anguish.

Your entire body is cold now. The shivering is coming from deep within your connective tissue and marrow and nerves.

“Bradley,” you whisper. His name dies on your tongue.

“She’s waiting for you,” he tells you.

Something is tugging you backwards--like an invisible rope made of your own hair, a strong wind made of your own perfume.

“Who?” You ask.

He kisses your hands. His mouth lingers there--his breath is warm, his mustache is neatly trimmed. It is all so achingly familiar, so achingly real.

“Our daughter.”

♀

Two days blink by.

Well, really, they don’t blink by. They slink past Jake at an agonizing pace, like he is seeped in gelatinous animal fat. He used to like slow days--days that were dipped in honey, when the two of you were suspended in a quiet sort of sweetness--and the way they crawled forward.

But this diverges severely from that sweetness. It’s harder to move. He feels, for all intents and purposes, like he’s rotting. Decaying.

They brought you back into the room sometime between the afternoon and evening the next day. You’d spent a night in recovery, completely sedated, and been given two blood transfusions. The doctor explained something about injections, something about vitamins and narcotics, but Jake was having a hard time hearing because he was holding her.

Every time he held her--the baby girl you brought into this world with your eyes closed--his ears rang. It was like someone was firing a shotgun pressed against Jake’s cheek, like the kickback had sent him reeling and buckshot had deafened him.

He was still on the phone with his ma whenever the nurse wheeled an incubator in. It was only an hour after the flurry of white coats and scrubs that wheeled you out of the room, and he was still trying to catch his breath between broken sentences.

The nurse was whistling joyously like everything was hunky-dory, smiling down at the baby girl inside the glass. She glanced at Jake, smiling, and cleared her throat as she parked the incubator by the guest chair.

“Delivery!” The nurse sang.

Jake turned at once, eyes wide and wet and still crying.

“What--?”

He nearly fell out of the chair when the incubator registered. The phone slipped from his hands, hung on its cord and bounced like a plastic bungee jumper. His mama was still on the other line, southern drawl thick as she tried to get his attention.

“--Here she is! The lady of the hour!” She sing-songed, presenting the bulky machinery like a rare cut of steak at some snobby restaurant. He imagined the baby lying on a silver platter on a bed of inedible greens and the nurse pulling away the dome cover, wafting the scent of baby powder and milk towards him. “Your baby girl!”

Jake was frozen. There he sat, his hands empty and his face red and blotchy, and there the baby was only a few feet in front of him. The room changed--a small change, like being attuned to the frequency adjustment of a television--and he suddenly felt warm all over.

“My--my what?” He asked. “That’s--you mean it’s a girl? Mine?”

Quickly, glancing down, she read the label on the side of the incubator carefully.

Baby Girl Seresin.

“You’re Mr. Seresin, right?” She asked, suddenly feeling faint.

He nodded slowly, the lump in his throat impossibly large.

Her shoulders relaxed--she should’ve known better. She’s never mixed babies up before.

“All yours, daddy. Trust me, you’ll get proof of purchase at check-out,” she said jovially. She hummed, leaning down to tuck the white blanket beneath the baby’s chin. Already the nurse was touching her with such conviction, like they were old friends, like this little creature lying and crying wasn’t the reason Jake’s shoulders were stuck pinched by his ears. “And, yes--a girl. A blushing baby girl.”

He stared at the incubator. Yes, he could see her there. He could see that little nose and those big cheeks and those closed eyes. He could see her tiny face finally. He’d dreamed about her--about what she’d look like, about who she’d be. And she was finally there, right there.

But you weren’t.

“What’s going--is she okay? Is--is Gale okay--?”

The nurse’s cheeks flooded red, her smile dying slightly. She cleared her throat, looking down at the baby girl before her. She wished Jake would look down at the baby girl, too. Babies make everything better--they soften the blow with their ruddy cheeks and little lips and curled fingers.

“So, before the operation, she suffered what we call a placental abruption. Now, a--well, a placental abruption is when the placenta detaches from the uterine wall. In layman’s terms, it means that the baby couldn’t breathe--hence all the hullabaloo before the operation. But baby is okay--her levels are great and she gave us a good and loud cry when she was born,” the nurse explained softly, smiling at the thought of the baby’s first piercing cry. Even after all this time, all these years and these births and these babies, it still felt like a bell that called her home. “Passed all her tests with flying colors.”

Jake’s knees felt weak at the thought of the baby crying for the first time, suddenly in the air above your open abdomen and in a stranger’s hands and covered in your blood, and him not hearing it. He didn’t hear it. He was all the way in there, talking to his mama, and you were in there alone and asleep and bleeding.

The nurse sucked in a deep breath and met Jake’s gaze. She hated this part. Her palms were clammy as she slid them down the front of her nurse’s uniform, swallowing thickly and straightening her shoulders.

“Now, because of the sudden separation, mama’s uterine wall got knocked around quite a bit,” she explained. “Which, in layman’s layman terms, means that it poked a big ol’ hole. That can cause--well, it can cause a slew of issues, including internal bleeding, which we want to avoid at all costs. Obviously.”

Jake’s mind was racing--images and sounds and feelings and smells swirling around him, flitting past in milliseconds. Behind his eyes, his veins throbbed and pulsed.

“Okay. Okay--what does that mean? Like, you mean, she’s gonna be alright?”

The nurse sucked on the back of her teeth shortly, wishing there was something she could say or do to ease Jake's worries. But she couldn’t. She knew this.

“Her uterus experienced very severe trauma during delivery. It was already weakened from carrying to full-term and prior medical history. So, with all of that in mind, Dr. Titus went ahead and did a full-fledged hysterectomy. Well, he’s still--it’s still happening now. It was touch-and-go for a while there,” she said softly, nodding at Jake with soft, soft eyes. And what she meant by that was that your heart rate had dropped dangerously low after the baby was born. So low that it had been considered a Code Blue. “But she’s a tough cookie. Right? We’ll bring her back in after her time in recovery.”

Jake didn’t know what to say or do.

He was being turned inside out by grief. There you were, short corridors and white tiles and chrome door knobs and metal chairs separating your body from his, and you were being dissected. A part of you had been killed by the little baby in front of him, faultlessly, and was being cut out.

“No, you decided it. And never for a second have I second-guessed it,” Jake says. You’re watching him with big, soft eyes. “I’ve been game from day one. I…Gale, I love that baby already. I’m all in. But are you?”

“Ask me that tomorrow,” you whisper.

Something heavier than guilt and thicker than anguish slammed down on top of Jake’s head, grabbed him by the ears, and forced him back into the chair he was sitting in. The nurse watched him cautiously, just then noting the crutches beside him.

“When is she coming back?” He heard himself ask.

“No telling,” the nurse said. She wished she had a more concrete answer--she knew how awful it must be to be on the outside of it all, waiting and worrying and wringing your hands together. “We’ll keep you posted. Hell, between me and you, I’ll keep you posted. That’s a promise. Okay?”

Jake nodded flatly.

“In the meantime, I thought I’d bring this little angel in to keep you company,” she’d said, then. A weight was lifted from her chest as Jake looked down at the baby for the first time properly--that was usually the part they melted. And she watched him melt--watched his shoulders fall and his brows slope and his lips tremble. “Ain’t she a beaut?”

Jake’s jaw trembled.

“Is she…is she okay?” Jake asked, eyebrows furrowed. He suddenly couldn’t stand the prospect of something happening to your baby girl, too. Already he loved her so much--she only just got here. She couldn’t leave. “She’s not…she isn’t hurt or anything, right?”

The nurse smiled at him, prideful by proxy.

“Healthy as a ham,” she confirmed. “All seven pounds of her are perfect.”

“Seven even?” Jake mused, unable to stop himself from smiling.

The nurse nodded.

“It’ll be her lucky number,” the nurse offered.

Seven. Seven’s have followed him all his life.

He was born on the seventh of June, the fifth child, which rounded out his family unit to a party of seven.

On his seventh birthday, the song Crystal Blue Persuasion debuted on the radio and he thought, very concretely, that he was the luckiest kid on the planet. Who got to share a birthday with the song of the decade?

He graduated college on the seventh of December, a semester later than the rest of his friends.

And you--he saw you for the very first time on the seventh of May at Camp Arcadia.

You were standing just up the gravel hill, talking to Maverick with your hands on your hips. The sun was so blinding that he had to squint and hold his hand over his eyes. He could see from the water that your feet and calves were covered in gray gravel dust--kicked up your shins, coating your knees. He watched you for a long time, ignoring Coyote’s splashing and Phoenix’s diving and the beating sun, watching your lips curve around every word that fell from your mouth. His spine suddenly prickled when your calves flexed and your belly tightened with laughter, when you smiled and the sun kissed your cheeks and sweat dripped down the column of your spine. He didn’t even mind that Rooster was the one who’d made you laugh, standing across from you with his arms crossed over his damp chest.

Things just melted away. Things like long division and baseball scores and Pink Floyd lyrics and urban legends and the memory of his tenth birthday--they were all gone, dissolving, pooling out of his ears. Nothing else besides this one thought sitting fat and proud in the soft shell of his skull: I want to wash the dust off her.

He had never thought anything like that before. It made his jaw quiver.

“What’re you looking at?” Coyote had finally inquired, hooking a sopping arm over Jake’s warm shoulders. Coyote turned, noticed you, then smiled. “Hey! Fresh meat.”

Jake didn’t look away from you.

“Javy,” Jake said seriously, evenly. He sucked in a deep breath, brows knitting. “I’m gonna marry her.”

“Yeah, good luck,” Javy had said back, chortling. “Girl wore her flip-flops on a hike.”

“It’s my lucky number, too,” Jake said quietly to the nurse, unable to stop himself. His brows knit. “Seven.”

“Aw, are you trying to impress daddy?” The nurse sang jovially down to the baby, a grin splitting her features. “You planned this, huh? Didn’t you?”

Jake swallowed hard, reeling.

“She’s so quiet,” he whispered to the nurse. He was the youngest child--he wasn’t ever around fussy baby sisters or even cranky cousins.

She glanced up at him, nodding.

“Just wait ‘til it’s time to change her diaper--that’ll get her hollering,” she said. She kept watching Jake and his clenched jaw. “Would you like to hold her? I can bring her to you--I see you’re a bit disposed currently.”

She pointed to the crutches.

Jake swallowed hard, his tongue suddenly made of sandpaper.

“Okay,” he said, too scared to say anything else.

“Go ahead and take your shirt off,” the nurse instructed Jake, not taking her eyes off Baby Girl Seresin as she carefully cradled her head. Jake blinked at her, brows furrowed. “We call it skin-to-skin or Kangaroo Care if you’re a fun nurse like me--the hours after birth are crucial for bonding. Best to do that with her skin on your skin.”

Jake nodded, slowly moving to slip out of his sweatshirt.

The nurse turned, cradling your baby in her plush arms, and Jake had never felt so small in his entire life. He sat still, skin goosing from the cold air, and watched the nurse move towards him with the bundle of blanketed baby in her arms.

“Just hold her head now,” the nurse urged as she transferred the baby into his arms.

“Like--?” Jake said, red in the face and neck and chest. “Like that?”

The baby was against his body, her little cheek pressed up against his collarbone, her tiny body sinking into his chest and stomach. He didn’t hear the nurse’s answer--he didn’t need to. As soon as his body registered her heat, the heat of a tiny and most precious human life, he knew the answer.

Yes, he was holding her right. He knew how to hold his daughter. It came to him suddenly and naturally, which people said would happen. He cradled her head with all that soft hair, which was the color of yours, and carefully touched her plush cheek.

“Oh,” he whispered quietly. Two fat tears rolled down his face and onto his neck. “Well, you’re just a tiny thing, aren’t you? You’re just a…a little mite.”

She whined, shuddered against him, before her body relaxed into him.

The nurse softly situated the blanket so it covered the two of them, pink with joy, and watched on for a few moments as Jake craned to look down at his daughter’s face. She knew he was gonna be a crier from the moment she laid eyes on him. She’s always privately vindicated when she’s correct about these things--some sort of nonverbal reinforcement that she’s meant for this.

He wasn’t sure how long the nurse stayed after that--his ears were ringing too loud for him to hear anything outside of the baby girl’s breaths.

He held her close, back teeth still clenched, and overwhelmed by her scent. She smelled like you--like your skin, your body. He knew, just from holding her, that you had held her. Held her close, inside of your body, closer to you than anything or anyone ever had been.

Already he could see you in her face--your brow, your nose, your mouth.

“My, my,” Jake whispered. It was funny--he had never been the kind of guy who said my-my before. His dad was the kind of guy to say my-my. Or maybe, Jake thought, every dad is the kind of guy that says it. A sad smile tugged on his lips. “Aren’t you just--just pretty as a picture? You look just like your mama. And your mama is the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen in my whole life. Can you believe that? Huh? Well, I’m no liar. I really mean it.”

She whined shortly, brow furrowing. He moved her down so her cheek was resting between his pecs, her little lips puckered and parted.

“I would’ve shaved for you if I’d known,” he whispered weakly, stray tears rolling off his chin and onto her hospital blanket. He stroked her cheek as she continued to slumber. “I’m sorry, baby-lou.”

♀

People have been in and out of the hospital room since, filtering like transients.

A nurse comes every hour to check your vitals, fiddling with your IV stand, pressing buttons on the machines beside your bed, smiling apologetically when the baby cries.

Doctors do their rounds in the morning and at night, talking about you and your condition just outside the door, giving Jake a curt nod in greeting.

And in between all of the people, the masks and the gloves and the hand sanitizer, Jake sits at your bedside with the baby tucked close to him. Everything is sterile and white and your oxygen is a constant hum in the background.

It’s late at night now--so late at night that it’s really almost morning--and Jake is slumped in the chair beside your bed. The baby is asleep just beside him in the incubator, lying on her back and dreaming silently. She’s a good baby--quiet. Peaceful. But he still won’t be more than a few feet away from her at any time--Hell, he won’t be more than a few inches away from her at any time.

Here he is, then. Sitting between his girls, both of them sleeping, waiting for something to happen.

“She should gain consciousness at any time,” he heard the doctor say that morning during rounds. “The extended loss of consciousness is due to the trauma sustained during operation.”

Your face is placid. You hardly wrinkle your nose or crinkle your brow or frown or do much of anything at all. You just sleep, reclined, wrapped up in tubes and wires and cords.

Beneath his aching fingers, your hair is soft. He strokes it carefully away from your face so it falls over the pillow, wishing he could smell your shampoo from here. He wishes he could smell any of you right now. You smell like the hospital now--more than you do after a twelve-hour shift.

He wonders what’s going on beneath your eyelids--if you’re dreaming or if there’s nothing like you’re sitting in a pool of black water. He hopes that you’re dreaming. Sweet, sweet dreams about all the summers before last, about all the almost-good days you’ve had since May. And if you’re not having sweet dreams, he hopes you’re just resting. That you’re just catching up on all the sleep you’ve missed having to sleep on your side, curling around a belly you resented.

“I hope you’re havin’ good dreams in there,” Jake whispers to you. He sniffles, itches his nose. He keeps trying not to cry--not once with success. “Like when we drove all around town, grabbing furniture from the curb. I’m still shocked you could pick that table up by yourself. I shouldn’t be, though--I don’t know why I haven’t learned by now. You’re stronger than me. Like, way stronger. Stronger than I’ll ever be.”

Nothing. No response. Just sleep.

He glances at the baby girl beside him--she’s still sleeping peacefully. He’ll have to wake her up in an hour or so to feed her. She’s a pensive little thing when he gives her a bottle. She furrows her brow as she gazes up at him, somewhere between cranky and grateful, trying to figure him out the same way he’s trying to figure her out. He feels like he’s being sized up each time he feeds her--it reminds him of you. When you look at him, it isn’t just that you see him--you see right through him, too, as if he’s just a piece of thin membrane you cohabitate with. He’ll always be honest with you and her because he knows dishonesty wouldn’t even get as far as the front door.

Now he looks back at you. No change again.

He keeps hoping that one of these times he looks away, he’ll return his gaze to you and find that you’re already looking at him. He bides his time, measures the movements of his eyes, when he isn’t looking at you to give you enough time to come to. Hoping. Praying.

But no change.

“I want you to wake up,” Jake whispers, voice trembling. “I know that you’re tired and I know that you could probably sleep for the next--for the next millennium and still be exhausted, but I want you to wake up, honey. C’mon, girly--wake up now. Wake up for me--wake up for her. You’ve got--we’ve got a daughter and you haven’t even met her yet. Well, maybe you have--like somewhere in the cosmos--but I don’t feel like that counts. So c’mon now and open your eyes. I wanna…I wanna talk to you. I wanna tell you that I’m sorry for picking a fight, that I’m--!”

Jake thinks about the blue light in the bedroom and the way it goosed your skin, chilled the marrow in your bones. He wishes he could puncture that moment, like a needle sinking into a balloon, and let all the cold air out. He wishes he could wrangle the sun and pull it close to you, close enough to burn the tip of your nose and make the hair on your head hot to the touch. He wishes he could just stop thinking about the argument--everything he said, everything you didn’t say. He just wishes you would wake up.

“Just wake up. Please.”

Without stirring at all, face calm and still, you wake up. It happens suddenly, like someone’s just said your name.

It is still dark and blue and pink and quiet. The snow is still falling outside the window and you’re still numb from below your chest, so your breaths are heavy and unreal. It’s still night--or, at least, it looks like it is.

Jake is sitting just beside the bed--you can imagine him pulling it all the way out and plopping down in it with his hair askew and his breathing hard--tears slipping down his cheeks and his brow furrowed as he strokes the back of your hand.

“What?” You whisper. Your voice is ragged and crumpled--this is when you know that it’s been a long time since you’ve spoken. Probably days.

Jake’s head snaps up--his face is suddenly facing yours.

“Baby?” He asks, on the edge of his seat as he reaches forward to fuss with your hair and your cheeks. He cups your chin, carefully navigating around the nasal cannula. “You wakin’ up, girly? Are you confused?”

He doesn’t know what you’re saying what about.

The muscles beneath your skin unfold like pressed flowers, brittle and delicate, as you reach up and wipe a tear from his chin. It’s a small and stray one. You weakly present the finger to him, the pad wet and glistening with salt, then nod.

“Did they find cancer or something?”

And it seems like precisely the moment Jake finally lets go. You don’t know how you know, but you know suddenly that he has been the cracking wall that’s held everything together, standing up straight and tall against thousands of pounds of dirt and water to protect the pristine valley below.

But he lets go now--his sobs suddenly puncturing the stale air in the hospital room, rousing the hair on your arms and legs and the phantom searing burn in your underwear.

He stands--it isn’t an easy thing to Jake Seresin to do, especially after missing a physical therapy appointment yesterday. But he does it, does it for you, locking his knees and gripping the metal rails on your hospital bed.

“I’m so happy,” he tells you and his Southern accent sounds thick right now--you know he gets like this when he’s been talking to his mama.

Okay; you know you must’ve been out for a while and he must’ve been calling his mama. You can deduce this. Make an educated guess.

He’s rapidly stroking your hair, in utter disbelief that you’re here again with him. It has only been two days without you--which is only forty-eight hours--but that is enough to make Jake feel like you’ve been out for an entire lifetime. Even one hour without you is one hour too long.

“Baby, I’m so happy,” he mutters over and over again, kissing your face--your eyelids, your nose, your ears, your cheeks, your chin. “I’m so fuckin’ happy.”

Reality is beginning to dawn on you now. It’s been days. Days since they cut the baby from your womb. You’re doped up enough to not feel anything at all, and you know they only give the good stuff when it’s serious. This must be serious.

Looking down, beyond the flurry of blonde hair and salt and skin, you see the deflated pit of your belly. Yes, the little stranger is gone. All that remains is the excess skin and fat and fluid that kept them warm and safe and quiet.

“Are you okay?” You ask Jake.

Jake holds both of your cheeks, presses his forehead against yours. Your face is wet with his saliva, his tears. He kisses your dry lips a few times.

“I’m the happiest guy around,” he tells you. “You’re awake.”

“Has it been that long?” You ask, straining and willing yourself to just know how much time has passed.

“Two days since they took you,” he tells you. “We were just waiting for you to wake up. Me and the little lady.”

Something punctures you--it feels like an ax. Sharp blade digging into the skin of your chest, snapping your bones, stopping the precise beats of your heart. But then it makes you warm all over your body, warm from the tips of your ears to the soles of your feet.

You have a daughter. Just like Susie told you that you would. Just like Bradley told you that you did.

A daughter.

Jake realizes what he’s said to you and watches as your face falls--fuck. He meant to tell you slower than this, meant to break the ice. He didn’t mean to throw you into the middle of it.

Two tears roll down your cheeks and he thumbs them away, tutting.

“A girl?” You whisper. “We have…a girl?”

“Yeah,” Jake answers, unable to bite the grin on his lips. “We do. A little mite--seven pounds even, eighteen inches long. She’s…well, she’s a mite. Tiny. Tinier than anything ever in the world. We’re gonna have to bathe her in a spoon.”

That makes you cry harder--you don’t know why. Maybe it’s because you’re scared or maybe it’s because you’re in love or maybe you’re scared to be in love. You don’t know. But you clutch him.

“Is she…?”

“She’s healthy,” he answers even though that is not the question you’re asking.

All the same, you nod. Petrification sits coiled in your belly like a slick snake.

He doesn’t want to pop the pink bubble you’re in right now, overwhelmed with goodness and graciousness that you’re finally awake, so he doesn’t say anything about the complications. He knows you’ll ask--and when you do, he’ll tell you. But for now, he just wants to be close to you and watch your pupils dilate in the dark room.

“Can you believe it?” Jake asks, sniffling. “A baby girl. A girl!”

Unable to speak, you just shake your head.

But you can believe it. You don’t know what happened and you don’t know where you went or why you didn’t stay, but you know that Bradley told you the truth. Your daughter, the one he gave you, was waiting on you.

Carefully, you peer over his shoulder. And, yes, right beside the chair he was sitting in is the incubator. It’s a big and bulky piece of machinery, but inside there is a little tiny baby’s face peeking out from a white cotton blanket. Her eyes are closed. Your toes are numb.

Jake follows your gaze.

“Do you wanna hold her?” He asks softly.

“No,” you answer quickly. “I’m still numb.”

Your arms aren’t numb--you could hold her. But you’re too afraid that she’ll open her eyes, that she’ll look at you, that you’ll know. Then what will you do? You never got this far in any nightmare.

Jake nods, kissing your forehead again.

“Okay,” he whispers. “Okay, baby. That’s fine. That’s all good.”

♀

Jake isn’t in the room. He left only a few minutes ago, crutches tucked beneath his arms and hands holding your empty dinner tray, pleased as ever before that you were awake with an appetite and sitting up in bed. He kissed your face one thousand times, grinning, before leaving his girls alone to make some calls in the hallway.

So, it’s just you and her now. She’s still sleeping in her incubator, all tucked in, which has been pulled up against the side of your bed so you can hold her when you’re ready. You know that Jake is eager for you to hold her--you know that it’s what he’s dreamed about for the past nine months.

But the potential horror of it all is sitting in your throat, making it hard to swallow. You won’t survive another summer like the one before. And if you take her in your arms, if you look into those eyes and know, then you’ll have to reckon with terror all over again. You can’t. You can’t do it.

You’re only alone for a few minutes whenever you decide to pull down your blankets--they’re thick and heavy, warm from trapping all your heat. A gust of you-perfumed air slips underneath your nose and onto your tongue. You smell like the hospital.

The gown you’re wearing is new--it’s not the one you wore before, when you first came to the hospital and they told you that you were already three centimeters dilated. You know because there is no jell-o stain on your chest, because there are hardly any wrinkles. It’s pristine. Placed on your body by a nurse while you were still under anesthesia.

“Weird,” you mutter to yourself because it is weird and you need to hear your own voice. How out of control you were just hours and hours ago, asleep while you were cut. “Strange. Odd.”

Pulling the hem of the gown, your tongue thick with saliva, you pull it up slowly. The fabric is warm as it pools beneath your breasts, already crinkling with the movement. Part of you was expecting to see red streaks, puss-filled burns, loose stitches--but that isn’t what is really there.

No, what’s there is everything that should be. Bandages. Yellow antibiotic. Gauze.

Gently, you reach down and press your fingers to the gauze. You can’t feel it on your belly, but you can feel it with the tips of your fingers--it’s smooth and warm. If you didn’t know better, you would rip it off and look at all the scars that make up your belly now.

A very quiet whine breaks your gaze from your belly.

Looking up, squinting in the dark room, you glance at the clock. It’s closing in on six in the morning, which you know you’re gonna regret later today. Shit. She needs to eat--Jake said he’d wake her up before he left but had forgotten to in all the excitement and relief of you waking up.

“Shh,” you whisper quietly, rolling your gown back down and letting your curled hands fall in your lap. With wide eyes, you watch as she begins to turn her head slowly from side to side, blinking herself awake. She whines again--louder, longer. “Hush now, it’s okay. It’s fine.”

That’s when she cries for the first time--it sounds like a baby’s cry, like all the other babies in the world. It’s not deep and guttural or strange and silent. It’s just a baby’s cry.

“It’s okay,” you try again, voice weak. You glance at the closed door, willing Jake to bust through. “Daddy’ll be back any--he’ll be back any minute now, alright? Can’t you just wait it out?”

It becomes shrill--finally, you move.

Ears ringing and pulse quickening, you scoot yourself closer to the edge and look down at her. She’s becoming more and more upset by the second, her fists balled and her mouth parted and wet.

“Here,” you whisper, grabbing the corner of the incubator and pushing it before pulling it. Makeshift rocking. “There, it’s okay. See. I’m here.”

You continue pushing and pulling, the wheels squeaking, and the baby does not stop crying. You glance at the door again--Jake is still not here.

It’s like something pops--all of the sudden, you can’t take it anymore. Fibers that make up your body and soul and heart suddenly vibrate like splitting atoms and move your body for you. Suddenly you can’t just sit on the edge of the bed and rock her with your teeth grit--you have to reach down and take her in your arms.

Blinking, sitting back against the bed, you look down at the baby stunned. She’s in your arms, wrapped in cotton, still crying herself into a cloudy face. But she’s pressed up against your body and you can feel her weight in your arms--all seven exact pounds of her--and you can’t help but marvel for a moment. She’s real. A real human being with frowning lips and a voice and hair sticking out from beneath the ridiculous hospital beanie.

“What’s got you so upset?” You whisper to her because you don’t know what else to say. “Huh? You just a feisty little thing or something? You’re…well, you’re like me, then. I guess.”

When you speak--the cries begin to quiet down. Like all she needed to know was that you were there with her, that you would speak to her. Her mouth slowly closes and her eyes begin to slowly blink themselves open.

Your heart nearly stops when her eyes meet yours for the first time. You’d imagined this before, thought about it on coffee breaks and while brushing your teeth or stirring a pot of soup in the kitchen. You’ve imagined them one thousand times since you looked into them for the first time at Camp Arcadia, when you saw all the light dissipated and flecks of gold washed away from Bradley’s eyes.

All this time, these long nine months since the Camp Arcadia Annihilation, you’ve imagined that this creature is the one that ushers in your demise. But now she’s here, blinking up at you with her father’s eyes--flecks of gold surround her brown velvet irises.

“Oh, my--!” You choke, bringing a quivering finger up to touch her cheek. It’s plush and warm and she keeps slowly blinking up at you. “Well--my, my, my, aren’t you so…you’re so pretty. You’re the prettiest baby I’ve ever seen.”

Parts of you are melting that have been frozen since July.

“Oh, my baby,” you whisper to her. She gazes up at you, eyes glazed over with sleep and love and antibiotics. “It’s so good to meet you.”

Jake comes back into the room ten later, having called Javy and Natasha and rattled off all of the baby’s statistics and updated them on your condition. When he opens the heavy door, he finds you on the bed and holding the baby in your arms as she nurses. There are tears falling off your nose and onto her blanket, a small smile tugging on your lips.

His heart swells in his chest. He thinks he might keel over for a minute.

But then you look up at him, awestruck and so in love that it’s practically written across your forehead in Magic Marker. And he can’t help but come to your side, can’t help but keep moving forward to be near you.

He kisses your temple long and hard, glances down at the baby as she suckles. Her hat is gone--you must’ve taken it off to look at all of her hair. He strokes her hair gently and watches her eyes slowly slip shut.

“She’s kind of perfect,” you whisper to him. “I wasn’t…I wasn’t expecting that.”

Jake glances at you. You’re looking at him with knit brows, with your lips held in a partial frown.

“Yeah?” He asks. “What were you expecting?”

“More of the same,” you whisper.

He knows what you mean: horror. For things to end the way they ended at camp--in flames.

He kisses your temple again.

You look at him, tear-stained and worn out and lovesick. This man, this man who threw himself in front of an ax for you and somehow lived through it just to live in a little house with you and share a carton of orange juice every week, looks back at you like he’s never loved you more than this very moment. Maybe he hasn’t before--maybe every moment beyond this one will be just like this, so chalk-full of love that it spills out of your ears.

And you have left him on the outside of everything. Everything bad and everything good, everything you’ve thought and felt and said to Dr. Messina. It’s on the outside of this bubble, waiting for you to come back. But you know, without a doubt, that he will love you through all the ugly.

“I’ve got a lot to tell you, Jake,” you whisper to him.

He’s choked up. So, he just nods. He kisses your forehead again.

Thank you, God, he thinks. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

“We’ve got a lot to do,” he whispers to you.

You nod, laughing quietly. You don’t have a crib set up. You don’t have any clothes washed. But there’s a certain peace sitting in your chest, a certain calmness that you haven’t known in a very long time. Because it’s okay. It’s really, really okay. You will do all of these things in time, but for now, you’ll just hold the seven-pound baby girl against your breast and give her every single part of you. It’s all that matters to you.

Suddenly, the baby turns her cheek away from your breast. She doesn’t cry, but she whines, nuzzling against your gown and balling her fists.

“You’re okay, birdie,” Jake whispers, stroking the top of her head. Her hair feels like feathers. “It’s okay, baby.”

“Birdie,” you repeat yourself, looking down at her placid face as she finds your chest again and resumes eating. Your spine prickles. “Birdie.”

“Haven’t heard that name in a long time,” Jake says slowly. “I don’t know why I--it kinda just fell out of my mouth. Couldn’t help it.”

“Maybe it’s what she wants to be called,” you whisper. “Do you wanna be Birdie?”

Sunlight suddenly breaks through the gray clouds and punctures the cracked asphalt parking lot. It is not a lot of fun--but it is just enough to draw your gaze over to the window, where you watch as it gleams off windshields and piles of sludgy snow.

Oh, you think. It’s finally morning.

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. WE COULD TALK ABOUT HOW THIS WAS ME AVOIDING THIS STORY ENDING BECAUSE I LOVE IT SO MUCH + I'M REALLY BAD AT GOODBYES. BUT WE COULD ALSO SAY THAT IT'S BECAUSE I WANTED IT TO BE PERFECT. EITHER WAY...

FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY LITTLE HEART, THANK YOU SO MUCH TO EVERY SINGLE PERSON WHO READ THIS STORY. THE REACTION I'VE GOTTEN HAS BEEN SO UNEXPECTED AND MAGICAL AND FANTASTIC. I HAVE ENJOYED EVERY SINGLE MOMENT OF SHARING THIS WITH EVERYONE. Y'ALL ARE SOME OF THE FUNNIEST PEOPLE ON THE INTERNET AND YOUR REACTIONS TO THIS STORY PROVED THAT.

THIS IS MY LOVE LETTER TO HORRO, BUT ALSO GRIEF. I'M PROUD OF IT. I'M PROUD OF ME. I'M PROUD OF YOU. THANK YOU FOR ALLOWING ME TO SHARE THIS. I'M HUMBLED AND GRATEFUL. STAY TUNED HERE ON ROOSTERBRUISER BECAUSE WE HAVE SOME REALLY FUN STUFF COMING UP. I'M NOT DONE YET!

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐄𝐒

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