#i have watched that episode TOO MANY TIMES

[lascvitae]

❦ — actress minjeong protecting actress y/n from the paparazzi

synopsis. when they run into trouble with the paparazzi on their way out, minjeong decides to hide y/n from any unwanted attention.

pairing. actress!minjeong x actress fem!reader genre. fluff warning(s). none.

word count: 979

series masterlist. main masterlist.

by the time that the first episode aired, hundreds of thousands of viewers were already fans of y/n’s and minjeong’s performance.

there was already one million hours of total watch time, and y/n could only thank minjeong for how well the show was coming along. she was very eager to show gratitude towards her co-star, brainstorming different ways in which she could.

y/n was leaning towards some new jewelry — perhaps a bracelet, necklace or something along those lines.

so she thought that it was be possible for her to figure out what minjeong liked through safari.

but there were so many different tweets, tik toks, and fanblogs about minjeong that she had no idea where to even start. the matching words didn’t even help one bit.

it made y/n felt like a creep. was she thinking too hard about it? maybe she could just get her a purse in her favorite color.

so many different brands had partnered with the actress with a hunger for fame that y/n had no idea what minjeong liked. and that was when it hit y/n.

she had no idea what minjeong liked.

and that was how she ended up here — standing in front of minjeong’s door, tugging at the birthstone on the end of her necklace.

even though they had already recorded some episodes and spent plenty time on set together, y/n was still nervous. it was hard not to be.

she cleared her throat just before the door swung open, face to face with the girl who occupied her thoughts most of the time as of late.

“hey y/n.” minjeong greeted with a hat brim that covered most of the top half of her face. it was weird that y/n could still feel the intensity of her gaze. the familiar smile tugged at her rosy lips, stepping out of her apartment.

the casualty of minjeong’s outfit made y/n’s shoulders lose some of their tension, happy that she didn’t overdress for the occasion. even if it were just a comfortable hoodie and sweatpants, a lot of thought was put into the choice of clothing.

“i don’t think the driver is outside yet.” y/n shoved her hands into her hoodie pocket, trying her hardest to focus on anything else but minjeong’s features.

typically the girl was good with eye contact but something about minjeong made her nerves light a fire and shut down.

minjeong shrugged. “that’s fine.” she reassured, glancing back into her apartment. it looked as if she were contemplating on something before shutting the door behind her.

“we can wait in the lobby?” minjeong offered rather quickly, leaving y/n in confusion. “the driver isn’t here yet though—“

“it’s better to be early.”

y/n giggled, taking this rare opportunity to tease minjeong instead. “i hope you keep that enthusiasm.”

minjeong playfully rolled her eyes, unable to stop the blush that was creeping onto her face.

—

y/n realized how much fame she had received in so little time once they reached the lobby.

because with the newfound fame came all different kinds of effects. some were problems and some were perks. the biggest problem proved to be paparazzi.

while both y/n and minjeong had their own bodyguards, fans and paparazzi didn’t seem to care. they still bombarded the girls with any chance they got.

the two stars left the apartment lobby with minjeong already expecting paparazzi, making their way to the parked escalade waiting for their arrival.

as soon as they left the building they were bombarded with multiple camera flashes, capturing the first glimpse of them after the episode dropped.

the bodyguards made it their main priority to lead them throughout the crowd and reach the vehicle, but minjeong seemed to have other priorities.

she noticed the troubled expression on her co-star’s face, stepping in front and covering most of her from the paparazzi’s vision. her hand reached behind to grab y/n’s, fingers intertwining almost immediately.

while minjeong would argue and say it was for y/n’s sake, she couldn’t deny the tingling sensation she got from being so close to the other. it was a feeling she could get used to.

y/n followed close behind, hurriedly climbing into the backseat of the vehicle with a thumping heart. she could still see light flashes whenever she blinked.

“is that normal?” she asked minjeong after they settled, buckling her seatbelt. the blonde-haired girl hummed in response, grabbing a water bottle from the cup holder to hand it to y/n.

their fingers brushed against each other and the spark between them was undeniable. both of them felt it.

“that’s… a lot.” y/n muttered, taking a sip of water to calm her nerves.

minjeong relaxed, examining the faint blush that was covering her cheeks. “that’s why you have me.”

“hm?” y/n asked, twisting the cap back onto the bottle. “i said they could only see me.” she lied with a fake cough. y/n nodded, discarding the bottle in her hands. “i don’t mind the attention!” she smiled brightly.

minjeong leaned back against the seat, cracking a smile at y/n’s. her smile was so contagious that she couldn’t hold back her own.

also, the fact that y/n lied about the driver not being outside yet. minjeong took a mental note of that.

“you gonna tell me where you’re taking me now?” minjeong’s head tilted to the side to get a better view of the girl, smile shifting into a smirk.

“that’s not how surprises work, minjeong.” y/n teased, crossing her arms and pursing her lips. “i can’t be surprised, y/n.” minjeong repeated in the same tone, enjoying the light hearted way they bantered with each other. it felt natural, like they have known one another since forever.

“oh really? is that a challenge?” the blonde hummed and now it was her turn to cross her arms. “yeah, it is. you can’t surprise me.”

“challenge accepted!”

taglist — @saysirhc @aedollie @prologue-ae @yuyuyuuuuchlo

[bats-and-the-birds]

There are a ton of fics and such with the bat kids or Bruce getting sent back or forward in time and encountering the other Bats. And these are all extremely good, however, I would like to propose

Dick Grayson gets sent through a time rift and somehow ends up in middle-of-nowhere Smallville, Kansas with teenage Clark Kent and has to figure out how to get back to his time, knowing Bruce is only like, 13 at the moment, and the only person he has to help him is pre-superman, awkward as hell Clark Kent.

Meanwhile, no one knows about Clark's powers except for Ma and Pa, and suddenly there's a random teenager that crash lands in his barn, knows everything about him, including things he didn't know about himself, and almost refers to him as "Uncle Clark" on multiple occasions before stopping himself.

I just think they'd have some silly misadventures together.

For some reason, I do think this is funniest with Dick Grayson, either as Nightwing or right before, but I could see it working with any of the bat kids at any age.

Also, this was 100% spurred on by me watching far too many episodes of Smallville, so this takes place in that universe in my mind.

[specialagentartemis]

If people are in the mood for some good, solid documentaries about history:

Time Team and Time Team America are good depictions of archaeology in Britain and the U.S., respectively; they can be a bit gimmicky sometimes, sometimes a little dramatized, but are overall very solid in their history and depiction of What Archaeologists Do! There are 20 seasons of the British show and 2 seasons of the American one, covering a broad range of historical and archaeological sites. They're fun without getting too reality-TV-ish. Many episodes can be watched for free on Youtube - some on the official Time Team channel, some thanks to one very dedicated uploader.

If you are in the U.S. or Canada, you can watch a lot of PBS specials on PBS.org. They have a really impressive range! Some, like Ken Burns's collection, you need a donation/membership to view; others are free for anyone in the US and Canada. "Ice Age Footprints" is a Nova special about the 22,000 year old White Sands site in New Mexico and is one of my favorites on their site.

And I will keep plugging Kanopy. It's a free streaming service that you can access with a library card or university affiliation! See if your public library, or your university, has access. Their focus is indie film, international film, classic cinema, and documentaries. They have LOTS of documentaries! They have Ken Burns's whole collection (I really like "The American Buffalo"), they have a lot of PBS and BBC specials (I'm a big fan of "Easter Island Origins"; it's VERY cool), and they have a brilliant and sad and infuriating and really, really well-done three-part series called "Race: The Power of an Illusion" about the history and construction of race and racism, especially in America, which I highly recommend! But there are SO many documentaries on Kanopy to browse.

The three-part series “Murder in Boston: Roots, Rampage & Reckoning” is incredible and infuriating (intentionally). It’s a history of the murder of Carol Stewart in 1989, and the subsequent racial tensions, racist policing, community fracturing, and uncomfortable truths that came out. A white man called the police saying a Black man had jumped out of the shadows, stolen his car, and murdered his wife. The police accepted this story uncritically. This documentary series does a really good job of following the manhunt, the fallout, the police brutality, and the way the truth came out over the next several months.

The series “OJ: Made In America” is a similar spirit, riveting and brilliant and tragic, about O.J. Simpson, his life and career, his position of celebrity at the time of increased racial tensions between the police and the Black population of Los Angeles—and while the murder is shocking and horrible, the series makes the public response to it feels inevitable.

These are just a couple sources to check out and some documentaries I thought did a good job. If you can’t find one of these streaming, you can also try to see if your local library has DVDs of ones you’re interested in.

(And as always, think critically about documentaries too! Ask yourself “Who made this? What are their credentials? Their biases? Their sources? Their evidence?” There are some """documentaries""" out there that are like. Graham Hancock ancient Atlantis nonsense. Unfortunately.)

[daughter-heir]

honestly you are doing all the promotion right now for the wheel of time on Amazon

because i only knew the release date from your posts

because Amazon has shown me 0% about the wheel of time season three being released or airing every week

and i have watched season one and season two multiple times

I will get as many people to watch this show as I possibly can 🫡

but yeah I agree I wish Amazon did a better job marketing the show, it's a bit frustrating and I feel like a lot of the marketing then falls to fans who want to have the show renewed. luckily, wheel of time fans are so passionate about the story and are willing to go hard for it :) sometimes I wish I could just sit back and enjoy more without worrying about spreading the word to gain viewership.

I know for awhile on the prime video website I had to search to find it and it wasn't featured in their "originals" section. I just went on the website and I don't see it in the featured section right now :/ even though there's literally a new episode tonight. like what are they doing!!! they just aired an episode that still currently sits at a 9.5 on IMDB and RT currently has s3 with a 97% critic's rating. now is the time to push it!!!!

I feel like around the premiere, it was on the home page at least for a week or so. imo they need to utilize Rosamund and the other actors to promote, too. Rosamund went on a morning show this morning which was cool! we need more of that. but like why not late night stuff like jimmy kimmel, etc. hoping this will change as the show continues to gain traction, I've seen a lot of new viewers posting lately!

[chaifootsteps]

Hi! I hope you're doing well <3 i saw a post somewhere recently about "well, have you read viv's twitter for some detail that wasn't in the show" and it made me think about how media consumption has changed. Back in the early 2000s, there was a chance that you never saw a cartoon from start to finish In Order. In recent years, i went back & watched Code Lyoko & there were episodes i never saw that i got to watch - but at no point did I ever feel lost when dropped into a random episode.

All the information for the show was contained in the show & you didnt have to go through accounts online to find small pieces of info that should be in shows & I really miss that. And it's the shift of how people interact with shows & fandom now. Everything is short 8 episode seasons, so you dont get the development that should be in the shows. And you cant be dropped in a random episode and still catch on pretty quick as to what the Main Point is (Code Lyoko's being "defeat xana, save aelita from Lyoko). And i miss that vibe shows used to give.

Also, i miss physical game guides for games. There was something magical about turning a page and telling my dad (when we played games together, earlyish to mid(?) 2000s again) what to do because we've been stuck on something for a while.

Nostalgia? Tired of not having info easily accessible in shows? Who knows - the first handful of episodes for HB has that early feel, drop in (depending on episode) on an episode and yea, its hell assassins killing people. The newer season? Cant do that, too many plot lines going. Dont know where i was going with this, other than maybe quality of shows declining to try and shove So Much in shortened seasons.

Let's all crowdfund a time machine to go back, eat some pizza, buy some game guides and hit up Blockbuster, and forget that booktok and No Child Left Behind are going to come along and ruin everything.

[haydenthewitch]

i have the 911 brainrot so bad yall 😭😭😭

I can't even pay attention to my english class becuse everything reminds me of them. symbolism about being in love? the most written about topics in all of lituarture? yeah i'm thing about edmundo diaz and evan "buck" buckley. who are they? oh just two repressed firefighters from an ABC DRAMA. girl it's so embarssing I STARTED A COUNTER for how many times in a day i thought about buddie without prompting AND WITHIN THE DAY i stopped counting becuse the number got too high and it was EMBARSSING. this is like having a crush and trying to be coy about it but you can't becuse you are too wrapped up in it. DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY TIMES IN THE PAST WEEK I'VE SAID "EDDIE COULD NEVER DO ANYTHING ILLEGAL. EDDIE HAS A SILVER STAR" OUTLOUD??? more times than you think. it's so annyoing like STAY IN THE BOX NOOO STAY IN THE BOX NOOOOOOOO. i listen to TWO (2) 911/BUDDIE PODCASTS. PODCASTS. i re-watch episodes FROM THIS SEASON just to see them again before thursday. WHEN I WAKE UP ON THURSDAY MORNING I START COUNTING HOURS UNTILL I CAN SEE THEM AGAIN. I'M SOO NORMAL I'M SOOO NORMAL I'M SOO NORMAL. I'VE STARTED WRITING THREE DIFFRENT BUDDIE FANFICTIONS THIS WEEK DAWG. AND I'VE READ LIKE, OVER 50 BUDDIE FANFICTIONS. I GO TO SCHOOL. I HABE HOMEWORK THAT I GET DONE. IT'S NOT LIKE I'M DOING NOTHING ALL DAY??? but in the little freetime I DO HAVE, the majority of it is THINKING ABOUT THEMMM

[girlacticrailroad]

friendly rivalry deep dive part 1

Korean GL Friendly Rivalry is my latest hyperfixation, if you can’t tell. It’s my favorite kind of love story—a little bit twisted, but sweet and sincere deep down—and it’s a treasure trove of tropes that scratch a primordial itch in my brain. It’s also ~*dense*~ for a GL series, and practically begging for deeper analysis. There is so much going on plot-wise, character-wise, and otherwise that it’s almost impossible to catch everything the first time you watch it. Probably a little too much going on tbh but I’m not complaining! GL fans don’t often get media this juicy to sink our teeth into. So instead of feeding my obsession by watching every FMV I can find on Youtube (been there done that), I’ve decided to rewatch the series at a slower pace, picking it apart piece by piece.

Some criticism might sneak into these deep dive posts, but my goal isn’t just to write a longer more in-depth review. I already know that I love this show, and I already know it’s got problems. Instead this will be a space for thinking out loud as I try to understand the story and characters on a deeper level, because I Have Thoughts and I Must Scream. Idk how many installments there will end up being, or how much content I’ll cover per post, but I think, for simplicity’s sake, I’ll try to proceed in episode order without jumping around too much. Oh but do watch out for spoilers—I’m writing for others like me who have watched the whole series at least once.

So...where better to begin than with the first scene of Episode 1? This opening scene is doing a lot. On the surface, it’s establishing Seul-gi as our narrator. This is her story, in her own words. We aren’t getting an “objective” account.

It’s also establishing style. From the first few seconds we know not to expect straight realism. There is no logical reason a child on a school trip would happen to have dog treats in her, um, royal handbag. This is the heightened realm of dreams and memories. She has the dog treats to illustrate an emotional truth. This poor girl is so desperate to be noticed that her efforts to stand out only isolate her more from everyone. (The princess dress is such a believable detail, too—you either know a stubborn kid who insists on embarrassing themselves like this, or you were that weird kid.) I’m struggling to think of a more perfect way to express that overwhelming feeling of invisibility than a dog turning up its nose at the treats in your hand.

This scene introduces some symbols that will pop up throughout the series. There’s another important dog later, and lots of water, and the princess dress comes back. I’m not sure what any of these are doing yet, but they seem intentional, not random. There’s some fun with the visual language too. We’re shown a series of snapshots in which Baby Suel-gi is always in the background or a bit out of frame. But some mysterious hand has helpfully outlined her and drawn some cute little pictures on the photos. Is she not only narrating her story, but illustrating it for us?

The thing about this scene is, while I love it and think it’s brilliant, it also doesn’t really make any sense. How hard could it be to locate a lost child in a princess dress if the parents knew which beach the school was visiting? Couldn’t they contact the nearest police station, or whatever institution deals with such cases? Or just contact every orphanage in the area? Maybe something got lost in translation, or maybe it just needed a little extra lampshading. Either way, it’s a bold move to hang the whole plot on a moment of what feels like dream logic.

On a poetic level, though, it’s very satisfying. The cosmic irony of being separated from everyone you’ve ever known, just because you wanted a little attention, is so deliciously bleak—and on a character level, it tells us exactly what we need to know about Seul-gi. This is a girl who has been fucked up by The Gaze. (Not The Gays yet but we’re getting there.) She’s either been ignored and forgotten, or she’s stood out in ways that have sharpened her isolation. The only thing she hates more than being noticed is not being noticed at all.

This is literally just the first minute of the episode, but already this scene is gesturing at a larger character arc. How will Seul-gi react to attention from others from now on? Will she be able to overcome the trauma of abandonment? Will she ever find someone—say, a popular girl at school who skateboards, perhaps—who can see her for who she really is?

Oh no. I just wrote six paragraphs about the first minute of the first episode. I am so doomed.

[bbywriter]

quiet days | c. sturniolo

masterlist

summary: when you drown at the scene of a mass casualty incident, chris will do anything to make sure you live.

pairing: christopher sturniolo x fem!reader, doctor!chris x doctor!reader

warnings: heavy angst, drowning (oc almost dies), they’re briefly mentioned but matt and nick are also doctors in this lol, probably very inaccurate medical terms and procedures that i just learned through greys anatomy and reddit.

notes: hi guys<3 this was inspired by that one episode of greys anatomy where mer drowns, and also a finnick odair fanfic called ‘two souls, one heart’ by @wife-of-all-dilfs. this author probably has no idea i exist but she actually made me wanna start writing. check her fic out if u love heart breaking angst like me</3. also i’ve been in so many fandoms in my life lol can u tell?

please lmk what u think about this one, im rly proud of it<3

word count: 6.2k

—

Quiet shifts are no good. Sure, it should be a comforting feeling for a place like the hospital. The stillness of stable patients means nobody is on the verge of death, and everything has a chance to breathe. 

Nurses can chat quietly over stale coffee and residents finally sit down for a moment. The clock on the wall ticks cautiously, each second dragging its feet. Even the overhead speakers rest. But it’s quiet—the calm before the storm. Where everything slows down, and you should have been too…

“Baby, come sit,” Chris starts. He’s settled on the old lumpy couch of the resident’s lounge, his arms tucked behind his head as he talks to you with shut eyes. “I feel tired just looking at you.”

You glance at him and chuckle. “Your eyes are closed.”

“Yeah, but I can hear you walking.” He cracks one eye open to watch you pace back and forth across the room, then teases with a tired smile, “You’re gonna wear a hole in the floor.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you reply with a laugh, but you know he’s right. You should sit down and try to relax—but you just can’t. 

There’s a restless energy simmering in the air. It’s an unspoken rule every doctor knows too well: stretched silence always leads to chaos. You never say it out loud, that “it’s quiet,” because admitting it might summon the mess faster. 

But everyone feels it. The whole place holds its breath, bracing for the inevitable.

You linger by the doorway, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, half considering his advice. As if he can hear the silent battle unfolding in your mind, he lets out a sigh. “You’re gonna give yourself a stroke worrying about nothing,” he says, softer this time. “Maybe tonight’s just… easy.”

You want to believe him, but your gut just refuses. You’ve been through this before. Countless times. When the quiet lulls you into a false sense of security before havoc shatters it without warning. An ambulance could come barreling in any minute. Multiple traumas. Code blues. Someone crashing hard and fast.

And although you think that worrying could somehow hold back disaster—as if keeping your mind in the same state of adrenaline as a hectic day could trick the universe into giving you a break just this once—if you’d known your life would soon be pulled from your fingertips, you wouldn’t have been so stubborn to just sit down and hug Chris for five extra seconds.

He drapes his arm across the back of the couch. 

“C’mon,” he coaxes, offering you a spot in his cozy embrace. “Just for a minute. You’ll hear the alarm if something happens.”

You hesitate, biting your lip, but finally give in. With a quiet sigh, you cross the room and sit down next to him against the cushion. Chris shifts to pull you closer into his side, his fingers drawing soothing circles along the sleeves of your scrubs. 

“You work too hard, gorgeous.” He places a soft kiss in your hair, the scent of ethanol and latex lingering, but he doesn’t mind. “This place will run fine without you for a couple minutes.”

You roll your eyes, but the corner of your mouth quirks up as you look up at him. “Feels like it might fall apart any second.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Then let it. We’ll deal with it when it happens.”

Chris doesn’t give you a chance to counter him, silencing the reply you’re about to argue with a gentle kiss to your lips. You know the silent words he's trying to convey. 'You don’t need to worry, baby. I've got you.' 

When he pulls away, you can only smile at his reassurance. You sink a little further into his touch, letting the tension slowly ease out of your shoulders. How could anything ever go wrong with Chris by your side?

His hand moves up to your neck, his thumb brushing softly over your nape, and even if it’s just for a fleeting moment, it’s enough to let your guard down.

Mass Casualty: Train derailment—Charles River. Trauma incoming.

Quiet is shattered in an instant. 

Your pagers ring simultaneously and Chris stiffens beside you, his hand instantly dropping from your neck as both of you fumble to check the message. Eight words–like a punch to the stomach.

Chris mutters a soft curse under his breath, his relaxed demeanour evaporating as he locks into focus. He’s on his feet before you can even process it, grabbing his coat off the back of the couch. 

Adrenaline spikes through you. It cuts through the lingering warmth of his touch. You follow him without a second thought, leaving behind the couch’s momentary comfort and stepping back into the unforgiving pulse of the hospital.

He glances at you, eyes sharp and steady. “Mass casualty protocol?”

You nod, already switching gears, letting instinct take over. “We’ll be triaging in the ER. Let’s move.”

The halls are alive with motion—nurses prepping gurneys, interns sprinting to set up trauma rooms, senior attendings barking orders over the rising noise. You slip into the rhythm of it without missing a beat, your mind running through every checklist, every step you need to take.

As you push through the double doors into the ER, pieces of conversation hit you– “How many victims?” and “Bridge collapse?” and “This is the worst I’ve ever seen.”

Despite the urgent orders being directed your way, Chris squeezes your shoulder to gain your attention. His tone is firm but calm. 

“You good?”

There’s no room for nerves, no space for hesitation. You’ve handled chaos before, faced down death too many times to count. You know how to keep your head above water, even when the tide threatens to pull you down. 

But you notice it the second he asks you—a feeling in your stomach. 

Mass casualty incident? Of course, nothing good could ever come from one of those. A train just fell off its tracks. People are hurt, injuries are inevitable. No instincts are needed to know that. 

But there’s something else. Something about this, about the sheer scale of it all, that feels different. 

It feels personal. 

And as much as your conscience screams at you to be selfish, just this once, to tell him you know something else is wrong, you go against it. Because you’re a doctor, and saving others will always be your highest calling.

So you lie. 

“Yes.”

A hint of a smile flickers at the corner of his mouth as he squeezes your shoulder once more, then takes off toward the admin desk. You direct a group of interns to prepare airway kits and trauma supplies, keeping your voice clear and decisive despite the unease gnawing at your instincts. 

You force yourself to take a breath, find your center. 

When you lock eyes with Chris one last time, there’s no trace of fear left—just focus. He gives you a nod of encouragement and then you’re both moving, splitting off into the storm, ready to do whatever it takes to keep these people alive.

———

Standing at the head of a gurney, one of your hands steadies a patient’s jaw while the other carefully guides an intubation tube past swollen vocal cords. Sweat gathers at your temple, but you don’t dare blink, not until the tube slips into place. 

“Tube in,” you call out.

The nurse standing by immediately starts squeezing the Ambu bag, forcing oxygen into Jane Doe’s failing lungs. Her monitor beeps unevenly, but it’s something. Airway secured. 

You barely register the sound of footsteps entering the room when Dr. Reid calls your name, his voice cutting through the tension. 

“___,” he says firmly. “We’re short on trauma docs at the scene. Finish up here, you’re leaving now with the next ambulance.”

The words barely register before you nod and strip off your gloves. The air stings slightly against your damp skin as you step back into the trauma center.  

It’s only been twenty minutes since the initial alert, but the ER is packed like you’ve never seen before. Patients have piled into every corner. Monitors are beeping in frantic discord. Nurses move quickly, calling out vitals and pushing meds in practiced chaos. 

The sharp scent of antiseptic barely masks the underlying tang of blood and burnt fabric. Overhead, the trauma board is a mess of names and injuries, constantly shifting as people continue to flood in.

And that’s when you see him. 

Beneath the TV screen, Chris’s sleeves are pushed up, blood streaks along his forearm as he finishes with another patient. You’re supposed to be heading to the ambulance bay, but instead, something tells you to weave through the maze of stretchers toward him—to quickly let him know you’re leaving, to say goodbye. 

He looks up just as you reach him, equal parts of exhaustion and relief flickering across his face. Before you can speak, his hand brushes against yours in a wordless acknowledgment, and then he’s steering you a few steps away. 

It’s out of the frantic flow of the ER. The noise still hums around you, but here, in the dim space between an empty gurney and the wall, it feels like you have a second to breathe.

“They need me on scene,” you say, voice quiet but steady. “I’m going with the next ambulance.”

His brows furrow for a split second before he nods. “Reid just told me the same thing,” he says. “I’m heading out with the next unit after you.”

The earlier feeling returns as a coil in your gut, but you don’t let it show. Instead, you reach for him, gripping his wrist for just a second before he pulls you in. The kiss is brief, a stolen moment amid the madness, but it grounds you both.

"Be careful please," he murmurs against your lips.

"You too." Your fingers tighten on his scrubs before you force yourself to let go. "I love you."

His eyes soften just for a second, just long enough for the chaos around you to blur.

"I love you too."

And then you’re gone.

———

The ambulance jolts as it pulls up to the scene, tires screeching slightly against the rain-slicked pavement. The moment the doors swing open, havoc rushes in.

The air is thick with the acrid scent of smoke and gasoline. It burns the back of your throat. Flashing lights of blue and red strobe against the darkness, reflecting off the twisted wreckage of the train cars. Metal rasps under its own weight, half-derailed carriages stacked like a horrifying house of cards. Some are overturned, others crumpled like paper, their insides spilling onto the tracks below.

The ground is a mess of shattered glass and personal belongings strewed among deep pools of rainwater and something darker—blood.

A relentless mix of crying, screaming, and distant metallic creaks fills the air, like the train itself is still groaning from the impact. Rescue teams work frantically under the harsh glare of floodlights, but this devastation simply stretches far beyond their reach.

You take a breath, pushing down the sick feeling in your stomach, and step forward into the disaster.

Amidst all of it, you spot him—a little boy, barely five, standing alone by the water’s edge. His tiny frame is shivering in the cold. The flickering emergency lights cast long shadows across his tear-streaked face, his wide eyes darting frantically through the chaos. His lips tremble as he sobs. He calls for his mom in a voice so small that nearly gets lost in the storm of sirens and shouting.

Your heart cracks in half.

You know there are people with worse injuries, people who need your attention more, but you can’t ignore him. He’s alone. He’s terrified.

You kneel to his height and set down your trauma field kit, keeping your voice soft despite the surrounding noise. “Hey, sweetheart, it’s okay. I’m gonna help you find your mom, alright?”

He sniffles, lips quivering but silent as he rubs his sleeve against his face. Dirt and tears smear across his cheek. You extend your hand, and after a brief hesitation, his trembling fingers slip into yours. They’re ice cold, and it sends a new wave of urgency through you. You squeeze his hand gently to offer what little comfort you can. “You’re gonna be okay. Let’s get you somewhere warm, yeah?”

The boy’s teary gaze flickers between your face and the chaos behind you. His voice cracks, “Mommy’s still there... she’s... she’s hurt.”

“I know, honey, I know. We’re gonna find her,” you assure him, pulling your jacket off and draping it around his small frame. It’s too big for him, but at least it will keep him warm for now. The cold air bites the second it hits your exposed scrubs, and you can feel the chill in your bones, but it doesn’t matter. He needs it more.

Rubbing a comforting pat on his shoulder, you start to lead him away from the water. Your plan is simple, just a quick detour. You’ll bring him to a police officer, make sure he isn’t alone in all this, and then you’ll get back to the scene—

A sharp, desperate tug.

“No! Mommy’s still there!”

Before you can react, he wrenches himself free from your hold, stumbling toward the water. His feet splash into the shallows, the current pulling at his small legs.

Panic jolts through you.

“Wait!” You lunge for him, grabbing blindly—

Your foot slips.

The rain-slicked ground betrays you, and suddenly, the world tilts sideways. A sharp gasp rips from your throat as your body pitches forward. 

The icy grip of the river swallows you whole.

The water closes in around you immediately, dark and suffocating. The current tugs at your limbs, and no matter how hard you try to fight, the surface only seems to slip further away. Panic claws at your chest. A bitter sting of cold water rushes into your throat and your body feels heavy, your breath shallow. Chris. Where is he? What’s happening? Why can’t you breathe? 

Your limbs kick out, the instinct to survive kicking in. With every desperate movement, you reach for anything, grasping for hope. 

But it’s as if the water is alive, pulling you under with a cruel certainty. You cough and sputter and scream but your lungs only fill with fire at every gasping attempt to inhale. Why won’t it stop? The thought echoes in your head, drowned out by the deafening rush of water and panic.

The infinite stretch of space around you twists and turns, safety slipping further and further from your reach. Where are you? Where is everyone? Nothing makes sense. The world is suddenly so big, so unfamiliar, and you’re so, so small. The weight of the water is pressing down with a relentless, almost inviting force. 

And then, as if the time has paused for a moment, a chilling clarity washes over you. The panic and thrashing give way to a sudden stillness, and the water envelopes you in a quiet embrace. 

The calm before the storm. Where everything slows down, and now, you have no choice but to surrender to the repose. The chaos above is no longer your concern. This is it. There is no future. No hope. You’ve given up on the surface; it isn’t yours anymore. This is where you belong now.

The water cradles you gently, and you let it. It feels... peaceful, in a way. There’s a strange comfort in the silence, in the weightlessness. You can still feel your heart pounding, echoing against the cold emptiness. But your mind begins to drift, like a ripple in a still pond. It’s easier this way.

In that final moment, your waterlogged mind grasps for one last thought. Chris...

And for a fleeting second, you think you feel him—feel the heartbeat you once knew, far above you, just out of reach. But then the water blurs everything again, and the darkness transforms into light, bathing your surroundings in comforting rays as you sink deeper, farther into the depths.

———

Chris arrives at the scene just minutes after you, faced with the same chaos. The wreckage of the train looms in the distance, twisted metal and shattered glass are scattered like broken bones. 

Makeshift assessment beds now line the pavement, medics moving between them in hurried strides. The air is thick with the wail of sirens and the muffled cries of the injured. It’s overwhelming. Disorienting.  

But then he sees it.  

Your bag.  

Sitting under the glow of a streetlamp, untouched, your unmistakable pink bow keychain catching the light too perfectly. It almost looks staged, as if placed there deliberately, bathed in a quiet, eerie spotlight. His stomach twists. His breath catches. The chaos around him dulls for a second, because your bag is here—but you aren’t.  

He moves toward it, heart pounding, and that’s when he notices the little boy.  

The same boy from earlier. The one you had been with. He’s curled in on himself, still wearing your jacket, staring at the water with an unsettling stillness.  

Chris crouches beside him, voice tight. “Hey, buddy... where’s ___?”  

The boy doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t answer.  

Chris swallows, trying again, his pulse now thudding in his ears. “Were you cold, bud? You’re wearing her jacket. Do you know where she went?”  

Still nothing. Just a slow, deliberate glance toward the water.  

The air is knocked from his lungs and everything inside him sinks, dragged down by the sudden unspoken truth.  

“Doctor.” A voice suddenly cuts in from behind. 

Someone’s talking to him now. Their voice sounds urgent, persistent, but Chris pays them no mind.  

“Doctor, we need you to move. We have a body that needs to be assessed.”  

He ignores it. Ignores everything but the way the kid keeps staring at the water.  

“Sir.” It’s a Search and Rescue worker, and he tries again, more forceful this time. “We need you to—”  

Chris doesn’t hear the rest. He knows. He feels it.  

You’re in there. 

He has to get to you.

The second his feet leave the ground, he hears the shouts behind him.  

“Sir—wait! You can’t—”  

“It’s our job, let us—”  

But he’s already in.  

The cold hits him like a sledgehammer, shocking and brutal. The water swallows him whole, and for a terrifying second, he’s blind. He can’t see anything. Can’t hear anything except the pounding of his own heart and the muffled roar of the river.  

Where are you?  

His hands swipe through the dark, pushing against the current, but it’s impossible—he can’t tell which way is up, let alone where you are.  

Suddenly, there’s light. 

It flickers through the dark, cutting through the swirling murk in shaky beams. Shadows shift, water distorts, and figures drop in after him. Search and Rescue, their gear making them move steady where he thrashes. The glow from their headlamps bends and wavers, illuminating glimpses of debris drifting past, the restless pull of the current.

And then—they see you.  

Your body is caught on a rock near the riverbed, motionless.  

One of the divers reaches you first, maneuvering through the water with steady, practiced movements. Chris doesn’t hesitate. He follows, kicking toward you with everything he has.  

The diver secures you, arms wrapping around your limp form, and starts the ascent. Chris is right behind you, chest burning, lungs aching, vision narrowing to nothing but you.  

You’re so still.  

Too still.  

But he doesn’t let himself think. Doesn’t let himself feel anything but the drive to get you out. To get you to the surface.  

Because you have to wake up.

Chris doesn’t waste a second. The moment your body is out of the water, he’s running—sprinting—toward the nearest ambulance, shoving past anyone in his way. He pays no attention to the shouts behind him, the frantic orders being thrown around. None of it matters. He needs to get you out of here. Now.  

When he reaches the ambulance, the EMT doesn’t move.  

“Sorry, Doctor, I’ve got orders to wait for another patient,” he says, nodding toward the scene. “They’re bringing him over now. Took a pole straight through the ribs—”  

“Then that guy is already dead,” Chris doesn’t let him finish, voice cracking, chest heaving. 

His thoughts are clouded with fury—It’s like he doesn’t see you in his arms. Like he doesn’t know there’s no time to waste on a lost cause. 

Only, the EMT does see and does know, and it’s exactly these reasons why he hesitates once more. 

Chris almost skins him alive.  

“Let the next ambulance bring him. You’re taking us back to the hospital, or you’ll give me the keys and I’ll drive there myself.”  

He looks at Chris, then at you—lifeless, limp and almost blue in his arms. And maybe it’s the way Chris is shaking, maybe it’s the tears in his eyes, maybe it’s the raw desperation bleeding into his voice, but the guy gives in.  

The doors slam shut, and the ambulance speeds off.  

———

Chris loves being a doctor. He thrives in the chaos of the ER, in the rush of saving lives, in the certainty that his hands mean something. Every stitch, every chest compression, every decision made in a split second—it all matters. It’s exhausting, brutal work, but it’s his. And if he believes in fate, he swears he is meant for this, meant to help, meant to heal.

But none of that compares to his love for you.

So when he presses his hands over your chest and feels nothing, when his breaths fail to bring life back into your lungs, he decides that there is nothing he hates more than being a doctor. Not when such a title refuses to save you. Not when all the knowledge, all the training, all the years spent fighting to keep others alive mean nothing in the face of losing you.

Chris' hands tremble as he swallows down a sob, forcing a breath into his lungs. He’s done this a thousand times before—countless compressions on countless patients—but never like this.  Never while his vision blurs and his breath stumbles and his body shakes so violently he can barely keep count. 

Two breaths. Thirty compressions. 

He locks his hands together, pressing down hard over your chest. Again. And again. And again. Each push comes with the full weight of his body behind it, but your body remains still, unyielding. No fight. No jolt. No desperate gasp for air.

“Come on, baby,” he pleads, his voice cracking. “Stay with me.”

Your head lolls slightly with the force of his movements, limp in a way that makes his stomach violently turn. Your skin, usually so warm and full of life, is sickly beneath the ambulance’s harsh fluorescent light. Strands of hair cling to your damp forehead, and your lips, usually soft and flushed, are now a haunting shade of blue.

Two breaths. Thirty compressions. 

He tilts your head back again, pinching your nose and breathes into your lungs. Your chest rises beneath him, but when he pulls away, nothing changes. You’re still quiet.

"No–"

He starts again. Harder. Faster.

Two breaths. Thirty compressions. 

No response.

His own breath is ragged, his arms burn, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t. Because any second now, you’ll suck in a sharp breath, your lashes will flutter, and your fingers will reach for his, warm and real and alive.

Any second now.

“Breathe,” he begs, a tear slipping down his cheek. “Fuck, breathe, ___. Please.”

But you don’t.

Maybe he should just give you his heart—tear it from its place in his chest and press it into the hollow silence of your ribs. If that is the only way to bring you back—trading his own life to hear your breath again, to see your eyes open and feel your warmth against his skin, he will do it without thinking twice.

He doesn’t care if it means his own end, because knowing you were alive, feeling your pulse beneath his hands will make any sacrifice worth it.

Two breaths. Thirty compressions. 

A dull crack echoes beneath his palms, the sharp sound of a rib giving way to the pressure. His breath catches in his throat, silently waiting for you to gasp in pain. But there is nothing. The quiet feels heavier than any scream. And with that broken sound, he knows it wasn’t just your rib that has shattered. 

You are gone.

Two breaths. 

Thirty compressions. 

He sobs silently at the realization, no longer able to hold back his tears that begin to fall in an endless stream. 

This time, his touch is softer, gentler. No longer frantic, no longer desperate. The rhythm of his hands have faltered over your chest. No longer driven by a troubled need to revive you, but rather, by something tender. 

It’s selfish, born of denial, the way his steady palms manually force your heart to beat. How his mouth manually fills your lungs with air. But he will do it forever—replenish your every breath and feign every pulse, merge you both together and sustain you as one if it means you are whole again.

"You’re okay, baby," he whispers, his voice cracking, barely a sound. His tears slip silently down his face as his fingers gently sweep strands of hair from your forehead, the touch trembling with a love he couldn't hold back. 

He leans in, pressing his lips to yours once more—not to force air into your lungs, but to give you everything he has left. As if love alone could bring you back. A true kiss of life. "Don’t leave me."

———

The ambulance screeches to a stop once more.

As the back doors fly open, Chris is met with his brother’s eyes. A flicker of relief briefly stirs in his chest, but the way Matt’s face crumples in confusion at Chris’s pained expression instantly makes him want to cry again. 

Chris doesn’t have to say a word. Matt instantly knows. Knows something is very, very wrong. For the first time since you were pulled from the water, Chris feels an aching comfort. 

The burden is no longer his to shoulder alone. 

The EMT starts his run down. “Jane Doe, found unconscious—”

“It’s ___, Matt.” Chris’s voice is raw, breaking mid-sentence as he looks at his brother with pleading eyes. “I found her in the water.”

Matt freezes. Just for a second. Long enough for it to feel like slow motion when his eyes glance over your pale, lifeless form And as he watches Chris mount the gurney, his hands never leave your chest, still forcing compressions as the stretcher is lifted and they rush you inside.

Unconscious. Found in the water.

The urgency in Matt’s movements sharpens, every step fueled by a surge of adrenaline, unlike anything he’s felt before. Not because other patients are less important—he’s sworn an oath to treat them all the same—but this is you. Chris’s girlfriend. The girl who’s become a sister to him.

After all the patients he’s already lost today, he refuses to let you be another.

They push into the trauma room. The fluorescent lights overhead buzz faintly, but Chris barely hears them over the ringing in his ears. Reid, Matt, and one of your interns work in a blur, voices overlapping with rapid commands. The machines beep. Someone calls for a crash cart.

Chris doesn’t realize he’s shaking until Matt’s hands are on his shoulders, forcing him back. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“No,” Chris rasps. “I need to see that she’s okay.”

“She will be, Chris.” Matt’s voice is firm, unwavering. “But you’re not in the right headspace. I won’t let anything happen to her. You need to step out.”

Chris swallows hard, his fingers curling into fists. He’s losing you all over again, and this time, he has to walk away from it.

“Matt, I can’t leave—I need to—”

“Sturniolo.” Reid’s voice cuts through the panic, steady in the chaos. “Listen to your brother. Go change your clothes.”

He wants to fight. Wants to scream that he can’t just sit and wait. But then he looks at you. At the paleness of your face under the too-bright hospital lights. They emphasize the stillness of your body in a way that the ambulance lights made you look alive. His chest tightens, his throat burning with the threat of more tears.

He stumbles backward, his legs moving on autopilot until he’s in the waiting room. All he's left with is the cold of your lips lingering on his own—so different from the familiar warmth they held before you left. He clenches his jaw, nails digging into his palms.

All he can do now is wait.

And he does.

Days. Several 24 hour cycles. Thousands of millions of seconds. 

For the next week, Chris waits. Every minute is stretched out like an endless ache, his body hovering on the edge of exhaustion. He hasn’t slept, hasn’t eaten right, hasn’t done anything but sit at your side, hoping, praying for some sign that you’re coming back to him. You’ve stabilized. Your colleagues say it’s just a matter of time. But as each day drags on with no change, the hope he clings to starts to feel fragile, like it might shatter at any moment.

“Nick and Matt are off today,” he says quietly, his voice heavy from the seat beside your bed. “But I think they’re gonna come by in the afternoon.”

He watches your face. It’s peaceful, and he can only hope that means you’re in no pain. But there’s no reply. There hasn’t been for the past seven days. 

He gently takes your hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. The warmth is there now, but the weight of it—limp in his grasp, the way your fingers don’t curl back in return—makes his heart crack. Another reminder that not enough has changed since the water.

“I need you to wake up, baby.”

He presses his cheek into the palm of your hand, cradling it gently with his own, your hand now sandwiched between his face and the steady strength of his hold. If he closes his eyes, he can almost pretend that you're the one comforting him, that he’s the one being held in your arms.

“I can’t do this without you.”

No more tears fall. They couldn’t even if he wanted them to. He has already cried every last tear he has, and now, the pain remains only as a weight in his chest. His heart wrenches at the sound of his own voice. Broken and honest. He really can not do this without you. Life no longer has meaning.

He rests his head on your thigh, draping his arm over your legs. His fingers gently caress your hip while his other hand holds your wrist, keeping your palm pressed to his cheek. Anyone who passes by your room can’t help but notice the sight. It's pitiful—an embrace between a living man and his unconscious lover, waiting in a silent plea for her to come back.

“Come back to me, baby, please.” He turns his face to kiss your palm, pressing his lips softly against your skin. One last desperate attempt. “I love you.”

———

In the vast emptiness, there’s nothing. No sound. No light. Just a void that swallows everything around you, making it impossible to tell where the darkness ends and you begin. The cold envelopes you into a silence so complete, it feels suffocating.

The isolation is absolute. It’s not loneliness, because loneliness requires awareness. Here, you’re just lost. Trapped in a place that feels like it’s outside of time, where the world outside is just a distant memory. You can’t remember how long you’ve been here, or how you got here. You can’t remember the last time you felt warmth or light. You only know the relentless pull of the dark.

But then… a voice.

It’s faint at first, like a whisper across a windless field. Barely audible, but it’s there, tugging at the edges of the silence. You can’t place it, but something about it feels so familiar, like it’s a thread that belongs to you. It’s a lifeline, delicate but real.

“I need you to wake up, baby.”

The voice cracks, the sound trembling with raw emotion, desperation leaking through every word. It’s his voice. Chris’s voice.

It reverberates through the isolation, cutting through the layers of silence that have settled over you. For a moment, you don’t move, unsure of what it means. But the longer you listen, the more you realize: this voice is not just calling to you. It’s pulling you back.

“I can’t do this without you.”

Each word, each begging prayer, draws you closer to something—something warm and familiar and human. You don’t know how, but you can feel it. The weight of the isolation begins to shift, the oppressive quiet lightening just a fraction. His voice is the only thing you can feel. The only thing you can trust.

You don’t know if your heart is still beating, if it’s still alive, but his voice stirs something inside you. A faint echo of life. It pulls at the thread of your consciousness, urging you, nudging you forward.

“Come back to me, baby, please.”

The isolation isn’t gone, not yet. But his voice has cracked open a space in it, just enough for you to feel the warmth of connection again. The darkness is no longer whole, the quiet is no longer deafening.

And with that fragile sliver of sound—of love—you begin to realize you’re not alone. Not anymore.

“I love you.”

Those words, steady and strong, are the final pull. And with them, you feel the first true stirrings of movement. A heartbeat. A breath. A lifeline to pull you back from the endless void.

The warmth of his cheek is in your hand.

Chris feels it. It's faint at first, a gentle scratch of your fingers through his hair. The smallest movement, but it’s enough to make him freeze. His breath catches in his throat. His eyes widen in disbelief.

You’re awake.

He sits up slowly, hesitant, as if afraid he might disturb this fragile moment. His heart hammers in his chest, and he watches you with a mix of wonder and fear. Your eyes flutter open, soft and blurry at first, and then you lock with his.

“Fuck,” he chokes out, his voice breaking as his hands cover his face. A new wave of tears that he didn’t know he was holding back breaks free, his body shaking.

You call his name, softly, but it feels like the most real thing in the world.

“Chris…”

The sound of your voice, so tender, makes his heart lurch. His body trembles with the weight of everything he’s held in, all the fear, the doubt, the pain. He looks at you, his hand trembling as he reaches out, unsure of how to touch you—how to hold you—now that you’re here.

He finally stands, his legs weak, and pulls you into his arms. Carefully, gently at first, afraid you might shatter in his grip. But then he holds you tighter, pressing his face into the curve of your neck, his body shaking with sobs he can no longer contain.

You hold him, your arms wrapping around his back, feeling the tremors of his pain against your skin. And in that moment, you don’t cry because you’ve returned. You cry because you can feel his hurt, deep and raw, coursing through his body. It’s too much. It’s everything.

“I'm sorry, baby,” you whisper, your voice a soft echo against his trembling frame.

Chris pulls away slightly, just enough to see your face, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, his lips find yours in a kiss—deep and urgent, as if he needs to make sure you’re really here, that you’re not going to slip away again.

The taste of your tears, mingled with his, falls onto your lips, but you don’t mind. You need him to feel you. You need him to know you’re not leaving.

When he pulls back, he stares at you with wide, disbelieving eyes, as if he can’t comprehend what’s happening.

“I thought you died,” he says, his voice breaking.

Your heart snaps in your chest, and without thinking, you pull him back to you, crashing your lips against his again, more desperate this time. It’s a silent vow, a message you don’t need to say aloud: I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.

When you finally pull away, you look him in the eyes, your voice a steady promise.

“I will never leave you.”

Without another word, he pulls you into his arms again, holding you as if you are the very air he breathes.

“I love you,” he whispers once more.

And you whisper back, your heart full and alive, “I love you too.”

—

a/n: i’m sorry<3 thank u for reading<3 please lmk what u think!!!!

also idk if u guys care to know but another lias update: idk where to bring the story😭 i’ve written and rewritten the second part like twice now but im rly stuck w where i want the story to go. i’ll get to it when i get to it but for now we’ll have inspo for other things.

ok i love u guys<333

[izzystradlindoesitforme]

Last song I heard was on the radio - I didn't hear the entire song so I don't think it counts. It was panama by Van Halen. The last song I listened to - that I actually played - was Don't Dream it's Over by Crowded House.

I haven't finished a book in forever. I bought one at BAM the other day called Attached which is about Attachment theory. I have not started it, lol. How sad.

I have not known what my favorite color is in decades. It's hard to pick just one. If I had to pick because my life depended on it I would give two colors and that wouldn't be okay so I guess Idie. I would probably blurt out I like shades of green, brown, and blue. Earth tones. So I guess I'd blurt out three colors.

Last full movie I watched... I can't remember. Hmm ... the last one I remember watching from the beginning to the end was 'Rocky'. It was the first time I had ever seen the beginning.

I love all three. I love food, especially with a lot of flavor. If I had to choose right now I would probably say a candy bar or milkshake that was mostly sweet but if it had something savory in it that would be good too, lol. I'll go with sweet. But anytime you mix them together it's grand. Like fries and ketchup or caramel and salt. Peanut butter and jelly. They go together...

Last show ... Watching The Last Kingdom in Netflix. But I saw bits and pieces of The Walton's the other day. I didn't watch the entire show but I saw alit of one episode.

Currently obsessed with trying to get my life in order. Like, improving my mental and physical health, cleaning and decluttering - getting rid of things I don't need, planning my future, trying to focus more on what really matters and spending time with my pets and parents, etc., are a few examples.

My last Google search was Tumblr. I don't have the app on my phone. I don't know how you guys can stand to have a million social media apps on your phone. I took them all off. So if I want to get in any of them I have to search for it and use the desktop version.

Looking forward to a trip I'm planning. And my next meal. Because I'm hungry. But I don't think I have anything to eat here because I need to go grocery shopping. But I'm not really looking forward to that, lol.

@beebemarie @nenynra @hollywoodroses @izzystradliniscute @jakelinestradlin I think that's probably enough tags. I usually tag way too many people, lol. No pressure tag. But anyone is welcome. 😊

10 people i’d like to know better

I was tagged by both @the-travellers-tale and @leapintothelightning-xo for this! Thanks, y'all!

last song: "Run Runaway" - Slade

last book: erm...well I'm currently reading Butcher and Blackbird by Brynne Weaver.

favourite colour: PURPLE

last movie: Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith

spicy/sweet/savory: Most likely sweet. I love me some baked goods.

last show: Schitt's Creek.

current obsession(s): idk that I have any? I don't have the attention span required to obsess.

last search up: who wrote Butcher and Blackbird, lmao.

looking forward to: getting over being sick so I can see my Rainbow Emoji. Idk that I know 10 people who'd like to be tagged but I know I'm tagging @ride-the-hammett!

[rogueshadeaux]

“I hate the script, the vault dwellers sound so cheesy—“ my Brother in Steel you realize that’s the point, right? They were bred to act like the physical embodiment of an HR e-mail. Did you not catch the memo that Vault-Tec put out regarding their experiment facilities?

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Maybe we never had a chance.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[s0fter-sin]

one of my favourite aspects of supernatural that you very rarely see in paranormal shows is that sam and dean are already versed in the world they live in. there’s no sudden discovery of ghosts and demons and now they have to learn about them along with the audience; they are born into it and already know all about it. it allows the audience to follow their personal story instead of also trying to figure out this new world and its rules

the first season is full of knowledge we never see them learn; “w*ndigoes are in the minnesota woods or- or northern michigan. i’ve never even heard of one this far west.” […] “great. well then this [his gun] is useless.” (1x02), “you don’t break a curse. you get the hell out of its way.” (1x08), d: “it’s a god. a pagan god, anyway.” […] “the annual cycle of its killings? and the fact that the victims are always a man and a woman. like some kind of fertility right.” […] s: “the last meal. given to sacrificial victims. d: “yeah, i’m thinking a ritual sacrifice to appease some pagan god.” (1x11)

almost every episode in the first season is a monster they’ve faced before that they then explain to the audience in a way that should feel patronising; like it’s the same speech given over and over again but instead, the audience almost feels included in the knowledge. it’s stated with such an innate confidence and comfort in said knowledge that it feels like we already knew it too; “spirits and demons don't have to unlock doors. if they want inside, they just go through the walls.” […] “the claws, the speed that it moves; could be a skinwalker, maybe a black dog.” (1x02), “it's biblical numerology. you know noah's ark, it rained for forty days. the number means death.” (1x04), “no no no, not the reaper, a reaper. there's reaper lore in pretty much every culture on earth, it goes by 100 different names.” […] “you said it yourself that the clock stopped, right? reapers stop time. and you can only see 'em when they're coming at you which is why i could see it and you couldn't.” (1x12)

they already know and, at least in the first season, already have what they need to kill whatever they’re hunting; already know to salt and burn bones for spirits, fire for a w*ndigo, exorcisms for demons, a silver bullet to the heart for shapeshifters. there’s only three times in the entire first season that they run into something new to them; 1x14 when sam gets his first vision that leads him to another psychic, 1x16 when dean calls caleb for help on the sigil he put together and he tells him about daevas, and 1x20 when they find out vampires are real- and they only don’t know that bc john thought they were hunted to extinction and not worth mentioning

(there’s also technically two half instances if you count one of them knowing something the other doesn’t - sam figuring out the tulpa in 1x17 and dean already knowing about the shtriga in 1x18 - but those still rely on sam and dean having prior knowledge)

even when they’re uncertain about facing something, it’s not bc they don’t know what it is; it’s precisely bc they know what it is and acknowledge that it’ll be a difficult hunt (“i don't know, man. this isn't our normal gig. i mean, demons, they don't want anything, just death and destruction for its own sake. this is big. and i wish dad was here.” 1x04)

so much of the tension in paranormal shows typically comes from the main character(s) not knowing what is happening to them/the people around them and having to find out how to resolve it. supernatural is unique in that it operates more like a police procedural. the tension comes from solving the clues and identifying patterns to figure out who (what) the killer is and intercepting before they can take another victim

it’s such a different tone to go for when compared to other shows that came both before, during, and after its run. it sets sam and dean on even footing with each other since they both have the same knowledge going in, and it puts them in a place of authority usually reserved for an outside character

the shows i compare spn to most is charmed, buffy and teen wolf; every main character in those shows are brought into the paranormal world knowing nothing, putting them on the same level as the audience, and they have their mc interact with others already knowledgeable about that world in order to overcome their problem/monster of the week. the audience organically learns about this new world as the characters learn about it. it’s a sound writing strategy that prevents “as we already know”-style exposition but something that complicates it is if your world building isn’t unique or intriguing enough, this slow introduction can become boring

we’ve seen shows like these before; sitting through the same tropes of characters learning to use their powers, struggling with no longer feeling normal/relating to the regular world around them, and not knowing how much they can trust the people already involved in this new world gets repetitive. all three shows eventually reach the same level of comfort with their new world that spn starts with but if the characters aren’t enough to draw you in, you can end up dropping it before they reach that point (and often, before the overarching plot can really kick in and evolve the show beyond the villain of the week format)

it’s the superhero origin movie in tv format; dragged out and overplayed. dropping the audience into an established world of course comes with its own problems but you also have the benefit of pre-existing established character dynamics that let the audience slot in like they’ve always been there instead of just getting to know all the characters while the characters also get to know each other

sam and dean already knowing about the supernatural lets the audience immediately get to the core of the story; the conflict between sam and dean, the search for their father, and the mystery of what killed their mother

[anistarrose]

the owl house has some diabolical parallels via framing of scenes but none make me cry more than plant glyph dead dad vs. light glyph dead dad. what if i was never normal about luz and her dead dads (both biological and non-biological) again

[ID from alt:

Luz drawing a plant glyph in Reaching Out

Luz and Amity watching as they send the flowers into the air with a balloon

Luz touching an inert light glyph in Watching and Dreaming

Luz watching with a tearful smile as she releases the light glyph into the wind. The scene has the exact same framing as the scene in Reaching Out.

End ID.]

[starryluminary]

♪ Dirty Little Secret - The All-American Rejects

Do you remember when I said a while ago that a playlist with 6 songs didn’t sit well with me, so I had a way to add more? This is that way. I’ve put too much though into this universe where every kiss is Noco, so I’m making sketch pages for the comics respective episode, starting with Greeces Pieces!

No one even kisses in this episode, but the reveal plot point was WAY too important and WAY too interesting to ignore. The reveal comic will come eventually, but for now here’s the rest of the episode!!

For funsies here’s my notes about this portion, directly copy pasted from my notes app:

* Noah death glares Tyler, threatening him into silence. Alejandro notices.

* When Heather and Alejandro bicker before landing, Noah shoots Cody a look, saying “they’re crazy” with his eyes. Cody giggles back at him. Sierra notices.

* She questions him about it, not knowing Noah and Cody were friends. Cody awkwardly reaffirms yeah they’re just friends!! Sierra accepts this answer despite Cody stumbling through it. Oopsies I ended up changing this one. I’ll explain why later.

* Noah competes in the one on one turned 3v3 duel, Owen using him as a weapon. Well intentioned, of course. They end up winning, and they share the two medals Owen won in the original.

* Noah ends up flying across the arena, landing on Cody by accident. They pause for two seconds maximum, and stutter and stumble standing up. Alejandro notices and starts putting the pieces together of what might of happened.

* (By the end of the episode he’s positive he knows, so he’s not really shocked when Tyler actually says it.)

* The song of the episode is sung by Courtney and Duncan, about what don’t ask me. Courtney wins that challenge for the Amazons.

* Heather and Alejandro still compete in the hurdles challenge and Heather still wins, leading to the tiebreaker.

If anything is confusing or unclear, please feel free to ask about it! You wanna ask me about it soooo bad actually

[angryducktimemachine]

"Sherlock Holmes is for sure gay. He's playing the violin and whatever is going on with him and Watson."

- my father, talking about "gay crime stories"

[jemmo]

i don’t want to jump the gun, but i think hwang daseul might have just done it again. two episodes in to let free the curse of taekwondo and i am obsessed. more than obsessed. transfixed. this show feels special in a way hwang daseul’s touch only can give, and just using these two episodes to compare to her previous works, i love that i can already spot the continuity in the kinds of stories she tells, the messages she portrays and how she portrays them. she just knows how to let her characters exist in harmful and difficult places and show how their experiences affect them while also just showing them as normal human beings. it is so so easy to overdramatise these kinds of stories that have these difficult topics and have it be so surface level, but she has never done that. instead, she shows how those experiences shape a person and how they go about living in spite of them. all the way from where your eyes linger to now, she gives us characters that are wholly themselves and not just the traumas they have gone through and i just adore that. i can’t remember what i was talking about specifically, but i remember talking about this sentiment and how it actually helps to build empathy in an audience as opposed to just showing a difficult topic at the most surface level bc you think that makes it accessible and easier to understand and hence empathise with. i don’t think that ever works. it’s only when you do what hwang daseul does, when you give us characters we can get to know and fall in love with and care for that you help us to empathise with their experiences. it’s hard to understand the weight and the hardship of experiencing something traumatic, but when something bad happens to someone close to you, a family member or a friend, you understand and feel that pain astronomically more. that’s what hwang daseul manages to do. and more so, she makes you feel that while also seeing these people as people. you get to see them away from the hurt, you see them smile in moments of happiness and you see that too with people you’re close to, and you feel even more how special and important those moments of happiness are.

and that’s why, whenever hwang daseul is at the helm of something, i will be seated from start to end with endless boxes of tissues ready. i can’t wait to see what else this show has in store.