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damnfeelings09 · 23 hours ago

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So long, London - Shadow version

“I saw in my mind fairy lights through the mist

I kept calm and carried the weight of the rift”

You were at home, the house you shared with Shadow. It was a beautiful and cozy place. If only you still enjoyed being there. At first, everything was fine; Shadow loved having you close, even though he didn't show it very enthusiastically, his small gestures of love towards you always made your heart melt. However, lately, he had been very distant. It had been weeks since he kissed you, and don’t even talk about intimacy. Shadow was always very busy with his work, going from mission to mission, trying to save the world, but that’s what heroes do, right? So why did you feel so… alone?

“Pulled him in tighter each time he was drifting away.”

Every chance you got, you made sure that when Shadow came through the door, there was food ready, a comfortable and cozy place, a home that covered all the bad from the outside. But it was no longer enough. Every time you tried to start a conversation, Shadow refused, claiming he was too tired, had other things to do, and didn’t want to be disturbed. He locked himself in his office and you didn’t see him for days. You didn’t even share the same bed anymore. You tried to deceive yourself, of course, The Ultimate Lifeform doesn’t need rest, you thought, as you curled up and wiped away the tears before going to sleep.

As the weeks passed, you became immune to his indifference. Shadow didn’t try anymore, and neither did you. Both of you only shared the table out of habit. Is this how it feels when love ends?

“I stopped trying to make him laugh

Stopped trying to drill the safe.”

Right now, you were in the room with a bag full of your belongings. You couldn’t take this indifference anymore. The suffering was killing you, and he couldn’t even notice. You quickly grabbed what you could from your drawers and put it inside. Near the door, there was a photo. In it, you and Shadow were sitting on the edge of a hill, happy, smiling. When did all that happiness evaporate? Where did all that happiness go?

“Thinkin, how much sad did you think I had

Did you think I had in me?

Oh, the tragedy ...”

You pushed the photograph to the floor, the frame shattering into a thousand pieces at the same time as your heart did. Was this really what you wanted? The pain in your chest was devastating. There seemed to be no way out of it; you just needed it to stop. How could you stop a heart that lost its only reason to beat?

“I stopped CPR, after all it's no use

The spirit was gone, we would never come to.”

It wasn’t too late. You could still go back, leave everything as it was, and Shadow would never know. The thought of staying made your heart hurt less, but for how long? How much longer could you bear it? Before the pain consumed you completely, what else were you willing to give?

“And you say I abandoned the ship

But I was going down with it

My white knuckles dying grip

Holding tight to your quiet resentment.”

As you picked up the glass shards, you remembered the last fight you had. It was early, Shadow had promised he would spend the day with you. You woke up so excited, happy that finally your boyfriend would have time for the two of you, but when you went downstairs, you found him about to leave through the door.

“Where are you going? I thought we were going to spend the day together,” you said, fiddling with your fingers, a nervous tic that always appeared when you were anxious.

“Something important came up” Shadow said, opening the door.

“I thought I was important” the anger consumed you from within. You had spoken without thinking. “At least pretend that you’re trying” You quickly covered your mouth, as if you could erase what you had just said. Shadow just sighed and gripped the doorknob tightly.

“You think I’m not trying?” he asked, anger building up on his voice as he turned to face you “I always push myself, I want to live my life, to enjoy it. Just like you do! But the death of my family is on me, and if I wasn’t created, none of it would’ve happened. It’s on me, I’m the one who has to pay for it. It’s all on me, so gods forgive me if I don’t have time for spoiled stupid little brats” he said, next thing you knew is that Shadow had disappeared using his chaos control, didn’t even bother to open the door, leaving you stranded. You stayed there at the edge of the stairs, trying to hold back your sobs, but as seconds passed, the weight became unbearable and it all came out. The pain was so deep that you couldn’t breathe, as if life itself was slipping from your hands. That day, when Shadow came back, he didn’t dare speak to you.

“My friends said it isn't right to be scared

Every day of a love affair

Every breath feels like rarest air

When you're not sure if he wants to be there.”

When you told Rouge and Amy about it, they were ready to hit him so hard that even his ancestors would feel the pain. But you didn’t let them, because you loved him, despite everything… you loved him. You still love him, right?

“Just how low did you think I'd go?

Before I'd self-implode

Before I'd have to go be free.”

“You swore that you loved me but where are the clues?” you whispered as you held the photograph in your hands, caressing it, wishing to go back to that day. You inhaled, filling your lungs with fresh air, allowing yourself to feel that pain, hidden, denied, buried among what you thought was love. For a moment, you let it take control of your body, each second more unbearable than the last. You couldn’t go on like this, you weren’t going to go on like this. Shadow wouldn’t take everything you were and turn it to ashes. Yes, you loved him, but you wouldn’t let him drag you into his misery. He had taken what once was a home and turned it into a cold, dark place, where light couldn’t reach you, at least not until you allowed it.

“And I'm just getting color back into my face

I'm just mad as hell cause I loved this place.”

You turned the photograph around, took the pen that was on the table near the front door, and wrote your farewell. You placed the paper back on the table with your keys, and as your heart agonized, you gave the final goodbye to your home, the only one you’ve ever known.

“Had a good run

A moment of warm sun

But I'm not the one

So long, Shadow” - Moon.

#shadow the hedgehog x reader #shadow the hedeghog #mobian x human #shadow x reader #sonic x reader #sth #shadow the hedgog #so long london shadow version #shadow au #sth au #x reader #shadow the hedgog au #sonic fanfiction #shadow fanfic

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sunnie-angel · 2 days ago

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miss july you absolutely killed this fic (and me. i'm dead. deceased. cause of death: julymusings). tbh my only thought about the wound marinating for a half hour was "oh no, the ice cream is gonna melt" and not, you know, the medical side of things. i don't know how but you've captured such a specific anxious meltdown that i could feel myself getting worked up too (this is meant as a compliment). you deserve all the flwoers (and ice cream) for putting out this incredible thing, if it feels like i highlighted half the fic below, no i didn't but i was very tempted.

You still have forty-eight minutes of peace before it will scare you awake. Its beeping will ring so loud and angry that the adrenaline from the startle will power you through your morning routine, and your beating heart won’t dare still to entertain wishes of just five more minutes.

miss july are you in my mind? are you living my life? are we the same person?

Rush hour traffic has the ice cream tub you bought at the convenience store dripping condensation all over the passenger’s seat and your hips hurt from being in the same sitting position for most of the day, but you remind yourself that peace is only a few miles out. Stopped at yet another red light, your grip tightens on the steering wheel. Breathe in. Breathe out. The line of cars starts to move forward.

there is something so visceral about this passage. i've never been in this exact situation and yet i feel like i have.

He’s just sitting there, doing nothing except bleeding out on your cream-colored carpet. He’s spread out on the couch like he owns the place, head leaned back against the wall as he lets his injured arm hang over the armrest and drip blood and dirt onto your cream-colored rug. The liquid seeps into the expensive wool, staining it with reddish-brown hues and the scent of iron, and he doesn’t even notice.

can't defend myself, my brain just went hot here

You want to scream it in his face and kick him out for having the audacity to think he can come and go as he pleases, that you’re nothing more than a drive-through emergency room who will drop everything if he gets so much as a paper cut.

god the frustration is so real and palpable and catty. (honestly miss july, are you in my head bc this is almost exactly what my reaction would be in this scenario)

You’ll be subjected to all the shitty coworkers and unsympathetic friends and exploitative vigilantes of the world for the rest of your life.

you know how some people complain about how they can't get into x reader fic bc 'they wouldn't do that'? well i DON'T have that complaint bc this is literally me

After a moment’s hesitation, he continues. “It’s easy. You just need salt and—” “Okay.”

jason trying to be nice and problem solve because he can sense there's a problem but he doesn't know what it is but by trying to be helpful he thinks he can maybe make it better? me. reader not having the emotional bandwidth to deal with his attempts to help and shutting him down before she can implode anymore? also me.

First your carpet, now your pajamas. Your favorite, special, extra soft matching cotton pajama set, a rare splurge after your promotion that stood out among old t-shirts and sweat shorts. Ruined.

real talk, i would be sobbing at this point. i don't care what kind of tricks jason has to get blood out of light coloured fabric, these pyjamas have now been tainted by the moment

(Maybe you noticed in the back of your mind that he’s not exhibiting any body language since you snapped at him, but the compartment in your head for guilt is already overflowing, so maybe you didn’t notice it, you tell yourself.)

this!!!!! oh my god when your mind is noticing but you're trying to not notice because then you'll spiral but you're already spiraling so all it does is make you feel guilty but because you're spiraling you don't have the emotions or energy to deal with the full weight of it so you're just back to guilt

You close your eyes and lean against the door. Breathe in. Breathe out.

who hasn't been here before, am i right?

“No, I’m not.” It comes out as an empty whisper.

reader gets to exhale. it just feels like they've been holding their breath for the first part of the fic but now they can't anymore. this is the exhale, this is catharsis.

You know why.

jason, honey, sugar pie, darling. USE YOUR WORDS. YOUR ACTUAL WORDS

you're good to me, baby

with the roar of the fire my heart rose to its feet, like the ashes of ash i saw rise in the heat. settle soft and as pure as snow, i fell in love with the fire long ago.

or; because the red hood bleeding onto your living room carpet is exactly what you need right now [3.6k]

Jason Todd x fem!reader; based on this lovely ask; ngl this turned into a personal vent jason doesn't show up until 1k words in LMAO; warning there’s blood (duh) and reader is type A and suggested to have heavy anxiety; pre-established relationship where reader doesn’t know his identity + muzzle red hood bc HOT

Compartmentalize. Create baskets in your mind. Analyze the situation, and drop the corresponding emotion in the appropriate basket.

One: You had a fight with your best friend. She called you selfish because you weren’t enthusiastic about her new relationship. She just can’t seem to understand that no matter how happy you want to be for her, it’s painful to see everyone find safety in another person when you can’t. Every attempt at romance is squashed by something or the other that you keep doing wrong. I thought you were hot, your latest dating attempt had said when you ran into him and asked why he never texted back. But you’re kind of a lot. Not something I have the space for right now, you know?

Two: There’s an important presentation today, one that could determine the fate of your position in the company. Your coworker, the one who’s convinced you stole his promotion (he just flirted with the higher-ups while you actually completed the requirements), refuses to let you forget how much is at stake. All it takes is one misstep, one stutter, one hesitation, and he will take it as an excuse to demand your demotion— or worse, termination. You’ve been preparing for this presentation for three weeks. If after all that effort it’s still not good enough, maybe you should be fired.

The emotions here? Frustration. Anger. Exhaustion. Jealousy. Just to name a few. But there’s no time to dwell on anxieties right now, so you shove those thoughts aside. Drop them in their compartments and move on because, after all, if you can strip them down to their bones and find where they stem, you can yank those anxieties from the ground before they have the chance to root. And then there’s no need for unnecessary heartache, right?

(Who cares if the baskets are overflowing, crumpled fragments spilling over the sides like garbage in a landfill? Who cares if the room of your mind is so packed that you’re pressed against the wall and breathing becomes painful.)

The digital clock beside your bed reads 6:12. The numbers blink in and out of the window, their red dots and dashes taunting your heavy eyelids. You still have forty-eight minutes of peace before it will scare you awake. Its beeping will ring so loud and angry that the adrenaline from the startle will power you through your morning routine, and your beating heart won’t dare still to entertain wishes of just five more minutes. 6:13 now. You have forty-seven more minutes of peace, minutes which should be spent sleeping, giving your poor brain a break from itself. But you can’t. Every time you close your eyes and begin to sink below the level of consciousness, your heart pumps a house-special cocktail of cortisol that laces through your bloodstream and convinces you that if you fall asleep you will miss your presentation and you will get fired. The off-grid escape plan formulating in your head switches from hypothetical to tentative when your neighbors, apparently awoken to lust as well as tired by it, start going at it again. You want nothing more than to bang on their door and scream obscenities until they hate each other enough to never touch again, but you resign yourself to consciousness, giving up on the dream of what would now be forty-four more minutes of sleep.

It’s Friday morning; only one more day to get through before the sweet release of the weekend finds you. (The whole weekend will be spent contemplating the start of a project, feeling like two days is not nearly long enough to complete anything, and dreading Monday until it finds you with nothing done and the same, endless cycle awaiting.)

After completing your morning routine 44 minutes early, you use the spare time to go through your presentation once more, just for good luck, wrapping up the third run-through just in time to hear your alarm to leave for work.

The presentation goes decent, at least well enough to quell any doubts about your ability to do your job. Your coworker ate his words for sure, and you might have enjoyed the look on his face had you not mentally checked out as soon as you finished your closing remarks. Rush hour traffic has the ice cream tub you bought at the convenience store dripping condensation all over the passenger’s seat and your hips hurt from being in the same sitting position for most of the day, but you remind yourself that peace is only a few miles out. Stopped at yet another red light, your grip tightens on the steering wheel. Breathe in. Breathe out. The line of cars starts to move forward.

When you get home, your frustration is close to boiling over. You kick off your shoes right at the door, your keys and bag following close behind.

Far be it from you to break down on the floor in the middle of the room, the plan begins to formulate. There’s a box of tissues on your desk– that can go on the nightstand, along with two of the chilled water bottles you keep in the fridge for after you work out. And you’ll need something for the tissues, right? The small wastebasket from the bathroom should be fine. You drag it over to the side of your bed, sitting in your usual spot to make sure you placed it at a reachable distance. You won’t want to get out of bed to wash your face after this, so a washcloth should go next to the tissues. And an extra one, just to be safe. There’s a half-pint of ice cream left in the freezer, you remember, and store that information for later.

You keep a set of comfortable clothes ready, the nicest, softest pajamas you own that you only wear after an everything shower. This shower, however, is a quick one, not much more than a few minutes under scalding water to comfort you, if nothing else. The light pink pajamas are a high-quality cotton and you feel like you’re in the clouds when you slip into them. Remaining is the ice cream, which you set out on the counter right before your shower so it would thaw just enough to be soft but not melted, With everything in your room ready, you go to retrieve the ice cream but stop with a startle when you round the corner.

“Jesus,” you mumble.

“Hey.” The Red Hood lifts his head when he sees you.

On any other day, you’d be quick to action, hauling him up off the couch and sprinting for the first aid kit under the bathroom sink. Today, your arms are too heavy and your gaze remains rooted on the widening splotch of red against white. Your throat feels dry. “You’re getting blood on the carpet.”

He peers over the armrest. “Oh, shit,” he curses, lifting his arm to hover it over his lap. He sounds robotic through his muzzle mask. His hood, pulled down to reveal his thick black hair curling at the ends from humidity and sweat, rests on his back.

I don’t have time for this, is what you want to say. You want to scream it in his face and kick him out for having the audacity to think he can come and go as he pleases, that you’re nothing more than a drive-through emergency room who will drop everything if he gets so much as a paper cut. But you can’t say any of this, and you do want him to come to you whenever he needs help. God knows he won’t go anywhere else.

Holding back your heavy sigh, you wordlessly walk to the bathroom. He takes that as an invitation to follow.

It’s clinical. Rehearsed. Neither of you speak. It’s a partnered dance long since committed to muscle memory, steps you can take in your sleep. He knows to seat himself on the step stool you got just for him, for nights like these. He knows where to find the first aid kit and which supplies to hand you first. You know the exact steps to follow. Check the palms for abrasions. Antiseptic to the lacerations. Concussion exam.

Maybe he can sense the air of tension surrounding you, because he doesn’t say as much as he usually does (though, granted, it’s still not much). It’s a reflection of your dynamic several months earlier when this arrangement began, back before you’d managed to chip away at the surface of his rough exterior. You notice the way his fingers curl against his thighs when you, somewhat carelessly, wipe the dirt from his skin with more pressure than necessary and the way his eyebrows tilt inward when you work slower than usual. You notice, but you ignore it.

We both know you have at least a dozen people who could do this for you. The words echo in your mind. Don’t act like I owe you this. If anything, you owe me a new carpet. These are things you wish you could say, but never will. Being realistic, you’ll probably never be able to say things like this. You’ll be subjected to all the shitty coworkers and unsympathetic friends and exploitative vigilantes of the world for the rest of your life.

This isn’t his fault, you remind yourself, but still, your lips turn down and your jaw feels tight with the effort to keep your face still, to not burst into tears right on the spot. In the second it takes for you to calm yourself, your hands pause. He notices. He says nothing.

It’s not until you’re finished with cleaning the blood from his arm wound and giving him a wad of gauze to hold against it that he tests the waters and asks, “Is it too bad?”

He sounds automated, but over the last few months, you’ve learned a thing or two about reading even these robotic actions. There's a certain quietness to the beginning of his sentence like he’s debating if he should say it or not.

“It’s fine,” you say, shortly.

“Sorry about your rug,” he says. He tugs at the strap of his muzzle with one finger, rubbing at the skin underneath the leather. “I can get the stain out.”

You retrieve the needle and thread from the kit and don’t respond. You don’t even look at him.

After a moment’s hesitation, he continues. “It’s easy. You just need salt and—”

“Okay.”

He goes quiet.

You don’t mean to be so tetchy, but you don’t have the energy for anything more. Every little thing has you feeling on the edge of shattering. It’s too much. It’s all too much.

It’s when you’re kneeled at his side, staring into the gaping wound on his bicep and trying to thread the needle, fingers trembling from the chill of the tiled floor with nothing but a layer of thin cotton to keep you warm, that it happens. He shifts on the stool, a mere twitch in an attempt to get comfortable, but it brushes his bloody arm against yours. Flecks of fresh red on the light pink fabric. First your carpet, now your pajamas. Your favorite, special, extra soft matching cotton pajama set, a rare splurge after your promotion that stood out among old t-shirts and sweat shorts. Ruined. Again, he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Did I say something?” Hood asks. He waits for your response, but when none comes, he adds, “I’m sorry if I did.” He speaks so quietly you may not have been able to separate his words from the whirring filter of his mask, if not for the chilling silence of the bathroom floor. The insulating brick walls of your old apartment building are something you’re usually grateful for, but tonight you find yourself wishing for the city’s commotion to seep through the walls. Something, anything to buffer his proximity to you.

You hear his inhale as he prepares to say something else.

“Can you just let me work?” You snap before he has the chance to speak again. It’s loud, louder than you’d ever dream of speaking to him, and he flinches. Your eyes shut in apology, but only for a moment before you get back to it. He looks away. His feet point towards the door.

He wants to leave, you can tell, and you don’t blame him. You just messed everything up. But you started this, so now you have to finish it.

You sit in silence for the several minutes it takes for you to clean his wound and stop the bleeding.

He’s not looking at you, gaze transfixed ahead of him on a chip in the paint. At least, you assume. It’s difficult to guess what’s going on behind the milky white covering over his eyes. His subtle body language can be read if you pay close enough attention, you’ve learned, but that’s not something you care to do right now.

You stare at your sleeve, at the patches of blood blooming like ink blots. The red and pink hues blend together behind your blurring vision. You sniffle.

“Are you—” Hood starts. Because now he’s looking at you.

“Excuse me,” you say, pushing yourself off the ground and stumbling out of the room without so much as a glance back at him. You stagger into your room, needle and thread still in hand, and push the door closed. The lights are off, and the darkness is calming, quieting your buzzing thoughts. You close your eyes and lean against the door. Breathe in. Breathe out. You continue this exercise, breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth to soothe your sympathetic nervous system, the same way a therapist instructed that one time you went. You wipe away the moisture that has collected in your eyes, roll out your stiff neck, dry your sweaty palms over your thighs. You toss the needle and thread aside, because they are definitely not sterile anymore, and take a few more breaths before opening the door and going back to the bathroom.

You avoid his face, following the lines of grimy grout between the tiles before resuming to your spot at his side. His inspecting eyes burn on the side of your face. You wipe down the forceps with a sterilizing wipe and rip open the plastic packaging for a new needle, holding it up to the wound, but your hand refuses to steady.

Another deep breath. Then another.

Hood sighs. It’s almost chastising. “I think I should go.”

“What?” You’re just surprised enough to be torn away from your thoughts and look him in the eye (mask) for the first time all night.

“You can’t do this,” he says, gruffly. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll let you figure it out.”

You scoff. “Yes, I can. I’m fine.”

Before he can argue, you grab him by the wrist to hold him in place just as he starts moving to get up. He winces, but you keep your grip tight on him. You can feel his scrutiny through the cold, expressionless barrier of his disguise, practically track his pupils as they search your face.

You both pretend he couldn’t break from your hold in an instant if he wanted to.

“You’re shaking,” Hood says. His voice is much softer now.

You follow the turn of his head to your hand where it hovers the needle right over his skin. You are shaking. Trembling, in fact.

“No, I’m not.” It comes out as an empty whisper.

You focus all your strength on steadying yourself, but the harder you try to stabilize, the harder you tremor. Your other hand releases his wrist to clamp over your dominant hand and force it to stay in place. It guides the needle closer to the skin, but now your vision is blurring. You blink rapidly, but it’s not enough. The tears start falling. You look away from him, but a warm hand settles over yours. You don’t dare look at him, unable to bear showing him your shameful face, wet and blushing and screwed up in misery. You turn your face into your sleeve. Clamp your eyes shut tight, thinking maybe if you keep them closed, this darkness will swallow you up and he won’t be here anymore.

But the warmth of his skin on yours is the first feeling of softness, of relief you’ve felt in months, and then it’s gone. Your shoulders are shaking, quaking with the effort to keep your sobs quiet.

One finger ever so gently hooks around your chin, pulling it back up to face him. You keep your eyes closed, not wanting to see him see you like this, but the tears are still streaming. He brushes them away. Whether that makes it better or worse, you can’t be sure, because you cry even harder, snatching your face away from his grasp to muffle your sobs into the back of your hand. You don’t realize he’s pushed himself off his stool to sit cross-legged on the floor until you feel his hand circling your arm and pulling you closer. The tools in your hand clatter on the floor as your palms come up to press against his chest, fighting against him with half-hearted protests murmured through your cries. But even with only one good arm he’s too strong for you, and you’re pulled into him.

He’s so gentle with you, rubbing your back and resting his chin atop your head while you cry and cry and cry into his shirt. Several minutes pass like this, with your face buried in his chest and his good arm holding you tightly against him while the other dangles lamely at his side, throbbing with an intensity he’s trying to ignore.

When your sobs die down, and you’re sure you’re all cried out, you linger against him. He smells like smoke and gasoline, and his shirt is soft and warm from his body heat seeping through. His hand continues to stroke up and down the length of your back, even after you’ve quieted. The edge of his mask digs into your scalp where his chin sits, but it feels worth it. Your hands, still pressed to his chest, slide higher, completely of their own volition, out of a newfound desire to wrap your arms around his neck. You don’t hear it, but you can feel his sharp draw of breath, his chest rising quickly under your touch. Your hands lose their nerve at his clavicle as you hold your breath for fear of the smallest movement drawing attention to your forwardness. You wait for him to rebuff you, to lean away from your touch, or grab your wrists and pry them off. He doesn’t.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. His chest finally falls.

Eyes opening, your thumb swipes over the edge of the red bat symbol just below his collarbone.

His movements pause, lightly gripping the fabric of your shirt for just a moment, before releasing it. “It’s alright,” he tells you.

You pull back from his chest to look at him, the way his cold and unfeeling expression stares back at you. You wonder from time to time what’s under the mask, but tonight the desire is overwhelming; you ache with the want to know what he looks like. The color of his eyes. What his mouth looks like when he winces over a deep cut or chuckles at one of your anecdotes. You wonder if his lips are soft or chapped. If he’d like it if you dragged your thumb across the bottom one.

The metallic odor spreading through the room brings you back to the present, and you hope the flush from your tears hides your cheeks’ growing heat when you realize where your mind had wandered.

“Oh, fuck, your arm.” You speak in a watery voice, wiping at your face as the urgency returns to your senses. Though you try to move away, his firm hand on your back pulls you back in.

“Don’t worry about it, okay?” He says, resuming his caresses up and down your back. “I can take care of it.”

“Then why do you even need me?” You sniffle with a small smile.

He stays silent. But when you search his face, waiting for an answer, his hand moves to your side, palm sliding a fraction of an inch closer to your waist and fingers tensing, you can almost see through the mechanical muzzle to the way his lips shape the words. At least, he wishes you could.

You know why.

this was lots of fun to write and thank u for your patience ik i said i was gonna "knock this out in a day" 2 weeks ago😬😬 also we're gonna pretend they aren't just letting his open wound marinate for half an hour when it should be getting stitched up bc it's fiction ok? everyone say thank you mostly-imagines for proofreading this😚

but anyway happy new year!! it's been barely 2 months but starting this account made my year so much better🫶🫶🫶and ty for 500 followers that's crazy🫣🫢

#jason todd x reader #fic rec

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mandalhoerian · 3 days ago

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I love your analysis on Rafayel, I thought there was something wrong with me not understanding his card! If it's not too much to ask, can you break down his final dialogue? I don't get his point. why is he suddenly bringing up love when this has been about art? Isn't he saying that the love he feels is also bringing him pain, isn't this a bad thing😅 Is it just me 😅 I feel crazy... You can ignore this if you want no hard feelings

the said analysis on intertidal zone for people who haven't seen it!

first of all, please don't be hard on yourself for not understanding, you're okay! this was me too. i got you!

"i once stubbornly believed only pain could bring me inspiration. I traveled far and wide in search of it. Pain that inspires me, I mean. Like a sea that's about to dry up. The art of creation is part of my life. You made me realize love and art are so alike. Even if they don't complete me but burn me instead, I still want them with every fiber of my being."

but before i can explain this fully, I want to go take a few steps back and go into what he previously revealed. I swear it makes sense to start from the beginning, trust me. spoiler alert, I've discovered something you guys. (@pasdenomadonner you can put this on reddit too if you'd like!!)

"actually i was here last time for an exhibit and i found myself in the same situation."

this could refer to either his fever, or his lack of inspiration, or both. the next line confirms that he was going through creative block, though -> "as far as i know, this is the longest time my mind's been like a blank sheet of paper."

and mc says, "you mean you can't draw?"

I totally missed this before & thought it was a tangent that came out of nowhere. But what Rafayel did is that, without words, showing her that he was in fact able to fix his inspiration issue the last time. This isn't a random reveal that the ocean and desert painting belonged to him all this time. It says that his trip to here fixed his creative block and the piece he made from the inspiration he got from Aridum made it to the memorial hall. He's saying, "No no, I could draw."

He's come here again for guaranteed inspiration hit. He's basically saying his trip here didn't work this time around and this isn't doing anything for him, despite the tragedy all around him.

Do you know what this means? STAY WITH ME NOW, STAY WITH ME.

because this ties DIRECTLY to him saying "i stubbornly believed only pain could give me inspiration" -- so, if only pain gives him inspiration, why can't he draw now? why is his mind blank? Is he not getting his inspiration from pain anymore? What will he do now, then? THAT'S what he's struggling with.

NOW we can dive into the rest of the final dialogue.

1. “The art of creation is part of my life.”

This line sets the stage. Rafayel isn’t just saying art is important to him, it’s essential. Not a hobby. Art isn’t just a thing he does, it’s who he is.

What he’s really saying here is: “Art is a core part of my identity. Without it, I’m not me.”

2. “You made me realize love and art are so alike.”

Here’s the pivot. It's so confusing at first glance because you expect him to elaborate in "What way?" But I believe Rafayel is setting the stage to make a direct comparison between art--this thing he just declared essential to his life--and love not just by commenting on their similarities but by implying that love (MC) is just as essential as art.

Think about what this means for someone like Rafayel:

Art has always been his way of processing the world, expressing himself, and finding meaning. It’s his lifeline.

By comparing love to art, he’s saying that MC has brought something into his life that feels equally vital, equally irreplaceable.

He’s realizing that MC, like art, isn’t just something that happens to him--it’s something he needs.

3. “Even if they don’t complete me but burn me instead...”

This is where it gets personal and raw. Rafayel doesn’t see art or love as things that “fix” him or make him whole. Instead, he sees them as forces that challenge him, consume him, and demand something from him.

“Burn me instead”: The idea of burning here isn’t necessarily negative, perhaps. It’s could be about intensity and being consuming. Both art and love push Rafayel to his limits, force him to confront himself, and sometimes hurt him in the process. But he’s okay with that. The burn isn’t a deterrent--it’s a part of what makes these things so meaningful to him.

In essence, he’s saying: Even if art and love aren’t easy, even if they don’t make me feel whole or safe, I still want them. I still need them.

4. “I still want them with every fiber of my being.”

This line drives the point home, circling back to how he said they were "alike". Rafayel isn’t just tolerating the burn--he’s choosing it. He wants art and love, not because they’re perfect or painless, but because they’re what give his life meaning. Remember his "Addictive Pain" anectode? I don't think he dislikes this kind of "pain" but MC isn't in a place to understand what he means yet is my takeaway.

YEAH?. YEAH. I'M DOING LAPS IN MY ROOM HE'S SO. HE'S SOOOOOO. AND I'M SO SLOW, I DIDN'T GET ALL OF UNTIL LATER, LIKE HOW THE LAST TIME HE WAS ABLE TO BE INSPIRED BY ARIDUM DURING CREATIVE BLOCK BUT NOT ANYMORE. "Why is he bringing up love all of a sudden. Weren't we just talking about art?" was such a raw connection he was trying to pull and it flew right over my head.

And understanding the burning thing quite literally I imagine, LIKE I WAS DOING, MC is like

he's such a tortured artist

anyway. I hope I was able to help, anon. It's thanks to you I went in and discovered these new things. Why is it always Rafayel. I feel like local tumblrina discovering media literacy for the first time, I swear I'm good at consuming media it's him making things difficult (even though me personally I've made my peace with having a peanut for a brain that runs on brainrot)

#love and deepspace #rafayel #lads #lads rafayel #rafayel qi #qi yu #rafayel lads #l&ds #l&ds rafayel #intertidal zone #fandom: lads

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yamumsyadadd · 9 hours ago

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the forgotten girl (11)

originally posted on my old account. Trip loading twice weekly :)

Alexia’s pov

“Ale please stay. Don’t leave me, please.” Hearing her beg for me not to leave her broke my heart.

“I’ll be right back bebé, I’m just getting some water.”

Alba and Mami were sitting on couch when it went out to the kitchen.

“She asked me not to leave, so I’m going to go back in there. You should go home. Thank you for your help.” I set back off to Amelia’s room. The heart breaking scene of her curled into a ball, her eyes red and swollen, and the sound of sniffles through the air.

I put her phone on charge and her water bottle on her bed side table, quickly making my way to the other side of the bed and climbing in. Pulling her into my arms and holding her until she fell asleep. After she had been asleep for half an hour, I messaged Keira and Lucy. Telling them I had Mil and asked them to come to her apartment. I didn’t know what to do. Im not good with my own emotions, and helping someone who is so deeply hurt is new to me.

Keira Walsh: I’m here. Let me in please.

Reluctantly, I got up, slowly in hopes to not wake Mil. The afternoon sun has lit up the apartment, it was bright and golden, a solemn contrast to the way Mils room felt. Opening the door, I was shocked to see someone else with Keira. Leah Williamson.

“Hi Alexia.” The England captain shyly said. I opened the door further to let both women in.

“Sorry, I thought it would be best to call Leah. She knows everything that happened with Milly and she got on the first flight here.” I nodded my head in understanding, that was smart in Keira’s behalf.

“Is she asleep?”

“Yeah. She was at the beach surfing and Mami bought us back here. She was just sitting in the shower with boiling water on her, she looked.” I had to take a second to compose myself, I would not be crying in front of Leah. “She looked broken.”

Keira and Leah just looked at each other. Sharing knowing looks and then Leah spoke up.

“She said she loved you, right? That’s what caused this?”

“Yes.”

“I think we should all sit down. You need to hear this Alexia.”

There were a few things in this world that make me anxious. Meeting my sisters new girlfriends, doing interviews in English, teenage boys and Amelia Higgins.

“Okay so obviously you know the public details of what happened with Emily and her?”

“Si”

“Emily was going to end things. She had written down on a piece of paper everything she wanted to say. Basically consisted of that she was still in love with Mil. Mil was still her favourite person and that Mil was her soulmate, but Emily wasn’t hers.”

“Right? Okay?”

“Emily always knew that Mils heart didn’t completely belong to her. I think she hoped that over time it would change but it never did. Mil has always loved you.”

I didn’t say anything. This was a lot to take in, her own friends telling me she has always loved me? What could’ve happened if I had said something earlier? Ended things with Jenni earlier?

“Ale.” Keira grabbed my hands, taking my attention away from ripping my nails off. “She doesn’t want to love you because she’s scared. After being given the note, she blamed herself. Mil thinks she caused this. She doesn’t want anything to happen to you or to your family. If you truly love her like I think you do, you’ll need to let her come to you. There’s nothing more I want than to see you both happily together but that won’t happen unless she comes to you.”

“I’ll wait for her. I don’t care how long it takes but I won’t leave her.”

We didn’t talk after that, the sun started setting and they were talking about ordering food for dinner.

“I think I’m going to go home. I think it’ll, uh, it’ll be better if I’m not here when she wakes up.”

Before Leah or Keira could reply, Amelia yelled out from the bedroom.

“Alexia? Alexia? Fuck ale please come back. I need you to come back.” her voice broke, thinking I’d left her when she needed me the most. Running back into the room, I quickly climbed into the bed and pulled her into my chest.

“No amor. I’m here. I’m not leaving you, okay? I’m here.” I felt her nod her head against my chest, then her tears slowly wet my shirt. I didn’t care about Keira or Leah in the lounge room, all I cared about was Amelia and making sure she felt safe and comfortable.

Leah came in a short while later, letting me know she would be staying in the spare room and to yell out if either of us needed anything. As I lay there with Amelia’s head on my chest, her arms wrapped tightly around my waist, and mine around hers, the only thing I could think of is how I could get used to this feeling. Selfish I know but it’s the truth.

By 9pm, the house was completely quiet and dark. Everyone was sleeping or enjoying the peaceful evening.

As the sun came through Amelia’s bedroom curtains, I felt lighter. Slowly opening my eyes I noticed she wasn’t in the room, the side of the bed she slept in was cold, her phone was gone and her favourite hoodie and wetsuit that hung on the back of her door. She was surfing. Of course. Deciding now was the best time to leave and go back to my own house, I quickly made her bed, opened her bedroom window and got the bottles of water to put in the bin.

I had forgotten Leah was there, Keira seemingly had come too.

“Morning capi” Keira handed over coffee.

“Gracias.” Inhaling the smell of coffee before taking the first sip.

“Is she awake?” Leah jerked her head towards the door.

“She’s surfing.” No one said anything for a moment. “I’m gonna go. I’ll see you later.” Turning quickly , before either could stop me.

I sat in my car contemplating what to do, I thought about messaging Alba, but it was too complicated. Mapi was next, but again, complicated. The only person I truly wanted to talk to was Amelia. But I wasn’t sure if she wanted that. Despite the thoughts telling me to leave her alone, I made my way to the beach. Stopping to get her a coffee so she could have it when she got out.

Since it was still early, it was easy to park and find her stuff. I made myself comfortable and waited. I didn’t have to wait too long because she had noticed me and started making her way back to the shore.

“I got you a coffee. Caramel latte right?” I asked as I handed it to her.

“Thanks Ale.” She sat down, closer to me than usual.

Silence engulfed us.

“So Leah’s here huh?” She said more as a question than a statement.

“Yeah. She came last night. Keira rang her apparently and she got on the first flight.”

“I don’t know how to do this Ale.” She whispered, I turned to look at her, confused.

“Do what?”

“Us. It was easier when I lived in England. I didn’t have to see you everyday, be close to you, listen to you laugh at something Mapi said or watch you with Vicky and Jana. I could watch you from a distance, love you from a distance. But now? Now I’m here and it’s almost too much. It’s so-“

“Overwhelming?”

“Yeah.”

“I feel the same way.” She rested her head on my shoulder, my arm wrapping around her shoulder.

We stayed like that for a while. It was nice. But it wouldn’t last.

#woso fanfics #woso imagine #fcb femení #woso x reader #alexia x reader #keira walsh x lucy bronze #leah williamson #leah williamson imagine #keira walsh x reader #alexia putellas x jenni hermoso #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine

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twopoppies · 3 days ago

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Hi Gina. Happy New Year ! ( hope I won't offend anyone with my message and my poor english).

I was here during BG and I was firmily convinced of Larry and that Louls was not the father. Like many people, I'm back now, after the news about Llam - and I still have very strong falth in Larry (especially after studying the recepts of recent years). What I want to say as a BG witness in real time: It was complete nonsense, full of contradictions and idiocy, fakes and lies. And I (like many people here) had only one thing beating In my head: Louis would never let his child go through this. But now, after years ... the biggest shit Is that Louis would never allow himself to use the kid the way F is being used, to make him a target on social media, to make a movie, to bring him to family, whom he protects, and I really think they are kind of simillar.

That's the fucking shit. It's just killing my mind.

I know, I believe that Louis is a wonderful person who could make mistakes, but he is a very, very good person. And all of this shit together just doesn't work in my head.

Neither of the two theories - Louls Is the father, Louls is not the father - just doesn't work for me. Although there are only two options: he's dad or he isn't dad (LOL) But both options are pointless for me.

So now I'm taking a step back from BG, I think (an you said) that Louls' fatherhood and Larry is olny Indirectly related to each other. I believe that Louis and Harry are finding ways for each other, that they are still strong. And everything else... well. I don't know the truth and just hope we will find out one day.

And YES, I think Louls - is one af the best people in the world with heart of gold. I'm not going to lie, it seems to me that some things need to change, and I hope it happens to both Louis and Harry (and already changing right now).

I think, darling, the very sad part of all of this is we just have to admit that Louis has made some sort of peace with using this child for whatever purpose he needs him for.

Whether it’s to avoid getting into legal trouble, to stop people investigating, to raise his profile… I truly have no idea. But it’s very clear something changed a few years ago.

I don’t think Louis is a bad person. But he and his family are using this child just as much as the Clarks are (more, if you consider that he has a much bigger audience).

As a parent, myself, I don’t understand any of it. Why do they have to drag the actual child into it? Post a photo now and then. Talk about him if you want. But don’t put the child into your documentary and don’t parade him around on your social media. We’ve never seen Bear. We’ve never seen Khai. It’s not necessary.

I’m so revolted by the whole thing.

#babygate

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0rczy · 1 day ago

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To Vat7k fans

Hi there, people who have been following my storyboards of Varian's Tangled Trials Episode 1! Unfortunately, upon further consideration, I came to the conclusion that this passion project needs to be put on hold. For a longer time. I likely won't even touch the project until mid-autumn of 2025, so the next sequences will not come out until about the end of the year... I AM NOT GIVING UP ON IT THOUGH. By all means, I really want to see this through the end, and I will. Just not anytime soon.

I have already been on a sort of hiatus since September last year, working on it on and off because of school. But as it turns out, this year is gonna be much more challenging than the last, because I

-am doing my Abitur (meaning there will be ca. 2-3 months of constant studying. I'm horrible at maths lol

-NEED to get better at animation. Actual animation, not storyboards, as much the latter is far more appealing to me. Because

-I need to put together my portfolio for college

-oh and also a presentation-essay-thing about the history of animation, for school.

-on top of all the tests for other subjects

So, a lot to do, especially for someone so bad with deadlines. And then in 13th grade it starts all over again. Yayyyy

To demonstrate, here's the little year-plan I put together for myself, mostly to study animation and stuff (you know, new-year-new-me resolutions and the such):

Yup, as you can see, very little time for the Vat7k boards.

Sorry for making all of you wait, but this is necessary for my further education. Plus, if all goes well, by the time I get back on the project, my skills have hopefully improved a ton :D and my speed, too.

I will probably record my progress in animation skills through this tumblr blog, so I won't stop posting at all. Just not the boards.

Thank you for all of y'all's Support so far, means the world to me, really. See you soon!

#vat7k #varian and the seven kingdoms #tts varian #varian's tangled trials #orczy #varian and the 7 kingdoms

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glowettee · 3 days ago

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hi there! i love your content and was wondering if you’ve made or plan to make a “how to romanticize chores”, or something about romanticizing your work, for those of us who are out of school / in the work force? TIA (: <3

ೀhow to romanticize work and choresೀ

hi angel! 🌸 thank you for being so sweet!! i absolutely adore the idea of romanticizing chores and work, especially for those of you who are no longer in school and navigating through the workforce. i think this concept can apply to everyone, no matter where they are in life. we all deserve to find beauty and joy in the little things we do every day.

romanticizing your work or chores isn’t about pretending everything is perfect, it’s about shifting your perspective and finding small, meaningful ways to make your daily tasks feel more special. it’s about creating moments of joy and treating yourself with love and care, even when you’re doing something as simple as folding laundry or answering emails.

first, let’s talk about mindset. one of the biggest lessons i’ve learned (and something i’m sure applies to work life too) is that your attitude matters so much. instead of thinking “ugh, i have to do this,” try reframing it to “i get to do this.” even the most mundane tasks can feel different when you approach them with gratitude. for example, when i’m cleaning my room, i remind myself that i’m creating a cozy, peaceful space for myself. if you’re working, think about how your efforts contribute to your goals, your growth, or even just your ability to support yourself and those you love. it’s not about forcing positivity!! it’s about finding meaning in the little things.

next, let’s make the environment dreamy. i truly believe that aesthetics have the power to transform how we feel about tasks. for chores, light a candle with your favorite scent or play a soft, romantic jazz playlist in the background. for work, create a workspace that feels like a sanctuary. add a vase of fresh flowers, a cute mug for your coffee, or even just organize your desk so it feels inviting. i know it sounds simple, but these little touches can make such a difference in how you feel while you’re working.

another tip is to romanticize the process, not just the outcome. instead of rushing through your tasks, try to slow down and be present. notice the way warm water feels on your hands while washing dishes, or the satisfying sound of typing on your keyboard. i know it might sound silly, but when you focus on the sensory details, even the simplest tasks can feel more meaningful. this is something i practice when i’m studying, i try to enjoy the process of learning, not just the results.

you can also turn chores or work into rituals. for example, if you’re doing laundry, make it a cozy moment by folding clothes while watching your favorite movie or sipping tea. if you’re answering emails, set a timer, put on a calming playlist, and reward yourself with a little treat when you’re done. rituals give structure to your day and make even the most ordinary tasks feel intentional and special.

one thing i’ve learned from my psychology studies is that humans thrive on small rewards. so, give yourself permission to celebrate the little wins. finished a big project at work? treat yourself to your favorite dessert. cleaned the house? take a bubble bath. these rewards don’t have to be extravagant, they just need to remind you that your efforts are worth celebrating.

lastly, remember to romanticize yourself in the process. dress up a little, even if you’re just working from home. wear comfy yet cute clothes while doing chores. play music that makes you feel like the main character of your life. the way you present yourself to the world (and to yourself) can have such a big impact on how you feel.

romanticizing your work or chores isn’t about ignoring the hard parts of life. it’s about finding beauty and joy where you can. it’s about making the most of your daily routines and treating yourself with the love and care you deserve. so, even if you’re scrubbing floors or working on spreadsheets, know that you’re doing amazing, and you deserve to feel good about it.

sending you all the love and dreamy vibes! ✨

xoxo, mindy

quick tips for romanticizing your daily tasks! 🤍

create a morning ritual that feels like self care

invest in pretty organizational tools

make a workspace playlist for different moods

use your favorite scented products while cleaning

treat yourself to cute office supplies

keep fresh flowers or plants nearby

write your to-do lists in a beautiful journal

take mindful breaks with your favorite drink

dress in a way that makes you feel confident

create evening routines that feel peaceful

use soft lighting instead of harsh overheads

organize your space in an aesthetic way

set tiny rewards for completing tasks

document your progress in a pretty way

make your lunch break feel special

use beautiful containers for storage

create seasonal touches in your workspace

keep inspirational quotes nearby

make cleaning feel like a reset ritual

celebrate small wins with little treats

turn mundane tasks into mindfulness moments

add personal touches to your workspace

keep comfort items close by

make your desk feel like a sanctuary

use timers to create focused work periods

quick tips for making chores feel magical! 🤍

- light a vanilla candle while doing dishes

- use pretty cleaning supplies in pastel colors

- create a special cleaning outfit that makes you feel cute

- make a "cleaning day" playlist with dreamy songs

- invest in aesthetic storage solutions

- turn laundry time into a cozy movie moment

- use sweet-scented cleaning products

- take aesthetic photos of your clean space

- reward yourself with a bubble bath after cleaning

- make your cleaning caddy look pinterest-worthy

- pretend you're in a soft, aesthetic montage

- use pretty baskets for organizing

- make your bed like it's a luxury hotel

🌸 love, mindy

#becoming that girl #that girl #self improvement #it girl energy #girlblogger #pink #girl blogger #dream girl #study tips #glowettee #cleaning #cleaning tips #romanticizeyourlife #lanadelrey #lana del ray aesthetic

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2amriize · 3 days ago

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OMG THE PC COLLECTING REACTION WAS SO ADORABLELSKSNJSMSJSNSS im sorry but that needs a follow up hc/pt2 but with like seeing reader deco pc holders/top loaders for either the member they collect or bf riize pc— it doesnt matter! i just need to know thoughts on which member would enjoy decorating toploaders like who would do well and who would be sht at it especially with those like deco thing in piping bags like when ur decorating a cake and those charms(?)

random thought from the seunghan and reader collecting pc part from the reaction, i just KNOW seunghan would also enjoy the world of making toploaders and buying pc holders for his sohee pc collection! he will def buy pokemon themed pc holder and charms for toploader LMAO

— 🎐 (first time sending an anon but ive been reading ur works for months. i also admire ur writing and especially how u find way to stay active despite being in college. personally am struggling as a writer myself so i really respect u for that. anyway, have a merry and jolly holidays!!)

Hi!! First of all, THANK YOU SO MUCH OMG ILY ♥ and I’m so sorry for taking so long to reply omg :((( I’m gonna write those requests down! I LOVE THEM.

about decorating the toploaders, there’s one person who immediately comes to mind: anton. anton is super creative and loves decorating things, so I think he’d really enjoy helping you decorate toploaders. seunghan and shotaro would also be pretty good at it, and you’d be surprised at how cute their designs could turn out.

then there’s sungchan, who would put in so much effort if you asked him, focusing way too hard to make it look perfect.

I feel like Sohee wouldn’t be super excited about it, but if you asked him, he’d do it with you, and it would turn out pretty decent.

That leaves wonbin and eunseok… wonbin would probably be good at it, but he’d find it too much effort, though he obviously wouldn’t refuse.

as for Eunseok… based on some of the drawings I’ve seen from him, I don’t think he’s super skilled in the creative department. even though he’d have a lot of fun doing it, the end result might not be the best!!!

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staycalmandhugaclone · 2 days ago

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Fool's Errand Pt 11

Part (11) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

It is 1am. I stayed up waaayyy to late to finish this, but if I didn't get it out now, it would have to wait until Monday, and I really didn't want you make ya'll wait.

This one's a little rough, loves; so grab an emotional support cock(tail).

Btw - little aside! For anyone who no long wants to be tagged, feel free to shoot me a dm or you can submit another taglist just saying to be untagged. For those that want to be tagged, please remember to give me your tumblr name. I've received a few email addresses and several names that don't seemed to link up to anyone. Sorry, but there's not much I can do with that ❤️

Warnings: heavy into medical procedures; a lot of grief, guilt, thoughts of self-doubt; near-death experience; blood; gore; needles; cpr; body horror; eye injuries; profanity. I think that's is, but, As always, please let me know if I've missed tagging something!

WC: 3,867

I used to love forests. Agamar boasted a rich abundance of biomes, but the farmlands where I was raised were far from anything so wild; thus, the thought of finding myself lost in unending stretches of trees so tall and numerous as to grant an artificial night to those trapped within their shadow was mesmerizing in a way that forgave any thought toward what danger those shadows might conceal. I knew better now.

I’d lost Emmy while flying over a forest; the scent of campfire smoke dancing just beneath that suffocating tang of fuel. I’d nearly lost Tech to the dangerous fungus thriving in the rokna trees of Endor. And then my brother… No. Forests no longer held that tantalizing mystique. They were beautiful. And they were deadly. And, as I stood between two of the countless, towering trees mere meters from the still forms atop the ramp of the Marauder, I realized how much I’d come to hate them.

My entire body was shaking with adrenaline and fear and rage, wide eyes darting from the dark armor to the crying girl, pistol still clenched in her trembling hands.

“Sweetie… I need you to put down the gun. Okay?” I murmured, the thin vail of calm forcing my words into something far removed from the desperation simmering beneath them. Her gaze darted to the weapon held before her as though just as terrified to find herself still holding it as she was at the thought of letting it go.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. Just… just set it down.” I pressed, some ancient, feral instinct forbidding me from shouting at her hesitation. One hand slowly pulled away from the grip, but it was the other one that still had a finger pressed far too snugly against the trigger, and I wondered if she’d ever held a gun before.

“That’s good… You’re doing great… Look at me, honey.” I whispered, surprised at how quickly her attention snapped back to me. “It’s okay. Just put it down.” Her fingers began to loosen. The instant the weapon that looked far too large in her hands began to fall, I darted forward. I wanted to scream at her; to berate her for what damage she might have caused, for the delay her fear had forced between my men and the care they desperately needed, but I didn’t. I raced forward and instantly locked her to my chest, quiet shhh’s leaving on barely controlled breaths as I carried her rapidly into the ship, stopping only when the outside world was hidden by those worn, metal walls and quickly settled her atop Hunter’s bunk.

“Alright, baby; I want you to stay right here for me, okay?” It wasn’t quite an order, but it was far from a request, hands shaking as I swept the hair from her face to ensure she was looking at me. Snot covered her upper lip as tears flooded her cheeks, her entire body convulsing with sobs, but the small nod she managed in response was enough for me to quickly press my lips to her forehead before turning on my heel and sprinting back outside.

It was Hunter’s pistol. I kicked the damn thing inside if only to get it out of my way before dropping to my knees beside them, searching for signs of blasterfire or crushed plastoid or breath, and finding neither.

No. That wasn’t right. Crosshair’s torso was still shifting beneath short, jilted gasps. But Hunter…

“Hunter? Hunter, can you hear me?!” I didn’t wait for a reply I knew wasn’t coming as I struggled to untangle them, belatedly realizing he’d collapsed while carrying his brother up the ramp.

“Cross? Hey-hey, you with me?” I asked, begged as I eased him onto his back, but his body merely flinched with shallow breaths, faint grunts far too akin to whimpers catching on trembling lips. But he was breathing. He was hurt, but he was alive. My heart jolted as I quickly threw myself at Hunter, fingers slipping beneath the sharp notch of his jaw as my other hand quickly yanked at his helmet.

Numb. There’s a quiet that comes in moments like this, born of hard-learned necessity as even a taste of the emotions hiding just beyond the distant storm would bring with them doubt. Hesitation. And when even a second of such hesitation could be the difference between life and death, if takes very few mistakes to learn how to hide oneself in that quiet, to let hands move and thoughts rage with a careful detachment.

My body no longer shook as I wrestled the heavy chest plate from his limp form. I didn’t look at the deathly pale skin that gleamed beside the faded half-skull tattoo, nor at half-lidded eyes that were so violently wrong without laugh lines dancing at the corners or that brooding intensity as his mind raced to find solutions to impossible problems. In that moment, he was a number. He was a list of vitals and pre-existing conditions and a rapidly evolving treatment plan. He was patient 1, triaged and assisted and listed by priority, and if I held to that as I should have, I would have let him die, but I watched with a pointed lack of emotion as I finally freed him of that damned armor, his body falling back to the ramp with a thud I couldn’t bring myself to worry over in the wake of how wrong that stillness was.

It was a thoughtless action, the way my fingers twined together as my hands stacked atop each other above his chest. I needed to move them – both of them – out of the risk of enemy fire. Hell, I needed to move for that same reason; needed to get Hunter on level ground to maximize the efficiency of my compressions; needed to check for lung capacity and inevitably insert another chest tube; needed to see just how bad the chemical burns still eating into Crosshair’s eyes were and try to figure out some way to help him. I could still hear the girl crying and wasn’t surprised to see her standing at the very corner of the hallway, peaking out just enough to watch us, and I’d never felt so impossibly, irrevocably alone.

Curses spitting from my lips, I abandoned the half-completed count of compressions and threw myself to my feet. Couldn’t get deep enough… The tantalizing wealth of muscle I’d so shamelessly admired every time he’d see himself into my bed beneath the guise a massage that we both knew had nothing to do with pulled muscles or stiff joints, that breathtaking display of power that saw him so effortlessly through the endless missions and struggles of this war left his chest too stiff to readily yield beneath the too weak thrusts of my palms.

If I could get him inside – get him on a flat surface, then I could push harder, I could force his damn heart to beat and chase all threat of that encroaching chill from skin I so clearly remembered feeling like fire against mine.

“Honey, there’s a button on that interface, there. Can you press it – close the ramp?” I asked breathlessly as I began dragging Crosshair inside as well. A slightly louder groan caught in his throat making my heart drop. I barely noticed the girl dart forward, tiny hand nearly slamming onto the controls as movement returned to those long limbs.

“Shh, Cross, I’m right here, okay? I’m going to take care of you, but I have to help Hunter first.” If he heard me, if he heard the crippling apology that threatened to rend my breath into hiccuped gasps and rob me of that blessed detachment, he was too lost in a growing agony to offer any form of a response. My hand shifted beneath the desperate need to reach for him, to somehow ensure he knew I was there, but that would waste precious seconds I didn’t have, and I quickly spun back to Hunter, jaw tensing anew at the utter absence of life before me.

Airway. Breathing. Circulation. It was rote. Mindless. But something in me still died at how cold his lips felt against mine. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. And I nearly broke at how much effort it took to push even a whisper of breath into his lungs. Crosshair was starting to move, clawed hands reaching toward the black visor I only just realized was shattered, deep crackers spider-webbed across the dark crescent. If I looked, I could just make out slivers of skin between some of the larger cracks, but I couldn’t see enough to even guess toward the damage hidden within as I wrenched the medpack from my shoulders.

Hunter’s body rocked listlessly beneath the force it took to shove the chest tube between his lower ribs, expression void of the pain I’d never been so eager to see on his handsome face. What poured from the fresh wound was dark and thick and filled the small room with the heavy scent of copper and sick, and I refused to even look at it as I dragged the sheers down the front of his shirt, half ripping the fabric away in my haste.

I didn’t hesitate before arching my body over him and slamming my elbow into his chest, ignoring how the sound of ribs cracking beneath the strike was enough to make even Cross flinch, ruined helm shifting uselessly toward me for just a moment before that pain overruled his attention once more. My knee pads scrapped loudly against the metal grate as I pushed myself up enough to straddle Hunter’s waist, cupped hands returning to their position over his sternum.

“Crosshair… Cross, if you can hear me, you need to try to get that helmet off.” I panted, voice undulating with the rhythm of my entire body beating quickly against his brother’s chest. His head shifted again, the movement jerky and only barely noticeable, and I couldn’t imagine how the wet crunch, crunch, crunch that so perfectly marked the passage of time must have sounded in the dark, eyes surely blinded by whatever cruel thing had been used to cripple him.

“I know; I know, baby – I’ll help you as quickly as I can, but I need you to help, too.” I pressed on huffed, rapid breaths, relieved when his shaking fingers began groping at the rounded ridge following his jawline, but I couldn’t ignore how quickly that trembling was getting worse, the sound of air hissing through clenched teeth breaking between barely restrained groans that so wanted to be screams, and I realized that Hunter must have given him something stronger – something that managed to knock him out before I reached them, and it was rapidly fading.

But I couldn’t do anything for him. Not yet. Not until I finally managed to force some bit of life back into the man below me. Kriff, was I just wasting time? The longer I worked on Hunter, the more potential damage Crosshair suffered… I could only guess toward how much time had passed since his heart… how long he’d been down before I reached them… and the longer he’d been like this the greater the risk of…

No. No, no; I couldn’t think like that. Scowling at the way my hand was just beginning to shake again, I reached out to check for a pulse, straining to mediate my own breaths enough for me to actually feel for his heartbeat over the frantic racing of my own. Nothing… I quickly leaned down to push two more breaths into his lungs, wincing at the way his nose cracked slightly between my fingers as I pinched his nostrils shut.

“He’s… i-is he…” I could barely make out words through how shaky his breath was, and I instantly found myself wishing I hadn’t heard him at all.

“I’m doing everything I can for him, Crosshair; just focus on getting that helmet off, and I’ll try to get you more meds soon.” There was that careful detachment again, automatic response unhindered by the grief and panic I tried so hard to ignore.

“To-… told ‘im t… l-l’ve m…” I couldn’t think about the sob that robbed the strength from his voice, nor the hiccuped gasp that followed as his hands clawed over his ruined visor, my teeth grinding into the inside of my cheek to keep my own breath from breaking.

Still no pulse. The precious few seconds it took to dig into my bag once more made my skin crawl, some wretched whisper in the back of my head telling me everything that could go wrong, everything that I’d done wrong; that I wasn’t fast enough, strong enough; that I was killing him – that I was killing both of them.

Guilt made my stomach churn as a small drop of crimson marked where I’d nicked him with the razor as I rushed to clear enough hair for the electrodes. It was stupid. Such a tiny wound… and yet my eyes kept trying to return to it, as though I hadn’t just shoved a tube through his side, as though I hadn’t just broken several ribs to allow adequate compressions, as though the man beneath me wasn’t, by all medical standards, already dead.

The small device let out a warning trill, and I quickly jumped clear of him, waiting anxiously for the timer to finish. Hunter’s body seized beneath the violent surge of electricity, torso snapping up, spine locking in a tight arch. And then he crashed back to the metal grating, rocking listlessly from the momentum.

I didn’t wait for the AED to finish reassessing, fingers reaching for his throat the instant his back hit the floor. Whatever momentary lucidity had granted Crosshair the clarity of mind to mumble those heartbreaking words was gone, crushed beneath an agony no longer muted by whatever drugs Hunter had given him. His legs dragged uselessly against the metal beneath him, deep, keening groans occasionally breaking into a barked scream as he writhed in pain. And, still, there was no sign of life beneath my fingertips.

One more… I’d grant myself only one more moment of denial, one final attempt to bring him back…

“Dammit; come on, Hunter!” I didn’t mean to let the words escape me as I pounded against his chest. “Don’t you do this – don’t you kriffing dare do this!” I remembered the first time I’d performed CPR on a real person. “We need you, dammit! Come on!” The patient had already been pronounced. “Come back! Please, please, come back!” But residents were encouraged to “practice.” Knowing they were already dead, however, did nothing to relieve me of the sharp rush of adrenaline, the desperate urgency to somehow do better – be better… to save them… That knowledge did nothing to rid me of the consuming guilt of failure when I finally walked away.

I couldn’t silence the sob as I pressed my lips against his one last time, pushing the air from my own lungs into him with every unspoken plea and promise and curse forever forced into a silence I feared I’d regret until my heart stopped as well.

Something beeped. Doubt robbed me of recognition. Fear forbade me from even looking. Barely ten percent of patients come back from something like this. Some horrible, broken part of me had accepted his death the instant I’d realized he had no pulse, but denial had granted me the strength to try anyway. Now, that denial refused to let my eyes fall back to the small device connected to his chest, but Crosshair was screaming, and the Senator’s daughter was crying, and there was too much at stake for even a moment to be lost for something so useless.

Still, I couldn’t understand the dancing line steadily making its way across the monitor. I’d seen it countless times before, but…

My chest bucked in a sharp gasp, body finally remembering how to move. In an instant, I was at Crosshair’s side, hands grabbing at his in an enraging struggle to finally rip that damned helmet off.

“Crosshair! Cross, baby, I’m going to help fix it, but you – ugh! – you have to… stop… fighting me!” I grunted, finally trapping one of his hands beneath my arm long enough to grab the ruined bucket. His scream turned desperate the instant the light reached him, and my stomach dropped. The skin around his eyes was scalded, red and oozing, and how could I possibly give him any words of reassurance that might offer even a breath of comfort in the face of those wounds?

I offered no warning before jabbing a hypo against his neck. He didn’t notice it anyway, lips wrenched clear of teeth gnashing around hitched gasps and feral cries he couldn’t begin to restrain.

“I’ve got you, Cross.” I murmured as those frenzied movements began to fail, one arm wrapping around his back to help guide him carefully to the floor while the other snatched for my med scanner with some futile hope that it might be able to identify whatever toxin was searing into his flesh. “That’s it, love; just breathe for me; okay?” I wasn’t sure if the drugs helped, or if they merely left him too weak to thrash anymore, and I wanted to shout apologies until my lungs gave out, but I didn’t turn away from the small scanner, eyes quickly studying every word that scrolled across the screen before dropping it to snatch my comm.

“Tech! Wrecker! Do you copy?!” I shouted, already pushing myself to my feet and sprinting toward the medbay.

“Yeah,” Wrecker answered barely a second later. “They okay?”

“I’m working on that,” I nearly cringed at the exhaustion in my voice, but quickly moved on. “I need something to neutralize an acid. Are you in a position where you can look this over?”

“Do you have an approximate idea of what the substance is?” Tech asked, words breathless in a way that made my guilt spike. I shouldn’t have to ask them… I should be able to figure this out myself… but the chemical equation dancing across the scanner was far too complex for me to work through in time.

“I’m sending it now.” I replied, fingers already flying over the scanner to share the readout.

“Oh.” I wasn’t surprised to hear the dread in Wrecker’s voice, but if he recognized the chemicals, then there was hope that he knew how to safely wash it away. “Yeah… think I can tell yuh what yuh need.”

Tech didn’t interrupt him. This wasn’t hardware or trivia or anatomy. This was chemistry. And, while I wouldn’t have second-guessed a word the pilot may have said, Wrecker’s knowledge was a matter of passion. The same interplay of atomic bonds and volatile reactions manipulated to detonate a building could be used to form acids powerful enough to melt through entire ships, and I trusted his word without a moment’s doubt. Still, the time it took to prepare the solution was torture, and I couldn’t run back through the ship fast enough to begin to ease that crippling guilt.

He was barely moving when I got back, shivering body curled onto his side, one hand clutching at his eyes while the other was locked around Hunter’s arm, and I felt the tears threaten to suffocate me as I realized he was too disorientated to recognize the steady rhythm still singing from the small monitor, to understand that his brother was alive.

“Crosshair; hey-hey-hey, listen to me.” I murmured quickly, satchel of equipment dropping carefully to the floor as I rushed to his side. “He’s alright. Hunter’s alright, but I need to take care of you now.” If he heard me, he didn’t respond, and I didn’t waste additional time trying to explain.

My heart was racing, anticipation searing through my nerves like lightning. He wasn’t going to like this. Kriff, he wasn’t going to like this…

He barely flinched when I gently laid my hand on his forehead, but the instant the first drop of liquid touched his cheek, whatever illusion of weakness the meds granted was gone. His limbs lashed out in a frenzy of panicked rage, kicking himself away while his arms swiped toward me in a vicious attempt to push me back. Cursing, I spun out of his reach just long enough to regain my footing.

Any other day, I’d have no hope in holding him down, but the body can only withstand the degree of agony he’d been subjected to for so long before even his muscles began to fail, so when I pinned his arms at his sides, my own legs quickly wrapping around him in a powerful hold, I had just enough time to empty that first syringe entirely, flooding his face with the neutralizing fluid.

I knew it would burn at first, and my face twisted into a sympathetic scowl at the fresh cries of a hurt I couldn’t imagine ripping through his already raw throat, but by the time I was halfway through the second, his thrashing began to ease, jaw hanging open around sputtering coughs as he spat out what trace amounts of fluid accidentally slipped past his lips.

“Good.” I murmured, hand once more settled atop his brow in an effort to carefully keep him still. “I know; I know it hurts, but this is helping, right? It’s getting better?” I expected no response, and he offered none, but he didn’t need to. I could feel the tension slowly fading despite the occasional twitch and choked grunt.

“Honey, I need to help you open your eyes, now. I need to make sure we rinse all that gunk out.” I warned, and my heart ached at how quickly that tension returned. “I know, but we’ll go slow, okay?” Voice quiet, gentle in a way I could only hope he might understand, I whispered to him, thumb already moving to pull at his upper lid as my thighs tightened at the way his arms wrenched against me. His head thrashed, desperate to escape my touch, but I followed him with ease, relentless until a dozen empty syringes lay strewn about the cabin, tossed aimlessly that I might hurry on to the next.

“Almost done.” I breathed, but he’d already begun to fade, body only occasionally managing a weak flinch as I pushed the last of the solution over his other eye. That redness was still there, and only time would tell how well his eyes would heal… but the danger was over. I quickly coated the abused flesh in a generous layer of bacta before securing thick pads over his eyes with bandages.

They were alive. I could still see the steady rhythm of Hunter’s heartbeat scrawling atop the monitor beside him, and the cruel acid used to incapacitate Crosshair was neutralized. They were okay… Even the little girl had stopped crying, wide eyes watching me with an emotion I was far too exhausted to try to name as I staggered to my feet. Couldn’t leave them here… I’d get them to the medbay… get them settled… then I’d let myself breathe…

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